#matty healy smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leavesfallensparse · 2 days

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Cigarettes & Wine | M. Healy | 2

'I think I'll put you in another song, a little glimpse of you before you're gone.'

In which Sadie and Matty can't seem to get along at all. They refuse to see eye-to-eye, but Sadie is starting to find Matty's annoyed face a bit too hot. When faced with conversations about feelings, Sadie can't help but want to run away from it all.

warnings: implied alcoholism, implied panic attack (not in a written scene), smut (unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering), lots of arguing, they both just spew shite at each other <3.

word count: 6.7k

authors note: lalalalala sadie matty smut lalalalala. so what it's angry (lowkey heartbreaking) smut, its still smut. i rlly had fun writing this and i am sorry for the angst <3 (not rlly x)

Sadie doesn’t think she’s ever felt anger like she’s feeling right now. The band had just gotten back to their flat after one of their more hectic shows, and George had obviously had the smart idea to go out after said show. Sadie missed out on this night out, feeling like her body was about to collapse inwards, but when the band returned home, loudly, she woke up and immediately seethed. Her anger worsened when she fully woke, she knew what was going on in Matty’s room due to them sharing a wall. Cheap flat means paper thin walls. As each day passes the urge to ask George to switch rooms with her grows.

The pornographic moans and groans paired with the bedframe that is just about banging her bedroom wall down is enough to make Sadie roll out of bed and leave her room with a huff. She almost regrets it when she sees Ross and George basically rolling on the kitchen floor trying to put a frozen pizza in the oven, Adam was standing over the pair just laughing at them. Sadie smirks but then when she hears another bang of Matty’s bedframe come from behind her she mutters a string of angry swear words under her breath. “What does she look like this time?” Is the sentence Sadie uses to make her presence known to the three drunk men in the kitchen.

The boys all look up at her with grimaces on their faces which makes Sadie run a hand down her own, she knows they all want to say “You.” Which makes her reconsider her entire career. She is subjecting herself to something comparable to torture day in, day out. Ever since Sadie had started point blank refusing him sex he was acting crazy, actively seeking out girls who have something in common with her looks wise. She had only started closing herself off because the band was starting to gain traction and she didn’t want anything to end in a messy enough manner for them both to risk their careers. It seemed like a lost cause with the way they were both acting though.

“It’s okay though, we’re having a pizza party.” Ross had somehow manoeuvred from the floor to Sadie’s side, leaning his entire body weight on her. She grunted and moved so the pair of them were leaning on the counter, she looked in his eyes at his extremely slurred words and wondered how he could be this drunk after only being out for two and a half hours. She shook her head with a smirk and snatched the pizza from George, forgetting how much of his weight that Ross was putting on her until he keeled over onto the floor with a giggle.

“Oh my god, Ross.” George pretty much collapses on top of Ross in a fit of drunken giggles and Sadie busies herself with setting the timer on the oven. When she turns around, Adam is stood with his arms open, and she smiles up at him and accepts his invitation for a cuddle. He starts swaying the pair and she can’t help but breathe out a laugh at the song he’s attempting to sing, Sadie has no idea what song he’s actually trying to sing. She tries to pull away when he starts swaying a bit too hard but before she knows it the four of them are on the floor struggling to breathe through their laughs.

When they all sit down on the couch to indulge in their pizza, Sadie hears a door open and close from the hallway. She can’t help the way her eyes roll into her skull, and she suddenly doesn’t want to finish her plate. The way he gets a glass of water, silently, pisses her off beyond belief. He grabs a slice of their pizza and heads back to his room with the water, he notices the silence when he walks in, but he chooses to not make a petty comment. When his bedroom door practically slams shut, Sadie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was even holding in. “George, can I sleep in your room?” He nods with a mouthful of pizza and Sadie heads to her room to grab her water bottle.

Sadie can’t sleep for George’s excessive snoring, he always fucking snores when he’s drunk. She gets up to fill her already empty water bottle with a sigh, a chill comes over her body when she opens the bedroom door, she immediately connects the dots when she sees Matty hanging out the living room window, cig in hand. She sighs and turns her back on him, flipping the tap to cold and turning it on, she hears him clearing his throat behind her and has to stifle the groan trying to escape her lips. “Bored of your girlfriend in there?”

Matty’s chuckle tastes bitter on his tongue, he despises her immaturity sometimes. When he doesn’t reply, she turns to him and when he gestures her over with his head she sighs, she can’t say no to him, and she loathes it. Sitting down next to him she takes his offer of a cigarette, he also forces the glass of wine he’s cradling into her hand, which she happily downs. He looks at her, she looks out the window. “Can’t sleep?”

“George won’t stop fucking snoring.” Matty smiles at that and hands her his lighter. She hands it back and inhales deeply when her cigarette is lit. The silence between them is the calmest silence they’ve sat in for at least three months, anytime the two have been forced in a room alone the tension has been so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Probably due to the fact they’ve not had sex in three months either. She can’t help but study his face, she hasn’t properly taken him in for a while, she tends to avoid him whenever they aren’t shouting at each other’s faces. He looks exhausted, the way his eyes are heavy set into his face and his mouth is nearly permanently in a frown are the telltale signs, this makes her frown. She leans onto his shoulder and lowers her voice to a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“What? What for?” She shrugs and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, an attempt to protect her from the cold breeze wafting in through the open window. Hesitating slightly, he leans his head against hers, his lips meeting her messy hair before he does so. She sighs and shuffles a bit closer, having sat at a decent distance from him originally. “Nothing to be sorry for, Sades. I’m sorry.”

“Well, what are you sorry for?”

“I’m not sure either.” At his lack of attempt to actually apologise, she hums, nothing has changed. This conversation isn’t progress.

“I should go back to bed.” Sadie feels Matty’s head shake on top of hers and she snickers slightly, raising her head to face him. Their faces are much closer than they were before which makes Sadie’s heart pick up in pace ever so slightly. She pretends that it doesn’t though. He tries to sneak a glance down at her slightly dry lips, but her eager eyes notice, and she instinctively leans in, she swears she does it without realising. Before she knows it his lips are on hers and every argument they’ve had recently has flown out of her head, replaced by the way his hand feels when it falls to her bare thigh, practically coaxing the goosebumps out of her. Matty pulls away first and Sadie shakes her head. “We can’t. Shouldn’t.”

Silencing her with another kiss, a squeeze on her thigh, and his tongue against her lips, Matty groans into her mouth, begging to be let in. She denies him entrance until his other hand tugs lightly at her hair, drawing involuntary moans from her mouth, gaining him entrance. Readjusting so he’s no longer sitting cross legged on the windowsill Matty drags Sadie by the hips on to his lap. She feels so dirty, Matty had gone from being inside the girl in his bedroom two hours ago to making out with Sadie in the living room, but a sick part of her likes knowing that he’ll always come back to her. The same sick part of her grinds down into Matty’s growing erection, revelling in the way his head thumps against the window behind him. “Fuck, Sades.”

“Did that girl not do it for you? She might look like me, but I bet she doesn’t fuck like me, hmm?” Her hands find the seam of her pyjama top, but she quickly feels him swatting her hands away, wanting to take her top off himself. Doing so with fervour, his lips ghosting her nipples, blowing hot air over them and giving her reaction a sick smile. When his mouth closes around her nipple, a low groan ripples through her throat, she feels the need to get his clothes off of him as soon as possible. “Matty, please.”

“You’re filth. Desperate to fuck me when I’ve got a girl waiting for me.” Matty’s words hit Sadie right in her core, writhing on his lap, desperate for friction. The thin material of Matty’s boxers paired with the lacey material of Sadie’s panties was sending her wild, the feeling against her heat is delicious but she’s growing bored of it. He lifts his hips in a frenzy to rid himself of one of two clothing items keeping them apart, at the rapid friction Sadie moans loudly and squeezes her eyes closed. Letting out a dry laugh, Matty shifts her on his lap, her eyes cast down to his length and her hand automatically wrapped around it, like it was muscle memory. “No, need to be inside you. Won’t last long.”

Sadie feels like her lungs are being squeezed with how breathless she is, frantically shuffling her panties down her legs. Takes himself in one hand, Matty lines himself up and grabs one of Sadie’s hands with the other, she squeezes it as he pushes into her, a whine scraping the inside of her throat before tearing out of her mouth. Matty lets go of her hand and sticks two of his fingers into her open mouth, hissing at her, “You’ve got to be quiet, Sades.”

Whining around his fingers, Sadie bucks her hips into his harshly, Matty lets out a sound akin to a growl. She stops and raises an eyebrow at him, brutally shoving two fingers in his mouth. Feeling his mouth forming into a smirk around her fingers at her smug face, he starts fucking up into her to break her mean demeanour. The way her eyes roll into her head spurs him on, his pace relentless, his tongue licking up and down her fingers to match the pace of his savage thrusts. An urge to hear the noises that Matty clearly wants to make takes over Sadie’s brain, so she rips her fingers out of his mouth and sticks it on his knee behind her, leaning back in his lap to feel him hit her deeper inside. “Can fucking feel you squeezing me, so tight, missed this.”

The fake pout takes over her face without her permission, “Really meant it when you said you wouldn’t last long. Pathetic, I’m not even close.” She’s playing it up and he knows it from the way she tenses her thighs and squeezes his knee until her knuckles turn white. But Matty takes her words as the truth, holding himself off from finishing inside her, picking her up and throwing her onto the couch. Moaning at the way he man-handled her, Sadie can feel the loss of him inside her like he’d just ripped her arm from her torso, her blissed out face was quickly replaced by a glare at the two fingers re-entering her mouth, scowling as his hips snapped back into hers. When he leans down to give her neck an open-mouthed kiss, she snaps around his fingers, into his ear. “Fuck you.”

“I am.” The words uttered into her pliable skin make her arch her back into him. She hates the way he knows her body like he worships upon it everyday on the hour, almost as though he had studied her every atom under a microscope in a lab. Lifting one of her legs over his shoulder, she whimpers at the deeper angle, her walls flutter around him and she can feel the stutter of his hips. “Your filthy cunt is fucking sucking me in. You’re like some kind of witch. Come on, give it to me, Sades, fucking hell.” Staring down at the way a string of saliva connects her mouth to his fingers when he pulls them out at a tantalisingly slow pace gives him an idea. “Open your mouth.”

The compliant side of her does so immediately, moaning at the way his spit crawls down her tongue, he nods, she swallows. The wetness of his fingers immediately reaches between her folds and finds her clit, matching the pace of his persistent thrusts. Her left hand scrapes his spine and her right hand rips at his hair. She loathes the way his hands make her fold, feeling her climax take over her entire soul, her eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. “I fucking hate you so much.”

The tone in which she utters this word has him spilling inside her with a pained groan. The pair hold each other tightly as they both hit their peak, Sadie comes down almost immediately from the way Matty rides out his high inside her, she hisses from the overstimulation. “Fucking hell.” His body collapses on top of hers and she whines at the scraping feeling she feels inside. “Pull out, please.” A muttering of a few more swear words from her mouth pulls him from the cloud he’s found himself on, ripping himself from her. The boy inside of him peers down at the sight of his release spilling from her, she groans and steadies herself at the thought of standing up and cleaning herself up.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Her eyes fixate on the torn up skin of his back as he pulls his boxers back on and sneaks into the bathroom. When he emerges, he smirks at Sadie’s sleeping figure on the couch, her deep-set eyes gently fluttering as she gives in, her dark eyelashes resting upon the cheeks. The one word ringing in his mind, beautiful, is giving him a headache. He rubs at her bare thigh in a soft attempt to wake her up, between whispers of different variants of her name. “Just cleaning you up, darling.” She gently whines and rolls over.

“Why are you asleep on the couch?” George is hanging over her like a bad smell, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow, she groans and pushes his face away with a stretch. The sudden memories of the previous night climb into her brain and start to take over, sneaking a glance down, she smirks at the sight of the cushions propped up gently and her clothes on her body. The slight bliss that was beginning to take over her being is interrupted by an unrecognisable, shrill laugh at the kitchen island. George silently communicates at her to keep her mouth shut.

“Morning, Sades! Bacon roll?” At Matty’s chipper tone, George knows all he needs to know, cradling his forehead in his hand. She snorts and sits up, finally getting a look at the girl who was clearly not good enough for Matty. Sadie would describe the girl as ‘nice’, nothing more and nothing less. She looks nice. Matty doesn’t like nice. The other two boys are sat at the kitchen island too, stuffing bacon in their mouths like it’s going to make their hangovers magically disappear. Sadie circles round the couch to stand behind Ross, giving Matty a curt nod before sitting on the last spare seat, right next to this unknown girl.

“I’m Sadie. Who are you?” Adam covers his laugh with a cough, George groans into his hand, Ross is blissfully unaware, and Matty has to stop himself from whipping around to shout at the girl. The poor, innocent girl looks round at Sadie like she’d just shot her dog. A shit eating grin overtakes her mouth, smiling up at Matty as he places a bacon roll in front of her. “Thank you very much! Smells so good!” The tone of her voice makes Adam’s laugh finally escape his mouth, when Miss Unknown turns to him, brows furrowed, he panics.

“Oh, we have fun here.” Sadie opts for taking a bite so none of her laughter sneaks out. What a shit excuse, Adam.

“I’m Daisy, it’s, erm, nice to meet you?” No words. Sadie has no words. Daisy is basically Sadie rearranged. She politely nods at Daisy and turns to face forward in her seat, no longer wanting to interact with anyone. She feels a dull ache in her chest as she watches the way Matty talks to Daisy, a miniscule part of her brain is begging him to look at her. He doesn’t, instead turning back to the pan and humming a merry tune. Sadie is practically snarling at his back, knowing that her very nails have left marks on the hidden skin. That’s all it is. Hidden. Matty clearly has a sudden thought with the way his movements stop.

“Want any sauce, darling?” Sadie doesn’t know what happened, she’ll claim to have blacked out.

“No thanks, Matty.” Her eyes widen. Daisy nearly chokes on her breakfast, poor girl. As if on auto-pilot, Sadie’s feet drag her to her bedroom, completely abandoning her breakfast. She’s sure they all heard the scream she forced into her pillow.

The moon is the only thing lighting up Sadie’s room, the hopeful gleam staring right in her window. The Smashing Pumpkins ‘Oceania’ is humming into her ears as she edits a few photos from the night before, specifically avoiding the ones of Matty. A gentle knock on her door rips her from her daydream, pulling her eyes from the moon she murmurs a “Come in.”, shutting her laptop and turning round in her chair. But the sight of the man she’s avoiding draws a silent groan from her throat, she turns away.

“Hi. Can we talk?” He’s grovelling and she doesn’t know why. When met with silence he keeps talking. “We can’t keep dancing around this, it’s starting to hurt me. I can’t fucking look at you without wanting something from you, anything. I just want a sign of life, Sades.” She stares back out the window, wishing she lived in a house alone on the moon. But no, she’s here, face to face with everything wrong with her. All she knows how to do is shake her head.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t have anything to say to you.” The way he takes a deep breath as he sits down on her bed makes her panic a bit, she knows that he’s about to hurt her feelings. It was just the honest truth, she didn’t have anything to say to him, what words could possibly come out of her mouth that he’d want to hear. Not a single thought in her head is something that should be said out loud to him.

