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lottiecrabie · 6 months

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anatomy – matty healy

matty is supposed to tutor you in biology, but there’s another subject you’re much more interested in…

or tutor!au <3

tags: 18+, oral sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, dom/sub undertones, choking, cumplay, virgin!matty, freaky little loser guy

6802 words

You sit on top of the sheets of your bed, ankles crossed. You pop your bubblegum, flipping boredly through your Cosmo. Lipsticks, perfectly preened women, and the top ten sex tips flip in front of your eyes. You halt at the horoscope, indulgently checking yours. You’re not superstitious: it’s just that anything is better than this godforsaken lesson.

“And, you see, the specific shape of the active site of an enzyme enables it to function,” Matty drawls on, unfaltered by your clear disinterest. Maybe he doesn’t see; his nose is pulled tightly in his book. “It’s— It’s really a simple understanding of 'lock and key'. You can think of enzyme activity as molecular collisions resulting in the formation of enzyme-substrate complexes.” All the terms blur together in your mind. In one ear, transformed and decorated by the pretty pink things on your page, then out the other.

You almost feel bad for Matty, pushed into your room by your parents with pleading, desperate eyes to make you learn something. He sits at your desk while you distract yourself with whatever is more interesting which, as it so happens, is almost everything. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t say much to you other than hey and a string of jargon you don’t care to understand. It’s not like your bitchy, unimpressed stare is very welcoming.

Matty has this nervous, twitchy energy about him. He stutters through half of his sentences, pushing his glasses up his nose, searching for the fixed point in his book he lost. He swallows thickly, starts again. An awkward, limby thing.

Really, it’s a shame he wears all those nerdy shirts and drowning clothes, as well as those horrendous thick, square glasses. If you assess him objectively enough, he could be quite pretty. He’s lean, with a cutting jaw, and adorable curly hair. Girls would look away a flutter of red flags if it meant birthing kids with those traits.

You sigh, pushing the Cosmo off your bed, rolling to your belly. You rest your chin on your crossed arms, eyeing Matty. He gives you a look at the shifting noise, rounding his eyes as they fall on the stripe of skin your loose lounging shorts have revealed in the crossfire. It’s barely a few centimeters of your asscheeks, but Matty blushes all the same, flipping back to his book as though burned. You smirk. Interesting.

“Matty,” you trail lightly, the cadence of a song.

You found your bright new, shining distraction. Your smile is vicious and dangerous, ready to bite, to gnaw to the bone.

Matty looks up at you, incertain. You rarely address him during your tutoring lessons. You’re not even sure you’ve said his name before, at least not to him. “I’m bored with biology,” you declare, artfully pouty and dejected.

“Oh,” he says. He swallows thickly. Flips through his book. His nervous tics make him all the more tantalizing to you. Some cruel need to toughen him up. “Um—”

You lick your teeth, grinning. “I want to study anatomy.”

Matty laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s not in the syllabus.” There’s something about his total misunderstanding of your line that makes the need frizzle inside of you. An innocent little thing, to pick and devour through.

You sit up, resting your weight on your heels. Your knees part suggestively, the loose shorts riding up your thighs. Your crop top sits up your ribs. Belly button piercing winks at him. Matty takes in the sight, face pale. You grin, victorious.

“I didn’t mean that anatomy,” you say, teasing. You rest a hand loosely on your leg, purposefully dragging his stare down to it. Your pink nails flash against your skin.

“Oh.” He swallows thickly, hypnotized by the soft flesh of your thighs. “I—” He shakes his head, as if to draw himself out of the daydream. “I, um—” He repeats, then laughs, “What?”

You sigh, kneeling up and getting off the bed. Your bare feet wiggle in the fuzzy, pink carpet. You prowl to him, predator-like. His breath hitches in his throat, right where you want it.

“Matty,” you sing, and he chokes at the sound. Just his name drives him wild— good to know. You get close enough to lean on the desk, to tower over him. He blinks up at you, robbed of speech. You flutter your eyelashes at him. “Are you a virgin?”

His lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t answer. Not that he needs to; the fucking sight of him is enough to know. It’s about the fun of watching him stumble, stutter, push his little glasses up his nose, telltale signs you revel in.

You sit on the desk, bunching his careful notes. You trail two fingers up his shoulder, that awful cheap plaid. You almost resent the feel of it on your skin, if not for the way he shivers.

You pout mockingly at him, stopping where the collar of his shirt meets the skin of his neck. “Are you gonna answer me?”

“Yeah— yes.” You run your fingertips on his neck, a grazing touch that has him staring up at you in devotion. You smirk.

“Have you ever been touched like this?” You run your thumb to the other side of his neck, a strong path. You want him to feel it, until your hand stretches over his throat, possessive.

He swallows under your palm, Adam’s apple bobbing on your fortune-telling palm lines. “No,” he admits quietly. You feel it resonate more than you hear it.

You hum, silently thrilled. “And have you ever been kissed?” You whisper.

Matty stares up at you. He waits a second, two— takes his time. “No.” You smirk. You pick your gum between two fingers, pressing it into the corner of his notes. Perfect.

It’s a little awkward, of course, because you’re perched on the desk and he’s sitting all the way down on his chair, gripping its arms. But, still, you bend down and kiss him square on the mouth.

He gasps against you, freezing there. You’re undeterred; you kiss and kiss him, smearing your strawberry lipgloss, until he snaps into action and kisses you back. It’s a rhythmless, artless thing.

He doesn’t know how to kiss.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up in eagerness, opening his mouth and licking a wet tongue into yours. You giggle a little, taste the Sour Patch kids he nervously ate from his bag between two scientific words you purposefully didn’t remember. You press at his throat, just so he’s as breathless as you are. He moans against your lips, panting.

Matty doesn’t dare touch. His body is fixed to the desk chair, letting himself be kissed, taking only what you are willing to offer. He sits there like you are breathing life into his mouth, eating and eating and never asking for more. It’s what makes you want to give him more.

You pull away from him, straightening like a queen taking her throne. Under you, the pages wrinkle and ruffle, and he doesn’t even care. His lips are swollen and pink, shiny from the lipgloss. Breaths puff out from there, pulling attention.

“You’re kinda pretty,” you admit lowly, like a secret he should know.

“Thanks,” Matty flushes.

You release his throat, wiping your pink gloss off his lips. They part instinctively. You smile, slipping your thumb inside. He sucks the strawberry, warm tongue on your fingerprint. Power loosens your head.

“Do you want me?” You ask, as though his mouth drooling around your thumb wasn’t indication enough. You want the words; you want the worship.

“Yeth,” he says, choking on your finger. You smile, taking it out and drying it on his cheek.

You don’t make a big show of taking your shirt off. Your hands are at the hem of your baby tee, then it’s off your shoulders, thrown on the pink carpet. Matty whines, surprised and overwhelmed, throwing a furtive glance at the cracked door of your bedroom.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand. Soft and weak; he hasn’t worked a day in his life. It’s slack between your fingers. He lets you puppeteer it to your breasts, lets you grope yourself with him as an instrument.

He makes another small noise from the back of his throat, staring at the fucking sight like he can’t quite believe it truly is his own hand. “God,” he mutters to himself, and it’s exactly how you feel.

“Say thank you,” you taunt him, because you know he will.

Like clockwork, Matty revels, “Thank you.” Growing bold, he rubs a thumb over your hard nipple, a tough callus you didn’t expect on the tip of it. It makes you moan; a crack in your spotless armor, but he doesn’t even notice. Too preoccupied with playing with your tits, pawing at it greedily.

“Can I—” He flushes, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Can I lick them?” A drop of heat strikes through you. You clench your thighs, arching your back into his readied palm.

“Yes.” He leans in before you’ve finished the s, sucking your abandoned nipple into his mouth. He licks and rubs and pinches, raw skill pulling at your sensitive skin. You bite back groans, breathing harshly. Your chest rises and falls into his mouth, but he’s just as diligent.

You rake a long-nailed hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with every particularly delicious lick. He moans at that, vibrating on your sensitive nipples.

He sticks his tongue out, panting like a dog, dipping down to the valley of your tits and pressing a kiss, then climbing up a new breast. He bites gently, and you jump, surprised by his boldness.

“Sorry,” he whispers. You don’t like this little switch-up in power. He’s supposed to be purring for you, enthrallment shining in his eyes. You tug on his hair, making him look at you.

Matty stares up, dutiful. He doesn’t care about the power game; hasn’t even realized you were slipping. He takes what you give.

You soothe away the sting of his hair. “Pretty boy,” you coo. Matty beams at that. “I want to hear you scream.”

With this, you jump off the desk, and kneel under it.

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide as he watches you fumble with his pants. You unbutton and unzip, fast and knowledgeable, dipping into his boxers— “Wait.”

You look up at him, inches from your goal. You cock your head, frowning. “What?”

“Just—” He pants, staring at you. “Just give me a second.”

You hum, grazing a finger on the faint happy trail of his stomach. His belly sucks in. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he says. “Yes. I don’t know.” He laughs. His hands still grip the armrests, white-knuckled. “Why are you doing this?”

You shrug. “I want to.” You tip your head, kissing his soft hand. “Do you want me to?”

“Well, yeah.”

You grin. “Relax.” Finally, your hand slips under his underwear, and you wrap around his hard length. He gasps, cold fingers against hot skin, fingers against him.

His hips jump into your fist as you draw him out. Another nervous glance to the door, still half-opened. Your parents are somewhere in the house, pretending not to exist. You lick your lips.

You lightly scratch your pink nails against him. You run a thumb on his tip, smearing precum. He hisses, turning into a moan as you slowly drag your hand down. He’s frozen and tense, almost afraid of moving, as if that would make you go away.

“Teach me,” you say.

He blinks at you, dazed. “Huh?”

Your eyes vaguely look up to the desk you hide under, biology notes in his scratchy writing laying wrinkled. “Biology. My parents are paying you for a reason, aren’t they?”

“Oh—” He flushes, embarrassed. Pushes his glasses up. “Right, right.” His hands let go of the armrests, searching through the pages. You choose this moment to kiss the tip of his cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure. “Fuck.” You giggle, all too happy.

He struggles to find where you disturbed him, biting his lip in comical concentration. You tease him, enjoying all the little breaths he chokes on, the soft sounds he tries to hide. Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist.

You wonder how often he’s done this on himself, who he imagined between his legs.

From now, it’ll be you. You’ll make sure of it.

“Um, right, so,” Matty starts, out of breath. “In some reactions,” he continues arduously, “one substrate is broken down into multiple products. And—” Devilishly, you lick a stripe up his length. He groans, twitching on your tongue. “Shit,” he mutters. It’s funny coming from him; the swear rings wrong, like a costume.

He drags his stare down, pulling away from his notes to watch you. You indulge him, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip. You suck on it gently. His face wrinkles, a moan breaking from him. You pull your head down, swallowing him. He clutches at his papers, scrunching them himself.

“Oh, God,” Matty says, trying to catch his breath as you bob your head. “I’m— Shit.”

You let go of him with a wet pop, stroking him quickly. “Shh,” you tease him. “My parents.” Again, he throws a nervous look towards the door.

Saliva and lipgloss and precum already lube him, but you keep your hand at his base as you spit on his cock. You drag it down his length. Matty’s eyes snap towards you. “Do that again.” He wants to see you.

You smirk, tilting your head to leave wet kisses up his cock, then lick his tip. You spit on it, and a low groan resonates from him. His hips rise up into your hand, but you push them down with your claws.

“Fuck,” he whimpers from the back of his throat, melting on the chair. He likes it messy. You grin, peppering little kisses over his cock, smearing him in strawberry lipgloss.

“What’s the other thing?”

“Huh?” He blinks, tying himself back to reality. “Right, um, substrates. It’s—” Again, you choose this moment to push him down your throat. He loses speech, mumbling incoherent syllables, some broken version of your name.

Though your head bobs quickly, pulling further and further down his length, twisting a stroking hand all the same, you pinch your nails at his hip. He jumps, struck out of the daze of pleasure, blinking down at you.

“Yeah, it’s— The other reactions are—” You let go of his hip, pinching your own nipple instead. Matty whines, losing his train of thought. “You’re not being fair.”

You laugh, spitting him out to catch your breath. You grope yourself and he watches, not sure which hand to focus on. His cheeks are tinted red, maybe from effort, or adrenaline, or shyness. It’s cute enough to bite.

Wonder shines in his eyes. He can’t believe this is happening; he’s eternally grateful, as he should be. As they all should have been, those faceless men you’ve blown in the bathrooms of parties for attention and a momentary stop to complete boredom. They stayed quiet, almost afraid to make noise, to show they enjoyed it, until they shook and spilled inside your mouth. Matty’s not afraid to moan.

Your brain rushes, sticky happy. You pant on his cock, trailing a finger down your stomach, then dipping in your shorts. Matty’s eyes widen, straightening to catch a glimpse. You smile, catching a pool of your arousal.

You come back up, fingers sticky and wet with your slick, and smear it on his cock. Matty scrunches his face, whimpering, shaking under your hands.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Only because it’s easy,” you mock, jerking and twisting your two hands in rhythm, wet sounds ringing in the room.

You free his cock, gripping the armrests of the chair instead. You wrap your mouth around it, and bend down until your nose touches the faint smatterings of dark hair on his belly. You gag on him, and he strangles the edge of the desk trying to kill his moans.

You pump him in your mouth quickly, feeling him twitch and rise to meet you. He remembers himself, falling down on the chair dutifully, not even burying a needy hand in your hair, as though afraid that would be asking for too much.

You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, before releasing him. You spit the precum on him, blinking up through teary eyes. He doesn’t have any words, red swollen lip bitten raw.

“I taste great,” you say, and then offer up your still-wet fingers to him. He’s eager, sucking them into his mouth. He bobs, imitating you, and the sight and feel makes hot desire drip inside of you.

You want to squeeze him until he pops.

You take his hand, pulling it into your hair. He grips instinctively, pushing it out of your face. “Don’t push,” you warn, serious. He nods frantically, and you trust him to mean it.

You take him into your mouth for what you know is the final time. You’re certain he won’t last long, droopy and moaning and twitching, hissing every time your tongue runs on him. You bob with skill and precision still. He tugs at your hair, both hands in now, trembling in the mess of it. He never pushes, or fucks his hips up; trusts you to undo him yourself.

He swears and curses and whimpers, head falling down and back, vacillating between the sky and your red, puffy face. The sink is heard from faraway, but you don’t think he can even hear it.

“I'm dreaming,” he whispers to himself, sounding wild. “I’m gonna wake up. I’m gonna be— I’m gonna—” Matty cries, slapping a hand over his mouth, and comes down your throat. He shakes, loud moans hidden in his palm, eyes shut and forehead wrinkled.

He lets go of your hair with a fucked-out sigh, panting. His eyes never leave you, disbelief written all over it. You pull him out of your throat, and smile at him.

You’re about to swallow when he touches your arm, unsure of where he’s allowed to now. “Wait, can you—” He grows embarrassed, blushing. “Can you open your mouth?”

You part your lips, showing off his white cum still sitting on your tongue. He whimpers at the sight, fingers digging into your arm. His breathing turns irregular, cheeks reddening, eyes darkening. He’s so strange.

Still, you stick your tongue out, putting his load in evidence, making a spectacle of it. He looks tortured, enthralled.

You stay long enough that you feel it run down, long white rope hanging from your tongue, then dropping on your breast.

“Fuck,” Matty whispers to himself. Seemingly without thinking, he runs his thumb on your breast, catching his cum and sucking it between his lips.

You smile, slurping the cum back into your mouth, and swallowing it. You flash your red tongue at him. “All clean.”

“Thank you,” Matty says. “I— I’m not sure why you did that, but— I, you know, appreciate it.” He’s so polite. You’d laugh if he wouldn’t snap back into that little head box of his.

“I’m very thankful for all those lessons,” you wink.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Matty’s finger rubs the skin of your arm, that strangely tough callus, and it has you leaning into his touch. “Though, this has been my favorite lesson.”

“God, I couldn’t even get a word out.”

“Hence why.”

Matty snorts and he offers you a hand. You grab it to manœuvre out from under the desk. You push your sweaty hair out of your face, then wipe the leftover stickiness from your breasts.

Matty, of course, follows the movement to your tits. He swallows. “Do you, um,” he pushes his glasses up. “Do you want, like, something back?”

You arch an eyebrow, incapable of holding a small giggle this time. “Do you know how?”

He stares into your eyes. “I could try.”

And, again, there’s just something about his eagerness, his willingness, his open devotion, that has you saying, “Yeah, I guess you could try.”

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, looking left and right into the hallway, before quietly shutting it. You turn around to a displeased Matty. “Oh, so you get to have it closed?”

“‘S more fun when you’re struggling,” you shrug, devilish. You run to the bed, falling on the pillows, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Come here, pretty boy.” He practically trips out of his chair to find you. He’s three steps in when you stop him. “Take your clothes off.”

He grows shy under your gaze. Staying in place, fingers shaking, he starts to unbutton his plaid shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and his baggy jeans until he stands there in his boxers. He’s as scrawny as you imagined him to be. You smile.

Matty crosses his arms. “Can I see you, too?” He whispers.

You shimmy your shorts off your legs and throw it beyond the bed. Matty’s stare stutters on your pink thong, wet patch where your desire pooled.

You draw a hand towards him and he takes it, falling over you on the bed. He doesn’t waste time, giving you a sloppy kiss before mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, your tits. He laps at them first and you wonder if he’s trying to get the last lingering taste of his cum. He catches a nipple next and sucks it.

Gaspy moans leave your lips. You part your legs instinctively and he buries between them, already hardening. His cock hits your thigh and he sucks and pinches and plays until you start thinking he might really be able to try.

Your hands descend down his back, freckled under your nails. You grip his small waist, pushing at his hip, the hem of his boxers. Matty understands, leaving you long enough to kick them off. He pants in front of you, leaning back already, wet, swollen mouth parted.

Matty lays over you again and his hard cock presses into your need. You scratch your nails up his back and he jerks, bucking into you. A moan leaves both your mouths. He tries again, artless, just off your clit.

“Oh,” he whispers, mostly to himself. He does it again, building and building heat inside of you, yet never relieving.

You huff. You sneak a hand between your bodies, moving your thong aside until he slips under it.

Another boy would have taken the opportunity, would have buried inside before you even had time to nod, but Matty doesn’t even think of it.

He humps your wet cunt, tucked tight under your underwear, hem pressing his length. Matty moans every time, quickening, desperate. He tilts his hand to better see as his cock bulges the cloth, a wet patch forming where his precum stains.

“Fuck.”

And it’s better; he’s faster, and firmer, and mostly there. He follows your little puffs of shameful breaths, staying where they transform into slack moans. Pleasure starts waking up inside your belly, sickly warm.

But you’ve had boys hump at you before, had them bucking between your legs. You know it’s not what will get you off. You need your mind stimulated, to be so thoroughly hot and desperate you finally let yourself go.

You pinch the nape of his neck, making him look at you. A slack, messy smirk lays on your lips. You tease, “Have you ever thought of me during our tutoring sessions?”

Matty’s hips stutter. He looks away. “Like…”

“Yeah, like, on my knees.”

Matty blushes. “Well, yeah.”

You grin, too pleased. A deadly smile, hunting. “When?”

“I don’t know…” He mutters. You scowl to yourself, and maybe he senses that, because his chin grazes your shoulder and he admits shamefully, “When you ate that popsicle. And you licked and you slurped and you sucked and, just— I’m a guy. I had visions.”

“I had visions.” You imitate, mocking. You tsk, “You're such a nerd.” You roll your hips back against him and a whimper buries in the skin of your shoulder. “Was it how you imagined?”

“Better.” He nods fervently. “So much fucking better. I actually died, I think. Still unsure whether I’m dead or not.” Pride and power makes your head loose, makes pleasure ripple through your flesh.

You claw at his skin, warning dangerously, “Tell anyone and you will be.” All it does is make him moan, bucking faster against you. Your toes curl. You breathe in his ear, “Tell me more.”

“I, uh— Shit.” The tip of his cock burrows in your underwear as he slides, wet and slick from you. He shivers over you. “I’d think about— bending you over the desk.”

Your smile ghosts your face, grazing his soft, fresh cheek. “Really?”

“Just, you know, when you wouldn’t listen. And you’d pop that chewing gum, and you’d ignore me, and you’d be mean.”

You smirk, clicking your tongue. “So you wanted to, what, toughen me up? Take your revenge?”

His cheeks redden. “No.” His lips brush your shoulders, and he kisses, opposite. “I don’t know. I wanted you to pay attention.” He licks your neck. “I wanted to make you scream.” Mouths at your jaw. “I wanted to fuck you. Or for you to fuck me— I wanted you.”

You can’t believe you’re now the one blushing. You pant, glad he’s buried in your throat, that he can’t see. A moan slips from you as he nips gently at your skin. Your eyes roll in your skull.

“You like when I’m mean to you?” You tease meanly, out of breath. You scratch his back, burying your hand in his hair, and tugging until he looks you in the eyes. “Gets you all bothered?”

Matty shivers, whining, “Fuck, please—”

You push him onto his back, rolling over. Two hands press into his chest, and you might very well concave his ribcage. You stare him down, divine. “You wanted me to fuck you?”

His messy, unbrushed hair falls around his head like a halo. He’s sweet enough to make your head spin. He watches you openly behind the glass of his specs, breathing, “Yes.”

You trail your fingernails on his hard cock, down to his base. “And now?”

Devoting, “Yes.”

A rush of thrill fills you. You kneel up, shimmying your underwear off. Matty gasps at the sight, raking a hungry gaze up and down your body. He holds the sheets of your bed with white-knuckled fingers.

You waste no time, rocking your cunt against his tip once, twice, before slowly lowering yourself on him. You inhale at the stretch. Matty’s eyes shut, whining. “Look at me,” you order, and he listens.

His eyes flash open. He blinks at you as you bottom out. His head rolls, shaking. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You go to move up, but he holds your hip down. He takes deep breaths. “Can we— Just, this is—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over the regular beating of your heart. He thumbs your nipple while he’s there, breathing in sync with your pulse. You slowly roll your hips on him.

Matty moans, gripping the flesh of your thigh. You let him adjust to the feel of it, rocking softly, dragging your clit on his pelvis. You bite your lip raw as pleasure blooms inside of you. Your thighs ache to go faster, harder, but you maintain the delicate pace for him. Just that has him shaking under you, and you once again grip his hand over your heart to ground him.

“Sorry,” he says with an embarrassed laugh. “Fuck,” is immediately added when you circle your hips, his eyes rolling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you order. “What are the other reactions?” You say, attempting to drag him out of his anxiety-filled head. He frowns at you. “Of enzymes.”

His lips part. “I didn’t know you knew that term.”

You roll your eyes, then your hips, euphoria fizzling under your skin. “I listen to you.” His unconvinced look betrays him. “Sometimes.”

“They’re, um— Shit. They come together to create one— fuck, one larger molecule or—” You finally rock faster, angling your hips to have him bury inside you right where you need him. You moan, chest rising and falling quickly. Your legs grow desperate; you chase that sickly pleasure.

“Yeah?” You encourage him on, seeing his own pleasure resonate in his face. He bites his lip, pawing uselessly at your thigh. “Or?” You’re out of breath.

“Or swap pieces,” he finally finishes between two moans. Chuckles, “Actually, pretty much all biological reactions you can think of probably—” Your hips fall harsher on him and he loses his train of thought, overwhelmed. You smile, setting a wild pace, completely unfair.

“Probably what?” You say, teasing, “I’m always thinking about biological reactions.”

“Don’t tease,” he pouts, and you slow down your thrusts just to spite him. He whines, pressing his short fingernails into the skin of your thigh.

“Come on.” You make him look you in the eyes, mocking, “Educate me.”

“They all have enzymes,” Matty finally finishes. You reward him by reaching down and pinching his nipple. He whimpers, cursing your name. “Why have you suddenly decided to be a good student?”

“‘Cause you’re adorable when you’re struggling to find words,” you answer honestly. You hold your weight up on the hand pressed into his chest, angling your hips until your clit rubs and rubs his pelvis. Your eyes roll, fucking him quicker. “Fuck. I love when I can make you all stupid for me.” The power in changing up his DNA composition, making a smart boy incapable of remembering all the jargon you yourself don’t know, is addictive. Undoing him block by block until he’s putty in your hands. Matty just moans, not arguing.

Sweat pearls his forehead. The white sheets make him angelic. He breathes your name, fluttering his eyelashes at you. “Can I try on top?” Maybe it’s because he looks so reverent, so innocent, that you nod.

Matty doesn’t push you and roll you over, instead staying there, as though waiting for it to just magically happen. You giggle to yourself, unmounting him and falling back on the mattress, legs parted. He swallows thickly, laying over you.

His glasses fall down his nose and you laugh, grabbing them and carefully placing them on your nightstand. He blinks, adjusting to the blurry sight.

His hand shakes as he grabs himself and lines up. He misses once, twice, until you rest a soothing hand on his and guide him. Matty moans in your hair as he slides in. He stays in your wet heat for a second, catching his breath, before he thrusts.

And it’s bad, of course. He doesn’t have any rhythm, bucking blindly inside of you. It’s a strange pace, irregular and powerless. He certainly can’t find any type of mindnumbing spot. Pleasure simmers lowly in your belly, heat turned off almost to nothing if it weren’t for the pretty moans that bury straight in your ear.

You grab his hip, making Matty look at you. “Start slow,” you instruct, guiding him. He follows the movements of your hand, rocking back and forth, slow but regular. “There,” you nod, arching your back. “Just, tilt—” He repositions himself, eager to learn, and you shudder. You call his name, syrupy with moans.

He’s a fast learner, following diligently the guidings of your gripping hand. He fucks into you slowly, but surely. Your toes curl. Pleasure wakes up again, coiling in your belly. “Like this?” He breathes. You nod, encouraging him on.

“It’s like I’m tutoring you,” you remark, chuckling to yourself. Matty snorts. “I like being the smart one for once.”

Matty frowns. “You’re always smart.” He says it without thinking, because he means it. Something wet chokes your throat, tugs at your lips. “You just don’t listen.”

“Would you like me to?” You say, tone taunting. A self-destroying instinct, telling you to hurt, to ruin. “Make me your little pet? Be all obedient? Have me sucking your cock while you tell me all about biology?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Do you want me to do that?” All your bullets don’t land. He’s unconcerned on what he wants. You huff.

Instead of reckoning, you order, “Faster, now.” Matty nods against your cheek. He obeys, thrusting quicker. You let go of his hip, climbing up his back just to rake your nails down it. His hips snap faster, harsher, endeavored. You grin, licking his jaw, kissing the bone.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, catching your lips and kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him there as he ruts between your legs. You swallow all the sounds he makes, kill the swears you think of saying. Euphoria washes you.

He leaves your lips just to smack wet kisses over your face, again and again. On your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin. He mouths down your throat, starts sucking and nipping at the side. You bury a hand into his hair, pushing him further down. “Not the neck,” you explain, breathy.

Matty finds the side of your tits and he buries there, sucking at your skin. You arch into his mouth, pleasure rushing up your side at the pinpricks of pain. He moans against you, bucking faster. Your mind spins and spins. “Matty.” Again, he speeds up, harsh and wild. “Fucking hell, Matty.”

You tug at his hair and he releases you, lips wet and swollen. He pants over you, eyes dazed with pleasure. A new wave of heat strikes you just from the sight of him, unmade and wild. You sneak a hand between your bodies. You find your clit easily, rubbing.

Matty’s head drops to watch you. He whines, seeing where he disappears inside of you, over and over, where your pink nails swipe at you.

He leans his weight on one arm, joining his own hand with yours. You’re surprised at the act, at the willingness of involving himself in the complicated business of your pleasure. Your fingers stop, resting up on your stomach.

He paws blindly at your cunt, just a little off where you need him. You grip his wrist, angling him at the right place, gently circling and swiping with his finger. The callus presses on your clit and it’s a delicious sensation. You roll your eyes, crying out, then slapping your palm over your mouth. Matty grins proudly, continuing to rub at you.

“This is good, right?” He whispers, pretty eyes all vulnerable on you.

You nod frantically. “Yes. It’s good.” You melt on the sheets, parting your legs further. “It’s really good.” His cheeks flush at the compliment. You wrap your hand around his throat, resting there with silent ownership. “Did you ever think it’d be me?”

Matty chokes on a laugh and a moan. “No. I never thought you’d ever even give me a look.”

You hum, pleased with the answer. He realizes it’s a privilege. You grin, pressing your fingers on the sides of his neck. His hips stutter, then snap even faster, a broken cry leaving him. His lips part in quiet ecstasy. His eyes shut, rapid movement behind his eyelids.

You grin at him. “Say thank you, pretty boy.”

You release him, at least giving him a chance. He falls into your shoulder, taking deep inhales, shaking. “Thank you,” he says, mumbly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You rake through his hair, soothing. “Aw, fuck, I’m gonna—” He twitches inside of you.

“Not inside!” You shout. Matty gasps, thrusting out of you. He cries as he comes on your navel and cunt. He catches his breath, blinking himself back to this reality, still shaking.

“Sorry,” he says, shortwinded. A pang of disappointment hits you. It’s not like you’ve ever come with someone else before, but it had felt really close this time.

At least Matty tried.

Matty watches his cum painted over your skin, catching your piercing, mixing with the slick of your cunt. He moans to himself, then bends down between your thighs.

You rest on your elbows, frowning. “What—” He licks a stripe over your cunt, tasting both your juices. Euphoria strikes through you. Your back hits the mattress as you fall back, legs shaking. “Matty.” He hums, faraway, licking and licking to clean you all up. You bury a hand in his hair, grounding him in place.

He finds your clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue, circling then sucking it. You jolt on the bed, biting back a scream. You frown to yourself, tugging on his hair, fire boiling inside your stomach. What the fuck.

He laps at you, moaning every time your nails scratch his scalp, the sound vibrating against you. A hand wraps around your thigh, keeping you open for him. He devours you eagerly, hungrily, until you’re a mess melting into his mouth.

“God, Matty,” you cry. You have to actually hold back another one with a slap of your hand, shocked at yourself as you scream into your palm.

Matty stops, breathing harshly, and you throw a glance down in question. He climbs up your stomach, lapping at your skin, cleaning the last of his cum. You whimper at the dirty sight, desire drumming down your limbs.

He throws you a hot look. Tongue out, full of white cum. He goes back between your legs and buries it in your cunt, fucking it in. You jump, cursing to the ceiling. Matty laughs, greedily tasting you.

You roll your hips into his face, hitting the tip of his nose on your clit. Every strike has ecstasy resonating in your bones. You feel light on your bones.

His lips wrap around your clit. He sucks, grazing a tongue, swiping and circling like you showed him. You recognize the same pattern, recognize the rhythm. Of course he’s a fast learner.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, choked by your hand. You raise your hips into his mouth, silently begging. Your legs shake, desperate. Pressure pushes at your belly. Your eyes roll. “Don’t stop.”

He mumbles something in your cunt, probably a promise or a praise, dutifully not stopping. He laps and eats and fucks until your brain melts into your skull, dripping down your spine.

“Oh, fuck, I’m—” Your head shakes fervently. “Just stay— Shit, Matty, just— I—” The pressure snaps and you come on his readied tongue, screaming. Hot white flashes in your vision. Relief washes you, dipping to every crevices, relaxing you. He moans against your cunt.

Matty continues to lick you, mission-bound, until your lungs are on fire and you physically push him away. He smiles up at you, chin sticky and wet and red. He wipes it, kneeling.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” You say, shortwinded, shocked to your bones. You stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

It’s the first time someone other than your knowing hand made you come. And it’s fucking Matty Healy. You blink at him.

“What?” He laughs, falling beside you on the bed.

You gesture vaguely downwards. “That.”

“Oh,” he blushes. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I researched it once.”

“You— Oh, my God.” You stare at the ceiling in disbelief. “Oh, my God. You’re such a nerd.”

Matty grins, cheekily proud. He gently grazes the bruise he left on your breast, the splotch of red that will darken, be a leftover trace of him.

“Thanks,” he says simply.

“You’re welcome.” You shift your legs, feeling the wetness still between them. “Thanks to you too, I guess.” He grins, hiding in the white pillows.

He gives you a look. “Will you listen when I tutor you now?”

You smirk mischievously. “Maybe if you have my fingers in your mouth.”

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide. “Will you— Will this happen again?”

You make a noncommittal shrug, though a more definite answer hums in your heart. “Maybe if you’re really good.” You smile to yourself. “Or really boring, and I need to shut you up.”

“You can shut me up any day.”

“I know.” You linger in that moment for just a second more, eyes locked together, smiles tickling your lips. Then you sit up, reaching for your underwear. “Session’s almost done.”

Matty nods, lips thin. “Right.” He pats the nightstand for his glasses.

You dress yourselves, wiping away sweat and cum, brushing wild strands. You give an awkward goodbye, incertain, and Matty slips from the room. You don’t follow him to the door. You never do.

Downstairs, you hear your parents thank him and give him a crisp 50 dollar bill. You giggle to yourself and fall on the bed, bone-deep exhausted.

#happy Day after me show day<33 #tutor!au #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #writing #imagine

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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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sugar-coat-it · 12 days

Text

Body piercer! Matty part three

Part 1, Part 2

I missed writing for this man so much my god he is my everything. If you haven’t read the other parts, go ahead and do that first for context perhaps!

Fem! Reader

Contains: Mutual pining, cutie newly established relationship, mention of marijuana, proud concert bf Matty, him being protective of girlie at the show, exhibitionism (light petting in the crowd), rough quickie (unprotected), public sex (bathroom), fingering and fucking on the counter, Matty puts his hand over her mouth, mirror sex, choking (with jewelry)

WC: ~6.3k

—-------------------------------------

PART THREE- Your new boyfriend takes you to a punk show, ending with a quickie in the venue bathroom

—-------------------------------------

Both you and Matty knew in your hearts that this wasn’t just a fling. Flings didn’t stay up for endless hours on the phone, knowing damn well that you both had work the next morning. Flings also didn’t think about each other for every waking minute, always sending each other sentimental messages when things reminded them of each other. And, they certainly don’t touch you the way Matty touches you: like he’s like he’s been starved of you his entire life. He’d frankly been losing his mind, constantly daydreaming at work as he stared at the Polaroid of the two of you he kept at the front desk, knowing he couldn’t stand not calling you his girlfriend much longer. Not after the past couple of weeks you’d been seeing each other had been some of the best of his life. He was so antsy over the fact that he couldn’t actually call you his that it was eating him alive, where else would he ever find someone as perfect for him as you? His work friends teased him endlessly for being so head over his platform boot heels, telling him how he needed to lock you down as soon as possible. He endearingly calls you his “favorite client”, but you’ve quickly become his favorite everything (“No. You don’t even get it, mate,” he’d said, rambling on to some poor guy whose ears he was piercing, “she's like… the light of my life, really”). But, considering that you couldn’t close your eyes without picturing his pretty brown irises staring back at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges with all his twinkling, wild mirth, you weren’t faring much better.

Just as you’d hoped from that first night together, his sleepy eyes were in fact now a constant in your life. He asked you to be his girlfriend after taking you back to the same cafe where you’d had your blind date. Needless to say, it was an enthusiastic yes on your part, and everything has been so much brighter since, you can hardly imagine your life without all of his ruckus. Your days with him are long and lazy, and the nights are even longer, often spent wrapped up in his sheets or giggling while curled up on his couch after a smoke session.

You’ve learned a lot about Matty in the time you’ve been together. Like his tendency to leave things in your flat, his ungodly marijuana tolerance levels, and his love for his puppy Mayhem. You’ve also found that he takes his music very seriously. Listening to music is like a ritual to him, one that he refuses to partake in with “trashy” music. You call it snobbery, he calls it having good taste, and lately, he’s been trying to share that taste with you. He’s almost been subtly brainwashing you into getting into his bands, playing their songs in his car, burning some of their tracks on his CD mixtapes for you (always scrawled with cute Sharpie doodles and bad handwriting), humming the melodies of his favorite songs to you while cuddling. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working, you’ve found yourself adding his music to your playlists, combining your styles much like how the mohawked man has slowly rooted his way into every corner of your life.

So of course, words couldn’t describe how thrilled he was when you agreed to see one of his favorite bands play at a punk rock show. He’d approached you with the idea tentatively, explaining that it was fine if you didn’t want to go, he’d just take one of his mates from work if so. The way his face lit up when you said yes, your heart could have burst as you watched his eyes sparkle with pure unbridled joy. Then, he leaned in and kissed every inch of your face, ignoring your giggles and protests of him tickling you while he declared how much you were going to love it.

When the day of the show arrived, you kept your outfit simple: baggy, ripped jeans, a white tank top, a band hoodie, and a studded belt you recovered from the depths of your closet, figuring you’d at least blend in with the grungier crowd that way. You put on one last thing to complete the look, hooking Matty’s chunky, silver chain (that of course, he’d left on your dresser) around your neck. You smile to yourself as you tuck it under your clothes, liking the feel of having him close to your heart like this. When did you become such a sap?

Meanwhile, Matty was pacing around your flat, making sure he had everything he needed and that you’d get there in time for doors. His reasoning for being punctual was much less about him than it was for you. He wanted you to fully experience being close to the stage because he knows how much you like to take pictures at shows, your constantly full phone storage being a telltale sign of that. He was going full-on concert boyfriend mode, also keeping your lipstick and your wallet in his little hip pouch so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying anything but your phone. He’d clearly thought this through quite a lot, he’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

A sudden kiss to his cheek quiets the hum of his overactive mind when you approach him, his furrowed brows sloping to a soft look of adoration as he insists on you standing still so he can take a good look at your outfit. He holds his fingers up in front of him in the shape of a square, squinting one eye closed like he’s framing you for a memory. Sure, the relationship was shiny and new, but something about the way he looked at you told you this wasn’t going to dull with time’s cruel hands, not any time soon at least.

“Ohh, yeah. Very punk rock, baby,” he smiles slyly, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

“Hardly! I don’t exactly have the wardrobe for this.”

“Shh, nonsense. You’re like a regular Joan Jett, babe. But hotter.”

“But hotter? Wow,” you laugh, now glancing down at the jewelry adorning his hands and wrists, “I like your bracelet.”

Matty cringes, sucking a breath through his teeth while looking up towards the ceiling. He recalls just how he’d obtained said bracelet as a teenager with something to prove. He was never a bad kid, just a highly restless one who got bored too easily. Besides, he never got in any real trouble since his parents would have strung him up by his toes otherwise.

“Erm, thanks. I think I nicked it when I was a teen.”

“You were a delinquent!?” you exclaim, causing Matty’s loud laughter to ring through the apartment.

“That’s a strong term, innit? Let’s call it… misguided… and stupid. Now c’mon, out the door, miss.”

You shake your head playfully as he shoos you out of the flat, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend getting into all sorts of mischief. You can almost perfectly picture his toothy, boyish grin as he runs around the streets of his hometown with his mates by his side, freckle-faced and carefree, his curls in an unruly mop on his head. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in his younger, wilder days. An odd part of you hopes he still would have liked you.

“Why do you still have it?” you ask as you start your walk to the train together. “What can I say? I’m unbelievably sentimental.”

The train ride is quiet, you share his wireless earbuds and listen to music side by side. The deal was that the queue of songs switched back and forth, you got to play one song, then him. He leans his head against your shoulder, the muss of hair atop the shaved sides of his head grazing your neck. He almost falls asleep as you start to scratch the top of his head. But, inevitably, all of his energy comes rushing back to him when the train comes to a halt. Immediately, he’s grabbing your hand to bound down the street to the venue, shouting about how good of a spot you’re going to get.

—---------------------------------------------

Once inside, at a glance, you don’t exactly fit in here. A sort of insecurity festers in you as you eye some of the girls dressed in spikes and leather, they looked like they belonged here, and so did your boyfriend. But, you try to shake it off nonetheless, even if you didn’t feel nearly as cool as you wanted to. This place was like the high council of people who exclusively wear clothes with tears in them.

Matty stands close behind you as you pack in with the rest of the grungy-looking crowd. His hands are on your hips as he glances around, making sure that you have enough space to stand comfortably. He knows how these shows can get, and he’s made it his personal mission to make sure no one ruins the experience for you. He shoots a look at any guy who tries to stand too close to you, the coldness of his stare sending them inching away from your personal space with cowardice. In an instant, the mean look is wiped off his face as he glances down at you, seeing how happy you seem to be there with him. He leans down, the cool metal of his chain grazing your neck as he speaks near your ear, just loud enough so you can hear him over the buzz of chatter throughout the venue.

“Can you see alright?” he asks, giving your hips a little squeeze.

You nod with a smile, having a fairly clear view of the stage. You’re only about three rows back thanks to Matty’s punctuality. You turn your head, grasping the necklace around his neck gently before pulling him down further so you can kiss his cheek. A grin breaks out on your boyfriend’s face, he can’t help but chuckle at your little move, he loves it when you get bold with him. His lips brush against your ear as he murmurs “little minx” before standing back up to his full height.

Matty talks over the pre-show music as he tells you a bit of background about the bands playing tonight, prattling on about who plays what and what makes them so cool. You listen to him with an enamored look plastered on your face, nodding along even when you have no clue what he’s talking about, but what else is new? It only makes you adore him more with every detail rattled off from the depths of his mind.

“... and this one here I don’t know shit about, to be honest. I reckon they’re probably fine though,” he shrugs, showing you the lineup on his phone.

You squint at the screen, tapping your nail against one of the names you recognize because of him. You blink up at him prettily, knowing he’s going to get a kick out of what you say next.

“This is the one with the guy who plays the drums with two pedals, right?” you recall, tilting your head at him, knowing damn well that you’re laying it on thick.

“Yes!! Yes, exactly,” he beams, his eyes instantly lighting up before he presses an enthusiastic kiss to your temple, “That’s my fuckin’ girl. The coolest girlfriend.”

Soon, the show begins, and Matty lets out an excited whoop as the first band makes their entrance, the one he’d bought the tickets for in the first place. He lets go of your hips, taking a small step back to give you the room to dance if you want to. He’s so considerate of you, it makes a glowing sort of warmth swell in your chest. You glance back at him and he gives you two thumbs up, his face scrunching up with a grin that’s so earnestly Matty, you have to resist the urge to just grab him and kiss him till your lips are raw right in the middle of the crowd. Not to mention how fucking good he looks tonight, his tank top allowing his tattooed arms to be on full display, and it should be illegal how tightly those black leather pants cling to his legs.

Your attention turns back to the stage as the first notes ring through the small venue, grungy guitar chords echoing off of the walls. Nothing gives you the same feeling as live music does, the pure thrill it makes rush through you is unmatched (sorry, Matty). The music is harsh, it grates on your ears, but in the best way possible. It’s invigorating, fucking electrifying, it’s thrumming in the hollow of your chest. You feel alive. Matty leans over to see it all happen from just a step away, watching the stage lights reflect in your eyes. He hadn’t looked at the band once, this was far more mesmerizing than anything that could be happening up there. You’ve completely captured his attention, and when you start bobbing your head to the beat and singing along to the chorus, Matty almost drops to one knee right then and there. He’s already mentally noted that this song will in fact be played at your wedding reception.