“No, Sadie. What do you want from me? I am fucking sick of you, the sight of you, the way you’ll speak to the boys with no fucking malice in your tone, what did I do to you? And, what? Every two months you want me to fuck you and have it not mean anything? I can’t stand to be in your fucking presence everyday anymore, it’s draining me.” She zones out slightly, trying to will the lump in her throat to go away. Nothing that he had said warrants tears because he is also telling the honest truth.

“We’ve ruined it. Been friends eight years and fucking ruined it.” Shaking her head with a wet laugh she lets it fall to rest on her knee, a single tear slipping out. “Can’t believe there was a time we got on. Now you’re just horrible to me.” Bitter laughter takes over her ears and another tear falls. And another. Lifting her head she writes down the words, ‘wishing you could forget the present you’re living in’, in the notebook on her desk. The notebook is just full of shit, mostly angry shit, recently.

“You’re the horrible one. One day someone snapped their fingers and you turned on me. I can’t fuck around with you anymore, you’ve changed, and it makes me sick. To my stomach. And calling me horrible? Whatever.”

“You’re still talking if you weren’t aware.”

“Yes I was. Wasn’t done either.” Standing up and gesturing wildly, his bitter tongue still talks. She’s reduced to a pile of sobs on her desk chair, just watching, unable to make it stop. “I also find it quite frankly hilarious that you’re the first one to tell people that I’m the ‘worst person you’ve ever met’, it wasn’t that when we were shagging everyday four years ago.” Sadie sniffs a laugh at this, he’s contradicting himself by saying ‘she’s changed’ one second, then referencing a time Sadie actually liked him. “Oh! Another thing, telling George that I’m the only one you don’t say ‘I love you’ to is so strange. I’d like an explanation.” Walking over to her until he’s hanging over her, she has to look up and face his snarl. “Why? Why don’t you love me. I think you do and you’re just fucking scared of me, pathetic, by the way. I think you realised years-”

She interrupts him, unable to control the angry scream ripping from the depths of her lungs. “Stop! Just fucking stop! Get the fuck away from me.” He stills and cocks an eyebrow. “GO.”

A slam of a door and tears coming out in screams is all that’s heard through the flat.

The next time Matty’s on stage doing what he loves, he isn’t sure he actually loves it anymore. He’s considering hiring a new photographer. Sadie’s been dancing round his feet all night, apparently unable to take a single photo of Matty, she’s taken more photos of Adam tonight than she probably ever has. The way in which he is performing is growing slightly more aggressive, standing on the stage, seething, unable to do anything about it. Could you imagine what the crowd would think if he started shouting at his photographer mid-show?

She smirks as she comes round the back to take a couple photos of George, he shakes his head at her, and she lets out a laugh. Shrugging her shoulders as if she’s done nothing wrong, she quickly realises that coming onto the stage to take photos was a mistake, Matty turns his back on the crowd briefly and whispers in her ear, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What? Nothing? My job.” Turning back to the crowd with a scoff he keeps singing, Sadie takes a couple photos of the view from the back of the stage, looking out into the mass of people, she smiles at her camera knowing it’ll be a good shot. Exiting the stage from the left hand side she takes a minute to look through a couple of the photos she’s taken as she sips from her water bottle. The events manager approaches her and smiles.

“Why aren’t you taking as many photos of Matty?” The way her sickly sweet voice punctures Sadie’s ears makes her cringe a little bit. But she hides it with a returned smile in her direction and turns her body slightly towards her. Taking in her professional outfit she hides a laugh, how she’s not sweating is one of the wonders of the world. The way she was very clearly flirting with Matty before the show had pissed her off and Sadie knew she was only asking because she wanted to see photos of Matty.

“Don’t worry about it.” Walking all the way to the back of the hall with no more words said, Sadie scoffs when she’s no longer in hearing distance. Shaking her head she snaps a few more pictures before heading back to the dressing rooms, hearing the band finish the show she busies herself with looking through photos. She likes to pretend she doesn’t exist after the boys finish a show, they also like to pretend she doesn’t exist, mostly high on adrenaline. Since people had started taking the band more seriously, the energy at their shows has increased tenfold. So has their egos but Sadie never makes comment on it. Hearing the stomps of Matty down the halls has her realising that pretending she doesn’t exist isn’t an option today.

“What the fuck was that? You’re embarrassing yourself.” Slamming the door behind him, leaving just the two of them in the dressing room, Sadie rolls her eyes. She watches on as he grabs a wine glass and pours from the bottle, he takes a sip and groans, shaking his head. When their eyes meet, Sadie curls into herself a bit, intimidated. “Just utterly pathetic.”

“What’s pathetic? Me not wanting to see your face? Did you forget the things you said to me? Or are you going to blame that as a ‘heat of the moment’ thing like you always do?” The slam of his glass on the table makes her jump and he turns to her with nothing but malice in his eyes.

“No, you should be able to hold a level of professionalism that allows you to do your job no matter how you actually feel, Sadie. You’ve always managed to photograph me even if I have been in the wrong, but not today. I’m calling you pathetic because I thought you were more mature than you actually are. Turns out I was fucking wrong, hmm?” Matty is leaning over her, pointing a finger down at her. She stands up to defend herself.

“Actually, I think that you speak to me like I’m a piece of shit on the bottom of your shoe and then expect me to carry myself professionally when in reality just the sight of your face makes me want to punch it. And oh, I’ll just carry on taking my silly little pictures and pretend you don’t come off that stage and hurt my feelings. Every. Single. Day.”

“Oh, I hurt your feelings? Fuck off, Sadie.” With this he leaves the dressing room and slams the door behind him so hard that Sadie sees the mirror on the wall shake a bit. She has to hold her laugh in when he comes back in for the bottle of wine. She really struggles to hold it back when George comes in and gives her a look like she’s dumb.

“What?” When George just laughs at her she laughs too. She grabs the second bottle of wine from the table and takes pleasure in drinking straight from it. “Genuinely what was I supposed to do? Let him keep treating me like this?” George leans onto her shoulder when he sits down, his voice is sympathetic, and Sadie is having none of it.

“You could’ve gone about it a bit nicer.”

“Why would I be ‘a bit nicer’ after all he’s done to me?”

“Yeah, you’re right, fuck him.” With that George takes the bottle and starts drinking from it too.

They’ve somehow ended up in a sleazy bar in Soho, they’d played just round the corner at some hall Sadie can’t remember to name. Matty’s still pissed, Sadie is very drunk, some would call this a recipe for disaster, George would call this a recipe for entertainment. Sadie has linked eyes with a notably cute guy a couple of times this evening, but she’s waiting for him to be the gentleman and make the first move to speak. As Adam stands up to get the next round she hears laughter from behind her and sees Matty flirting with some girl. She turns to Adam, “Get me a vodka shot, too.”

Adam really shouldn’t be encouraging her to drink anything that strong, but after clocking on to what Matty was doing he immediately adds it to the list of drinks he’s ordering. When it slides in front of her it’s down her throat practically before it’s even stopped sliding her direction. Ross grips her arm and laughs but she pays no mind to him, distracted by the bitter taste in her mouth, she’d be convinced the bitter taste wasn’t coming from the liquor. Eyeing the way Matty’s arm slings around the girl and his shoulders look slightly less tense she turns to search the crowd of people, looking for the guy who was eye-fucking her earlier. She leaps out the barstool when she sees him, throwing everything about wishing he was gentlemanly out the window. “Hi, I’m Sadie.”

“Theo, nice to meet you. I was gonna come over in a bit but here you are, like a dream in front of me.” Sadie laughs probably louder than she should’ve at this, hand coming down on his arm. At this Theo notices the lack of drink in her hand and rests a hand on her lower back, “Shall we go get you something to drink? On me, of course.” She lets him lead her back to all her friends, narrowly avoiding them as he leans over the bar to order her an espresso martini. She does not like espresso martinis.

“Thank you. I noticed your accent, Australian, right? What are you doing in England?” The small talk flows quite freely between the two as they exchange careers and anecdotes, Sadie finds it easy to talk to him. Not as easy as any of her actual friends but it’s good enough. She has to hold her breath anytime she takes a drink but they’re free, so she isn’t saying anything. Matty catches her eye for the first time since being distracted by the girl on his lap, when he catches a glimpse of the blonde boy standing next to her he shakes his head. She scowls at him and turns back to the boy, a bit closer than she was before.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Maybe back to my hotel?” Sadie doesn’t really hear him, she sees Matty shaking her head at something the girl is saying and when she starts shouting at him Sadie knows he’d just been asked the same question she has. Matty makes fleeting eye contact with her, making a look that reads ‘I dare you’. Turning back to Theo she nods her head, smiling up at the smug look on his face, shoving his arm slightly. She finishes her drink with a slight gag and grips onto his arm as he leads her out the front.

“How far is your hotel?” She’d love to know why she feels guilty.

Sadie’s sitting on the doorstep to their flat building with mascara staining her cheeks. When she’d gotten back to Theo’s hotel she experienced something akin to a panic attack and basically ran out of there, he’d chased her just to make sure she was okay and when all she said was, “It isn’t your fault,” he knew that it was the other guy from the bar holding her back, the one from her friend group, “I just have to get back to my flat.”

Feeling nothing less than mortified, she couldn’t bring herself to go in, so she was sitting smoking on the doorstep with the entire evening playing on a loop in her head. Dropping her head to her knees with a sigh she let one more tear fall before putting out her cig with her shoe and opening the door behind her. When she opens the door to the flat she’s met with silence, unsure if anyone’s home until she hears George snoring and a strum of a guitar in the room next to hers. Upon realising he’s the only other person awake she admits defeat and heads to her own room.

After brushing her teeth in the bathroom and grabbing water and some painkillers from the kitchen, she opens her bedroom door to Matty standing, staring down at her. Shutting the door behind her she looks up at him with a fixed glare, silently wishing he’d brush past her and shut the door so she could sleep. But no, as she shuts the door behind her she finds herself slammed against it. “You’re so fucking pathetic, Sades.” It might be the slight buzz she still feels in her head, but his words paired with his hands on her hips hit her right in her core, feeling like her head is about to float right off her shoulders.

“Matty, you’re just here to fuck with my head.” She really tried to make her words believable but the way she trails off into a whine makes it seem quite the opposite. The way in which her body always reacts to him the way he wants will forever make her angry, staring up at him trying to keep her glare steady on her face. It proves hard when Matty’s face moves down to her neck, attacking it with his lips, practically taunting her by the way he leans back up to swallow the moan that leaves her mouth.

She fights her body, trying her hardest to not kiss him back, but the way his tongue is licking into her mouth makes her desperate for anything he’ll give her. “Think you can just go fuck anyone, hmm? You’re wrong, angel. Belong to me, don’t you?” The scowl that takes over her features makes him smirk down at her. “Pretty when you’re angry. Gonna let me show you who you belong to?” She doesn’t want to nod but of course her body is doing things without her brains consent. To be fair said brain is actively turning to mush and melting out of her ears.

“Matty, please. Hurting my head.” After a quick glance up from her neck, he realises she doesn’t mean that literally, but instead she means that his actions are confusing her. He’s too in the moment to care, dragging her to the bed to put her out of her misery. The feeling of the mattress on her back makes her sigh in pleasure, he smirks down at her, working his hands under her, way too big, jumper as he hovers over her, moving down at a teasingly slow pace. She writhes on the bed until his hands take a strong grip of her hips, dragging them to the bottom of the bed before holding her in place as he kisses from her knee to her thigh. “Fuck, why do you always come crawling back to me? Just told me you can’t fuck me anymore.”

“I can’t get enough.” Letting go of her hips to move her panties down her thighs, her hands whip to his hair as she feels a puff of cold air blown onto her clit, her heart stopping in her chest at the feeling. He growls into her dripping cunt, licking a stripe up it before feeling her thighs squeeze his face, moving his hands round them to keep them apart. “Be good. Keep quiet. Maybe I’ll let you cum.” The whine that leaves her mouth is involuntarily and goes against what he’d just said, she knows she’s fucking in for it now.

Lowering her voice to a whisper she leans up onto her elbows, “Matty, do something.” Brown eyes looking into her blue ones with a teasing glint he gives her another kitten lick and her elbows give out on her, back arching from the mattress. The teasing pace of his tongue is making the whole ‘keep quiet’ thing impossible for Sadie, her entire fist is in her mouth at this point and her brain is wondering where on earth he learned how to do this. Sure, he’s eaten her out many times before, but this is her first time realising how good at it he’d gotten. “Please, stop teasing.”

Humming into her wetness, he ponders on whether he should give her more or not. Does she deserve it? “Me stop teasing you? Oh, angel. Take your own advice.” Something about the way she whimpers spurs him on to, in fact, stop teasing. Giving in to her immediately, his tongue finds her clit and picks up the pace by the most miniscule amount. Unwrapping one of his hands from her thigh, his fingers find her entrance, ever teasing, but finding their way in after she hisses down at him to stop.

When he parts for a breather Sadie can see her slick on his chin and the sight brings out something carnal in her. She grabs his chin and pulls him up to her level, smashing their lips together as if they’re running out of time. Pulling away from her, Matty looks down at her, jaw slightly slack. “Like tasting yourself? What do you want, angel? Speak to me.” His digits still slipping deeper into her makes it incredibly difficult for her to formulate words, after whining at him and being met with a cocked eyebrow, she manages.

“Want you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just fuck me, Matty.” He doesn’t relent. Hands speeding up, kisses draped across her neck, his other hand finding it’s way up her jumper, squeezing her tits. Determined to pull at least one orgasm from her before giving in to what she wants. He groans into her neck when he feels how tight she’s squeezing his two fingers. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Let go then, angel. Give it to me, all over my fingers, gonna make a mess?” Frantically nodding, she feels her brain fading away into nothingness before his lips wrap around hers. Laying still, not kissing back, her orgasm takes over her being, Matty practically chews her moans with his teeth as if they were tangible. With a whine she rips his hand from between her thighs and finally gives in to the feeling of his lips on hers, kissing back with fervour. He pulls away to glance at his fingers, smothered in her arousal, the sight alone would’ve made him hard if he wasn’t already. Opening her mouth without having to be told to, she takes his two fingers into her mouth, sucking tiredly at them. “You tired?” Taking his hand out of her mouth to hear her reply, he smiles down at her blown out pupils.

“Fuck me, please.” Sometimes she can’t help but make the same mistakes.

Sadie had woken up hours ago. Some sick part of her is forcing her to stay in bed, under his arms, in his t-shirt. There’s an air of domesticity surrounding the pair, the way his dark eyelashes flutter slightly in his sleep has Sadie enamoured. Silently wishing things could be easier, with a sigh. Her brain starts to ponder on where things went wrong, and who might’ve been at fault, when she didn’t like the conclusion she came to she shut her eyes. Matty must’ve felt the way her body shook slightly, waking up slowly with a long stretch. “What you crying for?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezes his arms slightly tighter around her and wipes a tear from her cheek, unable to stop the concerned expression from taking over his features. Rubbing a soothing hand down her back, he shushes her until she’s calm, looking down at her slightly with an encouraging glint in his eye. “I just feel shit about the point we’ve gotten to. Wish we were 16 again.”

“Angel, don’t feel shit. I’ve been a dick to you recently and I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to speak to you anymore.” Sadie nods against his arm at his words, the soft smile taking over his face makes her feel at home. He looks like he’s 18 again in the mornings. It makes Sadie feel a bit sick.