As the set goes on, his eyes stay on you for the majority of the time, he’s just so taken by watching you have this much fun hearing his music, which is now your music too. He’s simply beaming with pride. Every time you look back at him with that thrilled look on your face while you’re moving to the rhythm only solidifies to him that you’re his absolute dream girl. And of course, he’s having the time of his life too. Matty mouthes along to all of the words, nodding his head in a way that makes his quaffed mohawk bounce with his movements. And, shit, it’s hot in the crowd, you can feel the heat radiating off of the bodies moving around you. The hoodie you brought may have been an oversight, you can practically feel your mascara melting off of your lashes.

The show goes on, and when the moshing in the middle of the crowd gets increasingly rowdy, one man gets shoved and sent hurtling past the bodies between you and the mosh pit. You quickly hold your hands out to brace for the impact, knowing this can’t end well as you prepare to meet your leather-jacketed doom. The man is visibly very intoxicated and he would have stumbled straight into your body from the momentum if Matty’s hands hadn’t shot out to block him, catching him by his shoulders.

“Oi! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, fuck’s sake!” Matty spits, sending him back toward the pit with a light push.

Now, had Matty done his fair share of moshing and getting absolutely catapulted into other people at breakneck velocity? Yes. It’s not even entirely the guy’s fault that he almost crashed into you, he was pretty drunk and didn’t have his wits or his balance about him, but in Matty’s mind, he might as well have tried to tackle you to the ground WWE style.

“I could have caught him!” you argue over the music, laughing at the bitter look on your boyfriend's face.

Matty raises an eyebrow at you and shakes his head with an amused smile, but doesn’t argue. Maybe you could have, but he wasn’t about to let some sloshed idiot break his girlfriend's back because that’s his job, dammit.

The band’s set is finished with a bang, the final chords echoing in your ears as you try to catch your breath from moving almost nonstop, your heart thundering against your ribs. You turn around to face Matty with a giant grin plastered on your face, letting out a breathless, excited laugh. He just chuckles, eyeing the strands of hair sticking to your face from the sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup rimming your wide eyes. He’s not in much better shape, his tank top is clinging to his body like a second skin. By this point, your hoodie feels like it has its own climate, and you’re dying to peel it off.

“Fun?” he asks, as you start to lift the fabric over your head.

“Oh my god, yeah,” you breathe, your voice muffled by the hoodie.

“I-”

His next words die in his throat as his eyes immediately snap to your chest, his breath catching as he spots the clear outline of your nipple piercings through your drenched, white tank top and- was that one of his chains around your neck? He feels a stir in his tight leather pants as his mouth slightly drops, he can’t remember ever being so instantly and completely turned on. Heat ripples through his body, climbing up to his face as he shamelessly stares at your tits. Not only were you showing off his skillful work, but your pretty neck was adorned with the chain he’d forgotten all about at your place. It might even look better on you than it does on him.

You’re tying your hoodie around your waist when you catch the look on his face, your brows knitting together with confusion till you follow his gaze and find your piercings proudly displayed through your shirt. As the realization dawns on you, you look up at your boyfriend with a coy smile. Matty shudders, lust crowding his mind as he struggles to come up with a coherent thought, one that isn’t wildly pornographic. He can actually feel his hands tense with the urge to grasp, to lay claim to you with his fingertips. You simply look up at him through your lashes, watching him short-circuit right before your eyes.

Before he has the chance to say or do anything, the next band comes onto the stage, the crowd roaring to life a second time. You give him a knowing look before turning back around to face the direction of the music. Matty swallows hard, raking a hand through his mohawk like he’s grappling with demons… and losing.

The music is nothing more than a pulsing beat in his skull, his attention is fully on the back of your head. He begins to inch forward to you, his hands finding a home on your hips while you vibe to the beat. He brings your hips back against him, feeling your movements stutter as the protrusion in his trousers presses into your ass as if to say “Feel what you did to me?”. You get the message loud and clear, draping your weight against him, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you both rock to the beat of the drums, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. Matty’s hands begin to wander, mapping over the damp fabric of your tank top, up your stomach, over your ribs till- oh. You gasp, the stage lights strobing under your closed eyes as he squeezes your tits through your top. Matty can distinctly feel the barbells through the thin fabric, it drives him fucking wild. Your lips part as you melt into him like honey, your skin feels like it’s on fire as the music blares through the venue. Your stomach swoops when he dares to flick the piercings with his fingertips, danger humming in your veins as he gets bolder, as if you’re not surrounded by a sea of people. Your eyes snap open, you quickly glance around to find that everyone’s far too enthralled with the show to notice, not that Matty would give a shit if they did. No one can hear the way you whimper when he pinches your nipples. You stare down at the large hands that possessively grope your breasts, feeling a throb resound between your thighs.

“Matty, you said this was the band you don’t know, right?” you call to him, your voice uneven and unnaturally high-pitched.

His heavily lidded eyes look almost black with the way they darken as he reads between the lines. Even if it was one of the bands he liked, he’s pretty sure absolutely nothing could stop him from doing what comes next, not when his dick is this hard, and you’ve teased him this salaciously. Wordlessly, Matty lets go of your chest and grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd towards the exit. He moves fast, the urgency in his strides and on his face likely making people move out of the way quicker. You’d feel concerned about losing your spot up front if your mind wasn’t so scrambled with need, your legs rushing to keep up with your lanky boyfriend.

Your head is spinning as he swiftly leads you into the nearest gender-neutral bathroom. Matty’s hands are on you the moment he closes and locks the door, he’s all over you in every sense of the term. You breathe in the musk of his sweat between the melding of your lips. The kiss is messy, it’s searingly hot as he desperately licks into your mouth, his fingertips digging into your hip bones. He backs you up blindly until your hips meet the bathroom counter, his hands reaching to undo the hoodie tied around your waist and toss it aside without breaking the kiss once. You didn’t think you could get much hotter than you were in the crowd, but now you’re burning up from the inside with white-hot desire.

Matty hastily turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, tagged with graffiti and littered with lipstick prints at the border. It was clear that the space was well-loved, but clean. A culmination of every aspiring artist and sticker enthusiast in the area, almost no spot on the wall was left untouched. Your eyes are drawn away from the decor as Matty grasps your jaw from behind you, turning your head to make you meet the almost feral look in his eyes through the mirror. He holds you that way as he leans down to press dire, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his other hand snaking down your front to unbutton your pants. The feeling of his tongue stud soothing over faded love bites only makes you weaker in the knees. Matty fumbles with the zipper of your jeans for a moment before he shoves the clothing down your legs, the fabric pooling around your ankles. It’s clear that he’s not wasting time with his usual delicate, worshiping caresses of your thighs while he undresses you, this is an electrified frenzy.

“No bra, baby? Is that how you want to play?” he mutters, his lips grazing the column of your neck teasingly.

“I-I didn’t-” you begin to protest, only to be cut off by your own moan as he gives a rough pinch to your nipple through your top.

Matty follows the curve of your midsection with his hand, intense honey-colored eyes locked on you through your reflection, the image swirled at the edges with colorful spray paint. A shudder reverberates through your body as his fingers venture lower, dipping below the waistband of your soaked panties. Your body instinctually arches backward against his, mewling when his calloused fingertips brush against your swollen clit. It’s like he can light up every one of your senses with just a graze, your breath getting shallower by the second. You feel his stiff cock twitch in his trousers as you press yourself impossibly closer to him, every inch of his glowing skin flush against your back. Matty continues his loving assault on your neck as his thick digits gather the arousal pooling between your thighs. Your dazed vision trails downward as you stare at his hand shoved inside your panties from behind you, watching the fabric shift with every movement of his skilled hand. You whine as he circles your slit before beginning to sink his slicked fingers into you, your eyes squeezing shut as the dizzying pleasure thrums in your veins.

“Shhh. You know how much I love your pretty noises, baby, but be good, okay? Can you do that? Don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to, do you?” he murmurs, dragging his plush bottom lip against your ear lobe.

You nod wordlessly, afraid that if you open your mouth, noise will overflow from you uncontrollably, his fingers being knuckle-deep in you is just too damn good. If you don’t control yourself, anyone outside could hear you, could know how good your boyfriend is filling you with his fingers, satisfying you to your very core. The thought of it alone makes your heart hammer in your chest harder. You don’t want them to know… because that would be wrong, it would be undignified… it’d be… kind of hot.

His digits stretch you open as he begins to diligently pump them in and out of you, curling them towards the spot that he knows will make you see stars. He works quickly, his pace is almost feverish from his determination to make you fall to pieces as efficiently as he can. Matty’s other hand is groping your breast, squeezing the fullness of it, his rings pressing into your flesh through your thin tank top. You bite down on your lip hard enough that you think you might tear the flesh open, desperately trying to keep your whimpers quiet. Matty’s gaze on you is cautionary, his eyebrows slightly raised like he’s testing you, seeing just how much you can take.

The last of your defenses come crumbling down as the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, the flood of sensations making a moan burst from your throat as he begins to draw tight circles on the bundle of nerves. In an instant, Matty’s hand is off of your chest and is clasped over your mouth, muffling any noise. Fuck.

“I mean it. Pipe down, or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, smirking at you as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers.

“No- no, please don’t stop,” you babble against his palm like the idea of it was simply unbearable.

Matty’s hand stays firmly over your mouth as he withdraws his fingers from inside you, ignoring the way you squirm in protest, whining uselessly. He tugs your ruined panties down your legs, letting them join your pants in a heap around your ankles. It’s almost embarrassing how you can hardly contain your desire, but he likes it that way, knowing how needy you are.

“Matty, please, fuck, need it,” you mumble, and he can see the way your desire is clawing at you from the inside just from a glance.

“Be patient for me, my love,” he smiles, hurriedly pulling himself out of his uncomfortably skin-tight pants with his free hand, “You’ll get what you want. Being stuffed full with my cock, hm?”

You whimper as Matty nudges your legs further apart with his foot, leaning you forward over the counter onto your elbows. He whistles lowly at the sight of you, his eyes following down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and to your dripping pussy. You tremble slightly as he reaches between your legs, collecting your honey on his fingers before spreading it over his shaft, slicking himself with your arousal. A whine vibrates against the palm Matty holds over your mouth as you swing your hips in a desperate attempt to entice him. He just chuckles darkly, keeping his hand securely in place as starts to guide his cock through your folds, the head kissing your aching clit as he rubs it back and forth.

Matty doesn’t waste a second longer, you can hardly process it before he’s pushing inside of you, gasping as he fills you inch by inch. His fingertips press into the side of your face as he tightens his hold on your mouth to muffle your mewls, watching as your lashes flutter, your face contorting with pleasure. He can feel your hot, heavy breaths fanning into his palm, your chest heaving as he bottoms out inside of you. Matty groans loudly, tossing his head back as he’s fully surrounded by your velvety warmth, forgetting his own volume rules that he’d set for you. Hypocrite.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he sighs, reaching to pull your tank top over your breasts, “Stay like that for me, yeah? Wanna see your perfect tits.”

He barely allows you a moment to breathe before he’s snapping his hips against you roughly, letting out a strained grunt with every thrust. Sensations trickle up your spine like flickering flames as a muffled cry spills out of you. Matty angles his hips just right, hitting so deep inside you that you feel as though you’re being split open by each drive of his cock, it’s mind-numbing. Your whole body jolts against the counter with his purposeful movements, the edge of the porcelain biting into your hip bones. He can hardly focus on just one thing, his gaze darting from where he’s disappearing inside of you, to your gorgeous face, to your breasts. Matty’s raspy voice makes your eyes refocus on him, you watch in the mirror as he licks his teeth like he wants to devour you whole.

“You see how pretty you look? No, no, sweetheart, don’t look at me, look at yourself. God, isn’t she pretty?” he drawls, “You look so sexy, wearing my chain like that while you’re taking my cock.”

At his instruction, you meet your own eyes through the reflection, your eyebrows sloping as you realize that he’s right, you do look pretty when he’s fucking you. Your rosied cheeks, your blown pupils, your glowing skin… and your boyfriend’s hand over your mouth. Your chain bounces against your collarbones in tandem with your pierced tits, it’s no wonder he’s loving this position so much, he gets to watch everything at once. While you’re gazing at yourself, Matty reaches around and begins to rub two fingers on your clit, swirling them in intoxicatingly quick figure eights. You watch your own eyes go wide as the pleasure ricochets through your bones, making you light-headed. This must be the expression Matty lives for when he’s got you like this, the face to his sweetest wet dreams. You’re almost mesmerized by seeing yourself get railed to high heaven, it’s sort of an odd feeling.

In one swift motion, Matty lets go of your face and grasps the chain around your neck, pulling it taut against your throat from behind, ripping a shocked cry from your lips.

“Ohh, she liked that one,” he grins lazily, tilting his head back with a groan as he feels your walls clamp down on him like a vice, “Shit, not gonna last if you keep doin’ that, god damn.”

It feels like he’s stolen the air directly from your lungs as he lightly chokes you with the silver links you’d so slickly “borrowed” from him. Even just the slight restriction of oxygen has you reeling, your eyes rolling back as your hands claw at the counter, your whole body buzzing with mortifying heights of exhilaration. It’s a dizzying combination of thrill and precarious risk as Matty keeps a tight hold on the chain while fucking you with such vigor that you don’t feel attached to your body, the counter being your only loose grasp on reality. It only makes every drive of his cock feel that much more visceral, the tension coiling tighter in your belly. Heat prickles at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the purely obscene sounds of him thrusting into your sopping cunt, skin on skin echoing through the small space while his fingers abuse your clit.

It’s all building up so fast, quicker than usual due to Matty’s frenzied rhythm, his hips meeting yours again and again, unrelentingly. You bite back a wail as the tension so deep inside you reverberates in crackling pangs, threatening to break you to pieces as you arch backward. Your hips writhe against his hand both like you’re chasing the friction and trying to thrash away from its intensity. He can tell you’re on the edge of euphoria, teetering with every swipe of his fingers, every slam of his hips. He gives the chain a harsh tug, knowing it’ll send you spiraling into the depths of pleasure just beyond your fingertips.

“Fuck!” you gasp, one of your hands flying to grip his wrist as your mind goes impossibly blank, your nails digging into his skin, “I’m gonna- I-I can’t!”

“Shit, me too, angel. So close. Oh, fuck, cum for me, sweet girl. Cum for me while I fill you up,” he grunts, a burst of energy coming over him as he manages to piston into you even more brutally.

It crashes over you like a thunderous wave, spiraling through you from your dizzied head to the tips of your curled toes. He lets go of the chain, putting his hand over your mouth again to stifle your cry, the disorienting rush of oxygen almost making your knees give out from underneath you, and they just might have if Matty hadn’t kept you supported against the counter. It feels like pure white light is fizzling under your eyelids as Matty makes you reach the stars with your climax, dousing you in pulsating bliss as you clench around him tightly. He lets out a deep, animalistic sound as he spills inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he fucks you through your orgasm, his rhythm beginning to falter from the effort.

“Fuuuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth, along with other breathy strings of profanities.

Slowly, his body stutters to a stop, giving one last roll of his hips before he collapses over you as delicately as he can, enveloping you with his chest to your back. He lovingly presses kisses to the back of your neck as your head hangs forward slightly, both of you gasping to catch your breath.

“H-holy shit, babe. You’re so good…you’re fucking incredible,” he mutters, seeming just as dazed as you are.

He can’t seem to stop complimenting you and loving on you as he keeps you held up with his hands on your hips, rubbing little circles into your skin as you both come down from the highest of highs. The afterglow clouds your head in a way that makes you feel like you’re floating with Matty being your only anchor to the ground.

“Matty…” you mumble, reaching back blindly for his face.

“I’m right here. Right here, love,” he whispers, guiding your palm to his cheek.

You smile warmly as you feel the scruffy sides of his head at your fingertips, Matty keeping his hand over yours sweetly. At the same time you both glance upwards at the mirror, letting out simultaneous giggles as you appreciate the state you’re in. He leans to kiss your cheek, peering into your eyes adoringly through the reflection, pulling your top back down over your breasts.

“Oh my god… we’re a mess,” you snort, rubbing aimlessly at your runny mascara with your free hand.

“You mean you’re a mess, I look damn good,” he jokes, starting to slowly ease you both back up into a standing position.

You both let out a breathy sound as he pulls out of you slowly, his cum beginning to streak down your thighs. Of course, Matty stares, swallowing thickly like he’ll never quite get used to the sight while he shimmies back into his pants. Diligently, he reaches for a handful of paper towels, keeping a gentle hold on your hip. You reach to try and smack his arm when he laughs at the way your legs are trembling, your knees wobbling due to how hard he’d railed you. He dodges the blow, grinning at you triumphantly.

Matty gently wipes away the residue of his pearly release, whispering a hushed “I know, I know” when you squirm at the sensitivity. Once he discards the paper towels, he kneels down to pull your underwear and your jeans back up, kissing his way up the outside of your leg as he does so, looking into your eyes with a playful glint. He kisses you deeply while he buttons your pants with nimble hands, not even letting you lift a finger as he takes care of his girl. You throw your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as he teases his tongue piercing along your bottom lip just to make you shiver.

“My perfect girl,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You stay in the bathroom for just a little longer, kissing and whispering sweet things to each other while your bodies fully come down, Matty shouting at whoever keeps intermittently knocking on the door to fuck off. You can’t help but feel a little tinge of guilt in your stomach for “christening” the restroom the way you did, but you highly doubt you were the first.

After he reassures you that the makeup streaked down your cheeks is “hardcore” and that you should leave it the way it is, you finally leave to re-enter the show (not before one final, drawn-out kiss, of course). Your boyfriend keeps you close by his side, his fingers interlocked with yours as you find yourselves at the very back of the pit, scattered with only a few other people. Matty guides your arms around his neck, grinning at you like a fool as you start to rock back and forth to the rhythm of the drums. His smile is infectious as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, singing to you when the song reaches its chorus. He looks incredibly dorky as mimics the wail of the guitar solo, swinging his hips while his hands rest comfortably on your waist, almost like you’re about to slow dance. You tell him as such and Matty just tosses his head back with a laugh like a little kid. His eyes are sparkling, but not just from the iridescent stage lighting, it’s the look he gets only when he’s with you. You feel your heart swell in your chest as you continue to dance like you’re the only two in the venue, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the whole world.

—-----------------------------------------

SO I was a liar and I did write another part. I intended this to be a blurb but I had so many more thoughts about them and their relationship eeeeee

The ending was soooo “do you wanna dance, dance at the back of the hall”

I love them. I need them to be happy forever actually.

This one is dedicated to my lovely lovely friend B (@haveyouseenherlately) thank you so much for the ideas, you get body piercer like no one else, queen. Love you!!!

Go check out her stuff if you haven’t it SLAYS <3

#body piercer!matty #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x y/n #the 1975 x you

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wiintring · 2 months

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blue jeans

cw: 18+ mdni !! smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, d word (oops), bad writing, degradation, matty’s kinda mean but he’s sweetie. let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: i’m so sorry if this is absolute ass. i really liked this idea and i fear i just ruined it by writing this but it’s okay!! enjoy!

a new bed was something you had been dying for since moving in. sleeping on nothing but a mattress for the past week wasn’t horrible, but it was about time for a bed frame.

you had gone to your local home store and bought the bed expecting to be able to go home with it, but the employee told you to wait 3-4 days until it’s delivered to your apartment with someone to build it for you. now, you had no problem with that. getting out of doing all the hard work, why would you ever complain about that? the only issue was that you went expecting the handyman to be so… attractive.

he introduced himself as Matty with a thick english accent that had your knees weak. he came in and out of your apartment with all the different parts of your new bed. you were excited. for many reasons. one, you were finally getting a new bed. and two, the man building this new bad was the sexiest man you’d seen since living in this new city.

it was mid-july which meant it was scorching hot outside. you in nothing but an oversized band tee and shorts. and him in a white tank top that made his arms look glorious, and a pair of jeans which had his tools strapped onto the waistline.

“i’m gonna need to move this mattress out of here if you don’t mind” he finally spoke. your eyes shot up back to his face after realizing you were probably look at his arms for a little too long. you simply nodded asking if he needed any help in which he responded with a shake of his head.

you watched as he slid the mattress out of your room and into your living room. the way he held his lower lip between his teeth as he moved was captivating. you had to stop.

a few minutes had past now. he has been drilling screws into the side of your bed still biting his lip while doing so. so concentrated and sexy, you thought to yourself. you thought it might be nice to get him drink so you went to your kitchen and fixed up a cool glass of water.

“hey. got you some water if you maybe wanted to take a little break, it’s burning hot and you’ve been working so hard” you interrupted his work in a sweet tone. his eyes shot up to look at you holding out the glass to him. “thank you. appreciate it” he said with a wink, your fingers slightly brushing as he reached for the glass.

he couldn’t help but notice that you had put your hair up. he had been eyeing since he had gotten here not wanting to make it obvious. “i’m almost done here, just gotta screw in a few more nails and put the mattress and you’ll be good to go” he spoke after taking a sip. you were disappointed. you didn’t want him to leave. “oh, great! i’m so excited to try it out” you cheered with the slightest touch of seduction in your voice. he gave you a once-over at that. ‘try it out’ he would like to.

after a few more minutes of awkward conversation, he got back to work and before you knew it the bed was done. he’d come back out to the living room to tell you that he had finished and slid the mattress onto the frame. “alright, it’s all done now. go ahead try it out” he spoke condescendingly, mimicking what you had said earlier. you go to sit on the bed. “how is it” he asks. “why don’t you come try it out yourself” you say suggestively, patting the spot next to you. he eyes you up and down at that before going to sit down right next to you. “oh yeah! nice and stable, some of my best work” he laughs.

you place a hand on his shoulder, not wanting to be too suggestive as you thank him for his work. he goes to face you “ah please, it was no problem, it is my job after all. and getting to be around pretty girls like you is just a bonus.” you two stay like that for a bit. your hand on his shoulder, faces just inches apart. “you said this bed was really stable right, matty” you ask with a smirk. he nods “real stable.”

you move to straddle him and he places his hands on either sides of your waist. “how about we check to see how stable it is, hm” you breathe, mouths inches away from each other. he breaks the space between the two of you with a harsh kiss. all teeth and tongue.

matty has you pinned down to your brand new bed and completely bare in nothing but your panties before you even know it. “want you” you breathe again his lips as you pull away for air. matty quickly hops off of you and begins undressing himself. you stare intently at his toned stomach, littered by tattoos. your attention quickly dropping to the ‘we are kings’ tattoo sitting right on his hip bone. “where do you want me to start? your lips? your breasts? or maybe your sweet little pussy?”

“matty” you moan reaching for him. he grins, licking his lips as he crawls onto the bed, his eyes fixed on your body. he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. “matty” you say once again begging for him to do something. matty chuckles, his voice low and husky “don't worry, princess. I'll make sure you scream my name. now spread those pretty little legs for daddy.”

you gasp at the pet name and at the name he’s created for himself before moving to spread your legs wider. matty groans, his mouth watering at the sight of your pussy. he slowly pulls your panties to the side, revealing your wetness “fuck, baby i’ve been wanting to do this since i walked through the door” he admits to with a groan.

you blush at his confession. satisfied knowing he had been wanting you just as badly as you had wanted him. “fuck stop teasing” you beg, raising your hips to get him where you needed him. matty smirks, pinning your hips down and leaning in to tease you even more “you want it? you got it.” he finally dives in, his tongue swirling around your clit and entering your tight hole.

you let a moan. it’s almost animalistic and a bit shameful. matty's eyes widen, loving the way you respond to his touch. “fuck, that's it. give it up for daddy.” he slides his fingers inside you, stretching you as he licks and sucks on your clit.

“oh fuck” you scream, probably way too loud for someone living on the second floor of an apartment complex but you couldn’t care less right now. matty's fingers pump in and out of you, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit “that's it, princess. let it all out, i want to hear you moan my name.”

“matty” you scream but his movements come to a halt at that. he glares up at you with dark eyes “i said i want you to scream my name.” you were lost at first before you realized. “fuck- daddy” you scream continuously as he dives back into you with a wide smirk on his face.

matty chuckles, pleased with the sound of your voice “good girl, that’s it.” he picks up the pace, fingering you harder and sucking on your clit with more force. “matty im- i’m close fuck” you whine. he groans, his own arousal spiking at your words “cum for daddy, baby wanna you feel you fall apart on my mouth.” the band on your stomach snaps at his words, screaming as you cum on his tongue. matty's eyes lock onto yours as you climax, drinking in every moan and whimper you make. “fuck, i love hearing you like that, baby.” he continues to lap at your pussy, savoring the taste of your cum.

you softly push his head away “too much” you whimper. he looks up at you with a smirk “too much? really, princess?” he gives your pussy one last lick before standing up on his knees and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “want you to fuck me” you beg looking up at him. matty grins, his cock already hard at the thought of being inside you “before that i want you to get on your knees and start sucking on this big dick.

you gasp at his harsh tone but quickly stand from your spot on the bed and sink down onto your knees. matty sits before you on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers. you slowly drag his underwear down his legs, mimicking the way he had been teasing you. you look up at him before licking his tip teasingly and quickly pushing him inside your mouth. matty groans as you take his cock into your mouth, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

“fuck yeah, that's it. suck daddy's dick like a good little slut.” you moan around his shaft continuing to suck. matty's hips begin to thrust forward, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth as you suck him off. “mmmm, that's it. take all of daddy's big cock, baby. you're such a good cocksucker.” you feel tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as he harshly fucks your mouth. his movements become more forceful, fucking your throat with reckless abandon as he nears his release. his breathing becomes ragged, and he groans deeply, filling your throat with his cum as he reaches his climax.

you move your mouth off of him before swallowing his cum and sticking your tongue out to show him. “fuck, that was amazing. you're amazing, baby” he praises as he looks down at you. you smile at that standing back up on your feet. matty's eyes travel up and down your body, taking in the sight of his cum dripping from your chin as he wipes it on his finger and pushes it into your mouth. “i'm gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart.”

‘please’ you beg. matty smirks, grabbing your hips and pinning back onto the bed, hovering over you. “i'll do whatever the fuck i want to do, babe. and right now, i want to fuck your tight little pussy until you can't walk straight tomorrow.” you can’t help but let out a moan at that, putting both hand on his shoulders. he grabs your hips aligning his cock with your entrance. you both gasp as he quickly enters you, giving you some time to get used to his size. “fuck me, please” you beg quietly.

matty thrusts into you with a forceful grunt, burying himself deep within your wet heat “fuck, you're so tight. you were made for this, baby. made for daddy's cock” he praises moving to kiss you. he starts to pound into you, his hips slapping against yours in a rhythmic crescendo of lust “you like that? you like daddy's big dick fucking you senseless? tell me what you want, baby” he breathes into your mouth. “want you to keep going. don’t stop. please-fuck” you moan out pathetically.

feeling your walls clenching around him, matty's pace quickens. he growls low in his throat as he slams into you harder and faster. “that's it. take daddy's cum, baby.”

“oh fuck! matty” you whimper feeling everything all at once. your cries mixed with matty's rough grunts. his hips pump violently as he drives deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. “you like it rough, huh” he asks teasingly. kissing your neck definitely leaving a mark. “yes-yes daddy i like it rough” you cry out breathlessly.

matty's thrusts become even more brutal, his strong arms pulling you into him tightly. he's holding nothing back, determined to make you cum hard. “cum for daddy, baby. let it all out.”

your brain is mush, thoughts completely gone. everything is solely just matty. “fuck- i cant oh fuck” you finally cum. second orgasm of the night thanks to your handyman. feeling your body shudder and pulse around him, matty roars with delight. he slams into you one last time before letting go, his seed filling you up. “there it is. take it all, baby. such a slut for daddy's cum.”

he pulls out quickly as you hiss at the feel. he moves to lay next to you and you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “what’s funny” he asks confused. “the bed is really stable, nice job” she praises turning her head to look at him. he laughs at that turning to look back at her. “i told you it was some of my best work didn’t i?”

#handyman!matty #matty healy #matty healy oneshot #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 smut #my writing

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tonguepiercedanyway75 · 5 hours

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18+ MDNI!

I was thinking about thigh riding with Ross

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He hurt his arms while playing bass, having strict orders to rest. That’s why he can’t fuck you right now and he would apologize and praise you so hard, how your own thighs would clamp so hard around his, your knees touching as you grind down onto him desperately. “Make yourself feel good, show me,”

You let out a whimper and bury your face into the crook of Ross’ neck, only for him to tug at your hair and pull you back to face him. He would say something like “c’mon ‘f I can’t even take care of my girl properly I at least want to see you.”

he stops you for a second, motions for you to rise up slightly, and he pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping cunt to the air. his hands float to your hips, encouraging you to continue. you drop back down on him, the feeling of your bare clit rubbing directly against the rough fabric of his jeans is indescribable. “grinding against m'thigh like that”he groans. he uses his firm grip on you to push you further onto him, and you quicken your pace, the searing pleasure in your clit overwhelming you.

"is that," Ross hesitates for a second,"is that good? do you feel good?" your nod is instantaneous, and enthusiastic. "yeah," you breath out, hips starting to speed up on their own.

It’s not the same, making you finish on your own without Ross’ hands or his cock and you’re on the verge of frustration but Ross notices, “I’ll make it up to you so soon love, ‘promise.”

“So good, you’re doing so good,” You are a moaning mess and your mouth hangs open in a small ‘o’, cheeks flushed, eyes blown out with lust. Ross can't help himself as he kisses you passionately, all teeth and tongue. He swallows your whimpers as you get closer and closer to your finish. Ross forces your hips to move faster as he watches you unravel.

He lazily trails his fingers over your clothed spine as his lips come down on the top of your head. “Feel good?” He asks innocently like you haven’t completely ruined his trousers.

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald smut

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abouttofillhisshoes · 9 days

Text

Facedown - Matty Healy

A/N: I don't shag men irl, so soz if there are any inaccuracies regarding the ins and outs of anal xx thank you to my mates @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff, @man-im-so-high and @awellposhmagazine for indulging in my stupid questions and mental breakdowns in the GC❤️

wc: 7k

content warnings: smut, fluff, dirty talk, pegging, praise, also a bit of degradation depending on how you look at it, use of sex toys (strap), mentions of lingerie/matty in womens clothing, sex shops, spit, masochism, cursing, polaroids/cameras, so picture kink?, girlie immortalizes him in a picture let it be poetic

“I want you to fuck me.”

You choke on air. Matty is a blunt person, always has been, never really caring for beating around the bush. You didn't mind it, but you feel like he could’ve worded that a bit more eloquently. He’s laying on top of you, hair tickling the bottom of your chin, curls obstructing a bit of your vision.

“Okay, fucking hold up, what?” you're convinced you've misheard him. Even he wouldn't be that blunt. He takes a deep breath, his tone slow and condescending

“I said, I want you to fu-” you hit him, giggling in disbelief. He jumps back in surprise, a grin spreading onto his face. He was actually serious.

“I fucking heard what you said, jesus.” Matty has this look in his eye when he’s about to do something he knows you won't like, this glimmer in his eye, and you see it so clearly. His hand grabs your face, licking across your cheek, starting from the edge of your jaw. You squirm away, wiping your skin with your hand, throwing curses at him.

“Fuck's sake, you're like a dog. Behave and I'll give you a treat, christ.”

“Depends on what the treat is.” he winks at you, grinning widely as you screw your eyes shut in annoyance. He just wouldn't let up, like it would kill him to be PG for even five seconds.

“So?” he asks, referring to his original statement.

‘I want you to fuck me.’

His words echo through your head, making all sorts of images flash in front of your eyes. Of course he notices, trailing his fingers up your bare arm, making goosebumps kiss your skin in his wake.

It's hard to even think straight, the suddenness of the question making your head spin. The two of you had never talked about it before, thinking it wasn't even on the table.

“Are you- are you sure?” you stutter out, a small part of you scared he was joking, trying to see how you would react. His answer makes you sigh in relief.

“Never been more sure.'' He's smiling, a genuine, reassuring smile.

“Actually?”

“No, I meant metaphysically, philosophically-” he deadpans, but it takes only a few seconds for him to crack up laughing, burying his face into your chest, trying to stifle his giggles.

You breathe out, weaving a gentle hand through his hair, guiding him up to kiss you, lips locking as he gasps softly. You stay like that for a while, kissing and holding each other, neither wanting to let go.

“You're mental.” you mumble when he pulls away, brushing a small strand of hair out of your eyes, sweetly tucking it behind your ear.

“Yet, you love me.” It's so perfect. His body is warm against yours, acting as a sort of weighted blanket, pressing you into the sofa. The scent of his perfume is strong, tinged with a hint of the spliff you’d both smoked earlier.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

You can tell he’s never been in an actual sex shop by the was his eyes widen when you enter, flicking between the multitude of displays and posters, having no idea where or what to look at. His hand grasps yours, one goal in mind as you both step inside, heading towards a specific aisle. Strap-ons.

Even if it was his first visit, he seems immediately at home, casually browsing through strap-ons and vibrators like he was in a department store, looking at lampshades or containers. At some point, you manage to break away from him, finding yourself in the lingerie section, lace and silk and satin surrounding you on all sides. Your fingers graze over a specific pair of green lace panties, the material soft to the touch.

Your mind goes back to that night, to the memory of Matty, on your bed, shirtless and panting, the only thing concealing him a pair of lacey black womens underwear. You wonder if he’d be into it, buying more stuff like that, or if he maybe had more back home, hidden in a secret corner of his drawer.

You're snapped back into reality by a repetitive tap on your shoulder, turning around to see it was Matty. He was holding something in his hand; a light purple, see through strap, decorated with specks of glitter and incredibly detailed. You blush at the sight, before remembering where you actually were. It looked big in his hands, intimidating almost.

“This one’s pink and glittery! Fucking awesome, who knew they had so many types?” he booms, holding it up right in front of your face. A few people turn, but most ignore his loud proclamation, going back to their own shopping.

“You're so girly, Jesus christ.” you snigger, stifling a crude laugh. It was so Matty, always one to pick the most extravagant, out of the ordinary, even when it came to sex toys.

“Don’t make me fucking start-” he threatens, and you promptly cover his mouth with your palm, staring deep into his eyes.

“Shut it.” and to your surprise, he did.

He goes back to the isle he came from, looking for more options. You’d expected it to be more uncomfortable, but you felt light, like anything was on the table. Seeing him move out of your sight, you turn back to the fabric you’d been admiring earlier, running your fingers over it, and out of the corner of your eye, something shiny catches your attention. Garters.

Your core stirs at the thought of Matty in garters, maybe even stockings or heels. You wonder if he’d even be into it, or if that was where his adventures in femininity ended. Lost in your fantasies, you don't even realize you’d picked something up. A black garter, little heart details making it sparkle in the low light of the shop, leather and metal cool against your skin.

“Oh?” you hear a teasing voice say from behind, making you jump slightly. Clutching the object between your fingers, you spin around, eyes meeting Matty’s, and he has this filthy grin on his face, knowing he’s caught you.

“What's this?” he takes it from your hand, looking at it closely. His eyes light up when he realizes what it is, or more, who it's for. Matty’s ego inflates as he dangled in front of you, relishing in your flustered reaction, a blush creeping onto your face.

“Is this meant for me?” he asks, pressing it onto his thigh over his jeans, trying to figure out how it would look. He moves to the mirror located off to the side to get a better look, admiring himself in the mirror.

“You don't have to- it's just an idea.” you say defensively, scared he’ll find it weird or odd or-

“It's a wonderful one. Do tell me more, darling.” his hand trails up your arm, landing on your shoulder. You don't have time to react as he pulls you in for a kiss, short and hot. A suggestion.

You stare at him for a few moments, not sure how to react.

“What else do you want to see me in? This, perhaps?” he struts over to the lingerie section, picking up a pair of silk panties, showing them to you. You nod your head, earning a sly grin and a wink from Matty as he puts them into his little basket.

“Or are you more of a lace kinda gal?” There's a hint of tease in his voice as he holds up another pair. The green pair.

Your breath hitches as he stares at you, looking for a reaction, smiling victoriously when he sees it. Raising his eyebrows, he wordlessly adds them to the growing pile of merchandise he’s accumulated in the short span he’d been wandering around the store.

“Fucking hell.” you mutter under your breath as he grabs your hand, dragging you over to the garters. It all seems unreal, the way he confidently shows off the pieces over his clothes, ‘modeling’ for you in front of other shoppers, utterly shameless.

“I'll wear it for you, you just have to tell me what you want.” he parrots your words back at you. ‘Just tell me what you want, Matthew’

If only he knew.

“You look pretty in everything Matty, I'd rather you pick.”

“And I'd rather you be turned on, hm? C’mon, tell me, I don't bite.” you giggle a bit at his choice of words, the marks on your neck contradicting his statement.

“You like it when I'm pretty for you?” he whispers into your ear, the words going straight to your core. Your knees feel weak, ready to buckle at any moment if he keeps talking like that.

Nodding frantically, you press a small kiss to his lips, taking his hand. You lead him to the shoes, heels and boots of all heights and colors stacked neatly in piles against a wall.

“Oh, I'm liking this turn of events.” he grins, hands reaching out to touch a specific pair of black platforms, adorned with small gemstones along the strap. You had a similar pair, knowing just how hard they were here to walk in.

“You are?” you question, feeling his free hand wrap around your waist, bringing the shoes up for you to touch, the leather rough under your fingertips.

“You turn me on so much it fucking hurts. I love being your little fantasy, all dolled up for you.” he speaks slowly, quiet enough so that only you can hear. You cough, almost choking on air as he adds the shoes to the basket, walking off as though nothing happened.

“This one?” he asks, holding up another toy. A pale pink strap-on, less glittery than the last one, but still incredibly eye-catching. You eye him up and down, the way he stood like he was holding the most normal thing ever appalling you.

“You sure?” he nods enthusiastically, eyes silently begging you to say yes. “Imagine how pretty i’d look, imagine the pictures-”

Oh, he loved to tease you about those, your collection of filthy polaroids growing larger and larger the longer you were together, stashed at the bottom of your nightstand.

“Sure you can take it?'' The expression on his face is priceless as you fight fire with fire, his grin vanishing, being replaced with an embarrassed blush dusting his face.

He wordlessly adds it, walking off in the direction of the till. You follow closely, watching him take a bottle of lube (strawberry flavored, because it's Matty) from the shelf, placing it in the basket.

It was all so new, uncharted territory for both of you. Sure, he teased and you teased back, throwing witty retorts at each other until one eventually gave up, but you were both equally nervous and excited, the idea absolutely thrilling.

The bus ride back home is slightly awkward, the bags in your hands adorning the very obvious logo of the sex shop you’d just been in, earning judging glances from strangers. Matty remains unbothered, engrossed in an old edition of vogue he’d bought at check out. You watch him leaf through the pages, inspecting outfits and designs, muttering when he doesn't agree with them. It was endearing, watching him critique world famous fashion designers, like his opinion would hold and weight in a proper argument.

200 quid was what the trip had cost you, spending way more than you had planned. Matty had paid for it with his parents' money that they sent to him every so often, wanting him to be able to live comfortably even if they were away. You felt sort of bad, offering to use your own cash, quickly being swatted away by an insistent Matty.

“I have to pay, seeing as I am a gentleman. Besides, you're going to be taking great care of me later, so-” you manage to cut him off with a stealth elbow in the ribs, sparing the poor cashier from one of his terribly inappropriate rants.

—----------------------------------------------------

Home is comfortable, much unlike the harsh summer weather and the beating sun that waited for you outside. Unlocking the door, you've met with the soft hum of the air conditioner, the cool air kissing your skin. Matty lets out a relieved sigh as he finally sets down the bags, stretching his arms over his head. You catch a glimpse of his lower stomach, a small trail of hair traveling from his belly button and into the waistband of his pants, which were hung obscenely low on his hips.

“Do you want to-” you're cut off by Matty’s lips on yours, one hand gripping onto the base of your neck, the other pulling you in by the waist. Despite being almost three inches taller, you manage to overpower him quickly, pressing him into the wall behind him. He gasps against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as you grasp him by the hair, tugging him down to meet you.

“Desperate, much?” you say condescending, one of your fingers trailing down the hollow of his throat, grazing the skin enough to leave a faint red mark.

He loved seeing the aftermath of you on his body, and you’ve caught him admiring himself in the mirror more than once, running his fingertips over the bruises and scratches, reliving the moments that caused them. It's not like he left you bare, either, the complete opposite, actually. Your neck was full of hickeys in various colors, some more faded than others.

He loved using his teeth, and had once left an incredibly obvious bite mark on the skin just above your collarbone, getting disgusted and borderline traumatized looks from both Ross and George. Adam never did mention i, but you caught him stealing glances at both of you, his tell tale ‘what the actual fuck did you do’ look on his face.

“You’re one to talk, don’t think I didnt see how you looked at me back there.” he smirks against your lips, tongue swiping along your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. You use your body weight to hold him up against the wall, pressing a knee right between his legs, a move he loved to use on you, and watching you grind against him is his favorite sight in the whole world.

His hips buck against your lower half, his hard-on brushing up against your thigh. He groans at the slight friction, repeating the action until you stop him.

“Please, fuck- please.” he breathes, eyeing the bag on the ground behind you with a look of pure lust on his face.

Your knees feel weak, your stomach flipping as he reaches out to touch your face, trailing his fingers down your jaw and onto your neck, lovingly pressing kisses all over your skin, almost as if to try and convince you of something.

Wordlessly, you grab him by the collar of his shirt, leading him down the long hallway and up the stairs, almost tripping. You near the bedroom, unable to take your hands off each other as he pathetically whimpers into your mouth, nails clawing at your back.

The door swings open and you push him forward until the back of his knees hit the bed, making him fall onto it.

“Been thinking ‘bout this for a while, haven't you?” he nods slowly, chest heaving from the sheer force of your kiss, leaving him breathless.

“You can’t imagine.” he answers, eyes looking up at you from his spot on the bed, wide and full of want.

“So pretty.” you whisper to yourself, reaching down to push his shirt up, revealing that little bit of hair on his stomach, so incredibly sexy it made your head spin.

“Take your shirt off for me, I'll be back.” you kiss him again, softly this time, not even looking at his reaction before turning around and disappearing through the door. Your legs carry you as fast as they can go, taking two steps at a time as you race downstairs, eyes settling on the hot pink paper bag left abandoned on the floor.

Rifling through the pile of various clothes, underwear, gags, toys; really anything you could think of, your breath hitches as your fingers brush against cold resin. Of course it was made of resin, ridiculously expensive as well, typical Matty. You laugh to yourself, taking a close look at the toy in your hands.

It was pale pink, hyper realistic veins running down the sides of it, the actual strappy part a deep purple, almost black. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, almost forgetting one vital thing: the lube.

The sight before you open the door again is one that should be chiseled into stone and hung up for thousands of years. Matty is on the bed, further up so that his head is resting on the metal bed frame up against the wall, it being more comfortable that way. His shirt is off, just like you had told him.

One thing made you freeze. His hand was covering his lower half, palming his obvious hard on through his insanely tight jeans. It looked painful, well hidden by the filthy smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips, making your heart skip a beat.

“Kept me waiting.'' His voice is low, raspy, and desperate, even if he tries to play it off. You move without thinking, watching his eyes flicker over to the toy in your hand, which you place onto the bed out of his reach.

“Not my fault you can't go five seconds without touching yourself.” you shoot back, kneeling onto the soft mattress.

“Sort of is, isn't it?” he sounds playful, almost giddy as you catch his lips in a kiss.

“You were begging so nicely before, what happened?” you fake pout at him, putting on a slightly condescending tone as he rolls his eyes at you.

“I caught my breath.” he says, hands settling on your hips as you straddle him properly, his aching cock grinding against the curve of your ass. It feels amazing, your ego swelling as you take him in, needy and wanting for you and you only.

“Yeah?”

“Might have to take it again.”

You get what he’s playing at immediately, reaching up to wrap your hand around his throat. Matty lets out a choked gasp, eyes widening at the sensation.

“Fuck-” he’s cut off by you pressing down harder, watching all the blood in his head rush down south.

“What? Couldn't quite hear you, speak up.” you taunt, loving watching him struggle to answer you, all that came out being needy gasps and curses.

“Please-” his breath hitches when you reach down to skillfully unbutton his pants with one hand, silently thanking the gods above he had decided to forgo a belt today, peeling the jeans off of him. He lets out a choked moan as you grip him through his boxers, wishing he had worn a pair of women’s panties, knowing it would rile you up even more.

“What? Use your words, Matthew, tell me what you want.” you tease, ignoring his silent begging, only slightly letting go of his throat, scared he wasn't properly getting oxygen.

“Touch me, please.” he manages to force out, tears of relief welling up in his eyes when you take him out of his boxers, stroking his cock lightly.

“This all for me? All because of that toy? Filthy, filthy boy.” his mind blanks, ecstacy overtaking his body and mind, the only thing he could think of was how fucking lucky he was. The strap is only visible in the corner of your eye as you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, drinking in every little gasp.

You dig your thumb into his slit, his hips arching off the bed and into your hand, spurts of precum leaking out of his tip. You smile at his reaction, one question still running through your mind. This was all so new, and you were riffing off of what you already knew he liked, trying to build up as much tension as possible.

“Have you done this before?” he takes a second to answer, slowly nodding his head. You motion for him to elaborate. A pang of insecurity rushes through you at the thought of him doing this with someone else, another person seeing him like this. You push it all down, turning your full attention to Matty.

“Only alone, trying some things out..” his voice is uncharacteristically small, eyes avoiding you as he stutters over the second part of his sentence, clearly a bit embarrassed.

“Oh yeah? Did it feel good?” you encourage him, desperate to make him feel as comfortable as possible. He smirks, and you can basically see the memories flash behind his eyes.

Alone, late at night. Curiosity striking, clothes hitting the floor of his old bedroom. A mess of lube and spit, fingers experimentally curling upwards and finally, finally hitting that perfect spot deep inside of him, making him moan into his pillow, trying to muffle the sound.

But of course, Matty has to do and say something so utterly stupid, it makes your eyes hurt from rolling them.

“It’ll feel so much better if you do it for me, darling. Treat me right and all, seeing as I am your girl-” you playfully hit his arm, effectively shutting him up. He wasn't fully wrong, but the way he worded it was purposefully supposed to make you cringe, your eyes screwing shut and hands going to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Shut up, what is your damage?” you ask, glaring at him as he tries his best to stifle his giggles. It's infectious, and soon you start laughing as well, falling into his arms, losing it at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Can you take nothing seriously?” It's a rhetorical question, but he still answers.

“Nothing.” he drags out the word, mocking you.

You take this opportunity to tug at his cock, wiping the smug grin directly from his face. It was satisfying, watching him go from cocky and borderline bratty, to a sweet, moldable putty in the palm of your hand, willing to do whatever you asked of him.

“A-ah oh fuck, i’m not gonna- stop.” he gasps, trying to push you off. You fight back, pinning him down using your entire body, your fingertips ghosting over his cock.

“Gotta get you ready to take me, don't want it to hurt, do you?” your voice drips with lust, relishing in the wanton sounds he lets out at your words. Matty looks at you, mouth slightly ajar as if trying to say something. You nod at him.

“I can- I can show you. If you want. We both know how much you like to watch me.” he gestures to the camera sitting on the nightstand, grinning from ear to ear.

“Go on.” you whisper, your voice cracking.

He flips around, and you use this little bit of time to slip your own clothes off, leaving your shirt and panties on, settling onto the bed behind him.

His hands reach for the bottle of lube, blindly feeling around for it. You hand it to him with a sickly sweet smile, making his stomach flip as he spreads his legs, a performative moan leaving his lips as he uncaps it with his teeth, pouring the liquid onto his fingers.

It's weird, seeing him in this position, facedown against the mattress, tugging his boxers down with his clean hand. He can feel your eyes on him, raking over his milky skin, watching him take a deep breath as the cool lube hits his skin.

“You look pretty.” you hear him snigger into the pillow at the breathlessness of your voice. “Right? Good genes, innit?” he says smugly, craning his head around to get a look at your annoyed expression.

“Oh fuck off.” you smack him on the arse, taking the piss out of his stupid comments.

He gasps, and now it's your turn to be smug, grazing your nails over the skin you’d just hit

“Seriously? That turned you on?” he nods, tracing his lube covered fingers over his hole, shivering a bit before pushing one in.

A string of moans and curses spill from lips, panting as his back arches at the intrusion. You watch him with wide eyes, taking every minuscule twitch of his body as he curls them slightly, going even deeper. You commit everything to memory, wanting this moment to last forever, and you reach out to trail your hands down his sides, digging your slightly grown out nails into his hips, making him moan into the pillows.

“Giving me a proper show then. Anything to get my attention, right?” you mumble, leaning over him as he fingers himself for you, groaning and twitching against the mattress, overcome with pleasure.

“It’s working isn't it?” he forces out, the feeling of your chest pressed to his back making his eyes roll back in his head, his tip leaking spurts of precum onto the sheets

“Fuck, yeah, its working.”

His fingers brush up against a certain spot inside of him and he quite literally shakes, arching and pushing down onto his digits, his body begging for more. You watch, entranced in every movement he makes, in a sort of daze.

You could sense him gaining back a sense of confidence when he peers back at you, seeing your blissed out expression at the sight of him fucking himself open for you, moans and whimpers going straight to the growing heat in your core.

“Wanna fuck me? Make me moan for you?” he teases, moving his lube covered hand to his cock, tugging at himself as you pull him closer. The strap next to you burns a hole into your brain, and you reach for it, hand gliding over the resin.

“Wanna take a pretty picture with that little camera of yours?” That was the final straw that made you scramble up, fumbling with the fastens of the toy, unbuckling them and slipping it over your underwear, the weight of it a bit strange.

“I’m going to make you eat those words.” you threaten, one of your hands threading through his hair, pulling his face up before dropping it back onto the pillows. He whimpers at the sharp pain radiating from his scalp, spreading all the way to his fingertips that clutch the sheets so tightly, his knuckles look pale white.

“It's what I'm counting on, darling.” he winks, arching his back towards you, grinding his arse against your strap. This was really happening. Sucking in a deep breath, you steady yourself on your knees, taking the toy into your hand, circling his hole with it. A sigh of pleasure leaves his parted lips as he relaxes into the bed, arse up and face buried into the dark blue fabric of his pillow.

The sound of the lube covering the strap is a bit awkward, and you both laugh lightheartedly, nervous and excited to do this with each other, to each other. He groans as you finally line up with his entrance, the tip teasing him as he bucks back onto it.

“Want me to go slow?” you ask, slightly nervous, scared of doing something wrong or god forbid, hurting him in any way.

“Fuck me slow, yeah?” His words drip with lust, raspy and deliberately drawn out. He notices your hesitation, and his hand reaches back to grab yours, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin of your palm.

“Jesus, you make it sound so filthy.” His vulgar words were nothing new, his cocky manner only another tool to get you to lose it on him, never showing mercy. Just like he liked it. Rough, hard, fast, never ending pleasure until both of you were fully satisfied.

“Stop being a tease and just fuck me.” he was now at the point of making demands, blatantly ignoring the imbalance of power between you. You tut at him, nails digging into the fat of his arse, making him wince in pain.

“Not in a place to be demanding things from me, are you now?” your tone is deliciously condescending, making his cock involuntarily twitch under him, begging for attention.

“You want it just as much as me.” he breathes loudly, a feeble attempt at trying not to sound as desperate as he really was, not wanting to admit defeat.

“Make me mess, fuck me dumb, I know you want to.” an animalistic groan rips itself from your throat as you push into him, feeling the smallest bit of resistance at first.

Remembering his little reaction from earlier, you experimentally smack the side of his arse, right where its curve meets the top of his thigh, and he shudders beneath you, crying out in pleasure. You don't know what you're doing, but you do gain a flicker of confidence when he grinds down against the bed, mumbling into the pillow. Asking him to speak up, his face is now visible as he moans, hips pushing back onto the toy as you pull back out, leaving him feeling empty.

You snap your hips forward, a bit harsher this time, watching and listening for his reaction, wanting to make it feel as good as possible for him. He was trusting you with the most intimate part of him, giving up almost all control as his arms go slack under him, nothing holding his body up anymore.

“Fuckk, that's so good.” he breathes as you set a delicate but even rhythm, speeding up a bit with every thrust as he slowly gets used to the sensation. It takes a few minutes of fucking him at an agonizing pace until you feel his whole body tense up, a choked moan spilling from his parted, spit covered lips. Your breath hitches at the sight of him drooling, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss.

“OH FUCKK- right there right there right there jesus christ, fuck-” he curses, clawing around him, trying to find something to bring him back down to reality as your strap brushes up against his G-spot. There's a wet patch on the bed under him, precum covering the blue fabric of the sheets.

“Sound so pretty, all for me.” you hit that same spot over and over as he pathetically cries out your name, begging for you to go faster.

“Please, it's so good, so good, fuck me please oh FUCK.” you oblige, gripping onto his hips as you slam back into him, his back arching sharply as you pant, your cheeks a bright red. Your whole body is flushes crimson, your cunt clenching around nothing as you get off to the sounds and movements he makes, your witty words getting caught in the back of your throat

You're so incredibly turned on that everything else disappears around you, your only focus being a desperate Matty under you, writhing in pleasure as he experiences actual heaven, his whole body covered in a thin layer of sweat, making him glow in the dim light of the bedroom.

Sinful sounds fills the bedroom, reverberating off the walls making you feel dizzy, partially from the effort and partially from the boy in your bed, whimpering your name betweens strings of curses, begging you to just fuck him harder.

Matty, though he hates it, is awfully predictable. He has cues that let you know when he’s close, his voice pitching up several octaves as you slam into him, never faltering.

You take the opportunity to press your chest against the curve of his back, hard nipples rubbing against his skin through your thin shirt. Your voice is low, whispering lewd promises against his ear, occasionally nibbling at the skin, sucking a hickey into it.

“Gonna cum for me? I can see you leaking all over the sheets, dirty boy” he cries at your words, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down his face, leaving small stains on the pillow.

“Yesyesyes please don’t stop- so close.” he begs, every part of his body twitching and tensing, so close to the edge he could taste it.

You don't know what possesses you. Maybe it was his comment from earlier, his tone playful and teasing, eyes dark with desire.

“Wanna take a pretty picture with that little camera of yours?”

It's like a foreign force taking over your body. You still, ignoring Matty’s pleas for you to keep going, his hips bucking wildly onto the toy still deep inside of him.

“No- nonono please, i was so close, fuck.” you click your tongue at him, effectively shutting him up

He winces when you move, hand reaching for something on the nightstand, not even realizing what you were doing. The plastic is heavy in your hands, black lense staring back at you as you reposition yourself behind Matty, the tip of your strap teasing his hole.

He thinks you’ll continue as normal, that you'll give him what he’s been craving this entire time. All he wants to do is cum, mind so clouded with desire that he could barely speak properly

Your hands threads into his hair, his neck limp as you pull him up by it. Your fingers find the shutter, knowing you had to act fast to get the result you so desperately wanted.

Pulling his head further back so his whole face was visible, you position the camera in front of it, the sight of the lense making Matty’s heart skip a beat.

Right as you take the picture, you violently snap your hips forward, thrusting into him at a brutal pace, making his face contort in ecstasy, mouth falling open, revealing a pink tongue between his lips.

The camera flash is disorienting for him, the shutter barely heard over his impossibly loud moans, the sounds making you feel weightless.

He lets out a high laugh as he fully gets what you’d just done, only proving his earlier point further. His little victory is interrupted by his impending orgasm, the combination of the pressure from your strap on his G-spot and the delicious friction of the sheets rubbing against his cock sending him into a lust driven frenzy.

His moans are high pitched, almost feminine as he buries his face into his slack arms, trying to bite back his noises. You tell him to quit it, demanding to hear every single cry that leaves his lips.

“You’re such a brat, acting like I cant have you fucking purring under me in the blink of an eye.” you speak, an intense feeling of power and control taking your body as you slam into him, licking up the skin of his bare neck, making him shudder under your touch.

“I promise i’ll be good- just please let me cum.” he’s a blubbering mess, tears rolling down his cheeks as you tug harshly on his hair, the pain only making it harder for him to hold off his orgasm.

“Please- I need it so bad- fuck, please.”

“Oh, you need it, do you?” you taunt him, your fingers moving to shove their way into his mouth, pressing down on his wet, hot tongue. The whimper he lets out as you gag him makes your brain short circuit, your eyes are fixed on the way he grinds his hips to meet your frantic thrusts, desperate to get himself off.

“Go on then, cum all over our nice sheets. Make everything dirty, just like you are, aren't you darling?” the filthy words spill from your lips before you could even think, and Matty stills for a second before moaning around your fingers, bucking against the mattress.

“So good, so fucking good- oh my god, fuck, feels so good-” his words are muffled by your fingers, and as much as you need to hear him, you let it slide, wanting your perfect boy to finally come undone. He cums with a scream, an actual, guttural scream of your name, convulsing under your touch as you reach around and grip his cock, working him through his orgasm.

He gasps as ropes of cum paint the sheets, covering your hand. You slow down your thrusts, not wanting to rip him out of his dazed state just yet. He whimpers as you pull out, feeling strangely empty without you filling up every inch of him. His body is limp against the bed, chest heaving trying to take in as much oxygen as possible as he comes down from his high, slowly but surely.

You yelp when a hand grips the side of your arm suddenly, pulling you down onto the bed next to him. Matty’s sweet smile makes your heart swell up with love as you make eye contact, his brown eyes drooped half shut in pleasure.

“Fucking mint.” he breathes, giggling as you roll your eyes at his utterly unsexy reaction to you fucking his brains out.

“Really?”

His smile turns into a grin as he pulls you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against yours. You hand cups his cheeks, wiping aways what's left of his tears.

“I fucking love you, that was world altering, fuck me.”

“I already did, remember?” the opportunity was right there, and you both erupt into a fit of laughter at your bad jokes, grinning widely at each other. Matty lets out a grossed-out groan when he accidently rolls into the wet patch he had left in the bed, crying at the feeling of the damp fabric against his bare legs.

But, in typical Matty fashion, he opts to just cope, too lazy and fucked out to do anything about it. You try to convince him to get up, shower, maybe do anything except roll around in his cum soaked sheets. He flat out refuses, gripping your waist so tightly you felt Matty-shaped bruises form on the skin.

He forces you to lay with him, not letting you get up.

“Did it hurt?” you ask tentatively, genuinely curious. He shakes his head, trying to describe the sensation.

“A bit, but it felt really fucking great after about two seconds, so totally worth it.” he kisses you again, softer but still passionate, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down lightly.

“Did you like it?” he asks, trailing a finger up and down your arm, scratching it comfortingly.

All you can do is smile, the memory of what you felt making you giddy.

“I felt powerful.” you confess, a faint blush spreading onto your already flushed cheeks. Might as well let it all out, right?

“You like being powerful?” you nod your head, confirming the sneaking suspicion he’s had since that very first night on his living room sofa.

“I like it when you hurt me.” you laugh, that information having been painfully obvious for a while now.

“I know, darling, you make it so obvious.” he curses at you for quote un-quote ‘kink shaming’ him, immediately mentioning your little knack for photography.

“What do you do with the pictures?” you’ve never told him what happens to the polaroids after they properly develop, stashed in your nightstand drawer.

“I don't kiss and tell.” you snigger at his hurt reaction, now even more desperate to know what goes on in your mind when your finger presses down on the shutter, immortalizing Matty in a picture as small as the palm of your hand.

“That does not work if I'm the one you kissed, I’m afraid.” you dismiss him with a shake of your head, watching the hope leave his face. He nags you further, offering all sorts of services to get you to confess to him.

“I’ll show you sometime.” his eyes light up, ready to make yet another filthy comment. You press a finger to his lips, shushing him like he was a misbehaved child, smirking at his reaction.

“Only if you're good, though.” he nods his head so eagerly, you're afraid he might get whiplash as he shuffles closer to you, nuzzling his face into your shirt (well, his goal was clearly your tits, but you didn't need to know that.)

“I'll be so good for you, you’ll regret ever denying me.” you laugh, vowing to hold him to it.

148 notes · View notes

lottiecrabie · 7 months

Text

don’t fuck the line cooks. part two – matty healy

ever since that night in the walk-in, you can only think about the next time. hopefully if you push and prod him enough, you’ll get your way…

warnings: 18+, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, masturbation, public sex, drug use, sex under the influence, degradation, choking, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, authority kink, problematic age gap problematic age gaping, sleazy man is even sleazier in this somehow

part two of two

18,294 words

You lick the salt off the back of your hand, shooting the cheap tequila, immediately wincing from the taste and worsening it with a bite of tart lime. You shake your head, hoping to flick acid off your tongue.

“God,” you say for good measure. “I can’t seem to get used to this.”

Beside you, Veronica laughs, eating the lime off the rind. She gives you a green smile, features uncrinkled. She is used to this. “It’ll come with age.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re only four years older than me.”

“Yeah, but you were severely stunted for the twenty-one first years of your life, so the difference is staggering.”

“Ar-ar. You’re hilarious.”

“I know.” She flicks the lime rind on the counter, a disheveled green skin rid of meat. She licks the leftover salt off her lips— with some of her bright red lipstick, too. She grabs your wrist next, shimmying her shoulders as she reels you from the bar. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

“My feet hurt,” you pout in mock-protest, but your limbs are loose from the booze and you’re easily whisked away to the dancefloor.

The Darling is the nearest bar from the restaurant with the cheapest alcohol. It’s a dirty thing, drenched in obscurity and the occasional neon sign, smelling like sweat and cigarettes, and sticky to walk on. It plays the same songs over and over again— every night for the past decade, the same playlist booms from the speakers. You know the tunes by heart now, screaming the lyrics without a single title coming to mind.

The Darling is where everyone crashes after shift drinks, itching for a bigger buzz and a dance. Your coworkers crowd the place, talking to the bartenders like old friends, familiarly finding the labyrinthine way to the toilets. (Find the bar, take a turn to your right, follow a dark corridor, beside the kitchen to the left.)

You’re sore and tired from a double, a neck vein nearly popped when a customer dared ask for—no, insist on a steak half rare-half medium on each side uncut. Dread filled you when you approached the kitchen, putting on a dazzling smile to transmit the ridiculous request. Sighs, and swears, and that shake of head that makes his curls bounce filled the room as he got to work, frustrated and pissed, but obedient still.

Him. You spin on your feet, finding Matty still at the bar, sipping on a dark drink with George. You smile, eyes twinkling, detaching yourself from your friend as you sway towards him. You practically fall on his side— his hand catches you at your waist, near your hip, decidedly inappropriate, but instinctive.

“Hullo,” you say in a poor imitation of their accents. George snorts. “Watcha drinking?” You ask Matty, scrunching your nose.

He arches an eyebrow, sliding the glass towards you. “Have a taste.” You grab it without hesitating, knocking a mouthful and immediately regretting it. You cough, shaking your head. That’s straight liquor. Matty laughs, soothingly rubbing a hand on your back. “You okay?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Aw, princess,” he coos, taking a sip of his whiskey and not even twitching as the bitter taste washes his mouth. “You’ll like it when you’re older.”

Again, you roll your eyes. Taking an easy dig at your age when he’s been between your thighs some nothing-days ago is hypocritical. The retort burns your tongue, but you bite it back for present company. Matty looks at you a little gleefully, like he knows, like it amuses him.

You turn to George with a smile. “What about you? Are you drinking something sane?”

He snorts. “Just a rum and coke, sweets. I’m afraid it’s not very special.”

You reach for his drink anyway and he offers it gladly, metal rings around the cool glass. You tip it, smiling at the sweetness, licking it off your lips. “George, you have much better taste.”

“Hey!”

“I know.”

“Order me a drink, will you?” You say, fluttering your eyelashes at him. As though you would even need the extra persuasion; he’s already shouting a drink at a bartender, putting it on Matty’s tab with a point of a thumb.

Matty rolls his eyes beside you, his fingers digging into your waist in warning. Something low simmers between your legs. You smirk to yourself. You like the feel of that.

“There you go,” George says, passing you the orange drink that’s been slapped on the counter. “A sweet drink for a sweet girl.”

You smile gratefully at him, tasting it. It’s fruity and light; your lips stretch up. “Thanks, George.”

“‘Course.”

Ross crashes in your group, swinging an arm over George’s shoulder, clearly smashed. “Mate, they fixed the PacMan machine.”

“No way. Is my score still on it?”

“DICKH3AD bright and red!” With a laugh, the two of them whisk away to the arcade game, off somewhere to the left, tucked between two tables.

You’re alone with Matty now. A thrill resonates within you— it’s silly. It’s not like he’s gonna bend you over this bar and take you right this moment, in front of anyone. It’s not like he’s done anything of the sort since the walk-in fridge. Still, you spin to face him, arching an eyebrow, practically inviting him to.

He sees the meaning tacked onto your eyelashes, clear as day, yet he does nothing but grin to himself, taking a sip of his awful whiskey on rocks.

You huff, opting for another strategy. “Are you upset I asked George to order me a drink?” You try instead, hoping to prod and poke until he snaps again— finally.

Matty smirks. “I’d have picked something lighter. Little girl like you can’t handle her liquor yet.” He pouts, “She’s just started drinking.” Your fingers grip around the glass, something hot and shameful dripping inside of you.

“Why? Have plans for me I can’t be drunk for?”

Matty leans back on his stool, properly looking at you. His gaze licks up your naked legs, your short skirt, your white top. Your heart beats twice as fast. Subconsciously, you straighten, needing to be taller, older, more mature. To satisfy, to excel.

“If I said yes, would you not drink it?” His eyes flick to the orange glass between your clenched hands. It’s barely sipped, condensation running on your fingers. He meets your gaze next. There’s a game of chess, and you can’t seem to figure out what he wants. How to win.

You want to win. You need to win. You feel it throbbing between your legs, that desperate urge.

You drop the glass on the counter. It clinks on the wood, then settles, pretty and discarded. His turn.

Matty smiles, satisfied. He stands from his stool, and a surge of excitement shoots up your spine. You don’t need the alcohol when you have him anyway.

Matty leans in, then pats your shoulder. “The boys are waiting for me.” He sidesteps you, then gets lost into the crowd. You watch him go, mouth parted in offense and disbelief.

What a fucking dickhead. You make a low noise of annoyance, taking your glass and slurping half of it down in rebellion. You march to one of the empty booths, rage twisting your guts.

You just want him to fuck you. It’s been five days. What is he waiting for?

You slide into the sticky bench, ruminating in your anger as you chew on the plastic blue straw of your cocktail.

“Hey,” Landon, a server, nods at you as he pulls into the opposite side of the booth. You nod back. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m growing tired of The Darling’s playlist.”

“Take two shots. It’ll be back.”

“Sage advice.” He tips his chin towards your drink. “Are you taking revenge for turtles or has this straw personally wronged you?”

You sigh, letting go of the plastic, pushing the glass away from you. “It’s killed my family. Arson, you see? It was brutal.”

“I would offer my condolences, but that would mean my boss is dead, and I’m not the biggest fan of his. Would a muted hooray be acceptable?”

You huff, smirking at him. “Bold of you to tell the boss’ daughter.”

“Well, I’m quite drunk.”

You smile. “I’ll cheer to that.” You knock your empty glass to his beer mug.

Landon gasps. “In the eyes,” he chastises. “Or it’s seven years of bad sex.” You laugh, opening your eyes comically wide to cheer him next. You’ve just broken the curse. You’re not about to be pulled back into mediocre hookups now. “Better,” he nods, finally taking a sip of his beer.

You haven’t talked to Landon much before, nothing other than pleasantries and the quick quips exchanged between two tables. You quickly find that he’s funny, pulling snorting laughs out of your tipsy mouth as he recounts some of his worst customer stories like grand, epic tales. He offers sips of his beer graciously, then buys you your own when the supply is diminishing. You don’t even like beer, but you accept the gift nonetheless, letting the awful taste fizz in your mouth and slacken your head.

A hand over your mouth, you half-hide your laugh as it bursts out of you. “I can’t believe you would say that!”

“And I got fired for it,” Landon argues, screaming a defense.

“Well, obviously—”

“What’s the funny story?” Both of you jump in surprise at the intruder. Turning towards the voice, you find Matty sliding in the booth next to you.

Already, he takes his place like he owns it, spreading through the leather seats. His legs part comfortably, his thigh sticks to yours, his arm hangs over the back of the booth, tickling your nape. He wraps a hand around your beer, pulling it towards him, taking a sip shamelessly. He sits like he owns you.

You roll your eyes, taking back your mug, though you hold it between your hands and don’t drink it. Silence reigns around the table. Neither you or Landon feel particularly inclined to talk.

“C’mon,” Matty pokes, looking back and forth between the two of you. “I want to know the funny story.”

“It’s just about this customer at my old job who was an asshole,” Landon laughs easily to his credit. “Bet you heard a thousand like it before.”

“Yeah,” Matty nods, “I bet I did.” There’s something dark in his eyes, in the intensity of his gaze on Landon, like there is some hidden insult he’s supposed to catch.

Matty’s eyes fall on you next, flicking to the beer and then back to your daggering glare, cocking his head condescendingly. “I didn’t know you liked beer.” He says it like some genuine question, but you know he knows the answer.

“It’s okay,” you say tightly.

“Mmh, yeah,” Matty smirks. “I’m sure Landon could give you a lot of okay things.” Your smile crisps on your face. The fucking asshole.

“Landon,” you practically shout, turning towards him in a desperate attempt to ignore Matty. “I heard you were applying for the position of lead server?”

Matty snorts. “Did your daddy tell you that?”

You grit your teeth, “As a matter of fact, yes.” You smile at Landon. “He wanted my opinion. I’ll tell him I think you’d be great.”

“Thanks,” he smiles at you genuinely. “I promise I won’t call anyone a raging hormonal grade A wanker.”

You laugh. “Oh, please do if I ever need it.” You shake your head, twisting the beer in your hands, but still avoiding the aftertaste that would linger in your mouth. “Yesterday, I had a woman who—”

Matty’s hand rests on your naked thigh, cold from the glass and a smoke outside, rough in sinfully familiar ways, spreading over your leg like this, too, he owns. You stifle a gasp. The words die in your mouth.

“Who what?” Matty encourages you, frowning at you like he’s not perfectly aware of what he’s doing under the table.

As though he’s trying to entirely rob the words out of your mouth, he trails his fingertips up and down your thigh, raising goosebumps on the skin. You throw him a glance with some furious demand to quit it, but there’s a deeper need for him to do just the opposite.

You rake your throat, flipping back to Landon. “She came in already pissed and prissy, telling me she’s never gotten a good experience here. Why she bothers to come back is completely beyond me. I mean, you would think she would give up then, because—”

Matty’s hand dips to your inner thighs and your lips hang open, mind shortcircuiting. Without even thinking, you spread them for him, giving him further space. He smirks at that, at the resounding blush on your cheeks as you realize what you’ve done.

He presses into the meat of your leg, one finger at a time, so you’re so aware of him you might get dizzy. His pinky slips under the hem of your skirt, inching close to inappropriate.

“Um, anyway,” you laugh awkwardly, desperate to get through this story. Your face heats up, the knowledge of Matty’s teasing under the table — in front of Landon — burning at your mind. Matty chuckles beside you. You rake your throat. “I try to do my best, you know— smile so fucking wide I could rip my cheeks— but she’s just asking me stupid question after stupid question like this is an interrogatory or something.”

Your eyes flicker between Landon and Matty, moving from amused eyes to a condescending nod, urging you on as a warm hand slips further and further up your thigh. Pleasure wakes up in your belly— just a little, just the idea of what it could be. God, you need him, and the worst is that he knows, staring at you so fucking cocky and proud.

You stutter, “And— And she speaks to me like I’m the dumb one in this interaction! I mean, she’s asking me the size of our salad leaves because if they’re too big then I’ll have to cut them and yet—”

Matty’s finger meets the apex of your thighs. You jump, hips rolling into his hand, hand flying to your mouth to cover a moan you just barely avoid letting out. You need this story over.

Matty seems to predict your plan to wrap it up, wasting no time to linger and tease and brush, instead rubbing his fingers up and down, pressing into your soaked underwear. You clamp around his hand, biting your lip.

“So she pulled me every which way during my whole shift and—” He finds your clit easily, pressing on it through the cloth, making lazy circles that have your legs shaking under the table nonetheless. Pleasure rushes up them, burning with memory and apprehension.

Your voice trembles as you continue, “—and I had to scream in the fridge so I wouldn’t lunge at her from the table—” You make the mistake of looking Matty’s way and he grins at you knowingly, the crow’s feet by his eyes denting as he licks mischief off his lips. His fingers push your underwear aside.

You grip his wrist under the table, but he gathers a pool of your arousal still, as though to point out how much this little game is actually affecting you, no matter your useless protests. Your breath hitches. He pinches your bud meanly. Your head spins and spins deliriously.

You focus on Landon, rushing out. “And then she tipped me 2%.” You grin at him cartoonishly big and fake, practically screaming, “Your turn!”

“I think I remember that,” Matty cuts in before Landon can say anything. He teases your entrance and a jolt of ecstasy zaps through you. He smirks, “You screaming in the walk-in.” You glare at him, remembering being so wet and tired in the fridge you thought you might liquify and melt on the floor, holding onto his back for dear life as he thrusted inside of you, over and over, finding that perfect spot that had you screaming.

You’re red and hot and fuck it. You stand up, his hand falling out of your skirt. “Actually, I need a smoke.”

Matty stands up beside you. “I have a pack.” You’re off before Landon can add anything, lost to the swallowing crowd of drunk service workers.

You make a beeline for the bar. Matty catches up to you easily, knocking against your side, clearly so fucking pleased with himself. If you weren’t so turned on you think you could actually catch fire, you might tell him to fuck off.

You turn to the right into a dark corridor. “He wasn’t flirting with me,” you say through gritted teeth because you would like to at least establish that.

Matty snorts. “Don’t be naive. He fucking wanted you.”

“It’s not because I have a conversation with a guy that we’re automatically about to get it on.”

He scoffs. “I know guys, and I know that guy would have gotten it on with you right there on the fucking table if you had asked.” You roll your eyes, which only seems to piss him off. “And what were you doing giggling at him?”

“Am I not allowed to laugh?”

“Landon isn’t that fucking funny. The guy barely has enough wit to sustain a conversation.”

“You don’t even know him,” you protest with a disbelieved laugh. Kitchen. To the left.

“I’ve worked with the bloke for three years. If he’s told a joke in that time, I’ve yet to be around to hear it.”

You push the bathroom door, giving him a prissy look behind your shoulder. “Well, you’re missing out. Maybe you should talk to people other than waitresses half your age—” The bathroom door slams behind the both of you. Matty grabs both your cheeks and crashes his mouth against your lips. He shuts you up with a heated tongue and sure, callused fingers on your skin, and it works.

You part your mouth instinctively, kissing him back with fervor and unbridled need. Adrenaline shoots up your spine, alongside childish glee, the thrilled knowledge that this is finally happening. The argument is a faraway concept you don’t care about.

Your hands dig into his back, clutching on the flimsy material of his washed-out white shirt, wishing to rip it off of him. He groans into your mouth, tilting his head and kissing you harder.

Matty pushes you against the door, fixing you in place with a hand on your hip and another palming roughly at your breast. You moan in his mouth, lick into his with devotion. Your fingers hide in the mess of his curls, tugging. Hoping it makes him a little crazy— the instinct to poke and prod and tug for something still boiling inside of you.

And it works. His fingertips dig into your hip, pressing meanly into the bone, and he shivers. He kisses you with abandon, stealing each breath from your mouth until you’re drunk on the lack of oxygen and him. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, and you kiss and kiss and kiss until your mind swirls lazily in your skull.

He bites your lip, tugging it and releasing it with a smirk. You whine, so fucking wet it drips down your thighs, titling your hips in hope of finding some friction. You tremble between his arms and you know, desperately, deliciously, annoyingly, that he has you right where he wants.

“Please,” you whisper in the dark of the bathroom, already pleading your case like you know you’ll have to. Matty licks his lips, digging under the risen hem of your skirt. “Please, please, please, Matty,” you rush immediately again, rolling your hips against nothing.

“What do you want?”

“You.” You take his wrist, puppeteering his hand up and up until it finds the wet patch of your underwear. You bite your lip, a gasp seconds away from spilling. “Your fingers.”

“Mine, huh?” He says, and indulgently slips your underwear aside. This time, nothing stops the resulting breathy moan. “Those fingers?” He brushes up your entrance, finding your clit and rubbing gently at it.

You roll your eyes, letting your last hand fall to his shoulder and clutching it for support. “Yes.” As though satisfied with your answer, he rewards you with speed, circling and swiping at you until your face breaks open with a silent moan. Pleasure blooms in your belly. Finally. Every aching muscle in you sings in unabashed thrill. “Fuck, Matty.”

He dips into your neck, kissing and licking at the delicate curve, climbing up your jaw. He’s unrelenting between your thighs and you simply grip his wrist, letting yourself be washed with euphoria. Those calluses might kill you one day.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me,” he says, and though the words are harsh, the tone is reverent. He looks down at you, at your body bending and parting just for him, at your pleading stare, at your red, panting mouth. Devours the sight. “Got you so fucking ready just from touching you under the table. Did you like it, princess? Liked being bad? Liked getting fingered in front of your little buddy?”

You nod furiously. Pleasure loosens your head enough to lose the inherent need to be a rule-abiding, prim, moral girl. Yes to taboo, yes to indency, yes to anything if it’s him.

“Bet he’d be so upset if he saw you now. Should we go get him? Give him a show?” Faintly, you shake your head, embarrassment and ecstasy spinning your mind. You moan into his neck, desperate. Your hips grind against his hand for more.

He presses into your clit, making your eyes roll with a gasp. “He’d love to see you like this. Fucked out when I’ve barely even touched you. Making the prettiest sounds ever. God, I could fucking hear them all day. All desperate and whiney, like you can’t get enough of me.” He rubs at you twice as fast just to hear you whimper, muffled by a bite of his shoulder. His name drowns in the fibers, shirt wet by a slack mouth.

“I can’t,” you admit, shaking in his arms.

“Fucked the old, dirty man at work and now you can’t fucking live without his cock, right? What would they all think if they saw you, cockdrunk and fucking begging for it?”

“Yes! Just— Fuck, just do something, sir.”

“So fucking wet for me,” he coos, all proud and pleased. You grin, letting go of his shoulder to press kisses up his neck. He shudders. “We should show them, right? At least let them hear it.” Two of his fingers dip to your entrance and enter, slowly, letting the pornographic, squelching sound resonate through the quiet room. “There you go.”

You’re too blissed out to care how it sounds, too busy getting used to the delicious stretch of his digits to fully notice how each thrust makes sopping, wet noises. You shiver, gripping his shoulder, biting wherever you can get your teeth into. Matty groans in your ear and you grin, happy.

“No one can fuck you like this,” Matty whispers, and indulgently speeds up his movement, curling into you as a reminder.

Euphoria coils in your belly, familiarly burning and tightening the strings of your body. You shake your head. “No one,” you agree, religious.

“No one can get you off.”

Again, you grip his shoulders, promising, “No one.” And it’s true. Even your own hand has been a poor replacement to the art he can draw on your skin, making your body sing like his favorite instrument. His thumb rolls at you in tandem, a fast, harsh tempo. “Fucking hell,” you cry and scrunch your face.

He smirks, whispering, “No one can see you like this.”

“No one, Matty. Only you.”

Matty kisses your cheek, a serpent smile on his lips. He coos in the shell of your ear, “Then why were you flirting with him?” He doesn’t want you to mistake his sweet tone: he pulls out of you.

Your eyes flash open, fear gripping your guts. Your cunt already misses him, throbbing around nothing. The taste of pleasure lingers on your teeth, just out of reach.

“I wasn’t,” you try to plead, but Matty’s already stepping away from you. Your arms fall to your side. Matty nods, but it doesn’t reassure anything in you, now hyperaware of the dangerous gleam in his eyes. “I swear, Matty. I didn’t— He just made me laugh.” You shake your head, chuckling, “Who fucking cares about Landon Williams?”

Your hand reaches out, grabbing his and drawing it back under your raised skirt. You brush it against your soaked underwear, biting your lip as it makes contact. You whisper, “He doesn’t do this to me.”

Matty is unimpressed. “Of fucking course not.” He bites, pulling away. You pout, displeased, too empty to think. He crosses his arms before you get any other ideas. “Did you finish that drink, princess?” Your cheeks heat up and you look down, caught. He snorts meanly. “Say it.”

“Yes, but—”

He cuts you off, furrowing his eyebrows in a comical pout, as though speaking to a little child. “Where did my good little girl go? So fucking eager to please. Brought up with manners and all, right?”

He takes a step, tilting your chin up with a strong thumb. You part your lips, readied and offered, pleading. “You taste like beer,” he whispers, and then offers a solution: two wet fingers, just out of reach. The message clicks. You don’t hesitate.

You get on your tiptoes, sticking your neck out to catch the digits and suck them between your lips. You roll your tongue around them, moaning with a full mouth, letting the tangy taste of you linger. You release him with a pop, grinning up at him proudly.

You keep it wide open, waiting, and he smirks at you. Knowing exactly what you’re asking for, he bends and spits in your mouth. Sick pleasure fills your mind and you moan, swallowing it, barely catching your breath that he’s muttering, “You’re so fucking dirty,” and falling on your lips.

You kiss him back eagerly, trying to keep up with his angry, furious pace. You’re wound up so tight you might burst from any touch: just a brush, just a flick, just a thrust and you’d be screaming his name, falling apart on his callused hand.

“Matty,” you beg between two kisses. You throb around nothing.

“Taste much better, sweetheart,” he breathes.

He presses a kiss on your lips, then pulls away from you again. You’re whining before he’s even had time to unwrap you from his arms, release your tits from his palms. You frown at him. You’ve done everything he asked.

“Let this be a lesson, princess.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You cross your arms, fuming. He’s really gonna leave now? Matty seems a bit too happy at your reaction, watching you like his favorite entertainment.

He smiles, stroking your hair. “How else are you supposed to learn?” He pouts. “If I can’t have my good girl, I’ll make her.” He brushes the saliva and gloss off your lower lip, then opens the bathroom door.

It falls close with a slam. You stare at the graffitied, dirty mirror and think you might murder someone.

—

Matty is sizzling some meat, twisting salt and pepper above it. The kitchen staff runs around him— they’re late, falling behind because of a missing aioli sauce.

You wait for your plate and dagger him with a glare. You’re still sticky and unsatisfied from yesterday; you spent until the early hours of the day rubbing between your thighs, desperately trying to satisfy some itch.

Matty’s eyes rise up as though feeling the handmark of your stare on him. They lock with yours, take in your displeased, furious look, and he smirks. Winks at you. You grab the hot plate sliding across from you with a huff.

Walking away with a balancing tray, you secretly wish for him to tug you into the nearest bathroom until the whole restaurant knows his name. He doesn’t, of course, and you find your hungry guests with the fakest, biggest smile of all.

—

The restaurant is eerily calm before the dinner rush, a few seated tables scattered across sections: rushed parents and elderly folks slurping soup. You have just enough of a break to chug the bottle of water you keep at the host stand, pestering Adam as you finally have a minute to quench your thirst.

Veronica finds you at the stand, leaning both elbows on the wood as she smiles sickly sweet at you. Your eyes narrow in apprehension. “I just got asked something interesting.” You arch an eyebrow. “Landon wants to know if you and Matty are a thing. Said Matty practically pissed all over you two days ago.”

Your lips don’t even twitch. “Okay.”

Veronica gives you an expectant look. “Well?”

Beside you, Adam turns to his computer and decidedly chooses to ignore this. “I am not part of this conversation,” he declares.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not a thing.”

Veronica laughs. “Oh, come on. No one here is blind. You guys eyefuck so much sometimes we feel like we’re intruding just by picking up a plate.” Admittedly, your cheeks heat up slightly at that. You didn’t think you were that obvious.

She sighs, giving you a serious look. “Just be careful. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. He’s not like the little goody-goody boyfriends you’ve had. He’ll eat you alive.”

You flutter your eyelashes, faux doe-eyed. “Promise?”

“Reservations, tables, tables. Mmh, chairs.”

You give her a look, entirely ignoring Adam’s interjection. “I’m young, Vee, but I’m not stupid. I’m telling you there’s nothing going on. We’re just having sex.” You click your tongue. “And even then, we’ve only done it, like, once. Once and a half at most.”

“And a half?” Adam pipes up, then seems to remember who you’re talking about. He raises one hand, shaking his head, defeated. “I don’t even want to know.” He practically bends over the stand to see the computer, as though if he just got close enough to the screen, he could be sucked into its world.

“I’m leaving for college in less than two months,” you continue. “I’m not trying to date him, or whatever other tragic ways you think he’s gonna break my heart.” You smirk, shrugging, “I just find the gray hair hot.” Veronica snorts at that.

Still, there’s something relieved in her eyes. Maybe even proud. She smiles at you, then turns to Adam. “And what does Matty have to say about it?”

“No comments.”

She gasps, facing you with an excited grin. “That means he’s talked about you!” You bite your lip. Could he have? What did he say?

Veronica is already on it. She pokes Adam’s arm, forcing him to look up at her. “What has he said? C’mon.” She gives him a solemn look, holding her heart. “This is a safe space.”

“That it’s none of my business,” Adam deadpans. “And neither is it yours, brat.”

Before Veronica can add anything, a family of four enter the door, wiping off their sweaty, red foreheads. They laugh as they approach the stand, mentioning the weather. Adam practically jumps to greet them, begging them to follow him.

“I’m sitting them in your section. That’ll give you something useful to do,” Adam hisses at Veronica, and she pokes her tongue out at him.

She waits until he’s just out of earshot to trail, “Now that he’s gone…” She faces you with a smirk, rounding the stand and joining you. She gives you a teasing look, biting back a grin. “How was the sex?” You can’t stop the smile shining on your face. It breaks your cheeks. She gasps. “Oh, I knew it. Julia said he was the best sex of her life, too.”

“She didn’t lie,” you admit, flushed. You cock your head. “You haven’t slept with him?” You’re almost surprised. For all her don’t fuck the line cooks warnings, you had assumed she must have been burned before.