“I don’t know how to speak to you either. We’ve spent everyday together for as long as I can remember, but it’s like you changed without me realising.” Matty hanging off of every word she says enhances the sick feeling in her stomach and she looks away from him. Grabbing her water from the bedside table she cradles her headache with her other hand and hears Matty laughing at her from behind. Putting her water back down she hits his chest and stands up. “I can’t have this conversation with you. I think I need to fucking find my own place. Then Ross and Adam can actually have their own rooms instead of being forced to share. Think it would be best for everyone.” Being met with a head of curls frantically shaking, she sighs.

“You can’t.”

“I will. Watch me.”

#dont ask why it took me so long to write this #sadie can do no wrong btw #matty healy #matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #cigs&wine #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #writing #george daniel #ross macdonald

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lottiecrabie · 5 months

Text

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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wreckedandpolemic · 1 month

Text

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life.

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan.

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back.

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess. Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips.

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly.

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly.

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides.

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour.

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

#the instalove is instaloving STRONG here loool #why is this longer than my Actual Novel that im writing so far #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #writing #smut #white and gold

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sugar-coat-it · 2 months

Text

Body piercer! Matty part 2

Part 1

WE ARE SO BACKKK!! and, as promised, with filth

Fem! reader

Contains: Meet cute date, ADHD brain dork Matty, Matty being a boob guy, piercing play, praise, Matty’s pierced tongue <3, possessiveness, oral sex (f receiving), touch of spit play, titty fucking, cum play?, finger sucking

Word count: 5,092

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PART TWO- You've been set up on a blind date with the gorgeous man who pierced your nipples. Surprise!

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You’re not entirely sure whether to call this a cruel joke or a goddamn blessing, it may be too soon to tell as the both of you just stare at each other. In order to identify him, you were informed that your date would be wearing some metal band t-shirt. To ensure you weren’t being delusional, you glanced down to see that that was exactly what he had on, along with that same chain he’d worn the day you met. Matty looks like he’s doing the exact same thing, trying to figure out if this is some odd coincidence, or if you’d really been set up on a date together. There’s no question that when your eyes meet a second time, you both know it’s the latter. He approaches the table slowly, a charming smile of disbelief on his lips, like he’d run into an old friend. You’re pretty sure your expression is more one of shock and denial that you’re face to face with the man who’s already seen your tits and watched you cry when he pierced them. Together, those practically add up to third base.

“Now, this is a surprise. I remember you, you came into the shop a few weeks back, yeah?” he says before cocking his head towards the empty seat in front of you, “May I?”

You’re silent for a couple of seconds like your mouth hasn’t caught up with your brain. Mentally kicking yourself, you shake your head quickly to get out of the haze. You motion for him to sit down, sputtering out a “Hi, yes, of course!”, likely sounding all too eager. He shoots an amused glance at you before settling in across from you, his eyes darting across the room for a few moments as a testament to his overactive mind. You feel an unexplainable rush when those gentle brown eyes finally settle on you, stifling any effort your brain was making to try and come up with something to say. Silence. Dry-mouthed, you land on:

“... is this too awkward of a situation?”

“I dunno. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” he shrugs, but he seems equally unsure about how to navigate this, “I don’t think it’s awkward.”

Awkward is starting to no longer feel like a real word the more it’s said.

“Right…” you trail off, your eyes starting to drift to the floor.

Suddenly, Matty snaps his fingers, his eyes widening like he’s just gotten the best idea ever, making your gaze flick back to him with surprise.

“Okay, how’s this: we pretend we’ve never met and I’ve never seen your… erm, you get the idea. Right, ready?” he explains rapidly, now holding his hand out to you enthusiastically, “Hello, I’m Matty, it’s lovely to meet you, you look very nice.”

You laugh with disbelief at his sudden burst of energy, tentatively reaching to hold his hand in return, giving it a firm shake. Maybe this won’t be so uncomfortable after all.

“Hi Matty,” you smile, offering your name in return before letting go of his hand, feeling some of the tension melt away from your rigid posture.

“Good, now that’s out of the way. I’d really like to know more about you if that’s okay, pretty stranger I’ve never met before,” he grins, leaning his head against his hand like he’s preparing to pay full attention to whatever you tell him.

You do just that, and he nods along, interjecting occasionally with his own anecdotes. You learn a lot of things about Matty too over the course of the date. One of them is that when he really gets going about something, he stammers because he talks so fast. Little details that only make you find him more charming. It’s funny how quickly he turned from what felt like a figment of your imagination to something tangible. He’s no longer just the face of your fantasy, the depth of his personality is immense, you can tell just from the short time you’ve spent together. You find yourself more curious about him than anyone you’ve ever met. You want to tear him open.

Conversations flow freely, there’s nothing strained about the date, you can tell he feels the same, his pretty brown eyes shining with mirth, crinkled at the corners when he laughs. The drinks you’d ordered are long finished and paid for (by him, at his insistence) by the time the lively chatting starts winding down into a comfortable quiet.

“Y’know, I did kinda hope I’d see you again,” he says softly, almost shyly as he breaks the silence between you.

“Yeah, I did too. I’ve thought about it a little too much, probably,” you chuckle, your cheeks warming at his sentimental admission.

“Are we done pretending we’re strangers now?” he smiles, a toothy, boyish smile.

“I think we are, yeah. If so, can I ask why you didn’t ask me out that day?” you ask, getting right to the heart of the matter.

Matty looks up at the ceiling for a moment, his lips pressing together into a thin line as he tries to conjure an excuse but comes up blank, fidgeting with the silver chain around his neck.

“I don’t really know. Well, I think part of it was that I was supposed to be takin’ care of you, in a way? Like, you were in my hands, I didn’t want to weird you out, be the creep that pierces your tits then asks you on a date. Especially cause you didn’t want a bloke piercing you in the first place, d’you know what I mean?” he rambles, making many big motions with his hands, “and… I dunno, you’re very pretty.”

His voice lowers with a shrug on the last part like it’s a secret just between you and him, looking a little hesitant like he believes he’s just bared too much of himself to you. God, he’s fucking lovely.

“I get it, Matty,” you nod, reaching for one of his hands that’s resting on the table.

Matty nods back at you slowly, seeming to be processing the way you’re not put off by his talkative tendencies. He turns his hand over to properly hold yours, giving it a squeeze to show his appreciation. He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell it means a lot to him that you listen to him.

“Well,” he starts, clearing his throat, “I still ended up on a date with you anyway. Pretty fucking mint.”

“Yeah, pretty fucking mint,” you repeat with a snort.

Matty glances around the cafe, noticing the bustling of the staff cleaning tables and starting to put away the baked goods. Have you really been there that long?

“I suppose they’re starting to close up…” he notes, sounding a little deflated that your date is coming to an end.

“Looks like it,” you hum, fidgeting with your empty cup.

“Can I walk you home, maybe?” he offers, a bit of hope sparking in his sleepy eyes.

Your heart skips a beat at his proposition. It’s not much, but it’s certainly something that could lead to more. The chemistry between you is palpable, neither of you wants this to end; it’s a recipe for the best kind of trouble.

You leave the cafe together with Matty at your side, his hands shoved in his pockets as you lead the way. The walk is quiet, but you can tell his mind is racing with just a glance, he’s fidgeting with something in his pockets with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He’s so cool, but you’d never imagined him to be so hyperactive, it’s a wonder that he keeps his hands so steady when he works. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think it was endearing, finding yourself wondering what was going on in that head of his. Before you can even open your mouth to ask, he starts to tell you a story about his job, prattling on while including a bunch of technical piercing terms that you know nothing about. You just gaze up at him, infatuated as you reach to cling to his arm the whole way back. You need this man (and his rambling) terribly.

“This is me,” you say when you stop in front of your home, motioning to the quaint apartment building.

Your voice is almost hesitant, like you wish you lived a little further so you could keep chatting. You’re already internally debating inviting him up, remembering that your roommate should still be out for the day. How are you supposed to ask him that? You’re feeling a little out of practice with being smooth.

“Right… well, this was really nice,” he nods, trying to keep his cool, but he’s smiling at you with such sweetness that he’s blowing his own cover.

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, his smile so infectious that you can’t help but return it.

There are a few moments of quiet, the sense that something else could happen lingers in the air as Matty toes at the pavement with his boot. You shatter the silence with a question you don’t really know how to phrase other than just spitting it out.

“Would you want to come up?”

He blinks at you a few times before smiling, scratching the back of his neck as he tries not to appear too elated.

“Yeah, I would.”

The moment you’re both inside your apartment, he’s reaching to cup your cheeks, backing you up against the door, getting so close that you can feel his warm breaths against your lips. Your eyes are lidded as you stare at his mouth, your cheeks prickling with heat at just the feeling of him holding your face. You feel like your skin is buzzing with anticipation as Matty swallows thickly, want is plastered all over his face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, always the gentleman.

You nod quickly, your hands snaking up his chest to rest at the back of his neck, the tip of his mohawk tickling your fingers. Without another moment to spare, he leans in and presses his lips to yours, both of your eyes fluttering shut as the tension between you bursts, fizzling under your skin. The kiss starts slow as he slots his lips against yours, his thumb tentatively running over your cheek as he draws in deep breaths of you. Your lips begin to lock more eagerly within moments, you’re no longer looking to taste but to devour. The tip of Matty’s tongue drags along your bottom lip sensually and you allow him to lick into your mouth, swallowing up your gasp as need festers within you. Messily, you start shedding jackets and shoes while being unable to keep your hands off of each other. Rushed kisses are exchanged as Matty stumbles, leaning down to unlace his boots while his other hand grasps your waist. His shoes land on the floor with a clunk as he stands back up to his full height, pulling you flush against his body by your ass. The whole thing is awfully reminiscent of two horny teenagers dying to explore each other for the first time, the thought has you giddily smiling into the kiss. Matty doesn’t even know what you’re smiling about, but he’s doing it right back, giving your backside a playful squeeze just to hear you squeak against his mouth.

You lead him by the hand to your room, it's dizzying how quickly making out has turned to you underneath him on your bed, the both of you topless with roaming hands. He makes quick work of snaking his hands around your back, unclasping your bra, and sliding it down your shoulders.

“Fuck… there she is. Y’know, these are some of my best work, I’d say,” Matty muses proudly, reaching out to cup your breasts in his hands.

It’s completely unlike when he’d touched you in the shop. He puts his whole bare hands on you keenly instead of only touching you when necessary, avoiding even brushing you with his knuckles. You sigh with relief, arching into his palms as your daydreams play out in real-time, it’s all so much better than you’d imagined. Matty stares down at your tits with a pleased smile, clearly happy to see your chest again. He massages them with his hands for a few moments before taking them off of you to get a good look at the piercings. Oh so gently, he splays his fingers out at your sides, settling his thumb over one of your nipples. You expect him to start to tweak and pull at it, but instead, he gently rolls the pad of his thumb against the bud, letting out a hum of satisfaction as you suck in a sharp breath. It’s so much yet so little at the same time.

“You’re teasing,” you accuse softly, your breath catching in your throat at just how much more sensitive to the touch your piercings have made you.

“Teasing? I’m just making sure they’re properly healed, don’t want it to hurt, sweetheart,” he reassures, an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes as he slowly runs his thumb in little feather-light swirls over the peak of your breast.

Finally, when he’s decided you’ve gone through enough torture by his hand, Matty begins to tweak the piercing, flicking the barbell with his thumb just to watch you squirm underneath him. Warmth flushes through your body like a thunderous wave, your toes curling reflexively. You gasp at the unfamiliarly strong sensation, your fingers curling to grasp his arms tighter as he toys with you.

“How’s that feeling?” he asks, his voice low, gravely.

“It’s good…” you mumble, your chest heaving slightly as you feel a harsh pang of need resounding through your body, between your legs.

“Good. And this?” he continues before suddenly pinching your nipple meanly between his thumb and forefinger.

You jolt as he pulls a sharp moan from you, your back arching at the new rush of hot, tingly pain. You’ve never in your life felt a sensation so powerful, so mind-numbing from only your breasts, and it’s fucking incredible. You’re staring at Matty with wonderment like he’s some kind of deity, begging him to show you more of the potential of your own body. He’s guiding you through the storm, soothing the ache with two gentle fingers circling the hardened bud. Matty clicks his tongue, his darkened eyes burning into you.

“Asked you a question. Did you like that?” he chides, pinching your pierced nipple between his calloused fingers a second time.

“Fuck! Yes, yes, I liked it!” you cry, your body writhing beneath his weight.

“Atta girl… keep using your words for me, okay? Much better that way.”

It seems his silver tongue that day at the parlor wasn’t just a one-off, he’s talented with words and you’re dying to hear more. He leans in, pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts, trailing up until his lips are settled over your other, neglected nipple. Matty sticks his tongue out, tracing the peak of your breast with his tongue, flashing his tongue piercing to you in the process. Fucking obscene.

“Was fuckin’ dreaming of doing this,” he mumbles before delving into you, licking a drawn-out stripe across your flesh.

Your eyes widen as you feel the metal stud of his tongue piercing pass over your nipple, letting out a breathy moan as he maintains unwavering eye contact with you while doing it. He groans as if your skin is the best thing he’s ever tasted, continuing to tweak your other nipple while taking this one between his lips, sucking gently while flicking his pierced tongue against you. Your hips rock forward automatically, finding a slow, rolling pace in search of anything that will relieve the throbbing between your thighs. Matty smirks against your skin as you start to grind into him, allowing himself to meet your rhythm. His growing erection is pressing into your thigh now, the friction between you just made the room feel much hotter.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, not daring to break his gaze.

You thread your fingers into his fluffy mohawk, keeping a hold on his head as he continues to ravish you, his breath hot and fanning across your skin. His tongue piercing clashes against the barbell through your nipple, tugging at it amidst the wet warmth of his mouth. A harshness overcomes his features as he pulls away, dragging his tongue up the expanse of your chest to the column of your neck, his mouth right by the shell of your ear.

“You know, when you walked out of there, the only thing I could think was some fuckin’ dickhead who wouldn’t know how to treat you would get to touch these and not me. Drove me fucking mental,” he rasps lowly, his teeth baring as his upper lip twitches with irritation at the mere thought of it.

He tugs at one of your piercings roughly, making your hips buck forward as you let out a sharp cry. Matty just smiles cockily, leaning down to kiss it better, pressing his lips to your breast apologetically.

“I don’t want anyone else to touch them,” you murmur, tightening your fingers in his hair, earning a little groan from him.

“No? Just me?” he coos, reaching to grasp your jaw possessively, “you’re right, baby, I should be the only one who gets to appreciate my handiwork, don’t you think?”

You just nod obediently, feeling a strong pulse between your thighs as the heat continues to pool inside you. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the way he so easily weakens your resolve to nothing. You turn your cheek towards his thumb resting at your jaw, pressing a kiss to the digit while blinking up at him with your best “fuck me”-eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he sighs, running his thumb over your pliant bottom lip, “can I make you feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please touch me, Matty,” you whisper while he pulls at your bottom lip with his thumb.

“God,” Matty groans, “this is going to be very fun if you keep talking like that.”

He begins kissing his way down your body, mapping you out with his skilled lips and hands. His fingers settle at your hips, hooking under your legs so he has a better angle to get between them. Your breath hitches as you realize what he’s doing, something that most men only reluctantly offer.

“You don’t have to-” you start to say, cut off by your breath hitching when he bites at your inner thigh.

“No, I don’t have to,” he interjects, now licking over where he’d marked you with his teeth, “but I really, really want to.”

With no protests from you, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your panties, right over where you’d soaked a damp spot into them. You squirm slightly as he drags his lips up to your clothed clit, making a show of looking up at you while he does so. You’re aching for him, there’s no doubt that he can feel the pulses between your legs against his mouth. Matty slowly hooks one of his fingers into the ruined fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side.

“Oh, baby…” he moans approvingly, his eyes lidded with lust.

You catch the way Matty grinds his hips down into the mattress at the sight of you, but just once, just enough to take the edge off with some friction against the straining in his pants. You can’t help but feel flattered at his eagerness, pride swelling in your chest. Wasting no time, Matty delves between your thighs, parting your honeyed folds with his tongue until he finds your clit. Immediately, he latches onto it with his lips, sucking and swirling the tip of his tongue around the swollen bud. You cry out, your hips arching off of the bed just for him to push them back down firmly. His tongue stud feels even better nudging against your clit than it did your nipples, that little silver ball stealing your breath from your lungs. Matty moans against your cunt, his eyes rolling back slightly as he eagerly laps between your legs, he’s eating you like he wants to drown in you.

“Tastes fucking divine…” he murmurs, making your head spin with the languid circles of his tongue.

You curse under your breath, clutching at his shoulder for dear life as your hips start to wantonly roll forward against his mouth. You’re hurtling towards release almost shamefully quickly, your thighs clamping around his head, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. It’s all gathering and tightening inside you quickly, compounding with every swipe of his practiced tongue. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the flames lit and fanned by the man buried between your thighs.

“Matty- Matty, I’m close,” you warn, your nails digging into his shoulders with widened eyes.

Matty rears back for a moment and shushes your whimpers of protest as he stares up at you, gathering saliva on his tongue before spitting on your pussy, then rubbing it into your clit with his thumb. You can’t help but moan at how filthy his little move was, watching in shock as he immediately goes back to ruining you with his mouth.

“Good fucking girl, c’mon, give it to me,” Matty rasps against you, his eyes lighting up with intensity as he watches you near the edge.

Your body writhes, you’re gasping for air amidst the sheer euphoria building to a high. Your orgasm rips through you like sparks exploding under your skin. Your hips lift from the mattress, stuttering and bucking while your mouth opens with a broken cry, his name like a mantra on your lips. Your cunt flutters and throbs, sensations emanating through you in electric waves. Matty watches you like it’s a damn privilege to watch you fall apart, his eyes trained on your every reaction as he eases you through your climax. He continues his ministrations until you whine, pushing his head away from between your trembling thighs. He smirks up at you with a glistening chin and lips, looking very happy with himself.

“H-holy shit,” you gape, dazed as you chase your breath with a heaving chest, loosening your vice grip on him.

“Mm, could do that all fuckin’ night with a cunt like that,” he sighs, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

You shudder at his words, clambering to pull him back up and smash your lips to his, tasting your arousal that’s heavy on his lips and tongue. The high from your orgasm lingers, clouding your head pleasantly as Matty hums contently into the kiss, pushing damp, stray strands of hair behind your ear, his lips moving with equal fervency. You haven’t forgotten about his pleasure, not in the least, and how could you when he’s rock hard against your thigh? You’d like nothing more than to return the favor, and you have just the thing in mind.

“Matty,” you whisper, pulling away from the kiss to cup his pretty face in your hands, “I know how much you like my tits. Do you think you’d like to… use them?”

“Are you asking me to fuck your tits, sweetheart?” he grins breathlessly, his eyebrows shooting upwards with surprise.

You nod, chewing at your lip as you get flustered by your own suggestion. Matty groans lowly, his cock twitching in his baggy pants at your confirmation. He leans in, peppering little kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, and nose.

“Shit, I think I’d love nothing more, actually. Can I really?” he asks between thankfully pressing his lips to your face.

“Yeah, please, want you to,” you smile, giggling at his pure excitement, wrapping your arms around his neck to toy with his hair.

Giddily, he places one last kiss on the tip of your nose before getting up to undo his pants, fumbling with the zipper with how damn thrilled he is to get his hands on you. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as anticipation blooms when he finally succeeds. Matty pushes them down his legs and flings them to the side, leaving him in just his briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. You swallow hard at the sight, the outline of his aching cock is clear beneath the dark fabric, damp spots of precum soaked into them near his tip. Clearly, he really enjoyed eating you out, and he’s not ashamed of it in the slightest. Slowly, he eases his thumbs under the elastic waistband, your eyes following the expanse of his V line, decorated with a colorful rose tattoo. Matty pulls his underwear the rest of the way down, knowing damn well that you’re going to like what you see. Heat rushes to your face, your thighs pressing together at how gorgeous he is, your reaction only heightening as he reaches to lazily stroke himself, hissing as he runs his thumb against the weeping tip to slick the surface of his shaft. He winks at you slyly, his ego sufficiently fluffed by the time he lets go of his cock to crawl over to you. He guides you down to your knees at the edge of the bed, him sitting before you with spread legs. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable, Matty flashes a little smile down at you, reaching to cup your cheek encouragingly. Your own smile wobbles with adoration as you lean in, letting his length rest between your tits before pushing them together, enveloping his cock.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it. Keep ‘em just like that, that’s my girl,” he praises, tossing his head back with how good your plush, full breasts feel around him.

He begins to buck his hips upward slowly, sighing out as you keep your tits pressed tightly between your hands, creating the perfect little space for him. Matty groans, watching as the tip of his cock drives between your perfect breasts, his precum spreading against your skin. He has to clench his fist hard into the sheets to prevent himself from bursting within the first fifteen seconds of glory, he’s going to make this last as long as he possibly can withstand.

“How’s it feel that I’ve marked you for forever, hm? Hickeys fade, but these…” he pants, reaching to grab at one of your piercings, “these aren’t going anywhere, isn’t that right?”

You whine as he pinches at the barbell, nodding at him dumbly while he talks.

“Mine,” he says pointedly, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips.

The revelation of how he’s laid claim to you in a way no other lover ever can has your mind reeling as you begin to move in time with his thrusts, your tits bouncing with your combined efforts to get him off. Matty lets out a shuddering moan, running his thumb over your cheek as he goes faster now, snapping his hips up again and again, relentlessly chasing his high.

“Dirty girl, lettin’ me use you like this, so good to me,” he murmurs through gritted teeth.

He keeps going till he gets to the point where he can no longer stave off his orgasm, the view in front of him is simply too pornographic, he’s dying for relief. The bed creaks with Matty’s movements, his hips stuttering as he begins to lose his frankly impressive rhythm. He hisses out a string of curses, nearing his edge as he rakes his hand through his mohawk to keep it out of his eyes. The silver chain around his neck bounces against his chest with his body's rhythm.

“Getting close. You want me to finish all on your tits, angel? Paint those pretty piercings with my cum?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

You nod quickly, eyes wide and expectant. That’s all he needs to pull his dick out from between your breasts, hurriedly pumping himself with his lower lip caught between his teeth, moaning and shuddering as he fists his cock. Matty lets out one final, guttural sound as he spills across your chest, hot spurts of his milky cum adorning your skin. You gasp at how lewd it all is, feeling yourself getting soaked all over again as you take his release, all while he cups your face with juxtaposing sweetness.

“Fuuuuck, that was hot,” he drawls, letting go of his length to bend down and press a kiss to the top of your head, his nose buried in your hair as he breathes deeply.

When he sits back up, Matty reaches to gather some of the pearly ropes splayed across your chest on his fingers, holding them to your mouth. Obediently, you open, allowing his digits to press past your lips for you to clean. You swirl your tongue around his thick fingers with a whimper, sucking till every trace of his cum is down your throat. He hums, satisfied at your compliance as he withdraws them from your mouth, wiping your spit on his inner thigh. Then, Matty crooks his finger at you, motioning for you to get up off of your knees and come to him. You move without hesitation, standing to wrap your arms around him as he helps you straddle his waist. Both of your faces are flushed with a sheen of sweat, making you almost glow under the low light of your bedroom. Neither of you can remember the last time you felt so satisfied. He glances down at your breasts again, smirking like he’s admiring his masterpiece.

“Now that’s a sight, innit?” he notes smugly.

You just shove his shoulder playfully, which makes his bright laughter ring throughout the room, wrapping his arms around you for a tight embrace. He ruffles your hair gently, the both of you sharing a blissful come-down from the high.

“You were so perfect,” he whispers, sounding a little in awe of you.

“So were you,” you smile into his neck, running your fingers down his back, feeling each bone of his spine beneath his warm skin.

You stay just like that for a bit longer, breathing each other in. Something about the intimacy of this moment tells you that this wasn’t just a one-time thing. Not with the way he holds you like he doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers. He runs his hands up your arms tenderly, leaning back to look you in the face before he speaks, making you ponder how long those sleepy-looking eyes might stay in your life.

“Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

—-----------------------------

Tried to make the date lore accurate, bro loves to talk

While I don’t think there's more to the story, I could be convinced otherwise, perhaps! Either way, I'm sure there will be blurbs about him

Thank you so much for all the support with this fic, it was so so fun to write <3 <3 <3

#body piercer!matty #WHEEEEW #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fic #is this shit. it could in fact be shit.

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abiiors · 6 months

Text

everything is blue ✨ // matty healy x reader

a/n: nnn. that's it, that't the plot. gotta thank @theungracefulgrace for the idea, i hope i did it justice <3 cw: smut, thigh riding and matty is a bit pathetic in this lmao, maybe even subby??? is this my subby matty debut??? wc: 1.9k (smaller than i thought actually...)

“you two are disgusting,” george snickers from behind his drums as you make your way onto matty’s lap.

it’s light-hearted and teasing—your friend taking the piss out of both of you but matty scoffs and you stick your tongue out.

“jealous,” you tease, “i’m going to wait until charli shows up and then we’ll talk.”

“yeah let’s talk then, mate,” matty quips from next to you and it only takes him another second to push his hands inside your t-shirt and place them on your bare stomach, almost caressing your ribs.

it tickles and you squirm away, alerting george once more.

“not going to start snogging in front of me, are you?” he turns around making an exaggerated vomiting gesture and scrunches his face at you. matty, almost predictably, takes that as a challenge.

within moments, you feel his fingers lightly closing around your jaw, turning your face and capturing your lips in his. matty’s chest is pressed against your arm and his heartbeat echoes through your entire body, thrilling you to your very core when you feel the slight spike in it as your tongue grazes his bottom lip. his other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer as matty deepens the kiss and hums in your mouth, sending vibrations through your entire body. in turn your heart skips a beat. you don’t break apart until you hear a loud cough in the vicinity. and george stares back at both of you, truly disgruntled now.

“bleurgh,” he makes a face. “like i said, digusting.”

“and like she said,” matty snorts, “jealous.”

“simp!”

“idiot!”

“oh, very clever mate!”

“oh—”

“alright, that’s it!” you interrupt matty before he can retort any further and he glares at you in return. “you’re fighting like twelve year olds.”

matty smirks. “weren’t snogging me like—”

you clamp your hand over matty’s mouth before he can finish his vulgar sentence earning you two juvenile giggles—one slightly muffled by your hand.

“you are like an animal,” george teases again, earning an expression of utter betrayal from matty.

“how dare yo—”

“prove it then!” he challenges. his mouth curls into a smirk and your eyes narrow. you know this expression on george. you know he’s up to something.

“we are in november,” he grins cheekily. “the month of chastity and all.”

“can it!” you warn but it’s too late. matty’s smirk already mirrors george’s. you can practically see the cogs turning in their heads and you know what’s about to happen.

“a bet,” george shifts in his seat looking eager and devious. matty does the same, gently setting you off his lap and placing a quick apologetic kiss on your head when you protest.

“a bet,” he repeats.

and then with utter disgust, you watch the two men in front of you spit on their hands and shake on their deal.

at first it’s fun—watching him turn red and squirm every time you get out the shower with just a towel wrapped around you. a few times, you even see him immediately sit on his hands or busy himself in his phone, making you giggle. the few times after that, he leaves the room entirely—practically running away like a virgin catholic school boy.

the first few days are okay, fun even. you send him a selfies—towel just high enough for your nipples to be covered, barely covering your ass, showing its curve very well with the way you pose; on your bed, wearing his t-shirt and only his t-shirt, hand buried suggestively between your thighs—matty threatens to block you, accusing you of wanting to make him lose.

he kisses you like usual, though. that’s the one thing he can’t stop doing. if anything, it feels like his mouth is attached to yours any chance he gets. it’s like he’s compensating, even letting you straddle him and deepen it until he has to pull away with a pained expression.

“how would george know?!” you whine and watch him pout.

“trust me, he would,” matty sighs, shoulders slumping, “i would stop looking so fucking miserable for one.”

you fume quietly, realising you let yourself become collateral damage. he is so close that his cologne permeates your fucking lungs—earthy, sweet and matty. always surrounded by the smell of cigarettes and now his body wash that’s somehow become the most enticing scent in the world.

“can’t lose one week in, baby.” his face pinches into one big sad expression and you frown at him.

one whole week of being so close to him and cuddling at night in bed, one week of feeling his leg part your thighs in his sleep, of feeling his thigh graze against your clit and making you hiss. one week of having him right here but not having him at all.

you shift on his lap, feeling the coarse material of his jeans against the insides of your thighs—not that you’re wearing much, just a big t-shirt and underwear, while he’s still in his jeans and t-shirt and not yet ready for bed—and an idea sparks.

“so don’t lose,” you smirk, moving again, straddling him with a hand on his chest. “the bet was for you to not cum. i am nowhere mentioned in it.”

“what a-are you doing?” matty stutters. he actually fucking stutters, eyes wide and roaming all over your body, particularly focused on where you’re pressed up on his thigh and already on your way to discarding your underwear.

“what does it look like i’m doing, baby?” you lift up slightly, quickly sliding your underwear off and deliberately stuffing it in the pocket of his jeans.

he whines and the muscles of his thigh shift right under your bare cunt.

as if on auto-pilot, his hands grip either sides of your waist, pressing you down onto him even though his face looks utterly devastated and hungry.

“maybe i could do this with your pillow instead, hmm? cum all over it while thinking about you?” you taunt, gyrating your hips and grinding all over his thigh, already soaking his jeans with how turned on you are. it has the precise effect you’re hoping for.

“no–fuck,” he whines, “stay here. use me, please, but stay here.”

“use you, yeah?” your mouth ghosts over his, hand trailing up his chest and tracing the contours of his throat with your nails, tracing all the delicate veins and the flutter of his rapid pulse. matty’s breath quickens and comes out in sharp pants. it’s almost like he can’t handle it, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

“touch me, touch me please!” he begs, eager and desperate when you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“touch you how?”

instead of answering, matty takes your hand off his throat and presses in on the bulge in his jeans, sighing at the pressure. he’s practically twitching under your hand, squirming even before you’ve properly even touched him.

“can’t lose now, my darling, can you?” you marvel at the way your voice sounds, sultry and dominating with just a hint of condescensation. it’s power like you’ve never felt before. it makes the blood in your veins heat up even more, makes it flow faster.

so you dig the heel of your palm onto his crotch, drag it up and then down and feel him twitch. feel him grow impossibly hard. matty's body shudders on the sofa like he's not even in there—just a puppet lying there pliant for your pleasure.

“but—”

you bend down to kiss him and feel all his complaints die on his lips. matty whimpers, moving his hips against your hand, thrusting forward almost, but you put an end to it almost immediately and laugh when he whines into the kiss.