“Nah,” she shakes her head. She trails, teasing, “I was too busy with Ross.”

“Hypocrite!”

“I never said anything about bartenders!” But before you can tease her more, Adam calls her name and Veronica’s off with a spin and four menus, blowing you a kiss.

—

It’s dark outside. The street lamps slope over cars, bathing the street in semi-obscurity. You cross your arms, some pretend at a shield. The crew has long left for The Darling while you finished up your closing duties. You wiped your forehead and found yourself too tired to handle another boozy, dancy night, to wake up the next day still a little drunk and off-kilter for a grueling Saturday shift.

Something catches the corner of your eye. Your head turns, squinting to be sure you’re not mistaken. No, it really is Matty’s car parked in the alleyway. You’d recognize the dirty, beat-up thing anywhere for all the rides it has given you—not in the sense you would like. At least you can ask for one now, avoid the stressful walk home, clenched and quick, holding keys between your fingers.

You dip into the dark alleyway, walking the cigarette butts-lined path. The car is smoky, a gray curtain to the outside world. You frown, knocking on the window of his backseat. Matty opens the door, bloodshot eyes staring at you, eyebrow arching. He holds a joint in one hand and the door’s handle in the other. The earthy smell attacks your nostrils; you scrunch your nose.

“Don’t let the smoke out,” Matty chastises, sliding away to leave a spot beside him.

Your brain throbs in your head. Flashes of grand preachy speeches given to friends as they passed bongs at parties come back to you. Embarrassingly, you flush and step into the car, closing the door behind you.

Matty grins at you, pleased, taking a hit of his joint and blowing the smoke into the car. The air is heavy and thick, pressing against your skin. This is such a bad idea.

“What are you still doing here?” You ask. He pointedly looks at the joint as though obvious. You roll your eyes. “You could do that at home.”

He shrugs, “Didn’t want to.”

“Are you gonna drive?”

“Was planning to, yeah.” Your lips part for a scathing, moralizing reply, but he cuts you off, repeating in that same tone of yours, “Are you gonna give me a sermon?”

You scowl. “Was planning to, yeah.” Matty chuckles. He knows you far too well already.

“I’d leave if I were you, princess. This car’s becoming a hotbox.”

You should, of course. Weed has carcinogens, and causes lung damages, and slows development, and wrecks the body’s natural nutrient reserve, and all the other priggish arguments you’ve known and repeated by heart.

But Matty has a loose grin you find a little adorable. Gray-streaked hair flops as he leans his head on the backseat, lips drooping with the weight of the joint. The shape of them is addictive, a perfect O as he blows smoke out, just like he would on the inside of your thighs to get you to jump and squirm for him.

Your breath is heavy. You feel stuck to the leather seats, skin gluing you in place to watch and rewatch the show he gives you.

And, really, you’re a little curious about what weed is. Your friends have all indulged at some time or the other; your dormmate used to crack a window, light a candle, and infest the room with the earthy smell as if it would cover any of it up; even your mom would laugh and wave smoke away when you caught her off the clock with her coworkers back in LA.

Matty laughs, languid and slack and, fuck, it’s such a pretty sound. “You don’t want to, do you?” He teases. Your cheeks heat up. “It’s okay, princess. Don’t even need to smoke it. Just breathe the air and save your pretty pink lungs. You can even do your little speech to me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’t condescend me,” you say, as though there’s not something sick in you that enjoys when he does it. Matty raises two arms in a show of innocence, cheeky as they fall down. He knows you like it, too.

“My apologies, darling.” In complete contradiction, he spreads his knees and looks down at his lap, telling you, “Come sit on my knee.” And in complete contradiction to your warning, you do just what he asks.

You don’t even think about it; you’re scooping yourself up and dropping on his knee, biting your lip as you settle over his tough jeans. His hand loosely holds your hip, looking at you pleased.

Now that you’re on his lap, close enough to count his eyelashes, to lick the smoke off his lips, you feel yourself growing needy. The memory of a stolen orgasm in a dark bathroom comes back to you in hot flashes. You have to think about stilling your hips to stop you from grinding on his knee.

“Are you serious about this?” He asks, arching an eyebrow. You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but the answer’s the same anyway;

“Yes.”

He taps your hip. “Open your mouth, princess.” You’re flushing as you do so, imagining him spitting in it, slipping two fingers and making you slobber your sermon around them. Instead, he takes a hit of his joint and blows it into your mouth. You inhale as he’s taught you. “Good,” he grins. “You remember how.”

“It’s not rocket science,” you bite, deadpan.

“You’re right. Smart girl like you. This is nothing at all.” It hits true, strumming the right chords inside of you. You shift on his knee, holding back the shameful groan that threatens to spill out at the friction. It’s really not fair that he makes you sit here, close enough to kiss and rub and grind until you’re dripping on his lap, and not do it.

Maybe you’re starting to feel something. Your body is light and slack, a pleasant buzz resonating through you. You feel relaxed, more than you have in years, always strung high, clenched and straight-backed. A giggle threatens out of you.

Maybe it’s why you say, “I think you should fuck me.” Though, really, it’s all just an excuse for the fact that it’s all you’ve thought about for the past week, ever since that night in the walk-in fridge. You should do it again. Right now. Please. Over and over, like the beating drums of an earworm song.

Matty smiles, indulgent. “Is that so?” You nod frantically. His fingers dig into your hip. He takes another hit, ever casual. “D’you think you deserve to?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“I—” You huff. Well, yes, maybe you haven’t really been anything but a brat recently, wearing low-cut tops and winking at other line cooks in hopes of riling him up. But it’s really his fault for getting you so fucking ready you’re begging for him, then walking off. You pout at him. “Please.”

“Ah-ah,” he says, tugging on your lip with his thumb, smearing your lipgloss. “None of that.” Being cute won’t seem to work this time.

“I’ll earn it,” you say desperately.

“How?”

Your mind scrambles. An idea sparks in your mind. You rise from his knee, then you get on yours in the cramped spot of the backseat.

You look up at him, blinking innocently, hand traveling up his thigh. Matty takes the joint to his lips, but you can see from the way his chest rises and falls in quick succession that he’s worked up. Good. You fucking have him.

You might be inexperienced, an unknower of pleasure, but if there’s one thing you can do, it’s a fucking blowjob.

“Go on, then,” Matty says, choked. “Earn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your greedy hands finally find his waistband. You undo the button, fingers frantic as they work his jeans down enough to reveal his half-hard cock. You lick your lips, staring up at him while you wrap around his length.

He hisses, bucking into your fist. His dark eyes are locked in yours, barely willing to move away from your face to take a good look at the little show your hand is giving him. It’s like he wants to see you, pupils wide and lips swollen, so fucking turned on and ready just to suck his cock.

You slide up, swiping your hand up to his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it down. It’s a slow pace, meant to tease, to beguile him. Get him so ready for you he’s begging for once.

You repeat the motion over and over, never in any kind of repeated rhythm for him to really get used to anything. His cock hardens in your hand until it’s standing proud and ready. Matty breathes heavily, letting a low sound out every time you brush his tip. You smirk every time, teasing your nails on his sensitive skin.

“Stop teasing,” Matty warns. His hips fuck into your fist every time you slide down, silently begging for more.

You cock your head, blinking up at him innocently. “Where are your manners?”

“Careful,” he says with a dangerous tone. His eyes gleam. “You don’t want me to teach you another lesson.”

You giggle. You dip your head down, kissing his tip. A moan spills out of him and you flash your teeth at him. You lower a little, pressing another kiss, then again, and again, until his whole cock is covered in tacky lipgloss.

Your tongue sticks out to lick a stripe up his length, rounding his tip. Just when he’s ready to feel your warm mouth embrace him, you give him another sweet kiss. He curses under his breath. “You think you’re funny.”

You lick mischief off your lips, staring up at him with a cheeky grin. “Say please.”

His hand free of the joint rakes through your hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging until you look up at him. Pleasure sparks from your head to your toes, reveling in the sensation. He sees right through you.

He lets go of your hair, soothing the sting as he travels down your temple, your cheek, your chin, pushing a thumb between your lips and parting them. Thrill gathers in your belly. Your mouth hangs wide open, breathing harshly. “Do it or I will.”

It’s his turn to be cocky, spotting how you shift on your knees at the graphic images he puts in your head. His hands in your hair, sure and strong as he fucks up into your— No. You want to show him what you can do, prove you’re not just some lost little girl.

You laugh, sucking around his thumb then releasing it. Saliva coats it, and it dries on your cheek as he caresses it. “You’re no fun,” you tease, pouting.

“Shouldn’t fuck a crass man if you wanted pleases and thank yous,” he retorts. “But then, you wouldn’t enjoy it, would you? Need to be railed dirty to get off, right?”

Instead of answering— too proud to give him the yes he’s right to expect, you suck his tip into your mouth. He makes a low whine, patting your hair, swearing under his breath as you roll your tongue around him. “That’s a good girl,” he coos. “Take me in now.”

There’s the instinct in you to do just the opposite, the born and bred need to be difficult, but you give in anyway, a bigger want to be extra good for him. You push him past your lips, lowering until he hits your throat. “Fuck,” he chokes. You smile around him, then bob your head.

You set a steady pace, stroking what you can’t fit with your fist. The car fills with wet, gagging noise and those puffy breaths he takes. Your tongue sticks out, licking his length as it passes him, making him shiver under you.

“Give me your hand,” he demands. You offer it without thinking, reaching up towards him palm-out.

He takes your wrist and spits on your hand. Saliva drips on your palm as he lowers it back to his cock. He wraps your fingers around him, pumping himself once, then twice, then releasing you. You keep going to the same pace he set, cursing around his length, somehow more turned on now.

Your hand works in tandem with your mouth. You leave his cock just long enough to spit on it yourself, spreading the saliva until he’s wet and messy, then bringing him back between your swollen lips. Precum and drool sticks to your chin, but you bob with a mission, uncaring of the sopping sounds that come out of your mouth.

“Ah,” he groans. His head falls back on the seat, spreading his thighs as if to give you more space. You quicken your moves in response, trying to coax more pretty sounds of him. “Shit. Fucking hell,” he laughs.

His eyes roll back, and he takes a hit of his dwindling joint. You stare at his lips as he does so, still as sickly fascinated by him smoking as you’ve always been. The car drenches in smoke, an added mix to the condensation dripping on the windows.

Matty’s face pulls down to look at you, right as you swallow him up with an especially deep trust. He makes a whine, caresses your hair. Sees the way your eyes are dark and aroused for him, obsessed. “D’you want another hit?” He asks, cheeky.

You release his cock, out of breath. “Yes.” Your hand continues to jerk him as you smile at him.

“Magic word?”

You scoff. “Coming from you?”

He laughs. “C’mon. How many tutors taught you all those good girl manners? Can’t destroy all that hard work. I don’t want to corrupt you too much.” Your eyes narrow at him. Your thumb swipes on his tip, stroking him quickly. He jumps at that, moaning. Matty shakes his head, hair flopping with it. “Minx.”

“Please,” you say, because you know it’s a lost battle to do anything but. You brush his tip on your lips, kitten-licking him, like some added argument. He smiles proudly.

“Of course, princess.” The joint comes to you, end faced towards you, just enough out of reach that you have to kneel up to wrap your lips around it. You take a drag, tipping your head back as you blow it out.

Your body feels hazy, tingling pleasantly throughout. There’s a loose smile on your lips as you bend down to swallow him back in your mouth. Euphoria twists in your mind, pulling at the strings of you, and you double in efforts eagerly, happily.

You bob quicker, deeper, moaning around his length. You breathe through your nose, trying not to gag every time he hits the back of your throat. It’s all worth it for the swears he mutters under his breath, low groans filling the car. Every fucked-out praise shoots you straight to the core. You’re dripping on the floor, wet and empty and begging for him.

“My perfect girl,” he praises, a whiny, worshiping sound. “So pretty on her knees for me. Fucking drooling everywhere.” You laugh at that, feeling saliva drip down your cheeks. “You were made for my cock, weren’t you? Made for me.”

You try to agree, but it’s a slobbering mess around his dick. The vibrations are enough; his eyes roll back into his skull, his hips jump. You choke on his length, releasing him with a cough, then diving back to work.

“Can’t fucking get enough of me,” he says. His hand caresses your hair, a soothing motion. “D’you want more?”

You nod around him. He smiles, gripping a hand in your hair. The sting gives you the same reaction as before; you moan around him, toes tingling. He pushes your mouth deeper around him. This time, you expect it; breathing through your nose, you welcome him in your throat.

“There you go,” he whines. He can’t stop looking at you, at the mess of your mouth. “So fucking filthy.” Again, he presses you down. A moan spills out of him. You grip his knee with your free hand.

Matty controls your head, pushing it deeper and deeper around his cock, making the most fucked-out noises from the feel of it. You pump him with your hand every time he pulls you up to his tip, stroking back to the base as he lowers you down. He does it quicker and quicker, setting a fast pace. Again, you shift on your knees, trying to soothe away that burning need between your thighs.

Matty spots it immediately. “Are you wet?” He taunts, though it’s a little ridiculous when he’s out of breath and on the edge of a moan. You nod around him, a little whine coming out, and he smirks. “Soaked ‘cause you’re sucking my dick, huh? If I knew it got you going like this, I would have had your mouth around me every single fucking day, darling.” And it’s not like you would have objected, considering you’re the one who’s been practically chasing him for the past week.

“Dirty girl. They all think you’re so innocent, but I know.” He smirks. “Bet your father would love to know what I’m doing to his precious girl.” Need and shame burn inside of you, and you can’t figure out which one makes you flush and your mind spin. Cockiness drips from his tongue as he trails, “‘S not my fault his daughter loves my cock, right?” You don’t know whether to nod or shake your head, instead moaning around him.

Matty reaches the joint out, telling you, “Hold that.” You frown. It’s unlit by now, useless, and he could certainly throw it anywhere in the backseat to fish it out later. It’s not like his car is clean; trash litters it, cigarette burns scar the leather, and the smell of weed is permanent. Still, you don’t question it, unwrapping your hand from his cock to take the joint.

It becomes apparent, then, why he asked you. Raking two hands through your hair, he keeps your head in place as his hips fuck up into you. With your hand gone and occupied, he thrusts deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, and he releases you just enough to catch your breath, before pumping past your lips again.

He groans at every stroke, burying your nose in the faint hair scattering up his belly. Pleasure blooms on his face. He’s so pretty, so vulnerable and fucked out, face wrinkling and lips panting.

His head falls down to look at you again. He makes a whine from the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’ve got spit everywhere.” It’s true, chin wet as slurping sounds resonate on the steamy windows.

If your ex-boyfriend had even tried to lose a hand in your hair and push your head down, you’d have bit him with a vengeance. But kneeling like this with Matty using you only brings a sick pleasure out of you. You feel your core throb, thighs sticky with need. You don’t know what he’s doing to you, don’t understand how he manages to ruin you so thoroughly.

Your nails dig into his knee, the other hand pinching the joint. Your eyes water at every thrust until tears roll down your eyes, mixing with the wet of your cheeks and chin.

Matty awes, sickly amused as he sings, “Are you crying?” You feel suddenly embarrassed, attempting to shake your head, deny the proofs streaming down your cheeks. “Is Daddy’s dick too big for you?” The nickname strikes through the daze, shock and arousal coursing through your veins.

Matty doesn’t even realize what he’s said, too gone to mind any words. A string of curses comes next as he bobs your head. Still, it’s all you can think about, playing back the word in that filthy head of yours.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he promises. “Just a little bit more.” His hand strokes your cheek, wiping at the runaway tears. “Gonna make me come so hard. D’you want my cum?” You nod vaguely. He grins at that. “Yeah? Wanna fucking swallow it?” You hum around him, excited. He moans, “Fuck. You’re such a slut.”

Again, there should be outrage, should be a dramatic tear off his dick as you tell him off, but he says it in such a reverent way, like a compliment, a praise, and you find yourself whining around him instead. Your cunt throbs, empty and lonely, and maybe you are a slut after all. You’ve been nothing but a needy, begging mess for him anyway. If it gives you this much pleasure in exchange, is there really something wrong with it?

Matty senses the way you preen under the name. He smirks, fucking up faster, chasing an end. “My little slut. So perfect, made for me. Would spend her days on her knees, wouldn’t she? Till she’s all bruised and fucked out.” His thrusts grow erratic. “I’d take care of you, princess. I’d put you in the best bed and I’d pump you full of my cum until you’re dripping with it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like being my little fucktoy?” A yes comes out garbled out of your mouth. “All those smarts, gone for a dirty man like me. Fucking ironic, isn’t it?”

You hollow your cheeks, run your tongue, hope to finish him. Hear his pretty cries, see his scrunched, coming face, taste his cum. Let it be your turn.

You take back charge as Matty gets too hazy to make sense of anything, much less the furious tempo he’s set. You bob up and down with abandon, slobbering everywhere. His hips stutter, meeting you halfway. His cock twitches in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Matty cries. His fingers dig into your hair, pulling vengefully. “Shit, princess, I’m—” With a scream, he comes on your tongue.

His body shivers as the tangy taste of white ropes spill down your throat. You swallow everything, watching his face as it grows peaceful. A slack, happy smile shines on his lips. He strokes your hair, as if an apology.

Only when he softens do you pull out of him, saliva stringing from his tip to your lip. You lick it off, chuckling. Show off your empty mouth. His cum is all gone.

“Good girl,” Matty praises, out of breath. He tucks his cock back in his jeans. “What do we say now?”

“Thank you.”

He hums. “I think you deserve a reward for doing so well for me.” You grin at him, childishly excited. He laughs, taking both your hands and raising you off your knees. “You want that, don’t you?” You bite your lip.

As soon as you’re up, he digs under your skirt, pulling off your underwear. You gasp as the air hits your bare skin. He rubs a thumb on the wet patch of the pink fabric, arching an eyebrow for you. “So fucking ready for me just from sucking my cock.”

“Not just from sucking your cock,” you say. “I’ve been ready for you all week.”

“Is that so?” Matty flips you around, sitting you square on his lap, your back against his chest. This close, you can smell the sweat and weed on him. Each leg hangs from the sides of his knees. He parts them, spreading you wide, putting you on display.

There’s the knowledge that anyone could see you tugging at the back of your mind. No matter the smoke, and the fogged up windows, and the dark of the night, it’s still a public alleyway. They could walk in on you, cunt out, wet and throbbing. It’s nasty, and it’s hot, and now you’re grinding against nothing, hoping for friction.

Thankfully, Matty indulges you, wrapping his arm around your waist and teasing two fingers over your swollen clit. You jump, already oversensitive, moaning at the little contact. He rubs in slow circles.

“I could have had you any time, then?” He whispers in your ear. “Could have pulled you in the dry storage and had my dirty way with you?”

“Yes.”

His touch becomes faster, pressing harder, zeroing in on your bud with a middle finger. You scrunch your face, already so close. A little pout comes on your face. You don’t want to finish without his fingers inside of you, not when you’ve been this eager for them. Your pussy clenches around nothing, unsatisfied.

“Any day, any time, anywhere?” His hand ghosts at your entrance, gathering a pool of your dripping juices.

“Yes,” you repeat, almost frustrated he doesn’t get it. You need him all the time. He seems satisfied by your answer, dipping two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasp, wrinkling your face with the overwhelming euphoria that spreads through you. The stretch is delicious. You’re already rolling your hips into his fingers, begging for more.

He bites at your earlobe, licking down your neck. Husky and gravely, he teases, “You would scream my name so the whole restaurant knows whose cock is fucking you this good? So they know that little princess likes to get railed filthy by an old, sleazy man?” As though to demonstrate, he pumps his fingers quicker into you. Sopping sounds resonate with your answering whines.

It’s a silly question. As if you haven’t had that exact fantasy before, playing over and over as guests criticize your every move. You insist, “Yes, Daddy.”

Matty’s fingers freeze inside of you. His heart races, the rhythm drumming on your back. Your eyes snap open, scared you’ve done something wrong. He’s the one who— A flush spreads up your cheeks. You’re so disgusting, using that nickname while he—

“Say it again.” He’s choked and out of breath. Turned on. You smirk, victorious.

You grip his wrist and make him pump inside of you again. You let your head fall on his shoulder, moaning, “Daddy, please, make me come.”

“Fuck.” It’s all the incentive he needs, apparently, because now he’s thrusting and curling inside of you, finding that magical spot each time. The heel of his hand rubs at your clit, making jolts of pleasure spark through you. His other hand snakes around your chest and paws at your breast, digging under your shirt to rub the nipple.

Every sensation works perfectly together to get you buzzing with ecstasy. You feel drunk— or high— mind swirling inside your head until all you know is his name. Your core tightens, toes curling and uncurling.

“Come on my fingers,” he demands, voice low and hoarse. “Fucking drench Daddy’s hand. I wanna taste you.”

There’s something so desperate in his voice that makes you even needier. You throb around his digits, eyebrows furrowing, strings thinning. He pinches your nipple. You open your mouth with a silent cry, shaking all over.

“That’s it,” he coos. “I got you, baby. You’re right there.” You nod frantically. “Just come for me. Come. Come—” Just like he demands, your body breaks and you shatter on his fingers.

Euphoria spreads through you, that overwhelming sense of relief. His name burns your tongue, over and over, a plea and a reverence and a worship. He continues to slide in and out of you, slowly, tenderly, until you’re done shaking and throbbing.

Your body hums pleasantly, bone-deep happy. You practically melt on his body, each limb letting go and settling into him. You sigh, satisfied. Finally haunts your head. Yet, you’re already looking out for next time.

Matty pulls out of you. He brings his wet fingers to his mouth; you hear the pornographic moan he makes as he cleans them. You flush, too tired to make a chastising comment.

“Best meal in town,” he says, cheeky. You half-slap him, half-giggle.

His hand falls from your breasts, but wraps around your waist instead, pulling you even closer, trapping you in the heat of his arms. He kisses your cheek. “We can stay like this for a little while. I’ll drive you home after.”

You crack an eye open. “Are you high?”

He scoffs. “No.” He grins against your cheek, teasing, “You’ve sobered me up.”

Being cute does not distract you. You hum, unconvinced. “What’s the alphabet backwards?”

“Are you fucking kidding—” He blows air from his nose. Resigned, he recites, “Z, Y, X—”

—

It’s fifteen past ten and the house is empty. Groceries linger on the kitchen island and you could, theoretically, put them all together yourself. Though it’s just not quite the same when you have to do the work under the orange light of the kitchen hood, alone except for some sad blues and a bottle of white and the sizzling sound of the pan.

In your hand, an apologetic text flashes at you. You bite on a humus dipped carrot, bitter. You understand, you say, and pretend you believe him when he swears he’ll make it up to you. You take a long sip of your wine glass.

You stare at the lonely apartment. An idea tickles the back of your mind. It would be a waste of wine, and space, and freedom if you dutifully went to bed now. Your hand lingers on his contact, then press on the picture of Matty’s frown, cigarette hanging between his lips.

I have my place all to myself. Do you wanna come? You hit send before you overthink it. A rush of anxiety swipes through you.

He’s quick to answer. depends. do i get to cum anywhere? You roll your eyes. He’s truly insufferable sometimes.

Invitation retracted.

i’m on my way

You can’t control the pleased grin on your face, but there’s no one to see it anyway. You can indulge a little in the childish thrill that blooms inside your stomach. You feel sunshine from the inside-out.

He’s ringing your doorbell the next time you hear of him. By then you’re already a little flushed with wine, practically running to the door to buzz him in.

A knock resonates just a few minutes later. You swing the door wide open. “Hi.” Again, you can’t seem to control your giddy smile.

“You shouldn’t open the door just like that. I could’ve been a bad man.”

“You are.” Matty snorts. You move out of the doorframe, gesturing for him to step inside.

He walks your flat with confidence, though he hasn't been here since that fatal night and, even then, it had been a quick in and out thing. He lingers a little to take in the set-up. The open floor plan, the L leather couch, the massive dining table and the kitchen island that hasn’t seen any action in months. It’s a shame for a family of chefs how little you use it.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him outside of a work setting, either a grueling shift or the drunk aftermath. He’s cleaner; white shirt rid of stains, jeans unburdened by an apron. He still sports a stumble, ever lazy to shave it off, but his hair sprouts in soft curls from his head. There’s a lack of gloomy energy, like what you thought was a permanent tired look was, in fact, reserved for the restaurant. He looks good is what you mean.

Matty stares you up and down shamelessly, taking in your off-duty outfit as well. A collared shirt buttoned conservatively, tucked into a black skirt, leather heeled loafers and white socks at your feet. Your hands shine with silver rings. You are, admittedly, much cleaner than him. Matty seems to dig your preppy look anyway, licking a gaze up and down your legs, rubbing his smirk away with two of his fingers.

You side-step him, making your way to the kitchen. Matty follows behind you, taking the time to gaze at the paintings dotting your walls. Pretentious things your father bought because he was told by other people they were masterpieces, they were technical, they were touching. You get to the cabinets, searching for a matching wine glass.

“Why’d you invite me?” Matty asks, seemingly an afterthought. He peers at your half-empty glass, raising it to examine the wine.

“I was supposed to have dinner with my dad, but he’s too busy today after all.” You turn to Matty with a glass in hand. “There’s some sort of important event with investors that just came up. He couldn’t untangle himself,” you press. You don’t know why you feel the need to rehash your father’s excuses, as though you had to defend him to Matty. It’s silly; he doesn’t even care, instead bringing your wine glass to his nose and giving it a swirl.

“It’s a Chenin Blanc.” You say as you uncork the bottle, pouring him his own glass. You slide it his way, tsking regretfully, “It was gonna pair beautifully with the seared scallops.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in your voice, and you try your best to smooth it. You can’t sound annoyed.

“Served with what?”

“Baby spinach and spiced pomegranate glaze.”

“Damn,” Matty shakes his head. “That does sound good.” He takes a seat at the dining table, shamelessly making himself at home. He cocks his head, bringing the glass to his lips. “So, what? You invited me to cook it for you instead?”

Your lips twitch. “I’ve already eaten actually.” A mismatch of carrots, humus, swiss cheese and chocolate-covered blueberries eaten standing up at the kitchen island, but a meal nonetheless.

Matty hums. He leans back on his chair, smirking to himself. “You know, I feel a bit peckish myself.”

Your arch an eyebrow, playful as you drawl, “Is that so?” The cheeky, knowing look on his face wakes the heat in your belly. You clench your thigh; he spots it, amused. “There’s food in the fridge.”

“A miracle! She has more than kraft dinner.”

“I didn’t specify which food. Maybe mac’n’cheese is all that’s waiting for you.”

Matty smiles. “I think I’m craving something else.” His hand reaches out, grabbing yours until you stumble into him.

You grip his shoulders to balance yourself, both legs siding one of his knees. He looks at you with those dark, dangerous eyes that announce nothing but trouble. You tower over him, see him blinking his spiderleg eyelashes up at you. His lips part, pretty and red. A rush of excitement shoots through you. Your breath hitches.

“Wow,” you say, mocking. “You just got here and you’re already trying to bend me over the table. Didn’t even ask me about my day.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says, faux-apologetic. His hands dig into your thighs, picking you up and hoisting you on the table. You sit before him, blush as he spreads your legs out for him. With a cheeky, shit-eating grin, he looks up at you and says, “How was your day, princess?”

You up your nose, ignoring his bait. “It was good. I—” His hands rise up your thighs, brushing against your silky smooth skin. You can’t stop the shivers. “Fuck, I went to the library and—”

He bends down, peppering sweet kisses where his fingertips had been. Your breath hitches at the ghosting touch, teasing and tickling and lighting you up. He looks up at you, face nearing where you need him most. “Mmh, and what?”

“Just— shit.” He spreads your legs further apart, giving him ample access to bite and suck at your thigh, which he does with worshiping abandon. He soothes away the hurt with a tongue. You pant, moaning lowly, “I started early on my first week readings for—”

Matty snorts. “Nerd.”

“It’s actually really essential to—” He slips your underwear aside, finding your clit and thumbing a lazy circle on it. “Ah, fucking hell, Matty!”

He smiles, so fucking proud. His finger speeds up. “What book did you read?”

“Well, the textbook. It was— It’s about—” Words escape your mouth when his tongue is burning your skin, getting closer and closer to where his thumb is hard at work. Euphoria shakes in your stomach. You bite your lip, gripping the edge of the table.

“Yes?” He blinks up at you, condescendingly begging, “Please, educate a poor, simple plebeian.”

You bite your cheek, teasing, “I don’t know if I can. He’s really only good at fucking.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “You’re missing the other reason I’m good with my hands.”

And he makes it easy to forget all about his cooking skills when he dips two fingers inside your wet entrance, pumping you slowly on the dinner table. God-given hands, made to bring you to the very edge and back. You curse, gripping the wood under your palms even harder.

“I’m waiting.”

You huff. “It’s microeconomics. It’s comparing comparative averages and absolute advantages of high.”

He grins. “Well, which one wins?”

“Comparative. It’s always better as you lose because the opportunity cost is smaller and— Oh, fuck—” Your legs tremble, your face scrunching as he hits the sinful spot inside of you that has you singing. You pant to catch your breath, groaning, “It’s better when you— Matty—”

“My smart girl,” Matty praises, curling his fingers inside of you just so. “You learned all of this already. Don’t even need to study that you’re fucking moaning it for me.” He plants a kiss on the top of your thigh. “It’s better when…”

Your mind is languid, euphoria pumping inside of you with the rhythm of his hand. You try to blink to conscience, peering down at him. “It’s better when the opportunity cost—” He makes rapid swipes at your clit and pleasure jolts through you. You shake your head. “You know what? You don’t need to know all this. You can just be dumb and pretty and warm my bed all day. Be my trophy husband.”

He snickers. “Yeah? Gonna make me your little housewife?”

You grin, volleying back, “Keep you cooking and fucking all day while I earn the big bucks, babe.” One hand rises up to his hair, digging into the mess of it. You smirk. “But you’d have to be very good for me. Keep me satisfied at all times.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” His fingers quicken, thrusting in and out of you until you’re whining for him. “I’d fill you up every night and leave you sticky and happy.” The wet sounds of your cunt fill the kitchen. You don’t doubt him for one second.

Your breath leaves in puffs out of your mouth. You tilt your head back, moaning for the ceiling, eyes wrinkled shut. Your hand tugs at his hair, rejoicing in his pathetic little groans. You fall back, smiling mischievously at him. “I thought you were hungry.”

His eyes flash. “Fucking famished.” He bends down and licks your cunt.

You jump, rolling your hips into his face, chasing those delicious reverbs. He licks at your clit with a pointed tongue, pressing into the sensitive bundle of nerves until honey ecstasy is spreading through your veins.

One hand fucks into you with calculated efficiency; hard and fast, just like you like it. The other holds your red underwear aside, fingers pressing into the meat of your thigh, leaving fingertip prints to remember him by.

“Matty!” Pleasure boils inside of you. You’ve missed his tongue, missed the way he tastes at you: starved, diligent, fucking slurping the last drop. You cry his name over and over, a sweet chant that encourages him on.

Thank fuck for his hands. They slide wetly inside of you, searching for hot ecstasy and pulling it out of you in drowning moans. You tug at his hair, grip the table, try to attach yourself to something as you;

“Matty, I’m—” He knows, of course, because you’re throbbing around his fingers. He circles your clit with his tongue, swiping at it, adding enough sinful pleasure that you feel your orgasm grow and grow. It expands in your belly, threatens your limbs; “I’m gonna—”

You come with a scream, falling apart on his tongue. He doesn’t slow yet. His mouth is hard at work, his fingers pumping into you still. He chases your orgasm until the end, until you’re shaking and whimpering from the intensity. You push his head, and only then does he release you, smiling up at you with sticky cheeks.

“Good?”

You brush his curls back, smiling happily. “You might earn yourself a weekly allocation if you keep it up, babe.”

“I’m the luckiest trophy husband in the world.”

You twist one of his curls around his finger, so light and elated that you feel no shyness or shame to say, “D’you want to see my room?”

He half-grins. “Yeah.”

You jump from the table, grabbing his hand. He lingers by the table just long enough to shoot back half of his wine glass in one gulp, slamming it down on the table with a satisfied sigh. It stands there with a stain of your slick in the shape of his lips.

You deadpan him. “Good wine shouldn’t be wasted,” he defends.

“I don’t even think you let it stay on your tongue long enough to taste it.”

You regret your choice of words as soon as you say them. Cursing, you already expect the joke when he quips, “Didn’t want to disrupt the other taste that’s in my mouth right now, you see?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s down the hallway,” you say, and tug at his hand until he follows.

You push the door into your childhood bedroom. It’s a clean, organized place, but it maintains its youthful element, like a time capsule. Matty steps in, intrigued. It’s the first time he’s ever been and he paces it with curiosity.

The shelves are decorated with childhood trophies; debate, math, punctuality. Even a participation medal from fifth grade soccer hangs on the corner. Thick, leather books mix with colorful cracked spines of YA literature on the bookshelf, along with fake plants and gaudy trinkets. The walls host picture frames of dental braced friends smiling wide. You have awful bangs in some of them and you stick your tongue out at the flash. On the bed, Mr Snuffles — a leopard plushie — lays like a king.

You flush. You hadn’t realized how childish your bedroom at home still was. You’ve got an uncomfortable need to tear it all down and build it back as a refined, clean look..

“Cute,” he says, and you want to bury straight into the ground. He taps a picture of prom where you hold the arm of a visibly nervous teenage boy. “Was that your little boyfriend who couldn’t make you come?”

“No, that was my friend. I wasn’t interested in dating back then. I was a very serious girl.”

He chuckles, turning back to you. He jokes, “Hard to believe now.” You shake your head, pretending to be bothered. He eyes the photograph once more. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks.” It comes squeaked out of your lips. You really didn’t expect the compliment.

He continues to inspect until you grow tired of it. You huff, deciding to go on the offensive until he takes a hint. “You know, I’ve actually never had any guy here before.”

Matty flips to you, grinning. “No?”

“No.” Your fingers fly to your collar and slowly start unbuttoning the top one, a silent invitation.

“Very, very serious girl.” Matty watches your fingers, devouring the skin you unveil for him. The cups of your red bra peek in view. His eyes grow dark, though he still doesn’t move to do it himself.

“I was very studious.”

You get to your very last button. The shirt parts, a cracked door vision into your needy body. Matty drawls, slow and nonchalant, unrushed, “Must’ve spent a lot of time with your hand between your legs, then, if no one’s been here before.”

You try not to grow embarrassed. You have spent a lot of time doing so, mostly in recent weeks. You push the shirt past your shoulders and it drops at your feet. Matty’s eyes immediately fall to your breasts, rising with panting breaths for him.

“Maybe,” you whisper shyly. You bend down to slip off your shoes, sliding your socks off your feet.

“Thought about me a lot during it?” He asks, cocky.

You straighten up again. You dig in your cheek, feeling both of them heat. “Maybe.” You find the zipper at your side and draw it down slowly, teasingly. Your skirt falls limply around your hips and you shimmy it down your legs.

It seems you’ve found yourself half-naked to a very much dressed Matty again. His gaze devours every inch of your skin, licking up your legs, biting your hips, teasing your navel. You grow wet between your thighs just from the promise in his eyes.

Your hand reaches behind yourself to your bra, but Matty tuts. “That’s mine,” he says, and there’s an air of danger in his voice. Your arms fall back to your sides, burned. You stand a bit straighter for him, aching deep inside yourself.

Matty takes long, slow steps towards you, letting the need boil and bubble inside of you. He stands before you, looking down into your eyes. Your lips part, your heart screams his name. He grazes two fingers along your waist, snaking to your back, and kisses you.

You respond with an eager tongue, opening your lips up to him and kissing him back. He still tastes like you, like your slick that dried on his cheeks. You shiver at the thought.

His hands find the small of your back, heavy and pressing into you, so fucking present you feel your mind twists on itself. You travel yours up his arms, finding his shoulders and sneaking into the hair at his nape.

He tilts his head to change the angle and your legs clench. He draws out all your wanton needs with his skilled tongue, makes you putty and malleable. You’re ready for him, for anything.

His fingers dance on your spine, climbing up each vertebrae until they catch on your bra band. Your breath hitches. He unhooks it. Matty stops kissing you to pull the bra off your arms.

Your breasts lay in view, pebbled and peaked. He takes a good look at them, then bends down to catch a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck, Matty!” Your hands twist at his curls, tugging and patting as he sucks and nips your tits.

He leaves bites on the underside, your sternum, kissing and licking down your stomach until he knees before you. You moan, still unused to the sight of him. Each hand hooks to a side of your underwear and he pulls it down and off your legs. You keep a stabilizing grip on his hair as you step out of it.

Matty comes back up to you, breathing harshly. He kisses your lips one last time, then draws you on the bed. You’re laying on the purple sheets for him, naked and wet and flushed. Every body part is aware of him and looks it.

Still, Matty takes a step back. “Show me what you do when you think of me.” You stare at him in shock. You’re naked for him, laying on your bed in godly offerance like a fucking daydream, and he wants you to finger yourself?

Matty laughs. “Come on, princess,” he teases. “Show Daddy.” The nickname jolts you. Tiny, electrical shivers run down your spine and you bite your lip, brushing a hand down your stomach.

You waste no time, too drunk on pleasure and want to bother teasing yourself. You part your legs and rub two fingers on your swollen clit, jumping at the sudden feeling. You bite your lip, cracking your eyes open to find Matty’s

His eyes watch you with obsession. You make a low whimper for him, circling your bundle of nerves, arching your back. A tantalizing show, hopefully enough to get him to touch you. You want him so deeply you’re shivering for him, hot and dripping all over.

You’re efficient and quick; you know all the spots of yourself and press them just so. Pleasure is not something you draw out, pumping and rubbing until you develop carpal tunnel. You’re in and out, wiping your fingers clean on your thigh.

It’s why you’re already dipping your digits inside yourself. You cry at the stretch, though never as delicious and fulfilling as his. Still, ecstasy runs through your body.

“Matty,” you moan, and once again hope the breathy, needy shape of his name in your mouth is enough to get him to replace your hardworking fingers.

“I’m right here, baby,” he says, transfixed by your hands, your mouth, your panting tits. You see his gaze and smirk, grabbing your breast and twisting the nipple. A low whine leaves you. “Fuck. Does that feel good?”

You nod furiously. Your fingers slide quickly in and out of you. “Not as good as you, though,” you pout.

Matty grins, cocky and a dick about it. “‘Course not.”

Your eyes flutter shut. You let yourself be taken over by the euphoria swimming through you. Your mouth calls his name like it was him making you feel this way and not the three fingers fucking into you. In a way, it’s the fact that he’s here that draws this overwhelming pleasure out of you. It’s never been this intense with yourself.

“What do you think of when you’re in your head?” He whispers, sounding affected by the spectacle you give him.

You bite your lip, trembling. “You. You on your knees for me behind the bar. You bending me over the sink of the bathroom in the middle of two guests. You letting me suck your dick on the staircase of the alleyway. You fingering me at The Darling in front of Landon until I fucking come all over the booth.”

“All these nasty thoughts while you’re tucked tight in your little bed?”

You nod. “I replay that night in the kitchen over, and over, and over. I know every little detail, everything you've done to me—” Behind your eyelids, graphic images of you pressed into the ground, giggling and coming, flash to you. It’s too much; you snap. Your eyes flash open. “Fuck me, Daddy. Please.”

“You need it?”

“I need it so, so bad.” Your wrist is tired between your legs. Still, you work, feeling the intensity build to an impossible degree. “Need you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Shit,” he groans. You see the tent in his jeans and know he’s just as ready as you. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll give it to you.” A grin shines on your face. You clench around your fingers in excitement. “Just as soon as you come for me.”

You pout. A whiny cry comes out of you. “It’s not the same without you.”

“I know, baby,” he pouts, faux-broken over it as if he wasn’t the one putting you through this torture. “You’re doing so well for me. I wanna see you come now, though. Can you do that for me?”

Your stomach tightens and you know that you can, that you will. You’re still a little bitter, holding back as though in just a few seconds Matty was gonna get to his knees and finish you off yourself.

“Your clit’s feeling a little neglected, isn’t it?” You moan, pressing into your bud like he silently demanded. Your legs kick at the sensation. You arch your back, crying to the ceiling. “That’s it. You’re so close.” You rub and fuck until you can taste the ecstasy. Goddammit.

“You’re right there,” he says, and makes it true. You feel your orgasm threaten the edges of you. “Just a bit more. Come on, fuck yourself. Think of me, of my cock. That’s right, princess.” You scream, staring into his eyes. He devours each inch of you, so fucking eager. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Right now. Come for Daddy.” With a mewl, your climax crashes through you.

Your body slackens, pleasure swooping through you in one grandiose wave. Relief washes you, and then the slight bitterness that it was all your own doing. Barely reeling from the orgasm and you’re already needing more.

You don’t ride out the climax; Matty rips your fingers out of you and sucks them into his mouth. You sigh at the sight as he rolls his tongue around your digits. It’s sinful the way he moans, like the best fucking meal of his life.

He releases them with a pop, then kisses your palm. “So good, babe. You did amazing.” He kisses your wrist. “You’re my little princess, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you pout. His lips trail up your arm, tickling your sensitive skin. You shiver, moaning as he brushes your shoulder and licks up your collarbone.

“How do you want me? Since you’ve been thinking about it all the fucking time.” He kisses your neck. You moan, fluttering your eyelashes.

“I wanna ride you,” you breathe out.

Matty smirks against your skin. “Yeah? Gonna get yourself off on Daddy’s dick?”

You grin, nodding eagerly. “Gonna make you feel so good, too.”

He smiles. “Alright then, baby.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You sit on his lap like a throne. “Make me feel good.”

You shake your head, pulling his shirt up his chest. “Get naked first. I wanna see you.”

“She’s demanding.”

“It’s my fantasy.” Matty chuckles. Still, he tugs his shirt off his shoulders, throwing it beyond your bed.

You had been so drunk on his cock the first time it happened, you hadn’t been able to really get a good look at him. This time, your eyes lap up every inch of his skin, especially the tattooed ones. You draw the outlines of them with the tip of your fingers. He shivers at the feeling as you dance on his hip, his happy trail, his chest. You press a hand there, holding yourself up.

“Pants,” you order. You have a finely tuned demanding voice; you’ve led many school projects with an iron fist and an unarguable tone. Still, you know Matty only humors you when he obeys, kicking off his shoes, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them off.

His cock slaps his stomach. It’s hard and leaking, and your mouth waters at the sight. You feel your sticky thighs beg for him. Cunt fluttering, you take him in your fist, jerking him slowly. Matty moans as his head falls back on the pillows. Oh, you will like that. Already, the power rushes to your head, loosening it drunkenly.

You hoist yourself on your knees, then hesitate. Quickly, you grab your leopard plushie and turn him around until he faces the other way.

Matty stares at you in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

“Mr. Snuffles doesn’t need to see that!” You cry out, defensive.

“I can’t believe I’m about to shag in a bed with a stuffed toy right there.”

You raise your eyebrows, cocky. “Don’t get it wrong. I’m shagging you.”

Matty’s hands travel up to your hips, spreading over the bones possessively. He smiles up at you. “Do it, then. Fuck me.” You smile, taking his cock and leading it to your dripping cunt.

You line it up, then slowly slide down on his length. Loud, relieved moans leave your and Matty’s mouth. A shared song drumming up both your spines in harmony. You bottom out and think fucking finally.

“Oh, God,” you breathe, eyes rolling back. You take a second there, immobile, reveling in the heavenly moment. The way he fills you up so perfectly, stretches you in the most delicious ways. Your cunt throbs around him, eager.

He makes a low curse, digging his nails into your hips. You sense his becoming restless, the insistent way he presses into your skin, as though physically stopping himself from holding you in place and fucking up into him. Indulgently, you begin moving.

You haven’t been on top very often. You always used to find yourself sore and tired and bored after a few minutes, begging to either roll onto your back or end it right there. This time, however, there’s a practically all-consuming need to succeed. You want to fuck him, to permanently engrave his brain with the memory of you.

You come at it like schoolwork; focused, diligent, persistent. You attempt experimental thrusts at first, getting yourself used to how deep he hits you. It’s slow, tentative things; you try different angles, sliding in and out, frowning as you analyze the different ways pleasure blooms under your skin.

Under you, Matty groans, puffing out breaths. “I can hear you thinking. Stop it.”

You arch an eyebrow. “It was ‘what a smart girl’ thirty minutes ago, but now it’s ‘turn off your brain’?”

“Exactly. Want you to be fucked stupid now.”

You snort. “That’s not gonna happen.”

He hums, smirking. “Don’t give me a challenge.” You roll your eyes.

You settled on a rocking rhythm, something that hits all the perfect places inside of you. Your hair sticks to your nape, effort trembling your thighs already. You moan, roll your head back. “Like that?” You breathe out. Euphoria begins to prickle at your skin and your smile slackens your mouth.

“Yeah, baby,” Matty nods. “Just—” His hold on your hips is strangling. His hands clench, begging you to give something mindnumbing. “Go faster.”

You ignore his request, continuing that slow, teasing pace. You love feeling every inch of his cock as you buck on it, love to hear him grow desperate for you for a change. Every pathetic, quiet groan he makes resonates straight to your core. Head still rolled back to the ceiling, you rock stubbornly, smiling to yourself.

A particularly artful stroke has your nails digging into his chest. He shivers under you. “Fuck, faster,” Matty pants.

You smirk down at him, cheeky. “What’s the magic word, princess?”

Matty rolls his eyes. “Don’t get bratty,” he says, then gives your ass a warning spank. You jump at the sting, bucking on his cock. Low heat simmers through you. You bite your lip, quickening your thrusts dutifully. Matty smirks at you, all-knowing.

You speed up, falling back on his length again and again until the slapping sounds of your skins fill the room. You sense the resonating ecstasy pull at your stomach. You’re aware, unfortunately, that he’s right. It’s better, stronger.

“That’s right,” he says, and you want to slap that shit-eating grin off his lips. “Fucking faster.” You obey like some deep-seated instinct, bouncing above him.

A part of you wants to slow to a snail pace and teach him a lesson — get him reciting all those patience proverbs he’s so keen on — but a bigger part of you melts and drips at the ecstasy pulsing through you. Speedy, deep rolls have you shaking, moaning his name like a worship. You’re irrationally convinced you might die if you even try to slow down, like losing the pleasure he’s coaxing out of you right now would be a fatal crash.

Again, he gives you that teasing, devilish stares that tells you he’s well aware of the burning heat he causes you. His lips stretch up into a smirk, and he parts them to talk some more. You slap a hand over his mouth instead. “Shut it,” you warn. He laughs under your palm, too happy at your reaction.

His tongue sticks out, licking your hand childishly, and you release him. “You only like my mouth for one thing,” he says, pouting at you.

“Don’t give me ideas.”

“Want to sit on it again, huh?” He teases, cocking his head. “Maybe when you’re done fucking me.” He licks his teeth. “Though I doubt you’ll have the energy to sit up then. I’ll have to lay you down and clean you all up. Would you like that, baby?”

“Anything that doesn’t involve you talking.”

Matty hums, and you sense the danger in his tone. You’ve pushed him just a bit too far, and the low thrum of thrill resonates in your stomach. You hold your breath, sick apprehension bringing you sinful pleasure.

“You’ve got a mouth on you today,” he says. “Should’ve filled it up before I gave you what you wanted. Wouldn’t have so much to say if you were drooling and crying for my cock.” You wonder if that’s exactly what he’ll do; pull you off by your hips and onto your knees for a lesson.

Instead, his hand pinches your nipple, then snakes up your chest, your collarbone, spreading over your throat. You clench around him, lust flashing in your eyes, and he smiles at you. “My little slut,” he coos. “You’d let me do anything.”

You rock on him furiously, humping his lap to get rid of that building pressure in your core. Your mouth hangs open, pathetic whimpers spilling out every time your clit rubs on his pelvis. “Yes, Daddy,” you say in that sweet tone he knows is nothing but trouble.

“Touch your clit,” he orders, and you’ve got a hand flying between your thighs, swiping on the bundle of nerves with abandon. You mewl in his lap, fucking and rubbing until you’re dripping on him. When you’re halfway through a moan, pussy clenching around his cock, Matty presses into your neck.

The moan dies in your throat, mouth hanging open as a rush of adrenaline spreads through you. Your head swarms with silence, a sort of calmness buzzing and tingling under your face, and you feel every thrust of his cock he pumps up into you like a true hit of ecstasy. You whine, suspended in the moment.

“My pretty girl,” he whispers. You roll your eyes. “My girl.”

His fingers release your throat and the sudden breath of air buzzes through you. The world sharpens; you sense his cock, his skin under your palms, his hand still around your neck— like he owns you. Your cunt tightens at the idea, something pretty stringing up your spine. Pleasure intensifies, practically breathing with you, until your brain rushes with endorphins.

“There she is. So good for me now,” he says and your lips stretch up with a proud grin. You’re lazy on your bones, letting him rock you on his cock without a care. “You wouldn’t do this for anyone, would you?”

You shake your head fervently. “Only you.”

“That’s right,” he nods. “Only me.” He sneaks a thumb to your clit, pushing away your slack hand and working at it himself. “No fucking guy can make you feel like this.”

“I know,” you whine, and there’s the faint heartbreak of it tugging at the back of your mind. Nothing tangible, just the knowledge of what you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning and missing once he’s gone. Once you’re gone.

He lets go of your neck, dropping it to your waist, and you whine at the loss. It quickly turns into a moan as he uses both hands to guide you on his length properly. A quick, hard tempo sets, shaking your legs with growing pleasure. You feel him in the deepest part of you, hitting again and again that sweet spot as he puppeteers your freely given hips.

“God, Matty.”

He smirks. “That was redundant.” You roll your eyes, half from pleasure and half from annoyance. He chuckles at that, happily giving a deep stroke that has you purring for him, as though to prove his point.

You hold your weight up with a hand beside his head, drooping into the mattress. You tilt your hips, angling yourself perfectly for his drilling cock. Your face breaks open with a moan, but you shake your head. You force your eyes open to take in his face; sweaty and flushed and overwhelmed with pleasure and work. You lick your lips. Pleasure swirls in your belly, tightening and tightening until you have to believe you’ve driven yourself mad.

“Daddy,” you whine for him. Your free hand flies back to your thighs, rubbing at your clit until your lungs catch on fire. “Make me come,” you plea. “I need you. I need—” You press into your bud, groaning at the rush of ecstasy.

Matty laughs and the mean sound only drives you further into lust. You grip the sheets, trying to catch on fire. “Thought you were gonna shag me,” he mocks. “Thought you were gonna get off all on your own.” He tsks, bucking into you wildly, sounding out of breath as he adds, “But you need Daddy to make you come, don’t you?”

You shake your head, as if the evidence wasn’t dripping all over his cock, spilling from your lips in incoherent slurs. “No?” He says, again just as merciless in his taunting. He halts inside of you and you cry, shaking your head. “Do it, then,” he laughs.

He raises his hands up your waist, dancing on the ribs. He gropes your tits, circling the nipples. It becomes apparent to you that he’s not joking. You pout, finding your balance again and rising to your knees, falling back with thunderous force. Your legs shake; you’re exhausted and sore, whiny as you obey him.

“That’s it, princess,” he praises. It’s enough to spark some motivation. You furrow your eyebrows, bouncing on his cock, puffing breaths falling from your lips. Sweat pearls on your forehead, but you continue, undeterred. “God, you’re so fucking filthy.”

You mewl, redoubling efforts. You find something close to those quick, harsh thrusts Matty was giving, just slightly poorer. You fuck mindlessly, not bothering to rub your clit on his pelvis or find that delicious spot inside of you. Pleasure fills your mind anyway.

“Doing so well,” he moans. His fingers play with your nipples; your head pulls back, crying out. “Use my cock. Ride it ‘till you come all over it.” You whine, nodding fervently. “Need to feel you again,” he pants. “Need to feel that cunt as it fucking squeezes me.”

Ecstasy swarms through you. You moan, digging your claws into your sheets. You squeeze around him, over and over, a clear-tell warning. His name and a string of curses come out of your lips broken. He pinches your nipple.

“I’m gonna—”

“Ask,” he groans, a choking sound that rips out of him.

“Can I—” Your body trembles, the taste of climax spreading under your skin. You scrunch your face. “Daddy, please, can I—” You finish it with a moan, losing your train of thought.

“Use your big girl words,” he taunts, climbing one hand up. Your breath catches as he nears your neck; a swirling hit of excitement so true it makes you lightheaded. Still, he doesn’t linger, instead cupping your jaw and sticking his thumb in your mouth.

Your hips are artless and loose, sliding and rolling and thrusting without any reason. It’s wild, brutal strokes that have you drooling around his finger.

“C’mon, princess. I wanna hear you.”

He doesn’t slip his thumb out. You speak around his digit, drooling and slurring, incoherent. “Pleashe, pleashe, pleashe, Daddy, let me come. I want to come. I’ve been so good, I’ve— fuck, I’ve needed it for so long. Just—” You cry, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking deep in me.”

You take his hand away from your jaw, feeling spit drip down your chin as you spread it over your belly instead. “Fucking love you inside of me. Where you belong,” you moan.

“Fuck, yeah.” He pushes on your stomach, making you feel his cock sliding into you. Your mind rolls inside your skull, drunk. “Made for this cunt.”

“Made to make me come.” He nods again eagerly. Your hips stutter, exhausted. “Please, then,” you say, hopeful. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplea—”

“Come for me, princess.”

“Ah—” You convulse, dropping on his chest, a scream drowning in his shoulder as your climax hits you in one drowning wave. Ecstasy sparks under your skill, overwhelming.

Matty holds you in place with one soothing hand on your spine. Ruthlessly, he continues to fuck up into you, riding the end of your mindnumbing orgasm. “Fuck, I got you. Ride it out, princess. Ride it out on my cock. That’s it— Shit, I can fucking feel you.”

Your fingertips buzz pleasantly, and there’s the distant shape of his words in your ear. You grin, loose and happy, heart filling up with his name. “D’you feel good?” He asks, kissing your cheek. You nod, humming. “Yeah? Came so hard for me?”

“Yeah.” You moan, his cock still thrusting inside of you slowly, waking you up again. Your legs shake. You tilt your hips slowly, ever so slightly rolling them. Matty grins against your cheek, kissing it again and again.

He caresses your back, soothing away all those leftover shivers. “So fucking pretty when you come,” he promises. “The best girl. My best girl.” He grips your back, choking out, “Can you turn around for me?”

You whine, tired, but still straighten up on his lap. You hoist up with great efforts, turning around with shaky knees. He coos some congratulations, hooking an arm around your belly and laying you back up on his chest. You practically melt on it, back against his stomach, head tucked in the crook of his neck. Each thigh hangs from his knees and he spreads you wide open for him again.

“Don’t have to do anything, baby,” he breathes out, snaking a hand down your body to grab his still hard cock. “Let Daddy take care of you.” You groan, nodding in agreement. He likes himself up with your dripping entrance, then slides into you.

He allows you a single slow thrust to get used to the stretch again, then wastes no time mercilessly ramming inside of you. You grip the arm around your waist, digging your nails into his tattoos, barely holding on from the brutal pace between your thighs. You mumble a strange mix of his name and the word Daddy, blurring out of you with all those pathetic sounds you shamelessly let out.

You can tell he’s close too, chasing his pleasure with abandon, practically using you to get off. The knowledge makes burning heat spread through your lower belly. You throb around him, wanting him to come, to fill you up. Wanting him to feel as good as he makes you.

Matty smirks against your cheek. “Oh, are you gonna come again?” His hips snap quickly, taunting. You stutter a response, biting down a scream. “What’s that? Can’t hear you when you mumble.”

“Shit,” is all you manage to say, already feeling pleasure grow inside of you again. He’s delighted to find this, grabbing a pebbled breast and playing with it. “I— Fucking, I’m—”

He hums, licking your neck. “Does Daddy’s cock make you forget how to speak?” You tremble in his arms, hot shame filling up your mind, a strange, sinful heat that has you yelling out absurdities. Matty’s relentless between your thighs, knowing exactly how to prove his point.

His knees fall further on the bed, spreading your thighs wide open for him. He snakes a hand to your clit, rubbing at it with his palm. You jump in his arms, shaking your head. “Can’t—” It’s too much, too soon. You feel the edges of you unspool, unwind.

“Can’t what?” He teases, merciless. “Can’t think? It’s okay, baby. Just lay there and take it. I’ll do the rest.”

You practically buzz, incapable of taking in the pleasure that he’s already fucking and rubbing some more out of you. You choke, giving him some empty pleas, unsure of what exactly you’re even asking for.

“My dumb little slut,” he coos, kissing your cheek. “Fucked all stupid, as she should be.”

He dips his head in your neck, nipping and licking at the skin, peppering it with sweet love. It drowns your mind, makes it sticky and happy. You claw at his arm, desperate.

Matty’s legs shake under you. You know he’s growing tired too, ready to burst anytime. The knowledge pokes at your mind, hot and eager. You grind on his palm.

“Come in me,” you beg. You’ve completely relinquished the control of your tongue. “I’m on the pill now. Please.” Matty twitches inside of you.

“Fuck,” he groans in your neck, choked. “That right? Got on the pill specifically for me?”

You did, searching up doctors and prescriptions, belly humming with the idea of him not pulling out this time. “Yes.”

His hand leaves your breast, climbing up to your neck. You throb around him, reveling in his presence around your throat, the silent mark that he owns you. “Needed me to fill you up that fucking bad? To have my cum dripping out of you.”

“Yes,” you scream, wrinkling your face.

“Gonna come for me first, though, right? Be my good little girl and come.” Though the words trigger something in you, you shake your head stubbornly. You’re almost afraid of letting go, as though the building euphoria inside of you could crush you to death, could blow your skin off your bones. It’s safer here, just on the edge of the fatal.

His cock slams into you and his hand presses into your clit, driving you wilder and wilder. You choke a scream, feeling your limbs tighten in apprehension. You’re there, just there, and still you refuse.

All the sensations are too much. You call his name, the only word you seem to know. Pressure presses against your skin, threatening to burst. You feel yourself begin to cry.

Matty shushes you soothingly. “Oh, princess,” he says, kissing away your tears. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m right there. I’ll catch you.”

You pout, shaking your head, sobbing from pleasure. It’s a useless fight; Matty presses into the sides of your throat and suddenly the world catches on fire. You’re flying into orbit, imploding with ecstasy, screaming his name and all the curse words you know in worship.

“Did so well,” Matty screams. “Fuck. Look at you coming all over my cock. What a good girl.” He releases your neck just when you come down from your high, shooting you up in another rush of pleasure. You moan, melting on him. “Gonna fill you up, now,” he warns. His words sound desperate, stretched thin. “Gonna come so deep inside of you, you’ll feel me for days. D’you want that?”

“Yes!”

His hips stutter. He twitches inside of you. “Say it— Shit.”

“Fill me up, Daddy!”

“Ah, fucking hell—” He comes inside of you with a cry of your name, shaking under you. He groans, shaking, washed with pleasure. He continues fucking into you mindlessly, slower and slower, until he’s stopped, panting. His hold on you is murderous; it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him in his most vulnerable state.

You watch him, observe his solemn face as he lingers in ecstasy, eyes shut and smile wide. Your chest warms, a grin teasing your own lips. Sweat and tears and drool dries on your face.

Matty softens inside of you. His cock slips out, cum spilling out of you. You moan at the feeling, getting on your elbows to watch the spectacle. Still laying down and catching his breath, Matty plunges two fingers inside of you, pushing his cum back in your cunt just so you can watch it fall again. You shiver, falling back on him with a sigh.

“God,” he says. “I’m too old to fuck in twin beds.” You laugh in surprise and he snickers with you, his chest drumming against you. “You’re rich. Why don’t you have a king sized bed and feather pillows or some shit?”

“I’m sensible,” you say, sticking your tongue out. You roll to your belly beside him, finally letting him take a full breath. He stretches on your mattress, taking up almost all the space. It’s a little ridiculous, this man in your childhood bed.

You smirk, traveling down his chest and stopping near his soft cock. You lick the length, sucking him into your mouth to clean the mix of your wetness and his cum. He jumps, sitting up to push you anyway. “Fucking— Do you want to kill me?”

You laugh, falling back on the pillows, cheeky. “See? Not so easy.”

“Well, you’re young and healthy. I expect more of you.” Matty opens his arm, inviting you to tuck your head in his shoulder. Your arm drapes over his chest, halfway across his tattoo. “When’s your dad gonna be back?” He yawns.

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s always up in the air; often, you don’t know he even came back until you wake up to the strong smell of Ethiopian coffee and the ghost of him in the flat. You shrug, “You could always sneak out if he’s there in the morning.”

Matty rubs his face. “Ugh, I feel like a teenager.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, teasing, “Shouldn’t fuck such a young, innocent girl, then.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Innocent? You’ve seen the things you’ve done on my dick?”

“Shut up.” Quieter, you mumble, “I don’t think Mr. Snuffles’s ever gonna be able to unhear tonight.” His laughs rocks you, resonating against you. You grin on his skin.

You nuzzle further into his warmth, exhaustion settling in your bones. His arm warms your waist, pulling you further into him. You know you need to clean yourself up soon, but you allow yourself a short moment to relish the shape of him.

He tugs you out of sleep by piping up, voice sticky-tired, “If you want, I know the best fucking scallop place in town. We could go tomorrow.”

Halfway asleep, you say, “I’d like that.”

#this is. the Nastiest filthiest thing i’ve written #i may have gone overboard #but hey happy linecook resurrection!#linecook!au #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #smut #writing #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic

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abiiors · 3 months

Text

red lines - pt. 2 ║// matty healy x reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a late christmas/new year's gift for you lot but oh well, consider this an early valentine's day gift now lol. this is sad but also smutty which seems to be my favourite thing to write so enjoy ♡ cw: angst, crying (so much of it my god) (seriously, matty cries after sex like a loser) and arguments, a briefly sick baby (she has a cold) fucked up relationships in general, typos, probably cringe idk. wc: 6.5k here's part 1

matty’s red rimmed eyes stare back at you.

if it weren’t for your baby’s soft babbling grounding you, you would have slammed the door in his face the second you opened it. before he even had the chance to get a word in. not like he’s said anything yet—he’s busy looking from mia to you and back to mia who’s strapped to your chest, face away from him.

his daughter. he doesn’t even know what his daughter looks like.

your heart hammers in your chest as you look at him, take him in properly. he looks like he’s been frozen in time—the same man you left almost a year ago, maybe with a few more greys on his head now. but everything about him harshly pulls you back in time.

looking at him after all this time is like having the last piece of a puzzle click in place.

“hi,” he says, and looks at the back of mia’s head for a moment. his hands twitch at his sides and matty shoves them in his pockets quickly.

you clear your throat. “hi.”

the silence that lingers is so awkward that even the baby senses it. she fusses and lets out a soft whine and you know you only have a few moments before the whine turns into a full cry.

“come in,” you offer and he nods.

the door shuts behind him with a deafening creek and the silence returns with a vengeance.

you watch matty as he looks around him. you wonder how it all looks through his eyes—a house that’s neither too clean, nor too messy, mia’s toys on the sofa, her bottle on the kitchen table, half finished. the half cooked pancake in the pan. and then he looks at the baby.

you watch him carefully, look at the way his eyes shine so brightly and the subtle tremble of his lips. matty takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches out. about to touch her blanket. but you step back on instinct and his hand lingers in the air before falling at his side, limp and useless.

“what do you want, matty?” you ask, your voice more steady than you expected.

he swallows harshly. “i wanted–i thought i’d…”

“you thought…?”

he squares his shoulder and straightens his spine, gathering courage just like you’ve seen him do so many times in the past.

“i wanted to see her. mia. it’s a beautiful name…”

“who told you her name?”

you don’t know where the snapping, harsh tone comes from but matty flinches regardless. you don’t give him a chance to answer though. you know who told him her name.

“it was adam, wasn’t it?”

“please don’t be mad at him,” matty tries hastily and takes a step forward before coming to an abrupt stop. “i begged until… yeah, i begged him to tell me.”

“look i…” he continues, “i messed up, okay? i messed up big time. i've spent every day regretting it. i miss both of you, and i can't—”

“you miss her?” your voice rings out around the room.

mia in your arms is the only thing stopping you from yelling as your entire body shakes with so much rage. you try to keep the tears at bay, you really do but they fall one after the other. land softly on her head.

“you miss her, do you, matty? do you even know what she looks like?”

he shakes his head and looks down in shame.

“no? you didn’t beg your best friend for a photo?” your voice has taken a mocking quality—ugly and cruel. words meant to hurt him, to damage him. words that might give him a taste of a fraction of what you went through.

“please, i—”

“get out.”

“no, listen to me! please, just—”

“leave!”

matty stumbles back and mia breaks into a cry. whatever possessed you to yell like that leaves instantly, zapping away every ounce of strength in your body. your knees shake with the effort of standing upright. your arms tighten around the baby.

matty wipes his eyes quickly and makes his way out the door.

it’s the thud that breaks the last of your restraint. quietly, you sit on the floor, soothing her for what feels like hours. trying to calm yourself by breathing in her scent. she’s safe. you’re both safe.

you don’t need a third.

you only need her.

matty doesn’t give up.

although he doesn’t show up again in person, a box shows up at the door—one addressed to both you and mia. it feels heavy in your hands and something rattles inside.

as curious as you are, you set it on the dining table and go about your day.

you don’t need any of this, whatever he’s sent is probably useless. it’s silly and meant to break down your defenses. you’re sure of it.

still, every time you pass by it, the box seems to wink at you. so you chuck it in a random drawer—one where you keep the extra nappies, the backup-backup-backup ones—and breathe a sigh of relief.

relief that’s almost comically short-lived.

the days pass, and life falls back into its routine—diapers, bottles, and the sweet sound of mia's coos and giggles. the box from matty remains tucked away in the drawer, almost forgotten. you convince yourself that whatever he sent doesn't matter; you've built a new life for you and mia, and that's all that matters.

it's a rainy afternoon when mia decides to unleash chaos upon her last clean onesie. a cosmic fucking joke really that she should need her backup-backup-backups when you’ve almost managed to forget about the box. but there it is, sitting atop the neatly stacked diapers—a plain cardboard box, tied with a simple piece of twine.

you take it out and set it on the kitchen table. then you brew yourself an extra strong cup of coffee and sit in front of it, almost like it’s a staring match…

who’s going to break first?

but obviously it’s a cardboard box, it stays fucking still no matter how hard you wish for it to burst into flames. so you take a sip of coffee and begin undoing the twine. your hands tremble as you lift the lid. your heartbeat quickens.

first you see a layer of tissue papers covering something and then under it, a plain envelope with your name written on it in matty’s handwriting.

inside it is a piece of paper, slightly torn at the edges. folded and refolded a million times.

hi, my love please come home i’m so sorry i don't expect you to forgive me. i messed up. horribly. there’s no other way to put it. and there's no excuse for the pain i've caused. i understand if you never want to see me again, but please, i’m begging you to let me see her just once. just to let her get to know her father. so that i can get to know my daughter. i know what i did is unforgivable but it’s like half a piece of my heart has been missing since you walked out i let you walk out. i don’t expect you to let me back into your lives but please let me hold her just once. i would also like to set up a small trust fund in her name if you give me permission. i won’t have any control over it, but i want her to have something from me for anything she might want in the future. i’m leaving that decision up to you. there are post cards in here that i wrote for you and for her when things got really really bad. it’s not an excuse for how i behaved but some day i hope we could be together friends again. till then just know that not a moment goes by when i don’t wish i could go back in time and stop myself from till then i hope you know how incredibly sorry i am. i hope you know that i will always have nothing but love and respect for you. and for mia. love, matty

the weight of the emotions threatens to suffocate you. the scratched-out bits from the letter are just slightly visible. not really enough for you to make it out properly but whatever it says has to be too personal, right?

you sink further into the chair, and tears blur your vision. the postcards are right there under the letter—a hundred or so—his heart bared to you. all of the best and worst parts. all the ugly ones too.

and then there’s the trust fund that he wants to set up.

you know it’s the smart thing to do. you can’t have emotions clouding your judgement when it comes to securing her future. and he said he won’t have any control over it so that’s good, right…?

and yet a part of you hesitates to pick up the cards and read his words.

everything feels too raw, too vulnerable and honest.

everything feels too much.

you think and you think and you think for the next few days.

all you do is think about him and the postcards and the trustfund. you even have a little spat with your mum when she says it’s a good idea. you accuse her of playing the devil’s advocate but ultimately she’s right.

this is not about you. this is about your daughter.

so you let her bathe mia and get her ready for bed, and then you pick up your phone and open the old text thread.

have an amazing night, babe. break a leg.

the text sits there innocently. the words are still the same—casual and loving and normal and almost like they were written in a foreign language. you quickly wipe up your tears and delete the old thread before there’s time to second-guess it.

gone. winked out of existence just like that.

and then you open a fresh new thread.

hi matty, hope you’re well. got your letters hello matty hey. i got the box. can we talk?

it amazes you how much back and forth you have to do for a simple message. how many times you talk yourself out of sending it. but once it’s gone. it’s gone.

half a minute later, three dots dance in response.

hey, would love to. next sunday?

sunday works. that’s exactly a week from now. enough time for you to prepare mentally. it’s also a day after your mum gets back from her mini holiday so you can just leave mia with her without having to worry about bringing her with you.

sunday works. see you then.

and that’s the end of that. you switch your phone off and vow to not think about him till then. if only it were that easy…

three days later you wake up to a shrill cry coming from the nursery.

hastily you check the time, 2:37 am, and run to check up on mia, heart thudding in your chest. she’s usually such a calm baby. she sleeps so well through the night and yet the closer you get the louder her cries get.

the more you feel fear grip your chest.

“oh my love, what’s wrong? what’s wrong, baby?”

she continues to wail even after you check her diapers and feel her cot for any wetness. it’s only when you gently touch her cheek do you realise how warm she feels. heat radiates from her little body and panic sets in as you rush to the kitchen to grab the thermometer. the digital display confirms your fear—a fever.

not very high but still, she’s sick for the first time in her life.

“you’ve got a fever sweet girl,” you coo and clear your dry throat.

fuck! calling your mum’s not an option. calling the gp’s also not an option.

her loud cries make your heart squeeze in pain. rocking doesn’t help. strapping her to your naked chest helps only for about ten minutes until she’s screaming once again.

you try a bath, hoping the vapour would clear her cold a little but all it does it give you a headache.

your head feels like it’s about to burst open, blood splattering on the walls and everywhere else as mia continues to cry until her whole body is pink and red from the effort. how does a tiny baby have this much strength in her lungs? you feel her forehead for the tenth time—warm, and you wipe away her runny nose. but no amount of cooing and rocking her helps.

“calm down, darling,” you try to shush her, a note of begging in your voice. your temples throb and mia wails right next to your ears.

you think maybe singing to her would calm her down but any more exertion and the black dots in your vision continue to swim around.

fuck.

you need help. and your mum is not an option. absolutely no one you can call at 3:30 in the morning.

absolutely no one who will even answer.

but that’s not true is it…

with shaky hands you pick up your phone and dial his number. you’d promised yourself never to go crawling to him for help. but the universe has a funny way of forcing your hand.

desperation for your daughter's well-being overrides any pride or resentment. the phone rings, each tone louder than the last. just as you’re sure it’s about to go unanswered, his groggy, sleepy voice comes through from the other side.

“hello?”

you barely give him the chance to speak before launching into your panic-filled pleas. “matty, it’s mia. she’s sick–she won’t–she’s so warm and my mum’s not here and i don’t–nothing's working—”

“hey, hey, love calm down,” he shushes from the other side and then there's rustling in the background. “i’m coming over.”

matty doesn’t even take fifteen minutes to get to your house, eyes widening the second he takes a look at you and your daughter. she’s been attached to you like an extra limb ever since you woke up to her crying. not that you’ve had the heart to set her down for any longer than necessary but you’re aware how deranged you must look with your hair all over the place and red eyes, exhaustion embedded so deep down in your bones that no amount of sleep will get rid of it.

“she won’t stop crying,” you launch into it the second he steps inside. every two words you hiccup, trying and failing to keep the sobs at bay. “she has a cold, matty. i’ve tried everything. we had a warm bath, i gave her some calpol. i’ve tried rocking her and singing to her and i’m so fucking tired but she’s just–she won’t stop—”

“hey…” it only takes one gentle touch from him to make you forget every single feeling of apprehension. matty’s frown deepens.

“are you sure?” his voice has suddenly gone quiet, so quiet that you barely hear it over the baby’s cries.

you look at him in confusion. “didn’t you listen to me? yes i’m fucking sure, she’s ill, matty. look at her!” your voice rises another octave, more and more panicked as another moment passes by and she refuses to settle down.

“no i…” he steps closer and extends his hand. almost afraid to touch her or you. maybe afraid that you might step away like last time. but you stay in place and matty touches the back of her head. it's featherlight at first as if she might break if he puts too much force into it. one touch and she’d crumble away like she was never here at all.

as if this was all his dream.

“no, i meant…” he swallows harshly and clears his throat. “are you sure you want me to take her?”

the hold you have on her loosens ever so slightly.

you called matty here. it’s not like he showed up, unannounced and drunk, no! he showed up at an ungodly hour to help you. if anything… that earns him a tiny, miniscule brownie point.

“do you know how to—”

“hold a baby?” he quips and you notice the way his face brightens almost imperceptibly, barely even noticeable. “i do, i’ve uh… yeah. i do.”

he doesn’t elaborate further, he only stands there patiently until you find your hold on her loosening. you will your heart to calm down, will your body to not be so rigid. then you take a deep breath and extend her to him.

she looks almost different in his arms. smaller somehow, so much more like him than you realised. and matty’s face holds an expression you’ve never seen before.

something about it makes your heart stutter.

he’s enamoured by her, so much so that he barely even reacts when she sneezes in his face and keeps crying even though it’s a bit softer now. maybe she’s just as distracted trying to process him, maybe she feels something too—a bond that’s somehow always been there, hidden and battered and hanging on by a thread.

in a heartbeat, his face changes and he holds her to his chest.

in a tentative voice, matty shushes her, bounces her a bit just like you had been. you wring your hands nervously waiting for something to happen. maybe he’d realise he still doesn’t want her, that he was wrong to think he did. maybe he’d give her back and leave you again quietly.

your chest hurts at the thought, but you will it away and watch matty cuddle her closer.

he holds her as tightly as possible without hurting her. matty closes his eyes and presses his face into her head, he swallows harshly and for a moment his whole body shudders. when he opens them again, they’re tinged pink, and he quickly looks away.

“can you—” he clears his throat and tries again. “can you show me where the nursery is?”

you nod and gesture for him to follow. mia’s cries slow a little when matty starts walking. he continues shushing her and attempting baby talk which is slightly amusing despite everything. he gives up in a few seconds though and goes back to talking to her normally.

“just a cold, my love,” you hear him faintly, “they’re really annoying though, aren’t they?”

in spite of yourself, you smile and stop in front of the nursery.

“she usually likes the chair.”

matty looks to the corner of the room where you’re pointing and nods. then he clears his throat.

“should i… uh, does she have a favourite blanket?”

the fact he thought of it is impressive. and she does, but you know it’s just been washed and folded. to get it for her, you’d have to leave them alone. for the first time ever.

the rational part of your brain knows it won’t be a big deal. it’s two minutes at most and it’s not like matty’s gonna run away with her. your heart pounds regardless, and your feet feel leaden.

“sure, it’s–yeah, let me just…” and then you leave before you have the chance to overthink it.

by the time you’re get back to the nursery, soft blanket in hand, matty’s already settled in the rocking chair, mia in his arms with her cheek squished against his chest.

he’s unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt so he’s not entirely shirtless but just enough to feel her against his skin—to get a second chance at the skin-to-skin he missed.

“that’s it, darling,” he speaks softly and strokes her cheek. “settle down for me. daddy’s gonna take care of you, okay?”

with every word he speaks, her eyes get droopier, her sniffles turn to quiet breaths until matty takes a deep breath and starts singing a quiet song.

it’s unfamiliar at first, and he starts off unsure and off-kilter. his voice cracks, but mia babbles something and presses further into his chest. it’s then that he really smiles—wide and breath-taking and so incredibly happy that the air whooshes out of your lungs just at the sight of it.

daddy’s gonna take care of you, okay?

and that’s exactly what he does. he pats on her back softly, presses small kisses to her head until your eyes sting and a sob almost escapes.

quickly, you back away, still clutching the blanket. still holding back tears until you’re far, far away from him and somehow in the empty kitchen. the sky is only just turning pink, even then, the darkness lingers. and that’s when the dam breaks.

great, heaving sobs spill out of you—ugly and wretched and loud enough that it’s a miracle matty doesn’t come running. your legs give out from under you and you slide against the counter, leaning against it and praying for any amount of strength. your chest aches and your body trembles. a distatant memory flashes across your mind—of the last time you cried like this. when you accidentally called adam instead of your mum.

when adam did show up even if you tried to get him to leave.

the cool surface of the countertop offers a small comfort. with trembling hands, you clutch the soft blanket, and bury your face in it. it still holds the scent of baby oils and powders, of her fluffy little head that you adore so much. the same head that’s full of his curls.

you gasp for a breath and stifle another sob. the blanket helps too—it’s grounding and comforting. it’s familiar. you force yourself to take another deep breath, and this time it comes a bit easier. the weight on your chest eases just a bit. the grief that felt so overwhelming all these months loosens its grip around your heart and in the stillness of dawn, matty’s voice floats into the kitchen.

you stay there on the floor, counting one breath after the other, listening to his lullaby until the whole kitchen is bathed in the orange light of dawn.

then you wipe away the snot and the tears and make yourself stand up.

you hold your head in your hands, hoping the dull ache would go away soon, along with all the memories of the last 24 hours. at this point, you’d settle for the complete erasure of the last thirty minutes.

you just want to go back to before—back to your happy cheerful baby, back to being busy enough that you have no time to think about him.

you desperately crave the before where the crack in his voice doesn’t haunt every thought. where the song doesn’t echo in the crevices of your brain and mia’s cries don’t grow quieter with every word he sings. in fact, you crave an alternate world where she doesn’t cry at all. she sleeps through the night like always and you video call your mum when she wakes up.

that’s what was supposed to happen. not…this.

not matty being in your house with your—his—daughter, watching her with that devastated look on his face.

a soft thud of the door jerks you out of your thoughts but the house remains devoid of baby cries. the only thing you can hear really is matty’s footsteps growing louder until you can see him at the door to the kitchen from the corner of your eye.

he hesitates and lingers like he’s trapped in a limbo.

“you can come in, you know?” you straighten and roll your neck to get rid of some of the pain. there’s a momentary relief before the ache comes flooding back.

“she’s asleep…”

“yeah, i thought she would be.”

“she feels a bit cooler to the touch,” he reports and relief floods your chest.

for a moment the kitchen stays silent. the birds outside chirp once in a while and you hear the occasional sounds of a car but everything else feels like it’s come to a standstill. quiet. the universe holding its breath in anticipation.

“i should go—”

“coffee—”

you both speak at the same time and shut your mouth again. another pang of pain lances through your body and this time you barely hold back the wince.

he wants to leave, of course, he does. just because he came through in a time of need doesn’t mean he’s ready to be a father. it doesn’t mean you’re ready to let him be her father.

“coffee sounds nice,” he speaks so softly that you barely hear it at first. there’s trepidation in his voice; a slight tremor that he might be pushed away again but a rock lodges itself in your throat and all you can manage is a slight nod.

you can feel his stare burning into the back of your head when you turn. the coffee pot is still full of yesterday’s grounds—something you haven’t had the chance to tidy up yet. now that you look around, the whole kitchen is a bit of a mess. you scoff to yourself. your mum’s been gone for three whole days and your life is already falling apart trying to be a single mother.

the gurgling of water fills the kitchen as the kettle starts boiling and you look around for a spare mug. yours is right by the coffee machine but an extra one should be high up in the cupboard.

matty’s shoes squeak on the floor but he doesn’t come any closer.

“need any he—”

“no. i’m fine!”

and just to drive the point home, you yank the door to the top shelf open and stretch extra high to reach the spare mug. cool air brushes the exposed sliver of skin and just for a moment you’re tempted to see if he’s looking, just for a tiny second, until pain lances through your neck and shoulder and this time the loud wince slips out.

before you know it, matty’s behind you, steading you with a hand against the small of your back—warm palm pressed against warm, exposed skin. somewhere deep down you would have recognised him through smell alone—the same warm spicy smelled laced with just a hint of cigarette smoke that you’ve thought about on many lonely nights.

sometimes when you’re deep asleep, it sneaks up on you, envelopes you so thoroughly that you wake up surrounded by it, suffocating almost and still desperately trying to get lungfulls of it.

the same smell surrounds you now and matty’s body presses close to yours.

“careful there,” he breathes and the warmth of it spreads goosebumps all over your body.

“you alright?”

you know he’s referring to your wince from two seconds ago but your brain takes an eternity to form a coherent sentence.

“fine,” you manage. “i was rocking mia all night, think i pulled something.”

instantly, warm, rough fingers touch your shoulder and the space between you comes alive with electricity.

“trust me,” he murmurs and somehow you find yourself nodding and closing your eyes, sighing when his fingers press into your skin. the wood the counter digs into your pelvis, almost like a tether to this world, something to stop you from floating away and giving in to his touch. heat simmers in your blood just as the water in the kettle comes to a full boil.

“this feel good, love?”

distant thoughts remind you to say no, to move away and shut hm off again. he has no business touching you again, but your body seems disconnected from your brain. instead of walking away, you lean back, into his chest and away from the wood of the counter.

the tether snaps but matty’s there to hold you down. his hand snakes around your waist and you spin. spin till you’re facing him and pressed flush against his chest. until his scent is all around, finally enough to settle into your lungs and not dissipate into the cloying scent of nightmares.

“we s-shouldn’t…” you try to sound firm but the word makes you choke. matty’s eyes dip to your mouth.

“we shouldn’t,” he agrees and presses his lip against yours.

the kiss takes you back to the last time—to the before, in that cosy hotel room by the sea. you think of the two people tangled up in the bedsheets, naked and sweaty and happy. one of them looks remarkably like you—the same hair and eyes, the same smile, slightly fuller cheeks though. she laughs and whispers something in matty’s ear. then he nips at her lips just like he nips at yours now.

it’s a kiss teeming with longing and desire and everything in between.

your teeth knock against each other and matty takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue in, to let it run over your lip and against your tongue until you’re panting and leaning against him for support.

“m-matty,”

“tell me you don’t wan’t me,” he says all of a sudden but his eyes are so full of so much hope that your heart might shatter into a million pieces to see it die away slowly.

“i want you…”

and that’s the only permission he needs before his mouth is on yours again, hungry and hot, your lips between his teeth until they’re red and swollen, and only then does he move to your jaw.

his stubble leaves a faint burn on your skin and the fire in your blood burns hotter.

“please,” he chokes out and swallows roughly, “need to taste you, please.”

you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, instead you give him a light push on his shoulders. instantly, matty kneels between your legs and pulls your shorts down until they fall to your ankles, along with the underwear.

silently, you curse for not bothering to shave or wear decent underwear. not like you knew this would be happening. but he’s like a man starved and every ounce of hesitation leaves when your fingers tangle in his hair.

the tresses slip between your fingers, soft and curly and exactly how they used to feel a year ago, the greys stand out against your hand and a whine escapes you the moment his tongue connects to your clit. your breath hitches at the sight of him—eyes half-lidded, dark enough that they are almost black, lips swollen to the point they are wet and red. for a moment, you consider pulling him up just to kiss him again, to taste him again. but then matty’s tongue plunges inside you and your mind goes blank.

his rough hand is against your thigh, fingers digging into soft flesh, another against your ass, holding you up and squeezing the flesh at the same time. your legs tremble and almost give up but he pushes you back and traps against the counter.

you shouldn’t. you shouldn’t. you shoudn’t. you try telling that to yourself over and over again and yet your belly erupts in butterflies that just won’t go away. your hands move of their own accord, guiding his head, pushing his mouth right against your clit, and matty takes it all.

“fuck–” he chokes out and goes back to licking another broad strip, “missed you, missed your taste, fucking missed you so much!”

tears sting your eyes and your body trembles for a different reason this time but you push it back and rut your hips against his face.

despite the thoughts in your head, this feels good. this feels familiar and fantastic and as much as you don’t want to admit it, this feels right.

matty moans against your clit and swipes a finger through your folds. euphoria makes your vision go white and you let yourself cry out his name. perhaps for the first time. the sound echoes around the kitchen, confined within the four walls of this room somehow even before you stifle the second scream. there’s a sleeping baby in the house after all, the last thing you need is for her to wake up and put an end to whatever this is until the awkwardness would push matty out of the house and possibly out of your life again—

your eyes scrunch shut as another lick makes your head spin.

“fa-faster,” you moan out and shamelessly throw a leg over his shoulder, holding onto his head so tight now that he surely feels the tug. if anything, his efforts double, and his tongue plunges deeper into you than before.

the world goes hazy and soft around the edges as your eyes roll back into your head.

fuck! he’s good… he’s always been good. he’s always known your body better than you have. besides, no one’s made you feel half as good in a year, no one besides your vibrator on occasional lonely nights.

“fuck, darling you’re perfect…” he breathes and the word echoes around in your head.

you were perfect. together. even after everything, nothing and no one can erase the that.

you swallow another cry and hold onto him tighter. your head buzzes and pleasure floods through your entire body until you’re chanting his name over and over again. somewhere through it all, you’re aware of grinding against his face like a wild animal in heat but his mouth keeps up with it. if anything, his thumb joins in, pressing on your clit, pinching it just so till you jerk and let go all over his tongue.

ecstasy replaces the blood in your veins, runs at lightning speeds and you feel as if you’re floating up, up and away if not for matty standing up, holding onto you, kissing you till you can taste yourself on his tongue—taste so much more that heat pools in your stomach again and you push your hands inside his t-shirt.

his whole body tenses, muscles taut against your hand until he’s practically vibrating and rigid.

“you really w-want this? me?”

the hope in his voice is barely controlled but you refuse to open your eyes. one look at him and you know your resolve will crumble and the tears will come. instead you push your face into the crook of his neck and nod.