“i want to cum, fuck, need to so so bad!” his curls droop over his eyes. eyes that stare at you with such blatant lust that it throws you off kilter, almost makes your hips stutter but the pressure feels so good! the friction is enough to reduce every single thought in your brain down to a lumpy mush.

“yeah?” you whisper in a tightly controlled breathy voice, “but you look so pretty when you beg sweet boy.”

he swallows roughly, transfixed on you and looking utterly fucked and unable to do anything other than keep his hands on your hips and help you ride his thigh, let you get off on him while he watches helplessly and writhes under your touch.

“baby…” he whimpers again when you move your free hand through his curls, tugging at some of the strands and pushing them out of his eyes.

your thighs burn with the strain, a delicious fucking ache that starts from deep within you and slowly spreads to the very tips of your fingers and the wet, sticky spot on matty’s jeans grows larger, right as your moans grow louder.

“fuck, matty…” you bend down, mouth right next to his ear, right on his sweat soaked skin, “so fucking good for me, my pretty boy. make–shit! making me feel so good.”

your movements gain speed and you throw your head back, ignoring him entirely and chasing your own pleasure. no doubt he’s rather occupied with your tits bouncing in his face, seeing as how his hand trails up to trace them, to pinch your hard nipples between his fingers.

“shit!” you cry out, “gonna cum baby. make me cum okay? good boy…”

matty’s back arches off the sofa—eager to obey, so so eager to please—pushing your t-shirt up and flicking his tongue over your nipples, nipping them with his teeth. matty alternated between tongue and teeth, licking and sucking the sensitive skin until there are bruised on your breasts, until you can barely distinguish one thought from another. until finally, you tip over the edge.

there’s a moment where all you recall is crying out his name, breathing harsh and uneven, and then a moment stretched on to infinity that’s just pure fucking bliss. undiluted ecstasy. and then your hips finally stutter to a stop, just as you open your eyes hazily.

the sight in front of you almost brings you to your knees again. matty’s jaw hangs open, mouth wet and red and raw and bitten—the absolute portrait of being fucked, and yet he hasn’t even been touched yet. hasn’t shed a single item of clothing. tears of frustration gather in his eyes while his hair falls all over his forehead. he can’t even make a single sound. not even a peep.

this must have been torture for him and you know it. a sadistic side of you even relishes in it. “did you have fun?” you tease. “i certainly did…”

when you kiss matty again, you can physically feel the jolt in his body, as if his heart restarts, thumping in his chest wildly while he’s still speechless and focused entirely on you.

matty makes a broken sound in his throat—somewhere between a “yes” and a “please” and maybe even your name. but you don’t let him finish.

instead, you swipe your fingers through your soaked folds just as the trembling in your body subsides, collecting your slick and bringing it up to his lips that are still parted in shock.

“a little thank you,” you place the fingers on his tongue, laughing when he swirls his tongue around them. “for being such a good boy.”

“a good boy…” he repeats, voice hoarse and barely even audible. and you know the fun is just getting started…

lemme know what you think <33

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toomuchracket · 3 months

Text

and this is how it starts (flatmate!matty x reader smut)

this is quite literally day 1 of the relationship. like, condom-gate was mere hours ago lmao. also, someone said just thinking about flatmate matty and girlie literally just after condom gate and they're sitting on the couch and she's just kissing his neck and making out and he gets all flustered n floaty cos he's waited for this for so long 😕 maybe she teases him for getting hard so quickly and it's just sweet, i love them <3 so it's a bit of that too. enjoy <3

matty's not totally sold on the idea of there being a heaven, but his reasoning against it is weakening with every passing second. after all, what else could the situation he's in right now be, sprawled on the living room sofa with you on his lap and your lips connected? there's no other way of describing it.

he doesn't give a shit about description right now, though. or responsibility, or even time itself. all matty cares about is kissing you, softly moving his hands to rest in previously uncharted places on your body, and getting you to make those little whimpers that draw all the blood from his brain and redirect it to his dick. your hands weave into each other's hair, and an instinctive tug from matty has you pulling back and whining his name. he goes to pout at the removal of your lips from his own, but then you grind down harder onto him and drop your head into the crook of his neck; your lips meet the soft skin of matty's neck, and he can't stop the gasp that rips from his throat (or the hardening in his sweatpants).

holy fuck. in the many (many) dreams matty’s had about your lips, not once has he ever dreamt about them in this location.

what a twat he is.

another choked noise leaves his mouth as your tongue joins the party, and yet another follows when you moan into his skin at the way he clutches desperately at your hips. before he knows it, you're kissing him again, licking into his mouth with such intensity he's half-convinced you're trying to eat him. and he'd let you - his brain and heart have already been consumed by you, after all. why not let you devour him completely?

your teeth sink into matty's lower lip as if you might, and he whines; you giggle against him, and switch your lips back to his neck before repeating the bite, albeit softer on the delicate skin, pulling another wanton moan from him. the pain turns to pleasure in his nerves and ricochets throughout his body so hard that he feels his dick jump, despite the haze of pleasure clouding his senses and brain capacity.

judging by the way you gasp and grind down impossibly further onto your boyfriend, you feel it too. he's aware of your lips peeling from him, and then suddenly your beautiful face appears in his eyeline - your eyes and hair are wild, your lips are swollen from, well, use, and you've never looked more enticing than now. then you smile, and matty has to retract his previous statement. “i didn't know you were so into neck kissing, matthew.”

he's not sure if it's the use of his full name (chiding, teasing, patronising) or the glint in your eye (seldom seen, slightly manic, so fucking flirty) that does it, but matty feels his cheeks flood with colour and heat. you lightly run your thumb across one with a satisfied hum, and matty momentarily forgets how to breathe; when the palm of your hand brushes his throat on its way down to rest on his chest, he almost shuts down completely. but he quickly recovers enough to speak shyly. “isn’t everyone?”

“yeah, but, baby,” you roll your hips slowly against his, groaning quietly as you do, and whisper directly in his ear. “it just got you so fucking hard.”

christ.

matty says as much as he throws his head back against the sofa, and you giggle. he cracks one eye open to look at you, all happiness-glowy and dishevelled in his t-shirt, and he can't help but smile bashfully. “don’t take the piss, sweetheart.”

“i'm not!” you laugh, then smirk. “well, maybe a little bit.”

“fucking knew it,” matty lightly smacks your ass, grabbing the soft flesh and using it as leverage to rock your hips against his. “mocking me for a normal reaction to a kiss in an erogenous zone, you minx.”

“ooh, big word.”

“i’ll smack you again, i mean it.”

“do your worst,” you grin, circling your hips. “although i'll be surprised if you can focus with that - oh, fuck,” your voice trails off into a moan as matty grins and latches his lips onto your neck, sucking a bruise into the lightly-perfumed skin and soothing it with his tongue.

he smirks as he pulls back to admire his work; for all he's dreamed about marking you up as his like this, nothing comes even remotely close to the real thing. “seems to me like someone can't take it as well as she can give it,” matty coos, cupping your jaw and running his thumb over your pouty lips. “that right, baby?”

without breaking eye contact, you flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb - when you hear matty's breath hitch, you slowly slide your lips onto the digit, down to the knuckle, tongue still flicking around it. he swears under his breath, dick harder than he thinks it's ever been, other hand clutching so hard at your ass that he wouldn't be surprised if it bruised. somewhere deep in matty’s mind, there's a little part of him wracked with guilt at the thought of hurting you, sweet, beautiful you, but that part is far overshadowed by just how badly he wants to be inside you right now.

thankfully, you seem to want that too; you release his thumb with a pop and a connecting string of spit, and look doe-eyed at him. he’s not sure if he's ever seen anything so erotic on his life.“no. i can take it, matty.”

something shifts in the air when you say that - it's as if the molecules have gotten heavier, dropping a delicious tension into the atmosphere and knocking all flirty banter to the ground. you're so close he can see himself reflected amidst the desire in your eyes. so close that your breath mingles with his own, hot in the crisp autumn air. so close, and, for the first time, so available for him to touch.

and, god, does he want to touch you.

“you can take it?” matty asks, caressing your cheek and smiling when you nod. “now?”

“please.”

matty groans. “you'll kill me, sweetheart,” he quickly kisses you, smiling into your lips when you moan. “let me take you to bed and you can show me how well you take it, yeah?”

you pout. “wanna stay here.”

“so do i. but we need to go and get a condom, darlin.”

“don't worry,” you lean back slightly and pull the t-shirt over your head in a way matty can only liken to unwrapping a present; he swears when he sees the lacy black bra you're wearing, your tits threatening to spill over its scalloped trim. when you see him looking at your chest, you grin. “like my bra?”

“very much.”

“good. been saving it for you - you know, in case we ever… got to this stage in our relationship.”

matty blinks as the realisation settles in his mind and body. he's so turned on it's almost painful. “really? fuck, baby, that's so hot.”

you shrug bashfully. “got a whole drawer full of pretty underwear i only want you to see. been thinking about this for a while. which reminds me,” you reach into your bra and pull out a small foil square, and hold it up triumphantly. “no need to go to bed!”

matty laughs slightly deliriously. “you had a condom down your bra the whole time? fuck, you really want me, don't you?”

“on this couch, specifically,” you lean in to softly kiss his neck again, then drag your tongue up to whisper in his ear. “dreamt about riding you on it since the day i moved in.”

shit.

his hips buck up at the mere thought, eliciting whines from both of you. “wanna make your dream come true - need it, darlin, need you.”

“fuck,” your hands scramble to pull matty's t-shirt over his head, then pull his face to your own for a searing kiss. it doesn't last long, though, with you soon pulling back to guide matty's hands to the clasp of your bra; he catches on to your ideas quickly, undoing the thing with ease and sliding the bra from your body, while you clumsily balance on one knee at a time to get your panties off. matty huffs out a laugh when you roll your eyes and leave the underwear to dangle on your left calf, and you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. “what?”

“nothing, you're just cute - sit up for me, darlin, so i can lift my hips, thanks,” he replies, shimmying his sweatpants down with a shit-eating grin. “so impatient to fuck me that you can't even properly take your underwear off.”

you raise your eyebrows and tear the condom packet open with your teeth. matty feels his eyes roll back into his head when you finally touch him, pumping his dick three times before rolling the condom onto him - you hum happily at the weight of him in your soft hand. “i don't think i'm the impatient one here, babe.”

you're not wrong. still, disagreeing gives him a perfect excuse to rile you up with a touch, too. “no?” matty tilts his head, sliding a hand across your thigh and between your legs; before you can react, he slides a finger along your slit, catching the sticky arousal and dipping into your dripping cunt. your reaction - a shaky whimper - is incredible, almost as incredible as matty's realisation that it’s him who got you into this state. “oh, baby.”

he smiles when you whine his name, but it drops in favour of a gasp when you replace his finger in your folds with the head of his dick. without breaking eye contact, you gasp too. “matty, can i…?”

“please, angel,” matty moans, hands trailing up to squeeze your tits before returning home to your hips. “put me inside.”

“okay,” you all but whisper. a beautiful smile crosses your face, the sun breaking through clouds. “i love you.”

the way you say that, so giddy… matty thinks his heart could honestly burst. he gently cups your jaw with both hands. “i love you too.”

you giggle, and matty feels your cheeks heat up. “i'm glad i get to love you openly now.”

“me too, darlin,” matty kisses you slowly, passionately, but so sweetly; he wants you to be able to feel how much he loves you through his lips. he pulls back just enough to speak clearly, foreheads still touching. “wanna be even closer to you.”

“hold my hips, then, please,” you murmur against him, smiling and kissing him again when he obliges. shuffling around on your knees for a second, you line matty up with yourself, and slowly begin to sink down onto him. the feeling is mind-blowing for both of you, it seems - matty makes a choked groan at how tight you are, and you whimper as he stretches you further with every bit of him you slowly take. “matty.”

he responds with a moan of your name, rubbing soothing circles into your hips while you take him to the hilt with a series of dazed blinks. despite the pleasure already clouding his brain, matty touches your face in concern. “you feeling alright, darlin?”

“yeah. just full.”

“need a second?”

you nod. “sorry, baby.”

“no, not at all. feels amazing like this, anyway,” he strokes your cheek, relishing the way you melt into his touch. “knew you'd look fucking gorgeous on top.”

at that, you clench around him - he's not even sure you're aware of it, but he has to focus very hard on keeping himself from moving inside you - and speak again. “have you thought about this a lot?”

matty nods, trailing his hand down to your chest. “oh yeah.”

“so have i,” you smile, humming contentedly when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger - when he leans forward to take the bud into his mouth, you whine. “fuck, can i move now?”

“yeah,” matty moans around your tit, before pulling away and leaning back against the sofa. “ride me, angel.”

the sentence hasn't even fully left his mouth before you're obliging; the words trail into a raspy groan as you slowly pull yourself up and sink back down. his eyes want to close from the overwhelming pleasure of you fucking him, but he keeps them open because the sight of you like this is too incredible to miss even a second of. matty has no idea how many times he's dreamt of you doing exactly this to him, alone in his bedroom or hotel or tour bus bathroom, but every single fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing. after all, he couldn't have imagined the way your jaw trembles and your eyelids flutter every time he bottoms out inside you, sending an accomplishment high through his body that makes him feel better than any substance he's ever tried.

he has imagined the way your tits would bounce as you speed up your own bouncing on him. again, though, reality is so much better - not once in his dreams did you whine a plea while he tentatively touched them, or cry his name and clench around him in response to him pinching your nipples. the slight pain spurs you on, makes your hips move faster and wilder and matty's contract in pleasure, and he makes a mental note to remember the effect it has on you for future reference.

like he'd ever forget any of this. matty’s never felt so good in his fucking life.

when he tells you as much, you beam, and speed up yet again. oh. matty smirks as best he can through the intense pleasure. “you like it when i tell you how good you are, darlin?”

“mhmm,” you nod shyly, adorably incongruous with the way you're slamming your hips down to meet matty's. “wanna be perfect for you.”

fuck. “you are, sweetheart. my perfect girl,” matty sits up to kiss you, and you whimper into his mouth at the slight change in angle of him inside you. he smiles, switching his lips to your neck. “what else do you want, gorgeous?”

“want - oh, fuck - want you to touch me,” before matty even has the chance to respond, you suck his right thumb into your mouth again and lead it to your clit. “wanna cum.”

and who the fuck is he to deny you what you want, especially after seven years of also wanting to make you do just that?

“alright, darlin,” matty smiles, jaw dropping at the way you tighten impossibly further around him as he starts working little circles into your clit. “shit, that feels good.”

“yeah?”

he nods. “keep going, angel. actually, just use me to get yourself off. whatever you need to do.”

your eyes widen. “really?”