“i’ve never been more sure of something…”

for a moment, his breathing stops completely and matty goes still—you can almost feel his heart stop too, almost feel the stuttering beat pounding right under the palm of your hand. then the spell breaks and the clinking of his belt buckle fills the room.

his lips press against the hollow of your throat, leaving wild, reckless marks behind before he moves over to where your pulse thrums wildly. his mouth finds the spot, sucks on it gently, and you find yourself losing in him once again.

you feel the hardness of his cock through the boxers and before you have the chance to touch him properly, matty pulls away slightly, making you look at him in confusion. it’s only when his hand reaches for his wallet do you realise that he’s pulling out a condom.

good. there should be some barrier between you. some semblance of a boundary even though it laughably flimsy and pathetic. and well, that lack of barrier is really what landed you here in the first place.

“i need—”

“yes,” he interrupts and goes in for another sloppy kiss.

your hands wander until you’re pulling his hard cock out, feeling him moan into the kiss and he reluctantly pulls away to put the condom on. the moment stretches on and suddenly this whole thing feels juvenile, like he’s your high school crush. like this is your first time. excitement bubbles up in your chest—dull but unmistakably there. maybe just this once, you let it surge.

as if in a daze, matty slides the stray hair off your shoulder, brushing away the strands until your shoulder is bared to him and kisses the exposed skin. goosebumps erupt in its wake.

the whole affair is silent—just moans and sighs and the sound of his shuddering breath before he’s slipping into you, deeper and deeper until all you feel is him and his heartbeat.

“fucking perfect, so fucking perfect…” he chants and thrusts again. and again. and again till your breathing becomes ragged and your head loses every thought once again, and then he’s the only person to matter in the world.

you’d die if he were to let go of you now.

his grip on you tightens and his pace becomes faster, hips slamming into yours until you’re both moaning and panting, until your face in in the crook of his neck, mouth against his neck. the kisses excite him more, make him shiver in delight, and somehow you feel him grow harder inside you—streching you out till you’re nearly in tears and crying out from pleasure that is almost overwhelming.

“matty, you’re—i’m—”

“can’t wait to feel you drenching my cock,” his voice turns into an unexpected growl and pleasure coils in your belly. his hand inches between your legs, fingers circling your clit until his thumb is pressing down on it once again and you mewl. his chest barely even stifles it.

“please…” you beg and get swept away by another feverish kiss. your head spins and matty’s saying something, he’s fucking into you so hard that you can barely hear a word over the obscene, wet sounds. or maybe it’s the blood rushing through your whole body that drowns it out.

none of it matters though, not when you feel white hot pleasure swirl through you and then you clench around him, hard enough that he cries out too. hard enough that you feel him cum despite the condom. and that’s what tips you over the edge.

matty keeps going through it, slamming into you until he eventually slows down, until he eventually stills but doesn’t pull out. you keep your eyes closed, chest heaving, breath mixing with his, bodies pressed together so tightly that you can practically feel the rush of his blood under his skin.

some pathetic part of your brain makes tears prick at your eyes and you finally open your eyes, taking just a second to look at his face. there are lines etches into his forehead now—deep grooves that used to be much softer. a reminder of all the time that’s passed. his sweaty curls stick to his forehead, much more grey than before. much messier. still, he's as beautiful as ever, as beautiful as a forbidden fruit.

then he opens his eyes too and the breath truly gets knocked out of you.

after all this time, his eyes are the same warm hazel. the same eyes you look into every day. mia’s eyes. matty’s eyes.

for a moment, the room feels colder. the orange hue feels odd and unnatural but it’s just a trick of the light, just a trick of an overthinking mind.

“we—”

“don’t,” you interrupt quickly. “please, just… let me stay like this. let me have this memory.”

matty hmms, then moves his hand to the back of your head, fingers in your hair until you feel something wet on your cheeks, on your shoulders. until you feel his body shaking. you don’t look up. you don’t try to console him either. you just stay like that, breathe him in until your lungs feel full enough to burst.

you know how this ends. deep down, you’ve always known it.

still, letting go of him feels like plunging a knife in your chest.

there will be a part 3, this was getting too long.

lemme know what you think <33

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trumanbluee · 2 months

Text

if its not with you - matty healy

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!

content: matty's away on tour, and you miss each other dearly

word count: 1724

warnings: phone sex! established relationship, afab oc, lmk if i missed anything! xx

a/n: hi!!!! im so sorry i havent been active at all recently i've been super busy with schoolwork, here's part one of a two part thing i wrote a little while ago !!! love u <3333

She stirred as she felt her phone vibrate on the bed beside her. Eyes still shut, sleep glueing them together, she blindly felt around the bed for it, gripping it with her freshly manicured hand once she’d found it.

Opening her eyes, she screwed her eyebrows together at the brightness of the screen, before the furrow quickly dissipated when she saw who’d disturbed her nap. Matty ❤️ was sprawled out on the top of her screen in bright white, and behind it a picture of her kissing him on the cheek, taken on their first date. Sitting up in the bed, she didn’t hesitate to accept the call.

Instantly, she heard a tired, “Hey baby,” ring out from the other side of the phone. She smiled as she pictured him in bed, rubbing his eye sleepily as he held his phone to his ear.

“Hi Matty,” she whispered through the phone, positioning her pillows at the head of her bed so she could sit back. “Did you just get back to your hotel?”

“Yeah,” she heard a soft exhale followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Long day.”

Her heart sank at the exhaustion that was so evident in his voice, and she just wished she was there with him.

He’d been touring for 6 months now, and had been away for far too long. She missed him dearly, and these phone calls, that lasted no longer than 10-15 minutes at best, simply weren’t enough.

She huffed, repositioning herself against her pillows before placing her phone back to her ear, “I’m sorry baby, I know you said you’d call but we don’t have to if you’re too tired. Just want you to take care of yourself, Matty.”

She heard him shuffling against his sheets, and hoped he was getting comfortable in order to fall asleep. She loved the calls where he’d fall asleep on facetime whilst she worked, her camera roll full of screenshots he didn’t know she had, of his soft, relaxed face.

He tutted, “Never, baby. Always wanna hear your voice after a long day. Just wish you were here instead of me havin’ to call ‘ya.”

She sighed, “I know babe, I miss you so much. When are you coming home again?” she asked, sure of the answer but wanting to hear the excitement in his tone as he said it.

“Three weeks, honey. Three weeks and then I’m never leavin’ you again.”

She laughed softly, “Yeah, I’m sure Jamie, the fans and the lads’d be happy to hear that. I can see the headlines now, ‘The 1975 breaks up because Matty refuses to ever leave his girlfriend again.’

She hears him chuckle down the phone, low and gruff, obviously strained and exhausted from the long day of rehearsals and performing.

“I just hope that picture I sent you’s enough to tide you over for another three weeks, hon.” She said cheekily, tracing a finger up the exposed skin of her thigh, where her shorts had ridden up.

She heard his breathe hitch slightly, and she imagined all the nights when he’d really missed her, where he’d pulled that picture up, probably saved in his ‘Baby ❤️’ album knowing him, and, laying amongst the soft white of the hotel bedding, shoved his hand into his boxers and tugged at his throbbing cock needily, until he came all over his hand. The thought made her ache, and she felt heat pooling between her thighs.

He laughed softly, “Yeah baby, it’s been getting me through the nights. You look so sexy honey, all dressed up in pretty lingerie for me.”

She whined softly, “Fuck, miss you, Matty. S’not the same without you here.”

“S’not the same? How’s it not the same, baby?” He asked cockily, knowing in which direction she was trying to steer the conversation.

She huffed, “Y’know what I mean.”

He laughed softly, repositioning himself to lie further down the bed. “Humour me babe, tell me what’s not the same.”

Having discarded her pyjama shorts, she lay with her head on the pillows, tracing lazy patterns along the soft skin of her thighs and stomach. “Fingers can’t reach all the spots you do, Matty. Need you here to help.”

He tutted in faux sadness, “Oh my poor baby, let me see if I can help you now, huh? Why don’t you lie down on the bed and spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, hurriedly pulling her favourite pair of underwear, light blue, adorned with yellow daisies, down her thighs, using her right foot to fling them somewhere in the room.

“You good, honey? Lyin’ down f’me?” he asked, making sure she’d done what he had told her to.

She hummed a yes, waiting to be given her next instructions.

“Want you to start by playing with your clit a little bit, okay baby?

She quickly put her phone on speaker, laying it on the pillow beside where her head was propped up, before she snaked a hand down her body, moaning softly as her index finger began rubbing soft circles on her throbbing clit.

“Good girl.” He spoke, slightly breathless. She could just make out the sound of him unbuckling his belt, making her thighs clench at the thought of him stroking his thick length.

“Actually, baby, can you prop your phone up somewhere I’ll be able to see you? Can you do that, honey?

She nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see her, and opted to prop her laptop up against the end of her bed, receiving a facetime request from Matty mere seconds later. Pressing ‘accept’ in record time, she scrambled to resume her previous position, being sure to spread her legs as wide as she could, just to make sure Matty could see as much of her as possible.

Drawing lazy circles on her clit, the facetime finally connected, and she was met with Matty’s tired face, though she couldn’t tell if his eyes were hooded from sheer sleepiness, or horniness. Every thought wiped from her brain when he registered what was on the screen in front of him, flashing her a wide grin at the sight of her spread-legged for him.

“Oh honey, such a good girl for me, doing what I tell you when I can’t even see it.”

She nodded, feeling her cunt get stickier as he watched her actions, speeding up slightly.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me sweetheart… Pussy’s so fucking pretty. Think you can fuck yourself with your fingers f’me now baby? Yeah?” He asked, though the questions were rhetorical. They were both well aware she would do just about anything and everything that he asked her to.

However, she nodded nonetheless, looking at his pretty face on the screen in front of her as she brought the hand that wasn’t occupied with her clit down to tease her hole, swirling her index finger around the entrance teasingly.

“Fuck, baby. S’that feel good? Huh?” He asked, though he received only soft moans and needy whines of his name in response, as she finally pushed a singular digit into her now soaking cunt.

He threw his head back, eyebrows screwing together as he swiped a thumb across the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum down the vein that ran along his length. Giving it three quick pumps, he began to slowly slide his fist up and down at the same time she pressed her fingers, having added a second not long after the first, into her tight pussy, a squelching sound reverberating from his laptop and around his hotel room.

“Fuck,” He said breathlessly, “Such a good girl, baby. Takin’ those fingers so well f’me. Miss you so much, wish I was there with you right now honey.” He rambled, fist pumping his cock quicker now, as she slammed her fingers into her hole, right hand rapidly swiping across her clit as you brought yourself closer and closer to her orgasm, with Matty coaching her through it.

“M-matty, feels so good!” She stuttered out, head thrown back against her pillows as her orgasm got closer and closer.

He groaned as he watched her, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut in pleasure as he fisted his slick length.

“C’mon baby, you - fuck, you’ve got it baby. Can you cum f’me? “He spoke, though he had to try his hardest to speak in a way that was understandable, eyebrows furrowing as his orgasm approached alongside hers.

“F-fuck!” She moaned, legs clenching together around her hands as she came, body jolting. Almost as though the two are connected, Matty’s body tightens, and thick ropes of cum decorate his lower stomach as he groans loudly, head thrown back against his pillows.

Silence filled both rooms, with nothing but heavy breathes from both sides of the room to fill it. Her chest rises rapidly, hair sticking to her forehead. She reaches down, still silent, and fishes her laptop from the bottom of the bed, placing it on the side of the bed that Matty would usually occupy. Turning on her side to face the computer, she sees that he’s had the same idea, and is now lying beneath the duvet, curls messy and out of place, hooded eyes staring back at her through the screen.

She smiles sleepily, though it’s midday for her and night-time for him; her sleep schedule had been messed up by consequence of her trying to catch his shows via livestream. He smiles back, eyes lidded and eyebrows relaxed.

“I love you, baby.” He says, eyebrows lifted, softening his fatigued features, before he smiles cheekily. “See, all you needed was a bit of help, huh honey?”

This causes her to laugh softly, head turning into her pillow to muffle the sound. She shrugs the best she can in her position, “I love you too Matty. Would’ve been better with the real thing here though.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly at this, as if reminded of the fact that he’s looking at her through a screen, and she isn’t actually in his bed right now.

“I know sweetheart, just three more weeks, yeah? We can do it, honey. We’ve gone this long.” Just then, he checks the time, mumbling a low “Shit”. “Sorry honey, I gotta go to sleep now. I love you, I’ll see you in three weeks.”

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notenoughncise · 3 months

Text

Why Don’t You Talk to Matty About it?

word count: 2.5K

f!reader x matty

tags: angst, happy ending

warnings: alcohol, mentions of smut but no actual smut

after pining after matty since they became friends 15 years ago, it all comes to a head for y/n on a drunken night out

——————————————————————————

You’re nearly two bottles of wine deep when she comes up to the table.

“Hiiiiii… I just wanted to say that I’m a massive fan of yours. I loooove the new album!”

She’s drunk as fuck; stumbling over her words, gripping his shoulder to keep herself steady. You feel the jealousy burning through your entire body. It’s a chore not to show it; to smile instead of scowl at her, to drink from your glass at a normal pace instead of throwing it down your throat.

He turns his head to look up at her, smiling so genuinely that you want to claw your eyes out. He’s drunk too, you can see it in the way he clumsily puts his hands over the one she has on his shoulder, eyes glazed over.

“Aw, thank you, Darlin’. We’re glad you like it.”

You feel sick. He’s looking at her so gently, like he might spook her if he doesn’t. She’s just a fan saying hello, you scream at yourself internally, stop being a fucking melt. And it almost works, you almost calm down, and then she giggles and plops herself down next to him. You breathe in sharply, tightening your grip on your glass.

George puts his hand on your thigh, and in leans in to whisper to you.

“Y/N, you need to chill out.”

George is right. You know he is. He’s always fucking right. You need to get a grip. 32 years old and so hung up on your teenage crush that you’re seriously considering squaring up to a teenager. And for what? A man who maybe looks your way twice on a good day? That’s not true. You aren’t being fair. Sometimes you think you see it in his eyes, but it disappears so fast. You can’t ever tell if it was really there. And he smiles, he smiles so softly just for you; so softly it makes you weak in the knees, makes you smile back a shit eating grin every time.

But what does it matter - he isn’t yours. You’re just ‘the friend’, the one woman he can count on to not try it on with him. He told you as much one time, sat huddled together in the freezing cold on someone’s back door step when you were 17. And what were you supposed to say to that? ‘Uhh, actually Matty…’, Yeah right. You smiled and took the fag that was dangling between his fingers, taking the longest drag you could manage so you didn’t have to reply. And here you are, over 15 years later, smiling sweetly and keeping your mouth occupied so you don’t ruin your life.

You’ve got a face like thunder, you can feel it. But you can’t stop it. You can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop the jealousy ripping through you. A jealousy you don’t really have a right to have. He’s got you all wound up. He’s not even looking at you and you’re on the edge of your seat.

But who are you kidding? He’s always got you wound up. Always got your knees on the verge of buckling, always got you hanging onto every word he says. You feel your whole body pulse every time he looks your way. You always have. It’s a curse you can’t escape. Not to be dramatic but sisyphus had it easy compared to you.

You all watch as he runs his hands up and down her waist, keeping his eyes on her. She giggles, bites her lip, clearly living out her rockstar fantasy. You want to strangle her. You wish this wine glass was her and you could just squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and-

“You need another drink, Y/N?” George asks, sensing that you need to be taken away from the table immediately.

“I would love another drink.”

George holds open the door to the smoking area for you.

You fumble with the packet, can’t find your lighter, realise that Matty bumped it earlier and never put it back.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

It’s too much. It’s the last straw. Here you are crouched down in a dingy smoking area on the verge of bawling your eyes out. All because some stupid child is holding Matty’s attention. She’s not a child, you think to yourself. She’s obviously old enough to be in here but oh what does it matter. You can’t think straight anymore.

You can’t stop thinking about his hands on her, how you wish they were on you. You’re so jealous. So jealous that she just sat down right next to him and melted onto his body. She did something in 10 seconds that you haven’t done in 10 years. And is it really that easy? Do you just need to hike your dress up, drag out your vowels, and bat your eyelashes? Will you he fuck you senseless then? Take you into the bathrooms and show you what next week looks like?

But that’s not really want you want, is it? It’s just easier to think about him if you convince yourself you only want to fuck him. That all you want is his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck. That you don’t want him in a nice, normal way at all. You don’t think about being the girl in his Instagram stories, or waking up in his arms every morning, or… or…

“This is getting pathetic, Y/N.” George’s hand is gently resting on your shoulder. He doesn’t look angry, he just looks at you with that sort of sad face you have when you can’t hide that you think someone’s being a massive twat.

“Yeah, I know. Believe me I fucking know.” You don’t mean it to sound as sad as it does. George crouches down next to you, running his hand up and down your arm.

You couldn’t count the amount of times you and George have sat like this; cuddled together as you cried about Matty. It never gets old, it’s almost a monthly event now. He joked once that you need to start marking it on the calendar for him so he can wear something he doesn’t mind you covering with makeup. You’ve become unexpectedly close. You never knew him well until that same fateful night you were put in your place by Matty. That was the first time - you sat cross legged on the kitchen counter with your lip quivering and your chest heaving, and George just held your hand until you calmed down.

“You can’t just keep crying about him. If he doesn’t feel the same way it won’t change anything; you’ll be embarrassed for a couple weeks and then it’ll all fall back into place. He’s a dick but he loves you more than anything, Y/N. You know he wouldn’t be mean about it. You know that.”

You choke back a sob. You know he’s right, it wouldn’t change anything really. You’re both adults, no one’s 16 anymore. It can be mature, you can both be sensible. But it’s always the same; gone are your inhibitions and in their place is Matty, clouding up your senses.

“I can’t do it George,” you whisper softly, wiping underneath your eyes with the sleeve of your dress, “I can’t risk losing him. I’d rather never have him the way I want and still have him here than never have him the way I want and not have him here.”

It’s too quiet. It’s quite sudden, it’s uncomfortable. It’s just a girl crying over a crush, except the girl’s in her 30’s and the crush is her best friend.

George pulls himself up off the ground, holding out his hands to help you. You take them gently and you both giggle when you fall flat on your arse. You dust yourself off and stand up properly. George takes a lighter from his pocket and lights the slightly crumpled fag you forgot you’ve been gripping onto.

“Sorry for being a massive gimp.” You laugh gently.

“S’alright, Y/L/N. My favourite thing about you.” He tries to keep his face straight but breaks into a massive grin, laughing along with you.

“I’m fine. I promise, I’m just… I don’t know, I don’t really have the words for it, to be honest with you.”

“Look, we’re gonna go back in there, get another drink, request whatever ridiculous song it takes to cheer you up, and we’re gonna have a fucking great time. Okay?”

“Okay.” You smile at him. You don’t know how anyone survives in this world without George Daniel.

He pulls you into a hug, and you can’t help but start crying again. You wipe at the tears but it does nothing other than ruin your makeup even more.

“I’m gonna look a fucking state when I go back in there.”

“Eh, it’s dark. No one will be able to tell.”

“Wow,” you laugh out, “thanks George, very reassuring.”

“Always welcome, love. Now come on, it’s fucking freezing. You can cry about being in love inside.”

As George starts to lead you back inside, you hear Matty’s voice echoing out towards you.

“Y/N? George? You guys out here? You’ve been gone for ages.” Panic pulses through you as Matty’s voice fills the smoking area.

You’re still glued to George when Matty stumbles onto you both. He looks so worried, distressed. And then he looks confused. Confused why you’re crying, why you’re clinging to George like your life depends on it.

“Yeah, yeah we’re out here. Jus’ having a chat.” George says, rubbing your back with one hand and wiping away your smudged mascara with the other.

You smile gently at Matty, not quite able to meet his eyes. You’re embarrassed, there’s really no other words for it. No excuses, no nothing, the man you’re crying your eyes out about has just wandered in on you doing it. And where do you go from there?

“Y/N? What’s going on, sweetheart? Why you crying so hard?”

He placed a hand on your check, wiping at the bottom of your eyes with his thumb. Fuck sake, your eyes begin watering again (not that they ever stopped). You don’t want to have this conversation. No one wants to have this conversation. George especially doesn’t want to be in the middle of said conversation.

“I’m Okay, Matty.”

He looks sceptical - he knows you too well for this.

“Honestly, Matty, really, I’m okay.”

Lying straight through your teeth to Matty is a fully developed talent at this stage in your life, but you just don’t have the conviction tonight. He tries to meet your eyes again. but you can’t get them off your shoes. You hear him sigh. Shame burns in you - since when couldn’t you spew shit at Matty to keep him on the wrong track?

“Darlin’… Come on, you think I don’t know you well enough to know that’s not true?”

“Matty… Please, just leave it.”

“Okay, I can’t be arsed anymore. You two are getting left to sort this out.” George makes a move towards the door, and before you can process what just happened he’s back inside.

“Fuck.” You try and run after him, but Matty grips your wrist.

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on? Why are you crying and why are you lying to me about it, Darlin’?”

His face is so gentle. His grip on your wrist has loosened but he hasn’t let go. Curls falling in his eyes, fingers on your pulse. It’s too much. It’s too much. And then his other arm snakes around your waist and you can’t do it anymore. Your chest is so tight it might combust. And your face is so hot in the cold London weather that it burns. After an eternity, you meet his eyes.

“I… I can’t… I can’t, Matty. I can’t.”

The grip tightens, he pulls you closer.

“Come on, darlin’, use your words.”

“Oh fuck off, Matthew.” You half sigh, half giggle.

“Use ‘em, come on, use ‘em. Why don’t you talk to Matty about it?”

You laugh gently, watching as his face breaks out in a smile. God he’s so pretty. His hand is still cradling your check, thumb gently gliding over your skin. You don’t want to use your words. You don’t want to talk about this at all.

“Y/N?”

“I’m fine, really. You can go back to flirting with the borderline high schooler.”

It comes out meaner than you wanted it to, and you watch as Matty’s face falls. Fuck. So much for not having this conversation.

“Her? That’s what this is about? A fan I spoke to for less than five minutes?”

You try to move away from him, your cheeks burning red from the embarrassment - like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar. But his grip on your wrist and waist tightens and he pulls you back in.

“Don’t make me do this Matty. I mean it. Please.” Tears well in your eyes, this could be it. This could be the last time Matty ever holds you like this, ever winds you up to stop you from crying. You don’t want it to end. How could you ever want this to end.

“Y/N, are you seriously jealous of a fucking 18 year old? Do you think I’d do that to you? Really? Come on, Darlin’ use that pretty head of yours.”

You’re too busy trying not to let the tears drop that you almost don’t catch the look of sheer panic in his eyes. It stops you in your tracks. Why does he look panicked? Why would he look panicked? Your heart races.

“Matty?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You’re so close to each other you’re basically breathing the same air. His hand around your waist has been holding yours, your other hand has just been dangling at your side since you didn’t know what to do with it. You know what to do with it now; you bring it up to the hand he has on your cheek, closing your fingers over the top of his.

“What exactly would I need to use my pretty head to figure out?”

“Fuck sake…”

“Come on, darlin’, use your words.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah - fucking c’mere.”

You would’ve laughed at him if you had time (and if you hadn’t been so shocked), but his lips latch onto yours before you can think about anything else. He’s so gentle with you, the hand that was on your waist comes up into your hair. He grips it softly, smiling to himself as you moan quietly.

Before you know it, it’s over. He pulls away from you, but he’s still so close you can hardly look at his face properly.

“I fucking hate you.” You sigh.

“Think that kiss would say otherwise, sweetheart.”

“Matthew, mate, honestly get fucked.”

“Waited 15 years but can’t wait another couple hours? My, my, my.”

“Will you fuck off?” You laugh, not meaning a single syllable of it.

“Never, darlin’. Stuck with me now.”

He kisses you softly again, smiling sweetly at you as he pulls away.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 #haven’t written fic in a hot minute won’t lie #uh been at this one since like july so i hope you enjoy?#my writing

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tonguepiercedanyway75 · 6 days

Text

Could I easily fill his shoes? // Matty Healy x Reader

a/n: I’d love some requests!

content warnings: smut, fluff, dirty talk, praise, cheating, just let it happen ;) 18+ MDNI

summary: since the night Matty and you slept together your boyfriend can’t fulfill the job anymore. You need Matty to help you.

────────────────────────

“Hmm?” he purrs, his voice is low and throaty, perfect for this time of night. You catch your lip between your teeth.

“Shit, did I wake you?” The digital clock on your nightstand displays the numbers 02:28.

There is a low chuckle on the other end, laced with a hint of amusement. "You could say that. But I'm wide awake now. What do you want, love?"

Your cheeks flush at the sultry tone in his voice, your mind racing with possibilities. "Uh-“ You think that everything you’re going to say is going to sound ridiculous. “Shit,” you mumble, not knowing how to phrase it.

“Cat got your tongue?” His chuckle rumbles through the line, a sound that sends a wave of heat coursing through your veins.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, your cheeks flushed red from only his voice. God. Matty’s voice does more to you than anything your boyfriend does. “Can you come over?” You ask.

“Is he gone?” You hear shuffling, a blanket being lifted and a fast movement of fabric on skin.

“He left 15 minutes ago, told him I have a migraine,” it’s wrong to lie and it’s even more wrong when he tried to make you feel good for an hour. How could you possibly tell him that your minds on someone else the entire time.

Matty tuts, “that’s not true, is it?”

“You know it isn’t,” because he knows it’s his fault, “come over please,” you whisper the last word and hope he doesn’t hear your desperate plea.

“Already begging? That little twat left you desperate didn’t he?” His words hit her like a cold shower.

“Matty-,” you didn’t even know what to say but it doesn’t matter cause Matty interrupts you.

“Leave your window open,” you leave it open anyway every night, hoping for a surprise visit. You hear a zipper and the flick of of a lighter. “Oh, and hands off.” He hangs up leaving you burning with need.

You’re laying over the blanket, letting the cold air hit your nipples which are hardening through the thin shirt you’re wearing. You’re not wearing any panties, the shirt long enough to cover your thighs. You’re squirming, squeezing your thighs together to try to get rid of the ache, unsuccessful.

Turning the little light off next to you, you close your eyes, distracting yourself from the desire rushing through your body and the wetness already dripping down your inner thighs. Your room has a blue glimmer now, the full moon only shining on your bed.

You hear rustling outside your window and a quiet grunt. Your room is on the second floor and to reach or to sneak out of your window, one has to climb a rocky wall.

“There you are,” Matty takes one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it out the window.

His hair is tousled, dark strands falling across his forehead in a disheveled yet undeniably sexy manner. A hint of stubble lined his jaw, adding to his rugged appeal.

The last time Matty came over to finish what your boyfriend couldn’t end was a week ago and that was too long. You can’t wait any more.

You get up from the bed and pull his leather jacket off him, not waiting another second to kiss him. His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against his body.

But just as quickly as it had begun, he pulls away, leaving you breathless and wanting more. A smirk plays on his lips as he his eyes twinkle with mischief. “So eager,” he bends down to throw his shoes off in slow motion, driving you up a wall.

“Did you touch yourself?” He asks, sitting on the bed, leading you towards him by grabbing your arm. You stand between his legs, his hands going under the shirt to squeeze your ass, groaning when he notices you’re not wearing anything else. “Fucks sake.”

You shake your head at his question, pulling one leg over his lap to sit down on him, the seam at the crotch of his pants rubbing against you. You whimper, still not moving because you don’t want Matty to think you’re not doing what he says.

“C’mon, take what you need from me,” your thighs getting a light squeeze from his hands, encouraging you. “You deserve it.” He groans as you roll your hips instinctively.

“He couldn’t even get you off like this?” It’s a stupid fucking question because your boyfriend is the most vanilla boy you’ve ever met. That’s the problem: he’s a boy.

You shake your head and he grunts when you roll your hips again and whine as the friction presses against your clit. He’s kneading the meat of your ass, every time you’re on him, he pushes you further up. “But you can, love, get off like this?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Not even wearing anything, s’ easier to rub yourself on me,” maybe you should care a little more, but all you can think about is fucking yourself against his bulge, his hands clamped over your hips as he guides your pace.

“That’s right,” he grunts, looking up at you with dark eyes. “Grind on me, make yourself feel good.”

“I know how to make my girl feel good,” my girl. The moan of his name that leaves your mouth is a surprise and he’s totally taking the piss out of praising you like this.

It hits you out of nowhere, your cunt pulsing, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you gasp and writhe. “Yeah, you’re so good love,” he murmurs.

Matty strokes your back, trailing wet kisses down your neck. You look down, seeing the wet patch on his crotch. “Made a mess,” he says.

It turns you on so much more, now that you’ve finally let go you don’t want the feeling to end. “Want you Matty.”

“Yeah?” He grabs your hips and lets you fall onto your back. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing all his tattoos but your eyes drop to his boxers. His cock is already licking with pre-cum, forming a dark spot. He gets rid of the pair as well, bending forward to look for his wallet.

You stop him by grabbing his neck to kiss him. “Don’t, I’m on the pill.” He grunts, and throws himself on top of you, finally lifting the shirt off of you.

“Did you let him fuck you raw?” He asks, swirling his tongue around your nipple while his thumb rubs slow circles on your clit. The sensation is too much at the beginning, your back arching of the bed.

“Never,” it’s the truth.

“That fucking Tosser is missing out.”

“He ever even ask you what y'like? How y'wanted it?" You shake your head and Matty notices your eyes have squeezed shut like you're trying to not fall apart.

“So fucking wet,” he fucks his fingers in and out of you, spreading them inside you to open you wider for him. You're squirming, unconsciously grinding into his touch to force him deeper. His tattoed hand over your stomach to hold you steady against the mattress.

“Just fuck me please,” you need to feel him again. On you. In you. All the time.

“Want me like this or-“ you nod, your hand reaching between your body’s, lining up his tip with your entrance.

He's grabbing at your ribs and hoisting you on him, sliding into your soaking cunt too fast, burying himself in your walls and hissing a breath in through his teeth. “No one knows how to treat you right, only I do.”

"Matty," you're gasping. You're so fucking tight around him, squeezing him so perfectly.

“He’ll never manage to make you feel as good,” he falls forward over you, pressing his body weight into yours as he begins a blistering pace. He fucks you deep and fast into the mattress, every inch of your body colliding with his. He can feel all of you this way, every piece of skin.

“Jesus-“ he groans next to your ear, “you’re mine.” He grabs your wrists on either side of your head, bites down on the skin of your shoulders, trying to make you feel so good.

“Matty-“ you repeat his name over and over again, and he responds by lazily licking into your mouth, his thrusts increasing in speed and ferocity, jostling you under him as he tries to make you cum again.

You’re squeezing him, arching your back against his body, eyes rolling back and slamming your nails into his back. “Fuck-“ you whine.

“Gonna cum again? Do it, c’mon.” He’s hitting your spot over and over again and he feels you let go around him again.

Your hazy mind can still process his groans and flushed, sweat-slick skin, and the stutter to his hips as he fills you up. “Too good to me, fuck.” He whispers.

He’s pulling out slowly, a whine slipping through your lips at the loss of his warmth.

“Fuck-“ you say, throwing your head back, “thank you.”

“How could I ever deny you?” He asks, pulling his boxers on, then laying next to you, kissing your shoulder lovingly. “You don’t have a migraine do you?”

You giggle and smack his chest, before burying your head in it. “No, stay for a while.”

It’s not what you usually do but he consumes you. The sex is everything, his touch, his lips, his words, those things consume you.

“You deserve better than that wanker,” Matty never says his real name, only insults are slipping out of him and it makes you smile every time.

You shrug against him until his hands cradle your face, “you do.” His lips are on you again, promising you that he’s better for you.

“Are you ever gonna leave him?”

You think about it. You’ve known your boyfriend your whole life, he’s a good boy, he goes to church, your parents know him. He dates to marry. You’re his first love. He’s not yours though.

“I don’t know,” you whisper and you miss the flash in Matty’s eyes. He nods understandingly without understanding why you would stay with him. You call Matty every time after you had sex and didn’t finish because Matty’s the only one who ever could.

“Stay the night.” You cling to him, draping a leg over his thigh, his body burning up.

He does everything to make you happy because he knows he won’t ever.

#the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic #matty healy smut #matty healy fluff #matty healy imagine #matty healy oneshot #matty healy x you

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lottiecrabie · 9 months

Text

pray for my soul. part four – matty healy

sneaking around with matty healy might forsake you, but at least it’s fun.

warnings: 18+, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, joint fingering, masturbation, dry humping, mirror sex, thigh riding, restraints, roleplay, religious imagery, pfms typical desecration

part four of five

20,067 words

Matty’s grip on your thighs is brutal. He has to: your legs trash around the sheets wildly, bucking into his mouth. His tongue meets your clit with deadly accuracy. He rubs at it with the back of his tongue, a new trick that has you biting your lip until your chin is numb, tugging at the roots of his hair.

His nails dig into your flesh, crescent moon scars to cherish when he’s gone. There’s faded purple bruises all over your body, hidden under your clothes. Thank God for cardigans, for turtlenecks, for swallowing sweaters; all the modest clothes your mother buys in pretty shades of pastels are perfect smoke shows for the hickeys Matty litters on you religiously.

You love to trace the imprints of him. On your hips, your waist, your legs. Pretty colors on the underside of your breasts, still burning with soothing after-kisses. In front of the mirror, you trail your fingertips over the temporary tattoos, feeling like his name is permanently engraved on you.

That’s what he’s doing now, spelling M A T T Y on your bundle of nerves as his fingers fuck into you. You put the letters together with a moan, some vertiginous thrill at both the feel and the idea. He’s marking you. He’s ruining you. You’re letting him.

“Matty, please,” you whimper, raking through his sweaty curls. He hums, delicious resonance on your clit. Euphoria shoots up your spine; you clench around his fingers, drenching them in your slick. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so—” Your head rolls. A shattering orgasm threatens the edges of you— you know that now, know the telltale feel of it by heart.

His mouth leaves your cunt. You whine, frowning at the sudden loss of feeling, bucking into his fingers with renewed fervor to make up for it. “Look at me,” Matty orders. “I want to see you when you fall apart.”

It’s an herculean effort just to open your eyes, but when you finally do, Matty dives back between your legs restlessly, rubbing at you with a frenzied rhythm. You struggle to keep your gaze locked with his, trying to muffle the desperate cries you want to release.

You’re close again— right there, really. You don’t warn him. He knows the signs anyway, knows them probably better than yourself. His eyes darken at the sight of you, flushed and panting, shirt pulled off, bra cups lowered just enough to reveal your pebbled breasts, skirt bunched uselessly around your waist; a show you put on nearly every night. Just for him.

His hips grind into the bed, unconsciously humping the covers, surely overwhelmed with the sight and the taste and the smell. You feel guilty. For all the time Matty has spent on his knees in the past weeks, you haven’t returned the favor. You think you should probably— Matty curls his fingers just so, and now you’re not thinking of anything at all, breaking apart on his tongue.

He comes breathless out of your legs, grinning lazily like he’s just so proud of you for doing the easiest task of climaxing. He climbs up your body as you pant, kissing your stomach, your neck, your lips.

His tongue slips into your mouth, holding the side of your face like you could shatter between his fingertips. He tastes like you. You don’t hate it. Matty is still hard between your thighs, pressing into you as he tilts his head, finding a better angle to steal the breath right from your lips.

You break away, eyes still firmly closed, mind spinning languidly. “You can—” You open your eyes, searching his frowning stare. Eyebrows furrowed, Matty almost seems to fear your next words. “You can… you know.”

Worry spills away from his face, replaced by amusement. He smiles teasingly at you. “What?”

You huff, blushing. “You know.” Your hands dig into his shirt, embarrassment spreading through you, shaking you out of the happy blur post-orgasms bring you. “Touch yourself,” you finally complete, looking away, because Matty is clearly unwilling to help, preferring watching you squirm instead.

“Yeah?” He laughs, nosing your cheek.

“Yeah,” you breathe, suddenly hyperaware of him, of how hard he is between your legs. You already feel ready for another go. “I wanna see you,” you whisper, choked.

Matty’s head rises at that. Gone is any trace of teasing. He’s staring at you like he could eat through your flesh, like he could dig under your bones. Like he wants you— right now and then. Your head spins. You almost consider saying yes.

He kneels above you, hovering, each knee siding your waist. Your hands find them shyly. He peers down at you with a smirk; his turn to give you a show. Unbuttoning his jeans, Matty lowers his boxers, revealing his hard, leaking cock.

Fire burns down your veins. You swallow thickly, eyeing his red tip, the vein running down his underside. It’s different than seeing it between the latticed holes of the confessional— realer.

Matty wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly, thumb wiping at his tip. He spreads the precum down his length. His lips part at the first touch, a smothered groan gracing his lips. He’s beautiful.

Your fingers dance on his knees, tingling with envy. You want to reach out, to touch him, to feel him. More than that, though, you’re scared. Of doing it wrong, of being bad, of new things you don’t know.

Matty doesn’t seem to mind, however. His strokes quicken, already done teasing himself, instead chasing after his earth-shattering end. Your eyes flicker between his cock and his face, never knowing which spectacle is better to look at, always distracted by a twisting motion or a low groan scrunching his face. You suddenly understand him, understand his unsteady and evermoving gaze when you’re moaning under him. How you want to splinter apart, see everything.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, shortwinded.

You nod, too fascinated to blush and shy at your own eagerness. “Yes. Yes.”

His hips fuck into his own fist, tip glistening with precum. He passes a hand through his curls, eyes rolling into his head. You smile cruelly, pinching his knees. “Look at me,” you repeat back to him, devious.

Matty’s eyes snap open, his face falling forward to stare at you. His cheeks redden. You smile at that, power and thrill swirling inside your soupy brain.

His strokes grow desperate and irregular; he must be close. Every time his thumb swipes at his tip, Matty jerks, biting on his lip, trying to swallow a cry. Your head cocks, grinning at him. “It’s not so easy keeping quiet, huh?” You tease. Finally he knows how it feels to bite back uncontrollable sounds, knows how it really is when there’s no grinding cunt muffling all the pretty noises he usually unashamedly lets out.

A breathy laugh leaves his swollen lips. “Shut up.” His arm flexes, eyes scrunching close and then opening as he remembers your demand. “Shit,” he cries, shaking his head. “I’m gonna—”

He makes a move to move off you, but you still him by his knees, pushing down the bunched fabric of your skirt to make room. You stare at him unflinchingly, a smile digging into your cheek. His eyebrows rise in surprise, lust glazing over his eyes, but then his head falls forward, face wrinkling as he comes with a fucked-out groan. Ropes of cum spill on your stomach, painting your belly white.

Matty catches his breath above you, panting as he stares at the sinful sight of you. You peer down at yourself too, fascinated. With a curious finger, you wipe at his cum, sucking it into your mouth. Vaguely salty. Not terrible.

“Fuck,” Matty moans. Your eyes snap to his to find him already watching you. You grin around your finger.

Devilishly, you catch another string of cum, reaching up to his mouth with a smirk. “Open up,” you tease.

Matty jumps, slapping your hand away with a disgusted sound. “Fucking gross.”

You giggle, wiping your dirty finger on your stomach. Matty glares at you, clearly unimpressed by your pestering. He tucks himself back in his jeans, falling beside you on the bed, sweaty head on your pillows. He kisses the top of your hair, sighing satisfiedly.

Your eyes flick to the clock. You groan, digging your face into his shoulder. “It’s dinner soon,” you lament. Not only do you have to go downstairs and sit around a table with your parents like you’re not still tingling with the memory of Matty’s hands on you, but your mother has convinced herself a diet is needed and now you can’t eat anything but overcooked vegetables and soup.

“Well, I’ve already eaten.” You slap his stomach, rolling your eyes. He laughs. “Come on. It was right there.”

“You don’t have to take every bait.”

He grins down at you. “How else am I supposed to make you blush?”

“Try a compliment, maybe.”

A beat passes. Matty stares at you still, smiling and lighthearted, just as happy dazed by his own orgasm. Your heart slams against your chest with each passing second, stomach fluttering uselessly. “You’re very pretty,” he says, low and confessionally, unrushed. Of course, you feel a flush spread on your face. You look away embarrassed. “Well, would you look at that. It does work, too.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, as though the words aren’t still coiling around the wrinkles of your brain. Matty laughs again, something easy.

You sit up, staring down at the mess of your body. “I have to get cleaned up.”

Matty nods, getting off the bed, bending down to put his sneakers back on. It’s still light outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you say, pretending your heart doesn’t pinch watching him go. “See you soon.”

—

Sunday morning is a daze. You’re dozing off in church, limbs sore from Matty going down on you in the cramped spot of his passenger seat before driving you home after school. Your legs protest everytime you kneel, muttering back the prayers with a smothered gasp of pain.

You pick your nails trying to not think of it. It feels almost too perfectly planned: Matty untethering all your connections to faith, dirtying them. A soiled confessional, a sullied bible, and now you sit in church and pinch at your thumb to stop imagining his fingers curling into you.

It’s not very successful. Every passing thought has you throwing a guilty glance towards Matty’s unruly curls. He’s sitting diagonally from you, further up. How ironic that he seems to sail through church as you tangle yourself in the shadows. That you must look forward to find him in his pew, seemingly twiddling his thumbs as the sermon progresses on.

You stand from your seat for the communion, following dutifully behind your parents. Matty doesn’t move. He stares straight ahead; so do you. Your heart races inexplicably in your chest as you walk the aisle, inching closer and closer to him; some vague buzzing thrill taught to react to his mere proximity. Soon, you’ll brush past him. Your cheeks grow hot. It’s silly— young and naive and innocent.

He’s been between your thighs. He’s seen you naked. He’s licked your wetness off his lips. Yet you’re still flushing at the idea of a graze.

He’s under your skin.

You count the seconds between each step. You pinch at your thumb, trying to kill the growing excitement— or at least smother it.

You bite your lip as you finally get to his pew. His hand rests on the armrest, bored. Your thigh could graze it if you swerved— it happens all the time. It’s not suspicious. People falter in their steps every day, get caught in their feet and bend into unsuspecting bodies.

Your stare faces straight on, digging a hole in your father’s head. You won’t get distracted. Won’t be weak. Won’t indulge in your sinful thoughts where everyone can see.

It’s almost predictable. Matty reaches a hand out and tugs on your pleated skirt. You jump, spinning to him, the back of your thighs tingling from a graze of his knuckles. He stares straight on, head resting on his hand, grinning to himself. A giddy smile that cuts his lips up, impossible to wipe away. An innocent act you see right through.

Your heart races twice as hard, but you can’t tell if it’s from the public display anyone could have caught or from the mere sight of him. You’re twice as flushed when you turn back to the line, squeezing your thumb so hard it numbs. You feel slack on your bones, butter melting from the heat of him. You can’t stop thinking about him.

You finally reach the priest. Dazed, you open your mouth wide. He places the body of Christ on your tongue carefully. You bite it.

—

The shower burns. It’s a boiling degree, like the heat could make you clean. You scrub at your skin and it seems to only make your mind dirtier; a perfect equilibrium of filth must always be balanced in your flimsy body. The soap lathers over the purples and now you’re thinking of Matty’s lips stretched into a grin, a serpent smirk, bending down to kiss you.