“really. wanna see you cum for me,” matty lightly bites the inside of your tit. “used to make myself cum thinking about you falling apart on top of me like this.”

a glint of something flickers in your eyes, something matty can't quite name. “so, if i cum,” you breathily begin, still rocking your hips. “you'll cum too?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you smirk. “alright.”

with that, you brace your arms behind you on matty's thighs, using them as leverage to fuck him as hard as you possibly can. he gasps, nerves beginning to tingle with the orgasm he's been both holding off and craving for a while now, climax creeping closer with every bounce of your hips and tits; he's mesmerised by you, your beautiful body practically shaking above him as you ride your way to ecstasy, and whines of his name and various swear words and “don't stop touching me, please” pouring from your perfect lips.

matty does as he's told, thumb staying put on the bundle of nerves between your thighs. remembering his mental note from earlier, he brings his free hand down on your ass and kisses away the cry you let out on impact. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos against your mouth. “give in. cum for me, my love, let go for me. make me feel good.”

he leans back to look at you - you look utterly fucked, eyes heavy and teary, jaw slack and lips swollen, but you're so beautiful. when you look at him (probably just as fucked-looking, to be honest), you smile sweetly, but it soon drops off your face as you rush ever closer to the precipice of orgasm. “matty,” you whimper, voice cracking from overuse. “i'm gonna cum.”

no four words have ever sounded better to him. matty holds your face with his free hand; you nuzzle into it, and a wave of love washes over him. “do it, angel.”

your head drops onto his shoulder as your hips fall out of rhythm, and you cry into his neck as your body jerks in ecstasy. matty cries, grabbing your ass and leaning back so he can fuck up into your pulsing cunt as his own orgasm hits. he holds you flush against him as he cums into the condom, then lets you gently flop down as you both recover with panting breaths.

matty's so hazy from pleasure that it takes him a minute to register the chaste kisses you're planting on his neck - you lift your head when he giggles breathily, smiling so widely he's sure your face must hurt. “hi matty.”

“hi, baby,” he kisses your nose. “i love you.”

“love you too,” you give him a little smooch. “loved that.”

“fuck, so did i,” matty sighs, grinning at you. “you're really fucking good at that.”

“only cos it's you i was fucking,” you giggle. “my need to make you feel good outweighed the burning in my thighs. would've tapped out, otherwise.”

matty rubs the offending body part. “will you let me take care of you in return, then? after you've endured the pain and climbed off me so i can get rid of the condom, that is.”

you nod, hissing as you pull yourself off matty's dick and flop onto the couch beside him. he kisses you quickly before he stands, slightly shakily, and removes and ties off the condom; you protest when he places it on the coffee table. “matthew!”

“what? i put it on a coaster. and i'm not leaving it there!”

“still! i don't want used condoms on my good coffee table, even if it's us that's used them,” you stare at him for a second, and then collapse into giggles. “new flat rule?”

matty cackles. “all condoms put in the bin immediately after use. right, hold it for a second, then - and don't give me that face, it was inside you!” he sighs as he bends down and scoops you - holding the condom between your thumb and index finger, mildly disgusted - up bridal-style into his arms. your face softens when he kisses your head as he carries you down the hall. “fancy a bath? it'll help your legs.”

“only if you come in with me.”

he hums, nudging the bathroom door open and setting you down on your shaky legs; you chuck the condom in the bin. “i like the sound of that.”

“good,” you lean up to kiss him. “now please leave the room.”

“what? why?”

“because,” you say, turning the bath's hot tap on. “i need to piss. in peace.”

matty pouts overdramatically. “but i don't want to leave you.”

“out, healy,” you point at the door as matty giggles; you kiss his cheek as he leaves, though. “bring a bottle of wine in when you come back?”

“glasses, too? or just share the bottle?”

you scoff. “you were just inside me, and now you're worried i have germs?”

he laughs. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #flatmate!matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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awellposhmagazine · 17 days

Text

a 10pm thought re: oral between friends

thinking about fucking around in the studio with the guys & making an offhand comment re: bringing back the blowjob lyrics & george hitting u back with can't do that cos healy's not getting them anymore. & matty just tells u guys to fuck off as usual but it sticks with u and u start scheming.

it comes up again a week later on the floor of his living room, with you stretched out on his concrete floor flipping through one of his wanky coffee table books. he’s settled on the couch just above you, watching you laze about at his feet like a housecat in the sun.

“y’ look nice down there.”

he means it innocently enough, but it’s the perfect opportunity to push him around a little.

“yeah? giving you some inspo for that new blowie song?”

he rolls his eyes hard, reaching out a socked foot to nudge you teasingly on the shoulder.“yeah haha very funny matty in his incel era.”

and maybe its the warmth of the sun making you delirious, or just the overwhelming domesticity of the moment, but the words leave your mouth before you can even think to stop them.

“'m being serious. i’d get you off, if you wanted.”

matty almost chokes to death on his own spit.

“don’t fuck me about.”

you might as well have socked him in the jaw for the look on his face. his mouth has fallen slack, just slightly, and his expression reads as vaguely pained.

the silence between you carries on for a little longer, and you can see him disappearing further and further into his own head. its in moments like these that you realise perhaps he’s more of a sap than you’d thought. public image matty necks tequila and takes his coffee black, but yours would prefer a malbec and a cappuccino with two and a half sugars. public image matty gets off with groupies and regularly toes the line of public indecency, but yours is looking at you like he might keel over and die at the prospect of a blowjob. you’d been half joking really, but the intensity of his reaction has shelved any plans you'd been harboring to tease.

“‘i’m not,” you shake your head resolutely, suddenly developing a stomach ache at the consequences of your own actions. “i’d never.” despite attempting to maintain a flirty tone, you have to swallow down a lump in your throat the size of the texas.

“kiss me first?”

“huh?” your reply comes out as more of a breath than coherent speech.

“if we’re gonna do this, 'wanna kiss you first. will you do that for me?”

you're not sure what he's playing at, really. you're more than happy to oblige, of course; you'd dreamt of kissing matty loads of times. admittedly never as precursor to casual oral, but you'd take what you could get. you'll chalk it up to being another facet of his sentimental nature. that, or he just needs a minute to work himself up before you get him undressed.

either way, you huff and scramble up to meet his request only to be stopped by a gentle hand on your cheek. his hands are so big, so warm, and you can’t help but nuzzle further into his touch. you're playing all the right cards and he and he still doesn’t kiss you, just lets his eyes linger on your embarrassed face and presses a bruising thumb to your bottom lip.

“fuck, matty - please.” he’s just teasing you now, he has to be. it's making you itchy.

“please what, darlin’?”

“thought you wanted a kiss. you’re being cruel.”

“don’t like me mean?”

“dirty, maybe. not mean.”

“jesus christ. alright, ok.”

he surges forward then, eyes squeezing shut in a uniquely sexy breed of anguish. if he weren't already holding you steady, the force of the kiss might’ve knocked you on your ass. his lips smear against yours messily; movements punctuated with gentle, bubbly gasps. it's hot and messy and charged with desperation - which reminds you abruptly of the task at hand.

he grunts when you draw back, but his disappointment is short-lived.

“can i suck you off now?”

matty thinks he might actually die.

when you slide down and start messing with the zipper of his jeans, hes certain.

from the minute you get your mouth on him, matty’s floundering like he doesn't quite know where to put his hands; where he’s allowed to. he’s writhing around against the couch cushions, hands balled into tight fists atop his thighs. to your great satisfaction, he can't seem to look at you for longer than about five seconds at a time. every attempt only results in a littany of curses and his eyes flying to the ceiling instead. you figure he's trying to hold off on his orgasm, but you're greedy; you want him to look at you.

you intend it as a bit of a power move when you reach for his hand and bury it into your hair, but it backfires completely when he gives it a tug and you moan all slutty around the length of him. you’d been doing so well keeping your sounds to a minimum, but the dull ache sends a shock of pleasure up your spine.

something about the action must’ve done it for matty too, because not a second later he’s spilling down your throat with garbled incoherence and choked groans. ‘fuck, ’m coming, fuck -”

you ride it out with your mouth flush to the hilt of him, eyes closed with concentration in committing the sounds of his climax to memory.

finally, his eyes drop down and burn right through you as pull off him and place a chaste kiss to his inner thigh.

“up,” he chokes out, bordering on frantic; “up - come here.”

you comply happily, dopey with pride at having caused the fucked out look on his face. he manhandles you easily despite his exhaustion, slotting you comfortably atop his thighs and squeezing your waist.

he looks lovely like this; lips bitten raw and sweat beading at his hairline. you want to eat him whole.

it’s different when you kiss him for a second time, after the dust of his manic lust has settled. its quaint almost; clumsy and a bit unsure. like this is perhaps more intimate than any moment preceding it. every second movement of his lips is punctuated with weak, breathless thank yous. his lips are still parted slightly when you pull back, as though you’ve cut him off early from his ministrations. your heart flutters wildly in your chest.

“fuck, stop looking at me like that. you’re mental.”

he sounds pained again. you muffle laughter and continue toying with his fingers where your hands are gently intertwined. “like what?”

“all sweet and that like you didn’t just have my cock down your throat.”

“i think that was very sweet of me.’

“fuckin’ more than. gonna write a whole blowjob album now, honest.”

“can i do it again? later, i mean?”

for the third time today, matty's soul nearly vacates his body and ascends to the heavens.

"'f i ever turn you down for that, please smack me 'round the mouth."

you giggle breathlessly, and matty gives you disbelieving sort of smile and lets his forehead fall slack against your shoulder. it's only now in the afterglow of your determination to get him off that you settle into the discomfort of your own arousal. he's gone all warm and sleepy beneath you, tracing circles on the bare skin of your knee, and you suddenly feel like you might burst into tears. "sorry, uh- i gotta pee."

a flicker of panic flashes across matty's face, and you can tell hes back in that worried, overthinking place in his brain. that is, until he takes in the heaving of your chest and the way you can't quite keep your legs still.

"oh, lovely girl. need me to take care of you now too, 's that it?"

arguably nobody had ever needed anything more. you’ve soaked through since he’d first kissed you; itchy and sweating through your clothes.

“please, matty.”

the desperation in your voice seems to knock the energy back into him tenfold. it’s forceful but never rough when he maneuvers you onto the couch beside him and drops to the floor. "i've got you, darlin'", he admonishes, hiking your skirt up past your thighs.

“tell me if i do anything you don’t like, yeah?”

you find it hard to imagine he’d be capable. you nod anyways. “yeah, yes - okay.”

promoted to his knees, matty edges between your legs and drapes an arm across your hips. the implication hits you like a train; you won’t be able to hold still.

fuck.

#this is half baked and unedited sorry i just needed to yap #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy fic

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finkinthisfrew · 6 months

Text

TEACHER'S PET (Pt.5)

cw: 18+, teacher/student, teasing, taunting, daddy, praise kink, other stuff, v inappropriate :)

You follow Professor Healy up to his office, hands shaking in anticipation, unsure of what to expect next.

“Sit,” he commands as he steps through the door. You enter the room, obediently walking over to the chair facing his desk.

“No,” he says authoritatively as you move to sit, causing you to freeze where you stand. “Edge of the desk. Facing the window.”

Confused, but too anxious to question him, you step behind his desk, hopping up on its edge as you hear the door close shut behind you. Another click- the lock. You sit quietly, heart pounding, eyes glued to your Professors chair, oblivious to the wall of colorful leaves behind it, branches dancing in powerful fall winds as you listen to the sound of his footsteps approaching.

“Miss Thompson,” he starts quietly, though the authority in his voice is unwavering as he continues. “You seem to think indecency on an Ivy League campus is not only appropriate, but worth flaunting,” he says as he steps into your view, eyes looking down at his busied hands. His fingers work at the cuffs of his dress shirt, then he rolls his sleeves up meticulously, exposing his veiny tattooed forearms one at a time. You raise your eyebrows at him, tilting your nose up snootily as you open your mouth to protest.

“”Well maybe if y-“ you start hotly, but he cuts you off immediately, disinterested in whatever you have to say.

“That wasn’t a question- it was a statement. And if you could spend more than two seconds listening to me instead of thinking about my cock all day long then maybe you would realize that, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Thompson?” He asks, towering over you with eyes so dark they look nearly black as he steps towards you.

“W-well, I,” you stutter, cheeks flushing, but he continues like you haven’t spoken as he bends down towards you, placing his hands on either side of you on the desk.

“You spend class after class sitting there in your absurdly tiny skirts, biting your little lip until it’s raw and squeezing your thighs together like I won’t notice, desperate to appease me when called upon in class… yet the moment class is done, you become a tyrant. A good student should always be good- not just when she chooses to be…” he says, his tone displeased as his eyes bear down on you. You desperately want to please him, reaching your hand out to take his tie, dangling before you like bait.

“I want to be good for you,” you say quietly, gripping his tie with both hands and pulling on it gently- pleading as you look up into his dark eyes. “Let me be good for you.” You tug, tilting your lips up towards his, searching for approval.

He looks down at you thoughtfully, mulling something over in his mind as his eyes wander your face. Abruptly, he brushes your hands off his tie, turns, and sits down in his chair, crossing his arms as his eyes travel slowly, greedily up your body, finally piercing through your soul once more before speaking.

“Show me your homework,” he commands.

“What?” You ask, caught off guard.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low, thick like molasses. “I’d like to grade your work,” he says darkly, face dripping with lust as his eyes wander down your chest to your skirt, making you squeeze your legs together without realizing.

“Spread.”

You spread your already slick legs automatically, the sight of your Professor sitting back in his chair lazily as he watches you spread your legs only exciting you more.

“Ah-ah-“ he tuts, lifting his chin as he watches. “Wider… That’s it,” he says approvingly as you spread your legs as far as you can, exposing yourself entirely to him. “Good girl,” he says, mouth remaining slightly open, slack as he watches your juices drip onto his desk where he was to grade papers later that night.

A moan slips from your lips, his praise sending a shiver of pleasure through your core.

“How do you already look so fucked out?” He says quietly to himself in disbelief. “I’m not even touching you and you’re already moaning,” he says, a smug smile teasing his lips. You nod innocently at him as you run your fingers up the inside of your thigh.

“I like pleasing you,” you said softly as your fingers meet your wetness. You slowly drag them up your dripping slit, making your stomach quake with pleasure. Your finger finds your clit and you begin to rub tight circles into it, moaning a bit louder this time as he watches your fingers intently, eyes flitting back up to yours periodically as you work.

“A little slower- there you go,” he directs you. You slow your speed, whimpering as you scan his face, the memory of his lip in your mouth screaming at you, demanding to be relived once more. But you want to be obedient- you want nothing more than to please him. Heat builds inside you as you watch the corner of your Professors mouth twitch up a your whimpers. The coil inside you tightens more than usual, much deeper than it has before, but it’s still not enough, so you pout in frustration.

He stands up slowly, his eyes penetrating yours as he cocks his head to one side, taking a step towards you as he slips his hands in his pockets.

“Does it feel like it’s not enough?” He taunts with a small smile. You nod your head rapidly as you watch him approach you.

“It’s never enough,” you whisper, your eyebrows creasing in pained frustration.

“How many times have you tried? Enough?” He asks, his tone dripping with lust as he takes another step. He’s now standing between your open legs, looking down at your hand, then back up into your eyes, his pupils dilated with desire. You nod your head, pushing your lower lip out even further as your frustration builds.

He shakes his still cocked head faintly in disappointment as he slips one hand from his pocket, reaching it up to your face

“Words, Miss Thompson,” he breathes as he looks down at you, taking your chin delicately in his hand. His thumb caresses your bottom lip and you whine at his touch, watching the corners of his mouth turn into a greedy smile through your hazy eyes.

“Too many,” you pant quietly, but your answer isn’t enough for Professor Healy, who gives you another warning look as his hand sharply tips your head up to him. “Every day after class. Every night before bed. Every morning when I wake up. Sometimes even between classes,” you list between moans, panting as you speak.

“And what do you think about?” He asks, dropping his hand from your face to your lap, trailing a single finger down the top of your thigh towards your knee. The rough finger against your hyper-sensitive skin sends a wave of electricity through you, causing another breathy whine to escape your lips.

“You,” you breathe as you close your eyes and slip two fingers inside yourself. You groan at the feeling, a new pleasure blooming within you. But the sensation is too dull- your fingers too small, too gentle to satisfy your need for fullness. It’s not enough. You push them in anyways, fumbling somewhat rhythmically- desperate to relieve that burning need for release.

“Well, naturally,” your Professor agrees in a pleased tone. “And you’ve been doing this every day, multiple times a day, and you’re still not satisfied?” He asks in both curiosity and awe. You open your eyes halfway as you press the heel of your palm into your clit.

“No, it never feels right,” you groan in frustration at the feeling. “I need your help,” you whine. “I need you, Professor.”

“Ahhh,” he says in understanding, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reaches his hand up to your breast, cupping it just barely as he swipes your hardened nipple through the thin material of your shirt with his thumb, making you gasp at the shock of pleasure. He cocks his head to one side, enthralled by your physical reaction to his touch. You look up at him with renewed fire in your eyes, and he lowers his other hand to your thigh, trailing it slowly back up your bare skin as his eyes pierce through you. “You need some tutoring,” he breathes darkly as he pushes your hand away, replacing it with his own. You gasp at his touch, missing the shudder of pleasure that rolls through your Professor’s body at your erotic moans.

His fingers find your clit first and you groan- loudly- gripping the table with fingers like vices. His calloused thumb rubs wave after wave of pleasure into your clit as you mewl, watching his expert thumb work. His fingers are much longer, much thicker, and much rougher than yours. You want them inside you now.

“Fuck,” you whine, chest heaving as he picks up his speed on your clit.

“Are you taking notes?” He rasps, his own breath growing ragged as his other hand slips up the hem of your shirt, his weathered skin leaving tingles in its wake as it travels back up to your breast, cupping the warm, soft mound of skin.

“More,” you complain in a low whine. “I need you- to fill me,” you say as you bite back another moan. You reach your hand out to his buckle, pulling him closer to you and begin to fumble at the clasp. Suddenly his hand leaves your clit, gently gripping your wrist as he tuts once more. You whimper.

“I’m not done, yet, darling,” he coos as he leans into your ear. “I have to check your work first.” You groan as you feel his hand between your legs once more, his fingers toying lightly at your entrance, teasing you as your hips reach out desperately for more. You feel his other hand trail lightly round your neck, his thumb lingering on your throat for a moments before reaching around, taking a handful of your hair in his grip. He pulls, tilting your head back as he dips a single finger into you, no more than an inch. You groan and whine as you try to push your hips forward, but he keeps his finger just out of reach.

“Look at you, writhing around all desperate for me,” he says, voice gravelly in your ear. “So eager… Do you want more, baby?”

“Yesss,” you plead, turning your head in his grasp to place your lips on the closest part of him to you- reaching desperately for his jaw, thirsting for a taste of him.

“Of course you do,” he says as he lets you nip at his jaw, smiling as he withdraws his finger, slowly replacing it with two as he pushes them in a bit further, stretching you wide. You throw your hands around his neck, anchoring yourself in the sea of pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing around you as you dig your nails into your Professors skin.

“My best student,” he praises, placing a gentle kiss on your temple as you whine loudly in his ear. He pushes his fingers in the rest of the way, all the way up to his knuckles. His two fingers are thicker than three of yours, their roughness only adding to the whirlwind of pleasure building within you as he begins to pump his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace, every stroke against your G-spot earning a moan from you.

“Is this what you needed? To be filled up a bit?” He taunts you sweetly. “All those performances and tantrums you threw for me, and all you needed was for me to fill you a little?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe, the word slipping from you naturally before you can catch yourself. Your heart stops as you feel his fingers pause.

“Ohhh, I see,” he says with a smile, lifting his face to look down on you. His fingers resume fucking you, picking up speed, just barely, making you mewl frantically. “Had I known every time you said Professor you meant daddy…” his voice trails off as he looks down at his fingers. You watch him lick his lip, then bite it slightly as he watches in devilish fascination as your hips buck uncontrollably against his hand. “Very good girl,” he says, almost to himself. You groan in pleasure, his praise like its own toy, sending a shiver of satisfaction up your spine, escaping your lips with a shudder.

“Do you want my cock, baby? Is that what you need? Not full enough?” He coos sweetly.

“Yes- fuck, yes,” you reply exasperatedly.

“Yes, what?” He says, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly. You groan through clenched teeth, his mutual need for the word sexier than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Yes, daddy,” you whimper as he smiles, pumping his fingers even faster inside of you, a burning ball of pleasure building steadily in your core. “I need you to,” you add in a choke as you watch the vein in his forearm strain against his skin as his fingers curl, every stroke pushing you closer.

“Well I have some unfortunate news for you,” he whispers in your ear. “You see, you’ve been very bad,” he growls, lips grazing the skin of your neck, teasing you with their touch. “Traipsing around campus in this little getup, flaunting your ass to everyone like it doesn’t belong to me.”

You can’t help but groan at his possessive words- all you’ve wanted was to be his.

“Trying to tease me- trying to tempt me,” he continues, pressing his thumb harder into your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Hazel… And bad girls don’t get the privilege of being filled and fucked till they scream,” he taunts as you whimper in frustration. “They don’t get to be pounded till they can’t walk anymore- till they can’t think anymore,” he says, nipping your burning skin at the base of your neck between his words. “You haven’t earned that privilege, Miss Thompson,” he said, his mouth finally planting itself above your collarbone, warm tongue swirling against your skin before harshly sucking on it, making you moan loudly in euphoria.

“How do I earn it?” You beg desperately through panting breath.

“Ohoho, my darling…” you hear him chuckle below you, his face lifting up to look at you with a devilish smile. His mouth hovers above yours as he looks up at you with wide blackened eyes in pity, warm breath taunting you as it washes over your tender lips- bitten raw from countless bitten back screams. “Did you fuck yourself one too many times for me this weekend?” He asks in a mocking tone as he pouts. “You’ve already forgotten what I said? Too cock-drunk for daddy to remember what he told you?” He pushes you down to your elbows, then grinds his hips into yours, his fingers pulsing rapidly within you. He presses his forehead into yours, nostrils flaring, pupils blown-out as he growls into you, “You’re not going to touch my cock- you’re not going to feel my cock- you’re not even going to so much as see my cock for the next four years. I hope that little grab you tried earlier in my trousers will be enough to tide you over until graduation, because you’re going to spend the rest of your Masters Degree replaying it- replaying this- the time you came so close to getting fucked by your Professor- night after night all alone in your bed, until you it drives you mad. I’ll be surprised if you don’t start touching yourself in classes after this… you’ll spend the next four years crawling at the thought of getting to feel my cock inside of you. That’s a decent enough punishment, don’t you agree?” He says menacingly, your clit burning with pleasure under his thumb as he coaxes your orgasm closer.

You shake your head furiously, your need to be fucked by him clouding your mind in such a thick haze of lust you can’t seem to think straight as you ride the high of pleasure.

“No? You don’t agree?” He asks threateningly. Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you whimpering, shaking against him, the overwhelming emptiness leaving you feeling deranged. You nod desperately- anything to get his fingers back inside you.

“That’s my smart girl,” he coos sweetly. You feel his fingers pushing back inside you, the relief almost sending tears to your eyes as your elbows give out. Your Professor catches you with his other hand, holding you up as he pumps his fingers faster. “That’s my smart girl. Yes baby, you’re right,” he says as he kisses your forehead tenderly. “You earned your punishment and you’re taking it so well for daddy.”

He places slow gentle kisses on your face, your voice emitting an endless stream of moans and whining, teetering so closely to the edge of your climax, you don’t think you could remember your name if he asked you.

“Shhh, you don’t need to worry about that now. Right now you need to come for daddy. Can you do that for me baby girl? That’s it, you sound so beautiful when you scream, my angel. Moan for me just like that, there you go,” he says as you buck your hips uncontrollably against his relentless fingers, unravelling in his grasp. “Do you need daddy to fuck you a little harder with his fingers? Is that it? Such a needy girl…” he taunts with a smile, your climax only seconds away as the pleasure begins to overflow inside of you. “Are you ready to cum for daddy? Yes? Yes, I think so too, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me. All over my fingers. Ah- that’s it. Good girl, just like that. Perfect… My perfect girl…” he mutters the last few words into your skin as your orgasm bursts through your core, spreading through your body to your fingertips and toes, electric waves of pleasure splintering you from within as you scream. You shudder in his grip, legs shaking against his hips as your eyes roll back into your head. Pleasure explodes and pulses within you as his fingers slow with the settling of your body, leaving you limp in the strong grasp of his arm. The pleasure envelops you, slowly bringing you back to consciousness as you catch your breath from the release, relief flooding your body after weeks of aching. You eventually open your eyes only to find your Professor looking down at his hand, still between your legs.

“Look at this pretty little mess you made for me,” he says, tilting his head as admires the juices coating his dripping hand. He moves his fingers around inside you curiously, pulling them in and out as he plays with your wetness, periodically looking up to watch you as you jerk and jolt at his movements, too sensitive to be played with after such a strong climax, but too drained to stop him.

“Feel that? Do you feel my fingers inside you?” He asks you softly. You shiver as he cradles you closer to him, his fingers still toying with you, then manage to nod your head twice. “Memorize that. Because you’re not going to feel them for a very. Long. Time.”

You can’t help the whimpers that escape your lips as he withdraws his fingers. He looks down at you with an indecipherable look as his eyes travel over your face. Then, he leans down, placing a single gentle kiss on your lips, his mouth moving carefully and purposefully as a new kind of flutter awakens in your core. When your lips finally part, you watch as he steps away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the juices from his hand.

“You’re forgiven for your behavior,” he starts quietly, wiping each finger meticulously. “But if you try to tempt me like that again, I promise the next punishment won’t be nearly as pleasant for you,” he says without looking at you. “You’re dismissed.”

You stand up in a daze, furrowing your brow in confusion as you walk towards the door obediently, too fucked-out to do much more than simply follow his command. You open the door, glancing back at your teacher once more, his back now facing you as he looks out the window of his office before you leave, closing the door behind you. You lean against it, the click of the lock a minute later causing you to flinch. You rest your head back against the glass window of the door, catching your breath as you play through what just happened, the wet mess between your legs becoming more noticeable outside the steamy haze of the office.

It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t he fuck you? Did he not want to? That wouldn’t make sense. He didn’t have to touch you, and yet he went out of his way to make you cum anyways? Eagerly cooing every sweet nothing you could have possibly wanted into your ear when he could have just sent you home… That only made the mystery of him not fucking you even more confusing. He had every opportunity to fuck you just now, and yet he didn’t even so much as stroke himself. Maybe your sexual desire wasn’t as mutual as you’d thought it was…

A sudden sound shakes you from your spiral. You scan the empty hall, waiting for the sound to repeat itself in the hopes of identifying it. You stand there quietly, ears perked. You hear it again, realizing the sound was coming from behind you.

A whimper.

You turn, then reach as high as you can on your tiptoes to the tiny sliver of glass that hadn’t been covered in newspaper.

Just barely, you see him. The two fingers that had just been inside you, the same one’s he’d just cleaned in front of you now in his mouth, his eyes closed as he sucks on them. You can’t see his other hand, hidden behind the desk, but you slowly piece together what he’s doing, the rapid rhythmic movement in his lap paired with his soft whimpers finally clicking in your mind. You catch yourself as your hand drifts back down between your legs, clenching it into a tight fist before you could do anything crazy. You can’t get caught out here- another teacher could walk by at any moment and see you straining on your toes to spy on your teacher in his private quarters. No, this you’d have to enjoy later. You let yourself watch him pump himself a another minute longer, taking extra care to memorize every whimper before promptly running down the hall, desperate to get home so you could replay the look on his face when he caught his bottom lip with his teeth and chewed it, hair bouncing with the speed of his hand before looking down with a pained expression at the small crumpled pile of black lace on his desk…

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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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1K notes · View notes

cowboylor · 7 months

Text

hotline

you call matty when you're bored.

warnings: (18+) smut, mutual masturbation, phone sex (kind of?), degradation, oral (f. receiving)

wc: 1k

note: i completely blame this on me seeing the 1975 last week and being consumed in a brainrot over [REDACTED]. anywho this wasn’t the larger work i’m working on just a a sweet, totally chaste blurb of our good ole pal matty.

"Hello?"

His voice is worried. You've never called this late before. Even in the past when you were out with friends and just couldn't wait to tell him just how jaw-droppingly fit you found him. Or when you've missed your routine phone call while he's on tour and call him back hours later with a rushed apology and an eager inquiry about his day.

Those were late; but never this late.

"Hi," You say.

It comes out pitchy and you screw your eyes shut at the way you sound. Like you're clearly out of breath and heaving against your mattress. Like you're struggling to hold your phone up to your ear as your hand wanders below your panty line. Like you're completely, utterly desperate for him because let’s face it—

You've got it bad.

Matty pauses. "Everything alright?"

"Oh yeah," You say quickly. Shifting against the bed, you move to sit up against the frame. "Everything's fine, just... Miss you is all."

"Miss me," He repeats your words in tut, his voice sounding relieved when hearing nothing is wrong. You hear him shift (wherever he is--in his hotel bed or maybe on the couch). "Why's that?"

You tuck your lip between your teeth as your fingertips pry at your folds.

"Can't I miss my boyfriend?"

He hums over the line. "Of course, of course."

"It's just been a while."

A while since a lot of things. A while since your last phone call. A while since you've seen him ever since he left for New York. A while since he's fucked you if you’re mentioning the obvious.

He goes quiet on the other line and your hand slows.

"Darling."

You wince, your fingers returning to your clit. "Yes?"

"Are you playing with yourself?"

You snap your hand away like you've been burned. Your mouth falls open and you can practically hear his amused grin through the phone.

"No." You hiss, face burning.

You glance down.

He chuckles at your insistence. "Are you sure?"

He can read you like a book.

"Positive."

In more ways than one.

"Not rubbing your clit?" He asks, his voice lowering.

A whine escapes you and you know you're in for it.

You dip a finger into your underwear again, swiping at your bundles of nerves experimentally. Stifling another whine, you lean your head back against the headboard.

"Darling," He breathes out. You perk up at the change in octave; listening closely to hear the buckle of his belt clank and his quiet exhale. "Are you lying to me?"

Rolling your eyes back as you toy with your clit, you sigh into the speaker: "Do you think I am?"

"No," Matty huffs a laugh. You can hear him fumble with the buttons of his pants. "My girl would never act like that."

Your mind grows fuzzy and all you can think of is his voice and how it sounds reverberating through your phone—how it would sound when he's hovered over you, how it would sound when he's buried between your thighs.

Because you’re not a stranger to that sound. Not unfamiliar with the way he holds your legs apart while lapping at your core. With the way he needs to keep your thighs in place or else you’d be squirming against his mouth both drawn in and out from all the sensations you’re feeling.

(“You’re so sensitive,” He’d say, groaning into your cunt. “Even before you come you’re twitching and whining—like you're in fucking heat or something.”)

“Like–” Your eyelids feel heavier as you draw out sharp, tight circles. “Like what?”

He hums. “Like a whore.”

Heat pools and you meet the warmth with the pad of your fingertip.

You swallow roughly, relishing in the sound of his breathy groan as you imagine him also touching himself. Also getting himself worked up to the point where his thighs shake and his fingers threaten to pull away.

“‘m not a whore," You defend through bitten lips.