Whispering some terribly reprehensible things that make you dizzy, make you grip onto his shoulders just to ground yourself to something tangible. Grazing down your chest, kissing each rib to watch your breathing speed up. Biting your hip for the surprised jump, a giddy giggle falling out of your mouth next. Licking a flat tongue up your folds to hear the laugh morph into a moan.

The images are too vivid. You’re breathless, nipples pebbled under your soaping hand, growing embarrassingly wet between your thighs. Your body holds a memory of him even your mind can’t keep up with. His name crosses your brain and suddenly your cunt throbs, ready to welcome him in, practically begging for it.

Your hips shift uncomfortably, feeling that typical heat that spreads through you whenever Matty throws you a dark look, promise catching in the sharpness of his smile. It’s the wrong thing to think about; now your belly flexes, everything in you pulled tight in preparation. Your body holds its breath.

You groan, frustrated. You lower the temperature of the water, incapable of keeping up with the boiling fire this bathroom has caught on, lapping up the shower curtains. It’s at least a bit soothing on your hot skin.

Though there’s still the problem between your thighs, of course. It doesn’t seem to satiate with the minute change, barely notices it. You sigh, grabbing the showerhead, hoping to wash away the wetness dripping down your thighs, the remaining filth on you.

You angle the showerhead and— Oh.

You jump, startled by the sudden feeling, heart racing. Wide eyes stare at the white tiles, blinking. You flick a look to the incriminating showerhead. You bite your lip, apprehensive as you slowly place it back between your legs.

“Shit,” you cry, biting your lip to hold back the following moans threatening to come out. A hand on the wall holds you upright. You wrinkle your face, washed with burning ecstasy. Fucking shit.

It hits your clit just right, incessant pressure practically attacking it. You roll your eyes, head falling backwards, pleasure building inside of you. Your legs spread further apart, upping the water pressure, biting back a scream. You follow the motions Matty usually licks on your bud; circles, up-and-downs, side-to-sides, shaking at the consequential new feelings

You might very well tear your lips apart trying to keep quiet. Your forehead falls on the tiles, afraid of crumbling to the ground. Euphoria waves through your limbs, warning bells ringing in your mind. You slap a hand on your mouth in preparation, keeping the showerhead still as—

You come apart with a muffled scream. The shower nulls into inexistence, water barely an existing concept as pleasure washes you. His name tingles your tongue. You swallow it.

You drop the showerhead as soon as your climax ends, overwhelmed and sensitive. You breathe harshly, staring as the water runs down the bath. You laugh to yourself, raking a hand through your wet hair.

It’s the first time you’ve come without him. First time you’ve— a moment in the confessional passes through your mind, taunting you to use the word— masturbated since the last time, the one that brought you sticky deep into this mess.

You came into the shower to wash yourself and you’ve managed to make it dirty. Still, as you step out, the bathroom drenched in heated smoke, you feel strangely clean. You wrap a towel around your flushed body, a slack, relaxed smile on your lips.

—

The sheets are sweaty and sticky on your skin. You push them off, then feel oddly exposed, throwing them over your body again. You huff, twisting, laying on your back as you throw a glance at the clock. He’s not coming.

It’s fine. Something must have come up. Perhaps he remembered a very important test for tomorrow and threw himself nose first in his studies. Perhaps his mother started noticing his cracked bedroom window and sealed it shut, preventing him from sneaking out to crash in her bed nearly every night. Perhaps he’s bleeding out in the streets somewhere.

Whatever the reason, it’s not like you have to see him anyway. You can sleep without his cheeky goodnight, your eyelids droopy and your thighs sticky as he gets dressed in a hurry.

It’s just— Well, there was a bit of teasing today; grand, dirty promises whispered in the crook of your ear; ghosting touch as he passed you; heavy looks that made your hands shake as you solved an equation on the blackboard; kisses that never went to more. Now you’re keyed up, jittery and awake, and he’s not coming.

You sigh again, passing two hands though your hair, trying to ignore the ache throbbing between your thighs. You purse your lips. The cross stares at you, chastising the inkling thought tugging at your mind.

You shut your eyes and let a hand travel down your stomach. You near the hem of your underwear, hinting at the possibility. Your thighs clench in anticipation. You frown, trying to remember all the reasons you shouldn’t as your fingertips dig under the fabric and cup yourself. You’re already wet.

It’s not like it would be the first time. What is one more in the grand scheme of things. It’s surely not gonna be that that forsakes you, of all the things. You dip one finger in, hitting your clit. You jolt and bite your lip, pleasure striking through you.

You start with slow circles. Relief immediately seeps down your stomach. You open your thighs further, giving you space as you attempt to hit your clit like he does. Your finger lacks the roughness of a callus. You make a low noise of frustration.

That damn callus and its filthy trail on your skin. On your collarbone as he nears your cross, rubbing the cool metal like he had to remind himself of your faith while kissing you. On your breast as he grabs, circling a nipple until you’re putty in his arms. On your stomach as he takes his sweet time traveling it down just to tease you. On your thighs as he grips them and keeps them apart for him. On your neck as he presses until you’re rolling your eyes and gasping. On your clit finally —finally— as he draws the letters of his name on it.

You make a sound of pleasure. You copy him, rubbing M A T T Y on your bundle of nerves as if he was there in the room, as if it was his hand in your underwear and not your own. Thrill hits you. You rub harder, trying to find half the ecstasy he naturally coaxes out of you with knowing eyes and a sweet, devil tongue. You can’t seem to.

Last time you touched yourself— properly touched yourself— you didn’t know what pleasure could be. Now, with the vivid memory of Matty’s hands and tongue in your mind, everything feels a little shortcoming. You try to speed up, but you can’t match the pace he does.

Impatiently, you push the covers off your chest, grabbing your tits and palming them like him. Low heat boils under your skin and you shift your hips, glad to see that something is finally working.

Matty in your bed. Matty fingering you. Matty licking his digits clean. Matty in the confessional with that low, implacable voice. Matty asking you to pray for him. Kneeling in front of him, hands clenched together. Matty tugging at his jeans’ button. Matty’s hand on your chin as he pushes it open for him. Matty—

“Hey, sorry I’m late I was—” You open your eyes in a panic, pulling your hand out of your underwear like you’ve been burned. Your heart races as you turn to the intrusion with a panicked look.

Matty is at your window, staring at you with two arched eyebrows. A slight, devilish smirk rises on his lips. He knows. Cheeky, he takes a step towards the bed, voice dancing as he asks, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers are wet by your thigh, laying on the white sheet under the covers. You bite your lip. “Nothing.” He gives you an unimpressed look.

“Show me your hand.”

“No.”

His smile breaks his face. “Why’s that?” You scrunch your nose, shaking your head. He snickers at you, taking another step until he’s reached the bed. “D’you wanna know what I think?” Your breath hitches. He has that low, teasing voice that turns you on. “I think you were— what did we call it again? Being ‘impure with yourself’? Is that it, angel?”

You lick your teeth, your cheeks heating up. “Maybe.”

He clicks his tongue. “Couldn’t wait for me to get home, huh? Had to relieve that little ache inside of you right now? Burning and dripping for me all alone in bed? Fucking begging for it but there’s no one to help?”

You pout at him. “Yes. You were late.”

“I’m sorry, love. Family dinner got forcefully extended. Couldn’t wrangle out of it if I tried.”

Matty turns around and walks away from the bed. You frown, resting on your elbows as you watch him go. He sits on your desk chair, facing you. He looks like he wants to eat you up. His chin nudges towards you. “Go on, then. Give me a show.”

You flush, falling back on your pillows. You shake your head. “I can’t. ‘S not the same without you.”

“What? You can’t touch yourself like I can? Can’t make you come like me?” You shake your head again, more fervent, more pleading. Matty coos, “Oh, poor little baby. If I’d known.”

He stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed. You’re surprised as he grabs your hand and tugs you out of it, making a noise of confusion. Still, you follow when he directs you to the full-length mirror. His front presses against your back, his breath heavy on your neck. You shiver.

“I can’t let my perfect girl stranded like this again,” Matty whispers, dragging his knuckles down your arms. He reaches your wrist, swallowing your hand with his own. “C’mon, let me show you how.” He takes your hand to his mouth, sucking on your wet finger. Your breath hitches. He smirks around your digit.

He wants to— You meet eyes with him through your reflection. He releases your finger with a pop, licking its length for good measure. It’s dirty, and you feel the hot resonance low in your belly. God, you want him.

You grab his wrist before he can move, puppeteering his hand down your stomach— that damn callus— and in your underwear. He indulgently lets you. “Can’t you just do it?” You whine.

“What if I’m late again? What if I can’t come that day?” He nips at your cheek, husky and tempting as he whispers in your ear, “What if I want you to give me a show? What’ll you do then?”

You press his index finger between your folds. You shift your hips slightly, rubbing yourself on his offered digit. Your head drops on his shoulder, moaning. Matty groans behind you. “I just want you,” you plead. “Touch me, please.”

You can feel him pant against your back, his chest upping in quick, deep successions. His fingers dig into your hip, possessive and tempted, and then he pulls the hand from your underwear. You make a pained sound, missing him.

“Just be patient,” he says, working you down while he tugs your panties from your legs.

Your knees hit the fluffy pink carpet. He spreads your thighs open, giving the two of you a clear view of your cunt dripping for him. You blush, shy and embarrassed, turning to hide into his shoulder.

Matty tuts. “Look at yourself, love,” he demands, pushing your head with a finger until you’re facing your reflection again. Your nipples are hard through your flimsy, silk shirt. Your hair is tangled and sweaty. Your face is pulled tight in pleasure. Your pussy is wet, clit swollen and begging. You look fucked out and he hasn’t even done anything yet. You moan. It’s not the worst sight.

“Show me what you were doing.”

You don’t have the instinct to hesitate, already shoving your hand between your thighs. You bite back a moan as your finger hits your clit. Your head falls on his shoulder. You make artless circles, slow and lazy.

“Good,” Matty praises in your ear, though he adjusts two fingers over your bud, pressing them in. The sensation is immediate, euphoria blooming under your skin. You wonder if it really has anything with technique or if your body just recognizes that it’s him. “That’s it, darling.”

He creates a rhythm, circling and swiping incessantly, getting your wrist used to the shapes. You follow dutifully, mewling for him, your cunt throbbing around nothing. You miss his long, spindly fingers, miss the way they curl into you.

“Matty,” you whine and hope it’s enough. For good measure, you lock eyes with him in the mirror, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Touch me.”

He laughs in your hair, shaking his head. “You’re so greedy.” It should feel wrong, should feel shameful, but you giggle happily, feeling quite satisfied as he tugs your camisole up your chest. Your breasts are on display for him and he pinches one of your hard nipples. “Is that better?”

“No,” you say, brain so hazy you forget good girls should never speak their mind— or even open their mouths for that matter. “I want your fingers inside of me.”

Matty smirks at you, raising his fingers from your peaked breasts and slipping them in your panting mouth. His ring tastes like iron on your tongue, like blood. It should feel foretelling, prophetic, but you just moan around them. He chuckles as he takes them out. Wet with drool, he rubs on your nipples again. “How about that?”

You pout at him. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“You don’t need me,” he says, and his own hand draws yours lower, hinting at your entrance. You hold your breath, fluttering with need. “Female independence and all,” he teases.

You shake your head vigorously. “I don’t want independence. I want you.”

He snorts. “What? You want to be my little housewife?” This time, you nod, though just as fervently. He coos, rubbing your knuckles. “Want to lay in bed all day and wait for me to come home to eat you out? Bake me a pie so I’ll keep you happy and cockdrunk all year?”

“I’m more inclined to you fingering me at the moment.”

“Yeah?” His hand presses into yours and two of your fingers slide in. You gasp, straightening your back, getting used to the stretch. Only when you’re inside to your last knuckles that he whispers, “Sorry, love. I’m a feminist.”

You throb around yourself. It’s an easy fit after having known his fingers. You don’t reach far, but it’s something. With delicate care, Matty makes you slide out, and you shudder against him.

“Just like that,” he coos. “Slow at first.” You nod, thrusting in and out yourself. “Curl your fingers,” he demands, and you obey, biting your lip at the resulting feeling. “Perfect.”

He sets the pace with a sure, decisive hand. He picks up speed slowly, ignoring your thrilled wish to go faster, makes you thrust as deep as you can go, rubs your clit with the heel of your hand. You’re drenched to your knuckles, fucking yourself until euphoria spins your mind.

“Look,” Matty demands, and you open your eyes. You stare at the filthy image of your cunt swallowing your fingers, over and over. You moan just like he knew you would. “So pretty. Aren’t you?”

“Y—Yeah.”

“What are you thinking of? When you touch yourself, what do you think of?”

“You,” you answer truthfully, still entranced by the show.

He smirks. “I know.” Does he have to be so cocky? “But what?”

“It depends.” He speeds up and your thighs shake with pleasure. Your wrist is growing sore, but you follow like a soldier marching to war. Anything for sweet release.

“Right now. Right before I arrived. What were you thinking of?”

You’re drowning in pleasure, your neck slack on his shoulder. He pinches your nipple meanly, slowing your fingers, and you understand. You jolt awake, finding his dark, unflinching eyes in the mirror. Your reflection stares back, flushed and sweaty and gone, a mess just for him.

“I thought of you in the confessional. I thought of you making me pray, and me getting on my knees for you. You nudging my chin down, sweet in the gesture but rough on the fingertips, making my mouth wide open for you to—” Brain catches up to your tongue. You stop, suddenly embarrassed.

Matty pants behind you. “What?” There’s no hint of teasing anymore, just raw need. You clench around your fingers at the sight, desire ravaging your stomach.

Your lungs are on fire. He’s too close, and too there, and you can’t say. Good girls don’t speak. Good girls don’t finger themselves. Good girls don’t let dirty boys show them how. Good girls certainly don’t— Your cheeks heat.

“What?” Matty repeats, presses. “Tell me, please.” As though to bargain, two of his own fingers slide into you. You gasp at the stretch, him there while you— Your room spins and spins around you. Your eyes focus on the spectacle, seeing your four fingers working together.

You clench and clench around them, not used to the tight fit but so turned on and wet you barely register it. “Is this what you wanted?” Matty asks in your neck, pumping the four of your fingers in and out of you. You bite your lip so hard you might make it bleed trying to stop yourself from screeching.

“Yes,” you admit, scrunching your face

“Then give me what I want.”

“I thought of sucking your cock,” you hurry out. Your brain is so liquidy with pleasure you can’t muster any shame anymore. “On my knees for you, and you pushing into my mouth, and gripping my hair, and your moans, and— Oh, fuck—” He curls your fingers in, hitting the spot you’ve been missing perfectly. The heel of your hand still rests on your clit and rubs sinfully. Your head falls on the mirror as you barely hold back cries.

He rolls his thumb on your nipple. You’re overwhelmed with feeling, euphoria most of all, pleasure dancing and dancing around you. Matty fucks quick and hard— a reward. For speaking. You’ve never had that before. Something builds inside of you. You flutter around the joint digits, panting against the mirror, fogging up the glass.

“Are you gonna come for me?” He breathes. You nod vaguely, too busy on the tension thinning inside of you. “Come on our fingers. Make a fucking mess.”

“I—“ You wrinkle your eyebrows. Your skin buzzes and buzzes. “Matty—” The thread snaps. You straighten with a moan, shoving your free hand on your mouth to hold it in as ecstasy razes through your body. His arms tighten around you. He’s real and comforting as you crash from your high. “God,” is all you manage to say after it, a small giggle slipping from you.

Matty kisses your cheek, then your neck, tickling. You wrinkle your nose, laughing some more. “Perfect girl. Soon you won’t even need me.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not true.”

“This’ll be weird,” he warns, then slides the four fingers out of you. You groan, a little uncomfortable. You feel empty without the mess, clenching around nothing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. He pulls the camisole back over your breasts, though it does nothing to straighten out the fucked out look your reflection offers back. How strange to see what he sees.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers. You stand up on shaky legs. On the fuzzy carpet, a wet patch lays.

—

You stare at Matty from opposite sides of the cafeteria. His friends talk loudly around him, throwing pieces of food at each other with rumbling laughs. He doesn’t partake, locking eyes with you, sucking on the spoon of his pudding indecently. He sticks his tongue out, licking it. You can’t stop following his mouth with a heavy gaze. His eyes are teasing. He knows the effect it plants inside of you.

You throw one leg over the other, clenching your thighs to silence the feeling. Your friends talk about math class and the way Julia’s red lipstick makes her look like a whore, but it is null to your ears. Matty kisses his spoon. You stand up in a rush. “Sorry, I— I just remembered homework. I have to go.”

“Oh,” Fanny says. “Okay.” You’re practically running out of the cafeteria before she finishes her single-worded sentence. You give a look back at Matty. He’s throwing his spoon on his tray, standing up. You grin, pushing the doors, thrill racing inside of you. You know he’s following.

—

Some rock music you don’t know plays from Matty’s radio. You straddle him in the back of his van, a flowery sheet thrown over the seat. There’s carpet on the floor, and the smell of weed stuck in it. Hands buried in his hair, burning lips meeting his with frenzied need, you’re afraid of melting on him. It wouldn’t be your fault: his tongue is too skilled; his hands are too warm, tucked under your school uniform, teasing at the band of your bra; his hard cock is pressed too deliciously between your thighs. It’s a miracle you’re not burning already, candle wax dripping on his poor open hands.

“Just a little bit more,” you pant against his mouth. “Then I really have to get to youth group.”

Matty nods eagerly. Anything to crash back against your mouth, find your bubblegum lip balm again. “Of course,” he says, already leaning in.

Your youth group is presently gathered at the Fischer’s house, speaking bible verses and missionary statements, lettered bracelets around their wrist. They’re licking complimentary chocolate off their lips as you bite Matty’s, tugging it before releasing it with a smirk. The groan he lets out resonates between your thighs. You grip his hair tighter, shifting your hips on him, desperately trying to get as close to him as possible, as though you could step into his skin.

You should pull away. Should brush through your now messy hair. Should unwrinkle the shirt he’s tugged on and sneaked under. Should drive to youth group. Should listen intently, bible heavy in your hands. Should recite holy words. Should repent, or at least try to. should should should should should. It’s all that seems to be spinning in your mind these days, yet you never listen.

Instead, you let Matty push your bra cup off one of your breasts, grabbing a handful of it. You moan in his mouth as he twists the nipple. He grins against your lips, does it again. You buck on him eagerly, and, oh, isn’t that interesting? You do it again, and again, surprised at how it hits your bundle of nerves, how it reverberates through your body. You make artless rolls, sloppy and slow, just to chase that euphoric zap. You let another whine out.

You wait for the guilt to eat your stomach, climb up to your heart, devour through the flesh. Wait for it to be strong enough to shake you out of this haze. But if pleasure feels like this —flames licking your limbs, insides droopy around the wick— then it’s not a surprise catholic guilt isn’t enough to keep you on the holy path.

All it took was some filthy whisper in your ear while you organized your backpack, tugging at your ponytail with two raised eyebrows and a grin, and you were walking five steps behind him, making sure no one wandered around the parking lot when you stepped into his beat-up car, following him in all the deliciously sinful places he brought you to head first, mind second. I have youth group, you warned, as though that meant something. He smirked. I’ll give you a ride.

One of Matty’s hands drops to your hip. He clutches the material of your skirt, as though that would be enough to rip it from your body, make it unreal. The bass thumps through the van, shaking the floor. It echoes in you, travels to your head. You grind your hips to the rhythm.

And it is a delicious rhythm. Euphoria waves and waves inside of you, a dance to the drowning song. You whine in Matty’s mouth. You practically drip on him, sticky wet to your core.

“What’s the song?” You breathe against him, high-pitched and shortwinded.

Matty’s head drops to the wall of the van, staring up at you through his spiderleg eyelashes. He rubs at your nipple, makes your face scrunch and break with a silent plea. Distracted that he is, he manages to answer, “Palisade by Mineral.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah?” His fingers dig in your hip, making you rock a little quicker on him. Still, he looks a little delighted at your answer. Childishly glad.

You nod. “It reminds me of my favorite band.”

A crooked smile hints on his lips. “What is it?”

“Flyleaf.”

He cocks his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “Don’t know them.” Matty seems genuinely confused at that, as though his brain was a dictionary of band names, and the lack of yours didn’t compute.

You twitch your lips. “It’s a Christian band.” It feels wrong to even say the word when you’re rubbing yourself on Matty, flesh pleasures rippling under your skin. His hand is still on your breast, pawing lazily at it under your shirt, for Christ’s sake.

Matty has a breathy laugh, half-choked by the low sounds he makes. “Don’t mock,” you whine, though humor still lingers in the words. “They do rock.” Again, he laughs. There’s something beautiful about it, about the softness of his eyes and the openness of his mouth, vulnerable, almost throat-bared. You want to grab his cheeks, hold him in place like he never is and really, really look at him.

His laugh is contagious. You giggle, defending, “I’m serious. My parents don’t even want me listening to them.” Teasingly, you add, “Say it’s gateway music to harder things, like regular rock’n’roll.”

“Your parents are right. They’re all devil worshippers and bisexuals.” You snort, knocking your forehead with his.

Matty’s fingers fall from your shirt. He grips your hips with both hands, taking control of the awkward movements you roll on him. Quick, precise things, pressing into him. Everything snaps into place. Heat blooms under your skin. Your head falls back, a groan spilling from you.

“Matty,” you moan.

He smiles at that, kissing your jaw, then leaning back on the wall of the van to look at you. “How do you know Flyleaf then?”

You frown a little, trying to make sense of your thoughts while this pleasure swims through you. “My friend Jade has the CDs. When I go to her house, I can listen to them.”

He licks his teeth. Amused, and perhaps a little condescending, he asks, “Do you jam out, then?”

“Yes,” you answer primly.

His hands leave your hips, spilling down your thighs. Long fingers swallowing them up, rubbing at the fading hickeys as if to bring them back to life. Without Matty’s assistance, you rock on him. You emulate him as best as you can, circling and bucking. He groans under you and victory spins in your mind, a little inkling of pride beside the drowning ecstasy.

The stitching of your underwear rubs at your clit in the most perfect way and you bite your tongue; a force of habit as the threat of your parents are miles away. He’s rock hard between your thighs. It always tugs at your mind, how real it feels. He presses into you, and you wonder how it would be like if— how it would feel when—

Matty is not done teasing you. His hands slip under your skirt, grabbing your ass and speeding up your movements. You moan, digging your nails in his shoulders. Cheeky, he trails, “Do you dance around in your little pajamas? Scream-sing? Make the floors shake from how much you’re jumping? Do you have choreographies?”

“Something like that.”

He huffs, a little grin teasing his lips. “I’d like to see that.” There he goes again, vulnerable and open and pretty. You have the urge to bite him to the core.

You laugh. You look down at the sticky, bucking mess where you meet. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Matty says. You twist your hips on him and he stutters, clenching your ass, groaning. “Or— Or, you know what, maybe right after.”

A giggle blooms out of you. You bend down to kiss the middle of his throat, right over his Adam’s apple; because it’s there, because he offers it so freely. Something in you aches to bite him, swallow him up. “Get me a Flyleaf CD. Maybe then.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You roll your eyes.

Your thighs tremble from the effort, but you continue with just as much fervor, as much eagerness. You’re undeterred, single-minded— anything for the low thrumming building inside of you. A familiar feeling tingles in your toes, slowly licking up. You roll harder, pleading, hopeful.

Your fingers move from Matty’s shoulders to his neck, hungry to get some skin. You dig into them, half-scratching. His head rolls on the wall. His face scrunches with a moan, pouty lips parted for you.

A new song drums from the shitty car radio. It slashes through the blur of pleasure, takes hold of your liquefied brain. “What’s this one?” It comes out breathless.

Matty opens his eyes, as though he needed all his senses to make sense of the song. “When You Sleep, my bloody valentine.”

“I like it even better.”

He smiles, warm and honey. “It’s one of my favorites, too.” You do a particularly artful buck and he cries, his head falling on your shoulder. “Fuck.”

Euphoria buzzes up your limbs in warning. “I really have to get to youth group,” you pant. Though you do not slow, and even less stop, instead a renewed fervor to your moves.

Matty tilts his head, kisses your neck. “Just a little bit more.”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing, “just a bit.” Just a little bit, just a tiny, small, inconsequential bit, just more. There’s no wrong in it. His hand flies back to your breast, rubbing the nipple. You bite your lip, screaming, “Shit, Matty.” Your back shivers.

You’re desperate, rocking on him with abandon. You don’t care for technique, just sheer speed, following the throbbing, screaming need inside of you that is just there.

“I think I’m gonna—” You shake your head, pleasure too grand to make sense of the next words.

Matty straightens from your neck, staring directly at you, panting. “I know. Me, too.” He pinches your nipple. You cry. Your toes curl. Pleasure thrums louder, following the dizzying music of the car. “Come for me,” Matty pleads. “I want to see you. Please, angel, just—”

Your entire body shakes as you crash down from your high. You scream his name, a high-pitched cry, tongue loose in your mouth. Euphoria sings through you. All your limbs loosen and a slack, happy smile falls on your mouth.

Your hips halt, exhausted from the effort, but Matty grips them and makes a few more sloppy rolls before whining, “Ah, fuck.” He comes with a shiver, and your name hot in his mouth.

You stay there, unmoving, catching your breaths in the crooks of each other. He’s warm under you, around you. A known feeling, breathing.

You giggle, dazed-happy. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Dry humping?”

“Yeah. Just without touching like that. It’s kinda—” You stop, embarrassed, suddenly not wanting to say.

“What?” Matty trails, amused and curious.

“Kinda like sex,” you whisper, flushed. The position, the feeling, the closeness. It really is almost sex. Though, you remind yourself, not sex at all. Of course. Matty doesn’t have time to answer that you add, “Does it feel good for you too?”

He snorts. “Yes.”

You chew your lip. Smaller, lower, you wonder, “Am I good at it?”

Matty straightens, meeting your eyes. “I have come an embarrassing amount of times in my pants for you to not be.”

You smile, proud. Glad. You lean in to kiss his nose. “Drive me to youth group?”

He pats your hip. “Alright.”

You attempt to straighten your clothes in the front seat, trying to iron out the wrinkles of your shirt with the palm of your hands. It’s a wasted effort, but you manage to look somewhat presentable by the time you’re a few houses from the Fischer’s.

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell Matty, cheeky, and he snickers. You leave him with a wink, throwing your school bag over your shoulder.

You walk into the room breathless and apologetic, already rambling. “Sorry I’m late. I was tutoring this kid and he wasn’t understanding the material and— it just lasted longer than I thought it would. I’m so, so sorry”

Betty smiles at you, benevolent. Guilt twists in your heart, but it’s distant. “No problem. We were just getting started on Lamentation.”

It hurts your cheek to grin so wide. “Great.”

—

You take demure bites out of your dinner, chewing and chewing until your jaw aches. It’s better for digestion, apparently. Passes straight through. Your mother sends you periodic looks, making sure you follow her advice.

The chicken is dry and tastes like ash in your mouth. Still, you chew, trying to hide a grimace. Your stomach growls, but you wash it all down with water.

“Did you hear about the Montgomery girl?” Susan, a neighborhood friend of your parents, exclaims. Her neck is flushed red from the wine.

Your father shakes his head, a somber expression on his face. “Such a shame.”

“I don’t know what I would do if my Jade acted out like this,” Susan continues on, clicking her tongue in judgment. You frown. “I heard she was caught in the car.”

“Surely not,” your mother says, clutching her pearls appropriately. There’s a sick tone of glee sticking to her teeth nonetheless. “In public?”

“Sexual deviants,” your father mutters. “It’s that damn TV. No one shows good Christian values anymore.”

“Very true. People aren’t raised with the same standards these days. They just let kids act however.”

“Now,” your mother starts, “Let’s not go shaming poor Sharon. She did what she could. Bailey just isn’t a very good girl.”

“Rotten,” your father adds. “Remember when she was, what, 8 years old? At the birthday party? She practically ate all the cake.”

“Devoured it!”

“Sin starts young,” Susan snorts. “Gluttony isn’t treated with enough severity. It might seem like just a cake at first, but it quickly falls into premarital sex.”

“Who said?” You ask. The three adults turn to you, startled to hear you speak.

“What?”

“Who said she had premarital sex?” Your mother’s eyes practically bulge out from hearing you say the word.

“Her mom came to the pastor looking for guidance,” Susan answers curtly.

“And the pastor said Bailey was having sex in a car?” Your mother gasps, calling your name in reprimand. You ignore it. You stare at the neighbor, awaiting her answer.

Susan pinches her red neck, hand draped over her pearls. “Well,” she says, a little embarrassed. “No. Georgia said.”

“How did Georgia know?”

“She heard it from someone.”

“Who?”

“Well, aren’t you just a curious little thing?” Though Susan says it with a smile, it rings like a bother. You understand the underlying tone. It means shut up. It means you’re pushing. It means be good.

You stare at Susan until she grows even more unsettled, unsure. Until she straightens in her seat, tries to play a confident front. You lick your teeth, shrugging. “It just sounds like we’re shaming her for something we know nothing about.”

A heavy, tense silence crowns the room. Your parents look at you like you’ve grown a second head, like they itch to inspect your body until they find the devil’s birthmark; a concrete proof you’re a demonish changeling. You stand your ground.

Your father rakes his throat. “We’re not shaming her. We’re concerned.”

You cock your head. “It’s not really our business, though, is it?” He purses his lips. You finally smile, digging your fork in your plate. “I’m just saying.”

Your mother stutters. Susan takes a long sip of wine, staining her teeth. You bite the plastic chicken, swallowing without chewing. It goes offly down your throat. Everything does these days. Your parents’ teachings most of all.

—

Your hands are buried deep inside of Matty’s dark mane. He tastes like cigarettes; smells like it too, the gray cloud lingering around him even when he’s done. Maybe it’s some sort of alarm call, some holy smoke signals. Maybe you should listen.

You don’t, of course, licking into his mouth instead, lips meeting in a torturous frenzy. The bell will ring soon. You’re on a time limit.

Matty has you pressed against the wall of some unpopulated corner of school, an awkward detouring staircase no one takes. Still, there’s a thrill humming in your veins. That someone could. Lost students, walking aficionados, fellow dirty make-out enjoyers. That they would find you, good, Christian girl, lip-locked with resident atheist Matty Healy, his hand on your tits.

He gropes it unabashedly, his other hand digging into your hip. His knee presses between your thighs, just slightly, more to fix you to the wall than try to get you off. You feel a familiar heat build in your belly nonetheless, grinding into him every time his palm rubs your nipple.

Thank God for skirts. Yours rised up your thighs, uncovering inches of silky skin, up to fading hickeys Matty devotedly left you. One in particular lies precariously low, always in danger of being exposed with one strong gust of wind. You wonder if he’s done it on purpose, if he wants to teeter that fatal edge, if something in him yearns to brand you and let it be known.

“There’s got to be an empty classroom somewhere,” he says, leaving your lips just long enough to grunt the words before diving back.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve got choir in ten minutes.”

He makes a displeased noise, groaning, “Fuck that.”

“Come over tonight,” you breathe into his mouth, then tilt your head for another dirty kiss.

His hand pinches your hip. He breaks away, licking your jaw, then saying, shortwinded and regretful, “Can’t. I’ve got a party. My mates’ll kill me if I miss another one.” He’s back to leaving wet kisses down your neck, rubbing his thumb over your peaked nipple masterfully.

“Oh.” Your lips pull down. Disappointment digs into your heart.

It’s fine. You can take care of the problem he’s growing inside of you yourself. Sure, your fingers never reach quite as far, never fill you up quite as deliciously, never work quite as efficiently, but it’s fine. It’s not as though you’ll miss him or anything.

Matty’s head rises from your neck, seemingly sensing the shift in mood. He stares at your pout, though it might be more about the swollen, red mess he’s made of your lips then the shape of them.

“You can… come too,” he says hesitatingly, perhaps even a bit shy. “If you want,” he immediately adds.

You snort. The mere idea is a ridiculous concept, some clownesque farce. The girl that’s never had a lick of alcohol partying with his rowdy friends? That’s a likely sight.

“That’s silly,” you say, but at least your lips don’t frown anymore. A smile spreads across them instead. “Can you imagine me at a party?”

“Yeah,” Matty says seriously.

You’re startled by his genuineness. You tilt your head at him, frowning. “And what would I do?”

He shrugs, grinning now. “Whatever you want. Drink, smoke, hang tightly in a corner doing neither.” You roll your eyes. “Hang out with me,” he adds bashfully, voice low in his voice. That idea is strangely appealing, your belly swooping at the thought of his tipsy frame leaning into yours, whispering his complex, drunk thoughts on the shell of your ear. “I might even let you kiss me.”

You deadpan. “You’re too generous.”

“I know,” he smiles, mischievous. He pokes your side. “Come on. Come. At least you’ll know what you’re staying away from.”

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t find the proposition this tempting— but again, there’s many things in your life you shouldn’t find tantalizing. The boy holding you in his arms, unruly hair in the cracks of your fingers, most of all.

“How would I even get there? I’ve got a strict bedtime.” Which he is well aware of, considering your mother interrupts your messing arounds like clockwork.

“Sneak out,” Matty says easily. “I’ll pick you up.”

Sneaking out. It’s terribly wrong. Your parents trust you. Have put several thought out rules for a reason. It’s years of education that you would be breaking through. Years of character— good, tame, obedient— that you would wreck.

But then, you’ve already started, haven’t you? What’s one more night?

As though to convince you while you deliberate in that overthinking head of yours, Matty bends back into your neck, spreading open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He climbs up the bone, tugging your cardigan aside, revealing inches and inches of skin slowly, carefully. The white bra strap doesn’t deter him; he pushes it off your shoulder, tenderly pressing his lips to the red mark it left.

His hand grabs at your breast, his knee grinding ever so slightly against your underwear, like a promise of what he could do. A small moan escapes your lips, eyes closing in pleasure. He smirks against your skin.

“Come on, angel,” he whispers. “Please.”

An amused laugh breaks through the euphoria. You feel impossibly giddy. “Fine. Since you said please.”

His head snaps up, grinning at you. He’s so happy you think you might melt from the sight. “Yes?”

Your eyes dance. “Yes.”

Matty bends down to kiss you, smile still crowding his mouth, eyes zeroing on yours. “Well, I believe we still got five minutes.” He tastes like cigarettes and honey; your favorite sugar.

—

“How great is our God, sing with me.” The voices ring all together, some angelic, melodic music accompanied with soft piano. You clutch your hands behind your back, harmonizing, trying to remember the lyrics as your mind still scrambles from the heavy kiss mere minutes ago.

Your stare swipes across the bored looks. You find Matty’s almost instantaneously; it’s scary that you do, that you spot him so easily in a crowd. As though you were always subconsciously searching for him. As though you were two magnets attracting, attracting, attracting. “How great is our God, and all will see.”

He grins at you knowingly, teasingly, as if you’re sharing a secret. You can’t help smiling back, trying to bite back a laugh. The taste of him still lingers in your mouth. He winks at you and your heart sings.

“How great, how great, is our God.”

—

You wait anxiously by your window, throwing furtive glances to the cross still reigning over the room. You bite your nails, walking in circles, trying to soften your steps so they don’t ring all the way to your parents’ room where your mom surely has a fretful sleep. A pebble knocks on the glass.

You straighten, opening the window with shaky fingers. You stick your head out, peering down to Matty’s smiling face, a few more rocks in his hands. Glee is written all over him.

“How do I get down?” You whisper.

“Use the trellis.”

The ivied wood looks like an unsound structure, but it has held Matty’s weight numerous times. Looking up to mutter a quick prayer— a habit more than a decision— you stick your leg out, perilously swinging it until your foot hits the wood.

The rest of your body follows awkwardly. With a death grip, you claw at the trellis. You descend slowly, step by step, heart racing in your chest. You’re electrified.

You jump the last couple of feet, landing on the muddy grass. It stains brown your Mary Janes; you’ll have to clean them when you get home, make sure your mother doesn’t see.

You twist around with a proud grin as though to show yourself off. All in one piece, breathing and alive and out of your house. You feel like a reinvented Rapunzel.

Matty smiles at you. He rakes his eyes over your body, coming back up with a teasing smirk. “Cute outfit,” he says, reaching a hand out to tug at one of your bows.

You scowl. You tighten your pretty pink bow on the left. You wear your regular church skirt, rolled-up at the waist to show off the lace at the top of your white thigh-high socks. It’s what all the bad girls do with their school uniform, collecting detentions in return.

Most importantly, you dusted out your frilly, lacy white top with spaghetti straps. It made your mother nearly collapse when she first saw it, claiming the stripe of collarbones and cleavage uncovered as unchaste, demanding you throw it away. You promised to do so, but shoved it in the back of your closet instead, behind boxes of old childhood stuffed toys. You’re still not sure why you kept it. Perhaps, in a way, you knew you would need it eventually.

It’s the most scandalous thing you own.

“Is it not a party outfit?” You say, self-conscious, peering down at your attire. You do contrast ridiculously with Matty and his ripped jeans and leather jacket; drenched in black, looking like caricatural danger.

“No, no. It’s just— very clean.” It’s strange to be described like this. Your thoughts tumble with the word dirty and all its synonyms, yet Matty doesn’t seem to notice the filth caked on you. Something in your chest warms. “It’s, you know, a party. You might have a beer thrown on you.”

“Well, I’ll fit in, then. Rowdy and dirty like the rest of them.”

Matty chuckles. He slings his arm over your shoulder and guides you to his car parked several houses away. “Sure will, angel.”

You finally get to Matty’s dirty van. It’s more of a dangerous box on wheels than anything else. You step into the passenger seat and immediately get a whiff of weed. There’s something reassuring about the smell, something familiar. It hits your nose, you see the brown carpet, and suddenly there’s the knocking idea to make out with Matty in the back of it, like a trained reflex.

You buckle your seatbelt neatly. Matty presses play on the stereo. All Around Me rings through the car. You grin, looking at him with this pathetic glee. “You bought the CD?”

“I made a promise.”

“D’you like them?” You bite your lip with the eagerness of a puppy. There’s something elated to have him see you.

“They’re not bad,” he admits. “Real close to real rock’n’roll. I can see why your parents are terrified.” He shrugs, “Bit horny too.”

You gasp, slapping his shoulder. “Matty.”

“What?” He laughs. “I feel you on my fingertips? I can see you all around me? Thickening the air I breathe?”

“You make everything dirty.”

“It’s in the text, darling.” You roll your eyes, though, you have to admit, he’s not entirely wrong.

Matty spreads his hand on your thigh. His palm warms you up, two callused fingers dipping in the inner side. You flush, dormant heat waking up from his ghost touch. “Are you ready?” He asks, suddenly serious.

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that. I’m already out of the house.”

“No,” Matty shakes his head. “We could go back in if you want. I could eat you out until you pass out.”

You consider him. It’s not a bad plan, far from it, but there’s something about his readiness to do so that makes you want to please him. You give him a cheeky smile. “I didn’t climb that trellis for nothing. Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Matty says, but his smile practically breaks his face. He turns the key and drives down the road.

—

You stand neatly on the porch with a straight back. You’re in your church pose, something strict and firm, spotless to defend early against criticism. Your finger reaches for the doorbell, ringing it.

Matty spins his car key around a digit. He laughs. “Oh, you’re so cute.” He opens the door, stepping in. You flush and follow inside. Your heart races.

Music attacks you, some loud, drum-filled thing that blasts through cheap speakers. The house smells of smoke. You wrinkle your nose. People are scattered everywhere, blue solo cups in hand, rolled up paper hanging loosely from the tip of their fingers. The floor is sticky. At least you don’t feel guilty for your muddy Mary Janes dragging on the floorboards.

There’s a carefreeness to the scene, to the bodies dancing in a corner of the living room, to the lips meeting frantically against a wall in plain sight, to the limbs splaying and knotting and draping on a couch like some four-headed monster.

You wrap your arms together behind your back, terribly aware of how out of place you are. Your silly outfit is not just in contrast to Matty. Everyone has something black, or ripped, or wrinkled. Dirty shirts and short skirts and combat boots. You’re a splotch of white in this infernal painting.

“Are you okay?” Matty says, dipping into you so you can hear him over the music. You nod faintly. He opens his mouth to say more, but someone interrupts, screaming;

“Matty! Shit, mate, I didn’t fucking think you’d make it.” A tall man approaches, catching Matty’s hand to smack their chests together.

“No faith in me,” he tsks. “I said I’d be there.”

“Well, you haven’t been the most reliable recently.” His eyes find you. He grins, narrowing in on you until you feel pinned in place. “And you must me why.”

Your eyes widen. Behind your back, your fingers pick at your skin. “C’mon, Ross, give it up,” Matty rolls his eyes, and you’re a little glad he answered for you.

“Nice to meet you,” you nod, reaching a hand out, ever polite. Manners drilled into you ever since you were young, impossible to disentwine from you, even when it’s ill-fitting. And it clearly is, because Ross makes a little amused snort as he shakes your hand, asking your name.

“You must be thirsty,” Ross says, though mostly to Matty. There must be something written on your face, something hinting that you don’t partake in such activities. “C’mon. Everyone’s in the kitchen.” Ross jerks his chin in the direction of the kitchen, then turns around.

Matty rests a loose hand on your back, guiding you in the crowd. Your skin lights from his merest touch. You tilt your head to watch him, fluttering your eyelashes at him. He catches your look, smirking. He faces straight ahead, but his tongue digs into his cheek, smug. You have to bite back a laugh when you emerge into the kitchen.

A few people gather on the counters, sitting on the marble or mixing a free pour drink. The room is quieter, shaken up with laughs instead of bass. A blunt is being passed around. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. It vaguely reminds you of Matty’s van.

“Here he finally is,” someone exclaims when they spot you. It’s another tall guy, cigarette tucked behind his ear, boozy cup in his hand. He’s got a loose smile on his lips. His eyes dance with amusement. “Nice of you to show up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matty rolls his eyes. “Ross said the same.”

He presents each of them to you, spotting his best friends George and Adam out of the crowd. You’ve seen them vaguely before, familiar faces hanging around him and a cloud of smoke. You grin at them, trying to mutter some sense of aloofness. It comes offly on your lips, a see-through mask.

You reach your hand out, and there’s the same amused look on their face as Ross as they move their cups out of the way, taking yours and firmly shaking it. They hum your name when you tell them, tasting its sweetness, memorizing it. Their eyes trail up and down your outfit, resting on the two bows on your hair. You regret them almost instantly, finding your thumb and pinching it instead of ripping them off.

Matty gives them those easy handshake-hugs men seem to fall into. There’s a sense of pieces fitting together when Matty greets all of his friends. The room makes place for him, embracing him amongst the small crowd. He pulls the kitchen together, makes the sticky solo cups carnage a righteous war painting. Makes it make sense.

“I got you your fucking wine,” George says with a hint of disdain.

He picks a bottle of red wine out of the bridge, holding it out for Matty. It’s just as ill-fitting as you, misplaced in this sea of cheap beer and vodka-soda. There’s something comforting to the idea, to Matty’s carelessness as he grabs the bottle by the neck.

He twists the screw top wine and takes a deep mouthful of the wine under the cheers of his friends. He licks his red lips clean, chuckling as he catches the droplets rolling off his chin. “Do you want anything to drink?” Matty asks you. The wine lingers vaguely in your direction.

You wrinkle your nose. “Just water,” you say, and you hold your breath for some eyeroll or deserved grumble. Nothing comes. Matty nods. He opens a cupboard of the kitchen familiarly, grabbing a glass.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Adam nods at you. You jump, almost surprised to be acknowledged and not blurred into the background.

Your lips up. “Thanks. You, too.” You take the glass of water when Matty comes back. He stays near you, a protective presence lingering, though he doesn’t even touch you.

George takes a sip of his beer. “So how did you two meet?”

You clench your hand around your glass. “Um. At church.”

Laughter roars through the crowd. You stand tight, awkwardly staring at them. Matty sighs beside you. The laughs die, a sort of shared incredulous look taking its place instead. Beady, multicolored eyes pin you in place.

“Oh, shit,” George finally says. “You’re serious.”

Ross shakes his head, tsking, “Only Matty would manage to pick up chicks in church.”

Matty makes an offended noise, slapping his shoulder. “I’m not fucking picking up chicks in church.”

“What’s this then?” Adam pingpongs his eyes from you and Matty, lingering in the space between. Or the near lack of it, shoulders brushing, an instinctive closeness.

Matty opens his mouth, then closes it, staring at you. Waiting for you to declare this strange, unnatural thing between you. Give it a name. Make it real. Your heart races. “We’re friends,” you finally settle on. And it’s not untrue. Still, you take a sip of water right after, washing down the bitter taste.

“See,” Matty comes back to his mates. “Friends.”

“Uh-huh,” George snorts, clearly seeing through both of you. “Sure.”

“You’re all a bunch of dickheads,” Matty says, and once again suffers the resounding snickers. There seems to be something brewing still, taunts and mockeries until they draw the confessions out of you. You ready for the impact.

Thankfully, a girl comes in and saves you from what surely is a line of further questioning, bursting into the kitchen to ask, “Beer pong?” The boys cheer, following after her. Matty stays with you.

“They’re not usually this annoying,” he assures. “They’re even great sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, brushing his concerns away. You’d like them even if they were usually this annoying. Because they’re his friends. Because they’re his. Because he has this soft, wonder look in his eyes when he talks about them, to them. You don’t think you’d defend any of your friends to anyone. You don’t think you have friends at all.

Though, of course, you have Matty now. Decretated it to a party and everything. It seems you’re more stuck together than you thought.

—

His lips are stained red from the wine, pulled in a loose smile as he tipsy-giggles. There’s a freeness to his limbs, a jointlessness the alcohol strings out of him. He’s flushed in the cheeks. He’s pretty. Matty takes a swig of his bottle, licks it off. You want to kiss him.

You stand alone in the kitchen, your own small cocoon away from reality. Out there, beyond the walls, there’s a heated Olympics of beer pong, cheers and cries and the swoosh sounds of balls falling into liquid resonating back to you. Even further away, the consistent noise of rock music thumps back faintly. An underwater resonance, almost unreal.

Matty leans against the island counter. He makes you laugh, draws out those embarrassing snorts out of you. His eyes grow proud every time he does, talking and talking until he gets another hit, as though placing the needle of the turntable at the fated vinyl groove of a favorite song over and over again.

Another swig. You follow the movement, intrigued. Matty arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” He asks, annoyingly knowingly.

You’ve finished two glasses of water, but there’s an unquenchable thirst inside of you, grumbling beside the everexisting hunger, the scary desire.

You know you shouldn’t let yourself get tempted by sins. It’s already bad enough that you indulge in Matty, that you allowed to get talked into coming to a party. Wine is your savior’s blood, and nothing else.

Still, you bite your cheek, feeling them heat. “Maybe,” you admit slowly. It’s embarrassing to go back on your words, but there’s a sense of safety when it’s just you and him, when there’s none of his friends who would surely be a little too amused at your drunk church girl act.

Matty draws a hand out for you. You catch it, letting yourself get pulled towards him. He smiles down at you and your chest warms. Comfort settles in your bones; you grin back, tipping your head up.

“Just a taste,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. Just a dip of lips, innocent and inoffensive. Like the communion wine, tasted and licked off.

Matty smirks at you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, tugging you even closer. Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at his lips as he takes another mouthful of his wine, parting your own instinctively. Your belly somersaults. Fuck the wine. You want him to kiss you. You want him so thoroughly it scares you sometimes. It thrills you the other half.

Matty dips his head into you, nears his lips, parts them, and lets the wine fall into your mouth. You gasp, tasting the dark flavor, tasting him. Your mind spins dizzyingly. It’s sharper than the eucharist; realer, better. Droplets fall from your lips, but you just catch his, careless, hungry. You lick the leftover taste of wine from his tongue. You want to swallow it whole, swallow him whole. Heat plants in your belly, blooming and blooming.

Matty parts from you with a laugh. He catches the runaway drops of wine with his thumb, wiping your chin and dipping it in your mouth to clean. You do so instinctively, dutifully, sucking around his finger. Your stare meets his dark eyes. You feel faint.

His hungry look falls to your rising chest, the inkling of cleavage you’ve uncovered for this party, panting for him. His eyes zero in on the cross, everpresent, evertainted. He clicks his tongue. “Sorry. I’ve stained your little outfit.”

You look down at your top. Bright red drops on your white shirt. You won’t be able to wash it off, won’t get rid of this night, of him. You already plan the place you’ll hide it in your closet; because you know, secretly, you won’t want to throw it away. Not when it’s now intimately attached to this memory, to his cloudy eyes, to the bitter taste of wine and him on your tongue. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “Now I fit in.”

He huffs a laugh. “Sure, angel.” His arm falls loosely around your waist. He takes a step in your direction and you do the opposite.

“Don’t call me that,” you say petulantly. “They’ll see right through me.” Your back hits the counter.

“But you’ve got those wine drops. They couldn’t possibly mistake you for a good girl with stains on your shirt.” His hand catches your hip and he hoists you up on the counter, sliding between your spread thighs. Your skirt rises up dangerously, but you don’t bother straightening it. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the silky skin before, hasn’t touched and licked and bit it. There’s still the faint shape of bruises on them because of him.

“You don’t think I fit in?” You ask him, fluttering your eyelashes at him, comically pouty.

Matty’s hand falls to the uncovered skin of your thigh, pinching there. His eyes dip to your pouty lips, as though an invitation he’s difficultly resisting. “You’d stand out anywhere, love.”

“You’re a charmer.”

He tsks. “I’m charming,” he corrects you. He raises the bottle of wine, letting the cool glass rest on your naked thigh. You jump at the cold feeling, shivering. “What did you think of your taste?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper conspiratorially, amusement dancing in your eyes. “I’d need another one to really decide.”

Matty smirks at you. “Anything you want.”

—

“There’s no way you’re making it! Give up already!”

Your eyes narrow on the blue solo cup, ignoring the insulting cries around you hoping to get you down. They’re aiming for your head, to sneak under your skin and get you to mess up. Truthfully, they don’t need any trashtalking to throw you off your game. You’re three downed beers in and the circle of the cups seem to narrow each throw. You haven’t made a single shot since the very first cup.

“Don’t listen,” Matty breathes in your ear. “C’mon. Prove them wrong. You can’t let them be right.” You shake the stress off your shoulders. “Do the shot.” He gets louder, chanting, “Do the shot. Do the shot. Do the shot.” Spectators join in, singing with him, drumming on the table.

You purse your lips, tilt your wrist, and throw.

The ping-pong ball falls neatly in the cup. Swoosh. George bends down to blow on it, but it’s useless. You’re already screaming in victory. The party rumbles with shocked cheers, half of your chanting supporters not ever believing in you. You throw yourself in Matty’s arms with a happy cry. His grin hits your cheek. He lifts you up, sways you around. You hear your laugh over the boos of the competing team.

“I fucking knew it,” Matty says, light and excited. “I fucking knew it.” The laugh bubbles out of you, easy and familiar.

You won’t win the game, but this goal is enough.

—

Your hands hook around Matty’s neck, loose and sloppy. You move your hips to the rhythm, let your arms flurry around you. You jump to the drum-heavy parts, looking like scattered limbs pushed around. People knock against you, never apologetic. Sweat sticks to your skin. You grin at him, knock your forehead on his shoulder.

Matty’s laugh resonates. He puppeteers you, spinning you around his finger, throwing you off a joint hand and wrapping you back in his arms. He scream-sings the lyrics in your ears. Sounds bury inside of you.

You sway to the piano, grinning so wide it might rip your cheeks. His hands are warm on your lower back. Your fingers greedily dig up into his hair, burying home. An imprint of you on him; he leaves the dancefloor unruly, with the shape of your hands in his curls. Your name branded, secretly. You like it.

—

“Sprite,” you say, impossibly solemn.

George nods, twisting the Sprite bottle cap with equal seriousness. He splashes it out, then looks at you for confirmation. You’re implacable. He pours some more until you nod decidedly.

“I found orange juice,” Adam says. He digs out a bottle from the very back of the fridge, coming back towards the sticky counter with his treasure.

“That’s my mum’s, and it’s mango-passion fruit juice.”

Adam shrugs, uncaring. “Eh. It’s fruit.”

“In the cup!” You shout, pointing towards the glass with a ridiculous amount of different liquids. You’re making the perfect drink, allegedly, but it’s more a collection of tastes than any attempt at mixing. Really, there’s a growing chance that it will be entirely awful.

George, dutiful, pours the juice in the cup. “Where’s the grenadine?” He asks.

“It needs more rhum,” Adam suggests.

“Sprite!”

—

You sit on Matty’s lap, practically dripping on him. Your back melts on his front, your head dipped on his shoulder, your legs hanging from his spread thighs. You’re an eight-legged monster you caught a glimpse of when you first entered the party, frowning at the agglomeration until you finished the bottle of red wine and understood. You’re giggly and spacey now, but most importantly needy, practically clinging on Matty.

You drink a vodka-juice, and you reach it out for him instinctively, though he always refuses, restating he’s driving. Matty put grenadine in it to make it pink and sugary for you. His free hand warms your hip, spreading possessively over the bone.

His friends are a cacophonic orchestra around you, screaming over the music, talking over each other, laughing at a joke from three people away. You don’t care what you look like in front of them, a secret glimpse of everything unsaid in your friend declaration. Your skirt has risen up enough to reveal a flash of hickeys, but you don’t have the overthinking, overbearing mind to fret over it, tugging at the skirt. You doubt it really matters to them anyway; they must have seen much grander things than a hickey.

You like them. They’ve got the same humor as Matty, the same cadence to their words. There’s a melody to their stories, an inherent rhythm. You like it, like that they sound like him.

“So,” Adam starts, sounding even goner than you. “Church?”

You snort at his introduction. “Yeah.”

“How’s he like?” Adam adds, vaguely gesturing towards the two of you. There’s a morbidly interested look to his friends; everyone waits for the answer.

You giggle giddily. “He’s a poor Christian,” you confess.

“I’m not a Christian,” Matty repeats, his fingers digging into your flesh as a warning. You roll your eyes. Your skin buzzes pleasantly.

“He’s a great atheist,” you correct for his sake. “He laughs and snorts at all the inappropriate places.”

His hand rises up to your stomach, tightening his hold on you. “They’re laugh-worthy,” Matty explains to you, and you shake your head dutifully, the religious example.

“You liked Song of Solomon perfectly well,” you tell him, upping your nose.

“That’s because it’s dirty.” Matty tightens his fingers, digging his stare into you. His words are dangerous as he says, “And I loved Genesis.” A memory of his fingers curling into, bringing you impossibly close to a cliff, as his melodic voice told the fatalistic story of Adam and Eve flashes back to you. You stare up at him, smirking.

A girl steps into the living room, falling on the couch beside Ross. She drops her head on his shoulder, pouting.

“Are you okay?” Ross laughs, clearly seeing through her pity act.

“Delaney’s not coming,” she explains. The crowd resounds with regretful noises. You frown.

“Who’s Delaney?” You ask, gone enough to be uncaring of what you look like. Out of the loop, ill-fitting. Delaney means something to everyone but you.

“She’s our friend. Really cool girl,” the girl explains helpfully. “But she’s busy with her stupid job today.”

George smirks, flicking his eyes towards Matty. “She gave him that insane blowjob.” The hair rises on your skin. You freeze.

Matty makes a clicking sound. “Shut up.”

“That’s what you said,” George defends, throwing his arms in the air. You relax in Matty’s arms. He doesn’t seem to care much about her, even if she supposedly gave him head worth telling about. You wonder when she did. If it was recently.

The girl rolls her eyes. “She’s more than a fucking blowjob. She said she might come by late if the party was still going.”

“It will still be going,” George assures, confident in his hosting skills.

The girl shrugs, less assured. “We’ll see.”

An argument seems to be brewing, but Matty taps your thigh. He declares, “I need a fag.”

You stand with him, following him before he even asks you. Three feet apart and you might crack and die from the distance. Still, you think, he’s just your friend— plus the unsaid, of course.

—

The smoke lingers around you. You steal the cigarette from Matty, pulling your lips around the stick, inhaling in. Suck it like a straw, you remember him saying. Or, follows right after, leaving you flushing. You follow his command anyway, breathing out gray smoke without the hint of a cough.

You hold it out for him after, which he takes as he peers unhappily at you. “You shouldn’t be this used to it,” Matty explains. “It’s bad for you.”

“You shouldn’t have taught it to me, then,” you retort cheekily.

“I barely did.”

“Shouldn’t have made it so tempting,” you volley back easily, just as smug. “Every time I kiss you, you taste like cigarettes. You can’t expect me not to be already a little bit addicted.”

“You make it sound like you’re addicted to me,” Matty breathes out. His gaze devours you, like he knows. Like you don’t even have to confirm his hypothesis, like he’s well aware of your strange obsession with him. Like he can see the filthy thoughts flying in your mind any time he dares exist near you.

You hum noncommittally, acting nonchalant. “Maybe,” you give in. “Maybe I just like the headrush.” You take another drag, letting the nicotine adrenaline bloom up your head, buzzing and buzzing. It’s a boneless feeling, something that leaves you grinning helplessly.

Matty gets scared of your shivering body in nothing but your camisole. He takes his arms out of his leather jacket, pulling it over his shoulder. You clutch it gratefully; you hadn’t realized you were cold until you held it over your body.

Your eyes fall back on him as the rush subsides. You reach your hand out to him; he grabs his Marlboro cigarette, sticking it back where it belongs: his mouth. It wraps around it. You tilt your head.

“How was it like?” You ask, filter truly gone.

“What?”

“The insane blowjob,” you answer easily. Matty chokes on his cigarette, coughing out smoke. You wait it out, watching as he smacks his chest.

He rakes his throat, hesitant. “Fine.”

“Come on,” you laugh, “You can give me more than that.”

“This feels like a trap.”

“I’m genuinely curious,” you defend. “I don’t—“ You flush. “I don’t really know any of this. Sex. Pleasure. I’m just— It’s a lot of void. For me.”

“So you want to know how it felt?”

You stare at him, unflinching. “I want to know how she did it.”

A shudder passes through Matty. He licks his lips. Rests his cigarette between them, takes a long drag. Finally, he settles his gaze on you.

“It was— It was a bit like this, I guess.” Matty takes your wrist, puppeteers two fingers out, and sucks them inside his mouth.

Your breath hitches. Your free hand clutches his leather jacket, pulling it tighter over your shoulders. You stare at his red lips as they stretch over your digits.

Matty licks his tongue on your fingers, sucking his cheeks in, bobbing his head. It’s a wet, pornographic sound. Your cunt clenches around nothing, ready for something you’ve never known. You feel heat droop in the deepest parts of you, staring at him, shortwinded.

Matty’s dark eyes catch yours. He’s shameless, swallowing around your fingers. He releases them with a pop sound, kissing the tips of them delicately. Your skin flushes.

“There,” Matty finally says, satisfied. “That’s how you do it.”

Your heart races, calling for him, for it. Your eyes narrow on his lips, crashing against them before you have the sense to think. You catch his waist, drawing him closer, kissing him harder. Matty answers eagerly, a low groan in the back of his throat.

He’s everywhere. Climbing up your sides. Licking into you. Biting your lip, drawing it out. Whining in your mouth. Your body sings for him, utterly ready.

“I want you,” you whisper against him. Matty mumbles, catching your mouth with a renewed hunger. “I—“ You start again between two breathless kisses, tongue mixing perfectly, “Matty, I need you.”

The words resonate. Matty’s fingers dig in your waist, impatient. He breathes suggestively, “George has a guest room.”

Your smile breaks your face. “Let’s go.”

—

You burst into the guest room. The door slams against the wall as Matty devours your lips. His hands are in your hair, pushing the leather jacket off your shoulders, falling down your back, gripping your waist, clutching your hips, drumming up your ribs. A savage, desperate tempo takes your flimsy bodies. He licks into your mouth with a hungry tongue. Your heart races, thrill buzzing up your legs.

You sneak a hand under his black shirt, clawing at the skin of his back. You trace the ridges of his spine with your fingertips, up and down, and Matty shivers in answer. You fall to his waist, gripping his side, pulling him into you more. You hope your handprints will brand him somehow.

He pushes you against the wall. A moan resonates from you that he hurries to swallow up. His hand grabs a handful of your ass over your skirt. Another low sound slips from you. You part your legs; his knee settles in instinctively, like a return home. It hits your clit, denim rubbing faintly, and a hot coil of pleasure swoops in your belly. He bites your lip and tugs it.

“Pretty girl,” Matty whispers roughly at your whines. He leans away from your mouth to stare down, catching an eyeful of your heaving breasts. He smirks, teasing as he says, “But what’s a good girl like you doing with stains on her top? Let me fix you up, darling…”

Cheeky, he slips under the hem of your camisole. Calluses dance on your skin; your hair rises, hyperaware of him. He gets near your first rib, showing off your midriff, before you push his hand down.

You know what it would lead to if you let him take it off. He’d lick at your tits, kiss down your sternum, and fall to his knees for you. He’d lap and nip and fuck until your brain was putty in your skull and coherent, multisyllabic words were a faraway concept, and then he’d wipe his chin and drive you home. Which would be good, of course, and you’d go to sleep tingling and happy, bone-deep satisfied, but you wouldn’t have touched him.

That’s what you want— what you need. For all the little fears and insecurities that the idea brings you, the desire to please him, to say thank you, to learn is greater, beating in your chest. You want to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had, want to blow all the other girls he’s met out of his head. Be the one, the only one.

Matty is too enthralled in you to catch your subtle hint, leaving wet kisses on your neck as he now trails his hand up your thighs. He starts at the lace of your socks, finding your smooth skin and stopping at your underwear. His hand palms the wet patch with a pained grunt, lazily rubbing at your clothed clit. You bite your lip, panting in the quiet of the room.

The floor shakes from the speakers downstairs. Music lulls under the floorboards, a strange background to the quick and hot breaths filling the room. You push Matty’s hand against all your screaming, begging judgements. Curse him for always being so talented at driving you wild.

“Remember that fantasy I had? I want to do it,” you say, pushing off the wall and walking into him. He steps back to leave you room, frowning a little. “I want to see you. To feel you.”

The back of his knees hits the desk chair. You push him on it, falling neatly on his lap next. You stare him down, confident, certain. “I want to suck your dick.”

His hands find your hips easily. Matty’s dark eyes devour you. They linger on your swollen lips, leveled with him, practically inviting him. His breaths quicken. You brush two hands through his hair, pouting, blinking condescendingly in mock-act of him. “Will you let me do that?”

He makes a choked sound from the back of his throat. “Fuck— Yeah. Yeah, whatever you want. Please.” He catches your lips again with a groan.

You kiss him back eagerly. It’s safe, to be in his lap, to grip his hair, to tilt your head and meet his mouth. Known. A learned and practiced thing, so inherent you could close your eyes and make up the shape of his lips from memory. You would know; you think of them on your late nights when he can’t sneak out, hot and sweaty and bothered, two fingers dipped inside of you. You imagine his lips, and his tongue, and his fingers, and all the spots of your body that miss them, and it’s so real you’re almost surprised he’s not smirking up at you when your eyes part open after an orgasm that’s just not quite what you needed.

Matty slips under your skirt, grabbing a fistful of your ass again, dragging you closer in his lap. You grind against his hard-on; a moan falls from your mouth and plants down his throat. He smirks against your lips, does it again.

“Matty,” you trail in warning. Though it transforms into a groan as he puppeteers your hips just so while you say it, losing its edge.

“Just a bit,” he promises, but there’s something cheeky in his tone. Your head falls back as he bucks you on him. Pleasure drums up your ribs.

You’re hot and buzzing and ecstasy sweeps inside of you. A low, known thrumming resonates. Your clit rubs against him, over and over, and you know the mind-melting orgasm you can get from it. It’s been your favorite recent activity: the closeness, the reciprocity, the power, the moans he makes, the fact that it’s almost, seemingly, more. A veil of sex, with half the damnation.

Matty’s fingers twist in the band of your underwear, clenching around it as he moves you faster, harsher. There’s a focused look in his eyes and you know he doesn’t really mean it when he says just a bit.

You take his wrists, ripping them away from you and in the air. Matty holds them palms up, a virtuous sign of innocence, with the smug, amused look to contradict it. You pant. Your body bemoans, your betraying hips tingling to move and chase that pleasure again.

“You’re not very good at listening,” you chastise.

Matty clicks his tongue. “I’ve always been a do-what-I-want guy.”

An idea prickles at the back of your head. You stand up from him slowly, ignoring your uncomfortably wet underwear. He pouts at you. You take a step back, and he tries to reach for you again, but you hold him away by his wrists.

“I’ll just have to make you listen, won’t I?”

Matty loses his smirk. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even procure another cheeky comment. He waits, the moment hanging in the air. Waits for your next move. Waits for the new game board. Waits for a footing of some kind. Tension sparks between you.

You let go of one hand, reaching up to your own hair and pulling out the left pink bow. The satin tickles your skin. You smirk at him.

“What are you gonna do with it?”

“What I want.”

You round the chair, bending down to your knees. You draw his wrists together behind his back and wrap the satin ribbon around them. You tie a pretty bow, perfect loops and tails, all proportionate. You smile, wishing he could see.

You crawl on your knees around the chair, back in front of him. Your eyelashes flutter at him. “Fuck,” he whines.

He pants, staring down at you unblinking, as though each second missed would kill him. As though he’s engraving the sight in his brain. You smile. Your hands graze his thighs. He shivers, makes another low noise.

You know that he could take it off easily. It’s flimsy material, and it’s a poor knot, and it’s a ribbon. But he stays there, hands in place, giving you free range, and there’s something about the vulnerability to do so that makes you want to please him even more. Give him some sort of reward, a worthy thank you.

He’s always honest, and open, and willing. You guard your heart fearfully, hold your thoughts under your tongue like your mom always told you to do. But he waits, open-palmed, throat-bared, hands-tied.

It’s a tragic story. Almost biblical.

But as much as you want him —in your hands, in your mouth— you still— you don’t really know how to do any of it. Your knowledge of blowjobs stops at a stupid, graphic joke Jake Finn made sophomore year and Matty showing you on the balcony just now.

Your lips twitch. Your head falls on his thigh, an innocent look he should be able to see right through in your eyes. “Father,” you whisper with a hint of mischief. Matty’s breath hitches. “I need guidance.”

Matty breathes from his nose harshly. He attempts to gather himself. Gravelly, he says, “Get me out of these.” His wrists tug on the restraint, though not enough to break it.

You shake your head, scrunching your nose at him. “I can do it alone.” You raise your head, tilting it to kiss his thigh. His head falls back with a pained noise. You giggle. “Please, please, Father. What should I do?”

He looks back at you with dark eyes. You smirk. You’ve got him.

There’s an implacable sense of authority in his voice. For all his rebellions, he plays the role quite well. Grand and solemn and holy, of all things, he says, “Are you gonna be good for me?”

A spark of excitement hits you. You lick your lips, nodding at him eagerly. “Yes,” you assure. You shift on your knees. “The best, Father.” You mean it in more ways than one. It’s pride, and it’s hubris, and it’s a grandiose speech. But you need it nearly as much as you need him, need to blur all those other girls from his mind.

“Good girl,” Matty coos, and the praise hits true. You clench your thighs, biting back a low moan. Matty smirks knowingly as he adds, “Always so devout.” There’s a sick thrill at being called pious when you’re kneeling for a profane man. The juxtaposition slicks your underwear, spins your mind. You’re anything but, but he manages to make the words true by saying it. He reinvents the universe from the flick of his tongue; maybe he really is a God.

“Take me out,” Matty says. It rings as an order, sure and lashing. You shiver.

You climb your hands to his hips, unbuttoning his black jeans. Your fingers shake as you do so, sloppy and imprecise. Your heart beats in your skull, the knowledge of what is coming knocking at your brain. You draw him out.

His cock stands hard and up in front of you. You’ve seen it before, of course, but never from so close. Your lips part in fascination. Precum leaks from his tip and there’s something filthy about the sight. You want to catch the drip with your finger and suck in your mouth, but you don’t dare do it. You’re not sure what the next move should be, what ways to touch.

You flick your eyes back to him, silently asking. This time, he’s much more gentle when he offers, “Wrap your hand around the base.”

Your fingers fly to his cock. You circle his length. You’ll replay in your mind the gasp he lets out as soon as you make contact for a long time. Oh, you decide suddenly. You’ll have fun with that.

Before he suggests anything else, you draw your hand up. A tantalizing, torturous pace. Matty twitches in your hand, moaning. “Start slow,” you whisper. You jerk back down. “I know that.” It’s a knowledge engraved in the back of your mind, reminded in the raspy sound of his voice when he first said it.

“Yeah—” He nods for fault of finishing a sentence. You pass your thumb over his tip like you’ve seen him do. His hips jump, a hiss slipping from his mouth. “Fuck, that’s—”

“Father, you shouldn’t swear. It’s not godly.”

Matty meets your eyes, seeing right through the teasing smirk you offer him. Here you are speaking of God with his hard cock in your hand. “You’re right,” he breathes. “What example am I giving my— Shit, fuck.” You’ve sped up your movements at the most inopportune time, it seems.

You tsk. “You’re just not learning your lesson.”

“I’m a bad example.”

“If you keep going, I might come out of this unholier than when I came in.” Mischief tacks your tongue.

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” Matty tries to volley back, but it’s more a pant than a taunt. You lick your teeth, satisfied.

You stroke him with a sure hand. The precum glistens, spread down his length. His curly hair flaps over his forehead, sweaty and flowing wildly. He pulls his face down with furrowed eyebrows as you jerk him. Your mouth waters. Every choked moan he makes for you makes you shift on your knees, try to quiet the growing need inside of you. He’s too pretty.

You’re decided, desperate. You need him, a sick, demanding thrill hazing your mind. Your head bends down, narrowing in, but he tuts, “Ah ah.” You freeze, flicking your eyes up at him in question. He’s cocky as he presses, “Shouldn’t you say Grace?”

Your eyes fall to his dick, understanding. You don’t even have the time to think that you already let go of him. You join your hands together, resting your elbows on his knees, closing your eyes as you recite, “God is great and God is good. Let us thank Him for our food; by His blessings, we are fed. Give us Lord, our daily bread.” You open your eyes, meeting his hot gaze. He watches you, heavy breathing. A smirk hints on your lips. “Amen.”

Before Matty has time to retort a cocky quip, to regain control of the situation, you bend down again and wrap your lips around his tip. A gaspy, choked sound comes from the back of his throat. His hips jump, pushing into your mouth. You suck on it. His head throws back as he moans. You giggle, licking the tip, finally circling your hand around his base again.

“What now, Father?” You whisper, stroking him with a lazy hand, kitten-licking him.

“God,” Matty whines as his head slams back forward, watching you with disbelieved eyes.

You hum. “Mmh, what does he want?”

Matty makes a breathy laugh. “Open your jaw more.” Dreams of him pulling your chin down, readying your mouth for him flash back to you. You shake your head, keeping focused. You know if you free his hands, you’ll lose control.

“Is that his holy message?”

“Yeah.” You open your mouth as wide as you can, thrusting him deeper and deeper with each bob. You try to remember the feeling on your fingers, try to imitate his droolful explanation. You run your tongue on the underside of his cock like he did, grinning proudly at his groan. “You look so fucking hot.”

Your eyes lock with his, happy to your bones. It can’t be true— you feel spit and precum run down your chin. Still, you double your efforts eagerly, trying to be the bestest and prettiest girl for him.

His breath is labored, coming out in whiney huffs. “Move your hand—”

He hasn’t finished his sentence that you’re already stroking him lazily. You pop him out of your mouth, saliva stringing to your lips, to ask, “Like this?”

“In synch with— Fuck.” You suck him back into your mouth, moving your hand in tandem with your head. He pants harshly. His hips rise to meet you, and you gag, releasing him. He throws you an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“Should I go deeper?”

“Yes— Yeah.” You laugh, bending back to swallow him up. His shoulders flex, as though he aches to touch you, pass a soothing hand through your hair. Instead, he says with wonder, “Whatever you want, angel.” You moan around him, shifting on your knees. Matty smirks. “You like when I call you that?” His eyes flick down to the mess of your mouth. He groans from the back of his throat, choked as he revels, “While you’re swallowing my cock?” You smile at him. You do like it, no matter what you usually argue.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you widen your jaw. You keep your hand at the base of his cock, trying to fit him even deeper in your throat. He hits the back of it and you gag again, pushing him out. You jerk him quickly as you catch your breath.

“You’re drooling everywhere,” Matty coos. You laugh, wiping your chin clean, spitting the rest on his cock. You jerk it down his length. He moans. “Shit. You’re like a fucking wet dream.”

“I want to be good for you.”

“You’re always good.” It’s not true. You’ve been nothing but immoral these days. But the way he says it, sure, flicked off his tongue like there wasn’t even a place for debate, makes your head spin. His hips rise again, this time no apologetic look as he begs, “Deeper.”

You suck on his head, giggling. “Magic word?”

“Please.”

You hum. “We might make a decent man out of you yet, Matty.” He laughs, but then you open your head wide and take him into your mouth, and now he’s more whining than anything else. You try to keep your gag reflex under control, stroking what you can’t fit with your hand.

“That’s it,” he moans, rolling his eyes back in pleasure. “My perfect girl. I like you like this.” His head dips to look at you properly. “Do you like it? Like being on your knees for me?”

“Yes.” And it’s true, no matter how filthy it makes you. There’s power to it. There’s a strange lust to see how much it affects him. You affect him. You flutter your eyes at him, licking his tip. “Father, I fear I’ve been corrupted.”

He laughs. “Yeah?”

“There’s this boy,” you say teasingly. “He just won’t stop making me naughty. You’d be ashamed of the way I act for him.”

“I hardly believe that.” His hips thrust up into your hand. “Not when you’re so pretty like this.”

“I’m being a very dirty girl,” you shake your head, and for once, there’s none of the usual guilt about it. Being forsaken is a faraway concept. In this room, the only thing that matters is the shade of your knees when you’re done.

“Good. I think you should be even worse.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over his tip. “Is that your penance?” He nods, out of breath. You tilt your head, cheeky as you tease, “And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Suck me again,” he demands, but you stare at him unimpressed, slowing your hand down in warning. He jumps. “Please.”

You hum, licking across his length, then sucking indulgently on the tip. “Like that?” His eyes are dark. He flexes and unflexes his arms, reminding himself of the bow tying them. You snicker. For all his usual teasing, laughing and cooing at you, he doesn’t seem to enjoy his own medicine. “Use your words,” you taunt just to add oil to the fire.

“In your mouth, please.” You could keep going, speed up and slow and lick and never give him what he wants until he’s shaking under you, but you miss him in your mouth, too. Greedy and starved, you push him past your lips.

You bob your head quickly, suddenly eager to see him unravel. For you. Because of you. He hits the back of your throat over and over, but you breathe through your nose, blinking away the prickling tears. Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. One hand settles on his knee, gripping it. It shakes under your fingers.

“Ah, shit,” Matty cries, meeting you halfway. He can’t seem to look away from you, dropping his head back then being jolted with realization of what is going on, immediately dipping to watch you. His lips are swollen from licking them so much, his cheeks flushed. He looks ready to burst from his skin.

You giggle, sucking your cheeks in like he did on your fingers, maintaining a steady pace. He bucks into you wildly, spilling pretty noises from his mouth shamelessly. They burrow in your ears, strike directly to your burning core. Your knees are sore but you continue, undeterred, focused on undoing him completely. Make him feel what he does to you.

He twitches in your mouth. “Fucking hell,” he says, sloppily fucking into you. “I’m— Shit, I’m close. I’m gonna—”

You pull away from him. He cries in protest, looking down at you with a pained frown. You lick from his base to his tip. “Beg for it.”

Matty doesn’t even think. “Angel, please, I need—”

“No,” you smirk, and there must be mischief written all over your face because he stares apprehensively. “Not to me. To God.”

“Are you—” Disbelief is written all over his face. “Are you kidding me?”

You chuckle, shaking your head, letting your lips trail back and forth over his tip. He makes another pained noise, blinking to keep from being overwhelmed with pleasure. “Ask Him.”

Matty breathes harshly from his nose. He considers you, considers your mouth just an inch away from where he desperately needs it, and throws his head backwards. “God,” he starts. You laugh again, delighted. He ruins your faith, you ruin his. It’s only fair. “Hi, God. Sorry I don’t talk often. Can I please fucking come? I’m gonna fucking burst if you don’t let her— Oh, my God.”

His head throws forward as you swallow him up. Your bobs are sloppy. You’re tired and sore deep in your bones, spit and drool and precum spilling everywhere between you. Your hand is drenched, your cheeks red with runaway tears. Still, you dedicate yourself to please him, running your tongue on his underside until he cries.

“Oh, my God, fuck!” He repeats, shaking, and then comes with a scream.

You’re surprised when he spills, pulling away with a gasp. The ropes of cum hit your chin instead, landing on your chest next, spreading down your skin. Only when he’s done, moans quieting slowly, do you kiss his tip just like he showed you. You put him back in his jeans.

You look down at the mess. Your pretty camisole is stained again. Between your collarbones, your golden cross is coated in white.

Matty catches his breath difficulty. You stare up at him. Catching his eyes, you take your cross between your lips, licking it clean. It’s salty on your tongue. You spit it back out glinting, drool dripping from it. Spotless. Cumless. He whines at the sight.

“I wish you could see yourself,” he whispers. “You did so well for me. My best girl.”

His best girl. You grin proudly. “Was I really the best?”

“Yeah, you fucking— You’re like a fucking dream, angel.”

You tsk. “I just had your cock in my mouth and you’re still calling me angel.”

“Only because you like it.” Well, you can’t argue with that.

You stand on trembling legs. Your knees crack, thighs burning in complaint, sticky and wet with your juices. Now that you’re free to think just a little more clearly, you realize how much you need him. To your core, to the beating muscle in your chest begging for him.

“Let me show you how good you felt,” Matty says lowly. “Get me out of these.” His hands pull on the bow, still careful not to break it.

You smirk, climbing your hands up his shoulder. “I remember you saying you wouldn’t even need them.”

His eyes grow dark. “C’me here.” He spreads his thighs, leaving you a pretty perch to settle on.

You straddle one, wasting no time to rock on it. You’re wet and needy, so fucking turned on you think you might boil under your skin. You won’t last long at all.

The leg and the soft material of your underwear is heavenly on your swollen clit. He flexes under you and you moan, dropping your head on his shoulder, panting. Everything in you buzzes. You feel like you’re going insane.

“Doing so well for me, baby,” he coos. “Fuck yourself on my thigh. Use me.” You whine, rocking faster.

He’s warm under your fingertips. He’s tough, and real, and you miss him even when he’s right there. You want to seep under his skin, sleep tightly between his heart and his rib. You lick at his neck, kissing and nipping. A red splotch looks back at you once you pull away. There. Your mark on him, like a delible I was here. There’s a possessive thrill shooting up your spine. Maybe you finally understand why he bruises your thighs so much.

Your movements speed up. You straighten, throwing your head back. Everything is intense, but nothing is enough. Matty dips to your chest. He licks and sucks at your cleavage, cleaning the cum off your skin. You moan at the feeling, at the knowledge. “Matty—”

“You’re so close,” he promises, nipping right above the hem of your camisole. You’re overheating. “Just a bit more.” What a lie.

“It’s not the same,” you whine, bucking on his thigh desperately, finding growing need, but not release. Your eyebrows furrow. Your hips grow sloppy. “I can’t do it like you.”

“Let me out.” He’s deadly serious. You vaguely shake your head. You’re in control. “Please, please, angel. Let me out. Let me please you. Let me make you come.” He makes a noise of frustration, flexing and unflexing his thigh underneath you. “I’ll make you scream. I promise. You know I will. Just let me out. I’ll give you what you need.” You pout, mulling on his suggestion. He narrows in on the weakness. “I need it. I need to see you. Come on, love. I just want to please you.”

With a huff, you bend to your side, reaching behind him to undo the bow. The ribbon falls to the ground. Matty grips your hips the next instant.

It’s fast and hard in a second, a delirious pace he settles you on. Your cunt drags over his thigh, wetting his jeans. You can’t stop moaning and, for once, you let the sounds leave your mouth freely. He seems eager to hear them, licking your chin and catching your lips for a head-twisting kiss.

Matty pulls away to reach for your camisole. He pulls it down to uncover your chest, bending back to continue his artwork, sucking and licking at your nipples. You cry. Your hands bury in his hair.

“Fucking drench me,” he begs. His hand sneaks between your legs, pulling your underwear to the side. He moves his fingers away quickly after, as though he had something to prove.

Your clit hits the rough denim directly. It’s a sharp strike of pleasure each time. You buck wildly, trying to find that ravaging euphoria you need. Each furious stroke gets you closer. His hand burns your hip. Everything in him makes you hot and sticky.

“Matty, I’m—”

“Come for me,” Matty pleads, running his tongue on your hard nipple. Ecstasy threatens the edges of you. “Fuck, come on my thigh. Fucking make a mess.”

“I’m—” Your mouth drops open with a silent cry and you come. You shudder against him. Pleasure waves through you, unreleasing that aching need. It hazes your mind more than the alcohol you just drank, more than a hit of cigarette, more than listening boredly in church. You’re tingling from your very tips, alive.

“Oh, God,” you say. You blink the blur away, finding him grinning at you, sweaty and flushed and fucking delighted.

“Told you I only needed my thighs,” he bites, cheeky. You grin. It was entirely true. You regret turning down his pleading request that day in church. You laugh, holding both of his cheeks with glee.

“I can’t believe I did that,” you admit. You lower your thigh-high socks just to see the bruise on your knee, prove it’s real. You gasp suddenly, worry seeping in, “Oh, no,” you breathe, hand covering your mouth. “Will George be mad?”

Matty laughs, throwing his head back. “He’s done worse in my room.” His hand rubs at your hip, soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I can’t let you walk out with wine and cum stains on your top. That’s too much bad, even for me.” You giggle, nosing his cheek, then stand up. There’s a wet patch on his jeans and you flush when you spot it, though he only grins proudly.

You’re jelly on your feet. You’re sticky-happy. Matty’s hand warms yours as he tugs you out of the bedroom and into a bathroom.

—

The road comes to a stop. A single street lamp lights you, drooping over Matty’s car. You stare up at it, then at him. His dark curls falling wildly around him, his red cheeks, his plump lips; everything invites you in, draws you to your doom. There’s a lesson to learn, to memorize, humming faraway. You prefer to indulge, to be caught red handed and shamed. As long as the before thoroughly drowns it out.

Matty’s taste faintly lingers on your tongue.Your legs are loose and slack from another thunderous orgasm. He’s everywhere, and still you want him closer, deeper, longer.

The identical houses stretch on infinitely. You recognize yours by the broken step you fell on when you were five, a vestige of you, a way to prove you exist. Matty kills the gas.

“I hope you had fun,” he declares. You give him a purposeful onceover, smirking. Matty rolls his eyes, though pride still hangs in them. “More than that.”

“I had fun,” you agree. “I like your friends.”

“I like them too.” It’s so easy for him, so inherent. He loves his friends and he doesn’t even have to question the meaning of it, doesn’t have to overanalyze every interaction and how safe it can be to question a tweak of sentences. He gets to declare it, gets to mean it. You’re envious, faraway somewhere.

“I like you,” you say, because you mean it, because vodka and wine still linger somewhere inside of you. Matty flushes.

“I do, too.”

You grin at the whisper, at the confirmation. He hasn’t known you for very long, yet he means it all the same. A friend, a more than. How you like him.

Emotion overwhelms you. Your heart races, beating and beating against its bone prison, begging for something you can’t quite figure out. You don’t try to, instead listening to the familiar thrill fluttering inside of you. You unclasp your seatbelt, throw a leg over the console, settle on his lap.

Matty doesn’t seem surprised that you straddle him, instead resting his hand lazily on your waist. It swallows your skin, big and sure, meant to dip and dig and curl. You shiver just at the thought, at the possibility.

I like you, hangs in the air. And more…

You give him a fiery, needy kiss. There’s a burning desire to consume him, to keep him firmly lodged in your throat as you walk the path to church. You kiss him like it, gripping his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, his hair. Anything you can get your hands on, anything to make him tangible.

Your tongue is hot as it meets his. You tug on his hair, tilting your head, meeting him better. He tastes like cigarettes and you, and the knowledge makes you burn. You want him so deeply you might choke from the lack of him. He needs to be closer, deeper. You make an unsatisfied groan, dropping your hands to his belt.

Urgently, you paw at his pants, trying to get it off with shaky fingers. Your insides throb and clench around nothing, pleading for him. You’re tired of fighting inherent instincts, of battling guilt and morals. You want to feel good— great. Want to eclipse any doubt.

Matty breaks from your lips, but you’re undeterred, licking down his cheeks as you unbutton his jeans. You bite and suck at his neck, leaving your very own purple bruise, marking him the way he always seems to do you. Different. Changed.

Matty’s head drops on his seat. He sighs desperately, makes a low groan, and pushes you away from him. You pant, hungrily pulling at the hem of his shirt. He stops it with a heavy hand.

“Not here,” Matty says, shortwinded. His dark eyes almost seem regretful to say so. “Not for the first time.”

You catch your breath slowly, deeply. You wipe at your mouth. Nod faintly. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no—” You laugh. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t—” You grimace. “I wouldn’t want to do it in a car. For the first time.” Matty nods.

“Soon, maybe?” Matty whispers nonetheless, a promise and a beg.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Maybe soon.” The words hang in the air, meaningful.

You open the driver’s door, falling out of it gracelessly. You straighten with a proud smile, flash your teeth at him. Your white outfit is still stained; an opposite mirror of his. “Goodnight, Matty.”

“Night, love,” he says, amused.

You turn around and run to your house. The trellis ivies up terribly— terrifyingly— far up. You stare at it convinced, taking a step with a purpose.

#YES IT'S HERE #sorry NOT sorry for gaslighting yall for weeks<3333 #pray for my soul #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #imagine #writing

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