Prying yourself open with one finger, your timid touches become erratic. Less controlled and more sloppy with every flick of your fingertip, rhythm becomes a thing of the past.

“No?” He chuckles, “Just like getting off to your boyfriend's voice while you’re fucking yourself?”

You’re already warm in the face; you don’t give Matty the pleasure of pretending to be embarrassed. You’re too close for that.

“Matty,” You breathe out, wanting to be done with the game.

“Yes, darling?”

If he wants to draw it out of you fine.

You wince as you draw sloppy figure-eights. “I want to finish.”

Which goes against what you usually want from Matty. Usually you’re shifting against him, urging him to slow down because you want to let it linger—almost dreading the idea of finishing and it being over.

(“I can’t,” You’d murmur, eyelids fluttering—clenching your stomach in an effort to hold off coming.

“You can.” His voice would turn stern and you’d feel another thump of heat radiate throughout your body. “Just let it happen, darling. Let me take you there.”)

Matty feigns mock surprise. “And here I was thinking we were having a heart-to-heart.”

“Don’t patronize,” You furrow your brows, halting your movements.

“I’m not some sex hotline, you know,” He tuts, his voice gravelly as he shifts around in the background. “To fulfill all your carnal urges.”

You blink. “I'll hang up.”

He doesn't miss a beat. “Well, hold on.”

You smile and you’ve got him.

"'m sorry," He says, sounding like he's closer to the phone. It makes shivers run down your body hearing him like this—tucked up in your neck while your fingers hover over your core. It's too much and not nearly enough at the same time. "Let me make it up to you."

Pretending to think about it, you click your tongue, "How?"

"Tell me how wet you are."

#hey #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 #*my writing

453 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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wreckedandpolemic · 24 days

Text

mine - matty healy

(mdni) in which your husband feels the need to remind you exactly to whom you belong. a white and gold future fic. 2713 words.

warnings: problematic age gap, daddy kink, branding, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, mild cumplay, dirty sleazy possessive man

You really, truly didn’t mean to find yourself in this situation. Sometimes, you’ll admit, it’s on purpose, playing up the brattiness until Matty snaps, doling out whatever punishment he wants as you cry and promise to be good next time. This time, though, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t. You can’t help it if your husband’s business partners see his young, hot wife and decide they want you for themselves. Besides, Matty’s always telling you to be polite, so you were. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, leaning forward as you listen with interest.

It’s not your fault if some (old, stupid) man takes that as the wrong kind of interest. Matty watches as he stumbles through attempts to flirt with you, pet names tripping clumsily off his tongue. Steam practically curls off your husband, his face hardening in fury as you smile blithely, accepting the affections without encouraging anything; he doesn't take the hint. When he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, trailing his hand down in a garish attempt to touch your tit, Matty catches his wrist in a punishing grip. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, yeah? Unless you wanna get knocked the fuck out.” His usually-subtle accent bleeds over his words, roughens their edges. Everyone suddenly becomes very interested in the silverware and heat prickles under your skin as Matty’s grip tightens on your waist, possessive.

He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep and an obvious performance, a public message: mine. Matty stays tight with anger the whole evening, the tension in his shoulders not loosening until you’re spread out on the bed, your dress crumpled somewhere on your living room floor and your hair haloed out on the pillow as he stares down at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say cautiously, and his face softens.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” he promises, climbing over you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You accept it eagerly, the bitter taste of red wine lingering on his lips. “Just need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah? So pretty, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. You know, every single one of those men wanted to take you home. Can see it in the way they look at you.”

You flush, a note of pride creeping under your skin. “But they can’t,” you say, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s girl, yeah? I’m the only one who gets to take you home, gets to see you all pretty and pleading and spread out for me, yeah? Bet they go home and dream about seeing you like this.” His nails dig into your skin as he grips your hips, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.

“Only you, Daddy,” you promise, and Matty presses a kiss between your tits, just over your heart. It thuds faster, calling out for his touch, a wave of love crashing over you as you sigh happily. “All yours,” you say, pouting as he climbs off you and goes to root in a dresser drawer for something.

He comes back to you with an uncapped Sharpie, grinning as you shudder. “Need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah?” You nod shakily, Matty kneeling over you and leaning down. The scrape of the pen against your decolletage sends a shiver up your spine, something close to pain but not quite it blooming where the ink stains your skin. Concentration is evident on his face as he writes, the letters bold and clear as he moves down your body. Sitting up to admire his handiwork, Matty plucks at the strap of your bra. “Can you take this off for me, princess? Wanna see your pretty tits.” You obey thoughtlessly, arching your back to slip a hand behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Naked but for your panties with Matty fully clothed on top of you, you shiver, exposed. There’s something that feels right about it, though, handing Matty all the power like this, and trusting that you’ll only love what he does with it.

“What did you write, Daddy?” you ask, craning your neck to try to read, but the letters are upside down and your skin bends in a way that makes the letters illegible.

Matty pushes you back down gently. “Here, darling. Let me show you.” He slides his phone out from his back pocket and takes a couple of photos before handing it to you. Eagerly, you drink in the sight of yourself, heat in your cheeks and your lips red and kiss-bitten. Then, your eyes track across the words scrawled on your skin. Property of M. Healy. A pulse of heat throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts, liquid desire dripping between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

Property. You turn the word over in your mind, savouring the way it traces deliciously up your spine. Matty’s property, his kept girl, his pretty toy, his to do with whatever he wants. The thought makes your head go fuzzy, the idea of being his whenever and wherever he wants melting your insides to goo. “You own me, Daddy,” you murmur, his eyes so wide with lust that they look black.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he breathes, stripping out of his suit and boxers, his cock thudding against his belly. Eagerly, you slide your panties down your legs and kick them to the floor, watching Matty’s eyes fall to your soaked cunt. “So wet for me, princess. Does it get you off, knowing you’re all mine?” You nod, drool pooling in your mouth as he strokes his cock slowly. “Such a good girl. My good girl. Can see how bad you want it. Bein’ so patient, princess.”

Trembling, it’s a fight to keep still, keep your hands to yourself. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, Matty still just watching. “Please, Daddy,” you whine desperately. “Can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe, and the words finally snare him, his eyes darkening as he falls on top of you.

“Whatever I want, yeah?” he murmurs, a gush of heat flooding between your legs at his words. “C’mon, sweet girl. Legs up for me. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he promises, thumbing over the bold, stark letters on your skin. He dips his head, biting a harsh bruise into your neck, one you know will be luridly purple by the next time he takes you out. You giggle as he takes a greedy handful of one of your tits, grasping possessively. “These pretty tits are mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whimper, the heat between your legs unbearable as Matty works his way down your body, repeating it like a litany as he grasps possessively at your skin.

“These hips.” His. “This ass.” His. “These pretty thighs.” His. “This sweet, needy little cunt.”

A strangled moan escapes you as he brushes his fingers featherlight over your clit, teasing. Desperation wells under your skin, your cunt aching with need. “S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M your property,” you moan, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“That’s right,” he grins. “Bein’ such a good girl for Daddy, princess.” A moan of pure lust spills from your lips as Matty licks a broad, flat stripe over your cunt, your hands fisting in the sheets at the wave of pleasure that cascades over you. He laps at you insistently, setting a dizzying rhythm over your swollen clit. You tremble with the effort of keeping still, letting Matty do what he wants while you take it like a good girl. “S’okay, baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make, feel that sweet little cunt grinding on my face,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through your core.

Matty wraps his lips around your clit, the sensation making your body jolt as he sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves. Heat blooms under your skin as Matty tongues at you and moans into your cunt, the vibration rolling gloriously through you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, so hard that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, further proof he owns you. Mind-melting pleasure winds deliciously through you, Matty plunging his tongue deep inside you, devouring you from the inside out.

He refuses to fall into a rhythm, refuses to let you get complacent, switching between sucking on your clit, licking at your hole and tonguefucking you at a dizzying pace. Whining incoherently, you fist a hand in his curls and grind your hips up against his mouth. Matty’s nose bumps your clit as you writhe, legs kicking in the air. Molten pleasure melts your brain, dripping sticky from your ears and puddling on the mattress. “Are you close, sweet girl?” Matty asks, pulling away to kiss wetly at your thighs. Your hazy, addled mind struggles to latch onto his words, and you gasp as he blows cold air over your clit. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whimper reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m close,” you whine, tugging on his hair to pull him back to your cunt. Matty’s fingers join his tongue, a bolt of ecstasy striking between your legs at the scrape of his calloused fingers. He works skilfully at your clit, your legs turning to jelly as waves of pleasure pin you to the mattress. “F-fuck, Daddy, m’gonna cum, want it s’bad, please, please, please!” you cry out, babbling incoherent pleas into the air above you.

“Go on, darling. Cum for Daddy.” He pairs the words with a harsh pinch to your clit, your body wracking with shudders as you pitch over the edge. Pleasure drips stickily down your spine, your vision blurring as your orgasm crashes through you. Matty doesn’t let up, sucking insistently on your clit, your cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks.

Pleasure tinged with pain kicks under your skin, overstimulation burning between your thighs. “S’too much, Daddy, I can’t–” you whimper, his free hand pinning your hips down when you try to squirm away.

“‘Whatever you want,’ you said,” Matty reminds you, running a finger through your sensitive folds. “What I want is for you to take it like a good girl, okay?” You nod shakily, swallowing thickly around a whine. “There’s my sweet girl. Colour?”

“‘M green,” you promise, shifting your hips and moaning when Matty’s tongue finds your clit again. You choke on a gasp as he sinks two fingers into you, meeting no resistance at your soaked hole.

“Such a good girl,” Matty murmurs, kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs, marking you as his, the undercurrent of pain glorious weaved through the pleasure licking up your spine. He finger-fucks you hard, your cunt clenching and legs kicking in the air, a second orgasm already building at the base of your spine. “My fucking girl, yeah?” Your hand drifts unconsciously down to where his name is written just below your tits. “All those men today wanted you, princess. Wanted you so badly,” he coos, your mind staticky as his fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that sends you reeling. “Wanted my gorgeous, sexy, irresistible, perfect fucking wife,” he groans, punctuating every adulation with a quick, deep thrust, moans spilling endlessly from your lips.

“Can’t have me,” you slur out, your mind off-balance against Matty’s unfaltering pace.

“That’s right, princess,” he says, pride colouring his tone. “You’re mine. All mine. That’s my ring on your finger, my name next to yours.” he growls. Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I should take you out like this, show the whole fuckin’ world how much you love bein’ all fucked-out for me, wearin’ my name, bein’ my property.” You give a helpless, strangled moan, turned on beyond words. “God, you love that, don’t you, baby? Such a good little slut for Daddy. Do you wanna cum, angel?”

“God, yes, please, please, please!” you scream out, writhing and squirming uncontrollably as the tide of pleasure wells up inside of you, threatening to overwhelm.

Matty kisses your clit softly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers at the sensation. “God, you beg so pretty, baby. Go on, darling, cum,” he orders, and your body obeys. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, pure pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean. Your vision whites out, a scream you’re only dimly aware comes from your own throat ringing out. Euphoria burns from your core, flooding your limbs, hot and intense.

You come back to Earth to Matty’s tongue working insistent and sure over your clit, your body going boneless against the fervid pleasure winding up your spine. “Again?” you whimper.

Matty pinches your hip with his free hand. “Don’t be a brat. How many times have I told you I wanna spend all day with my tongue buried in this sweet cunt? ‘S what I want, princess, like you said. SHould be thankin’ me. Colour?”

“‘M still green, Daddy. Thank you,” you say dopily, letting your eyes slip closed as pure electricity washes over you.

You lose count of how many times Matty makes you cum, skilled fingers and tongue sending you spiralling over and over and over again. Your body feels barely a body; ecstasy in place of organs, pleasure in place of bones. When he’s finally satisfied, pulling away with his lips and chin fucking dripping with your arousal, your cunt feels sore and swollen, and you know you won’t be walking right for weeks. He climbs over you, pulling your jaw open like you’re a fucking doll and spitting the taste of you into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, smiling up at him and showing off your clean tongue.

“Good girl,” Matty coos. “Got you trained up so good, hm? God, I fucking love you, my girl,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you so that the taste of you smears further across your tongue.

“Love you too,” you say, gazing up into his eyes, lust-darkened but still liquid with adoration. “Yours forever,” you promise, lifting your left hand so your wedding ring catches the light.

Matty kneels up to take in the sight of you, fucking wrecked for him, his eyes blowing wide at his name in stark ink on your skin. He unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock, flushed red and drooling. Two fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, and you whimper at the prospect of cumming again. “S’okay, darling, m’not gonna make you go again,” Matty promises, wrapping his wet hand around his cock. “See how hard you make me, angel?” He tips his head back with a groan, slowly pumping his cock. “All for you. M’yours.”

“Made for each other,” you say breathily, eyes glued to the point where his cock disappears into his fist.

Moaning low in his throat, Matty nods. “Made for each other,” he agrees, fucking his fist wildly. You can tell from his face, the way his motions get more erratic with every passing second, that he’s close. With a gasp of your name, he’s cumming, white ropes splashing on your belly and over your tits. His jaw goes slack as he gazes down at you, his cum splattered over the brand of his name driving him wild. “Fuck. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous, darling. God, I wanna keep you like this forever.”

You giggle. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I?” he murmurs, awed.

“As many as you like, Daddy,” you smile. “I’m your property, remember? Your little slut. Your pretty cumdump.”

Matty gives a shuddering moan. “For such a princess, you’ve got a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” he chuckles, retrieving his phone from his discarded jacket. He takes at least a dozen pictures, pausing in between each to stare at you, unabashed arousal in his face.

“I learned it from you,” you smirk; you both know that isn’t true, but he likes hearing it. You drag two fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them clean, grinning proudly up at him.

“Fuck,” Matty groans, cock twitching valiantly as he watches you. “God, drives me fuckin’ crazy when you do that. Makin’ me wanna fuck you properly, baby.”

A thrill skitters up your slime. “Please?”

#this is so filthy im sorry i dont know WHERE this came from #but hey if im going to hell ur all coming with me <3 #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #white and gold

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sugar-coat-it · 24 days

Text

Touch Tank

He’s so pretty when he goes down on me… <3

THE MAKEUP FIC LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND EVERYONE IN BETWEEN

Fluff into smut because I am a sappy bitch. It’s actually quite soft despite being dirty.

Fem! Reader

Contains: Sub! Matty, him being a sweetie pie and guiding her into it, facesitting/riding, makeup ruining, praise kink (good boy, pretty boy, etc.), Matty cumming in his pants, hair pulling, Matty Healy worshiping that cunt idk what else to tell you

WC: ~4,600

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

Matty asks you to do his makeup for him… and then ruin it by sitting on his face

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

You glance at Matty through the reflection in the mirror, your heart swelling in your chest at the adoring look plastered on his face. He looks so incredibly gentle, his eyes soft and practically sparkling as he watches you apply concealer onto your skin. Only a few minutes ago, he’d plopped himself down on the lidded toilet near you and insisted that you show him how you do your makeup while you get ready for your girl’s night out. His longing gazes have proven to be very distracting as your working hands almost slow to a stop.

“Just pretend I’m not here! What comes next?” he urges, leaning his chin against his hand casually.

“Alright, alright! Next is the powder,” you explain, starting to refocus as you run the brush through the pan of skin-toned pigment.

Matty’s eyes can’t seem to stay focused on one thing, flicking between the product you’re using (taking note of the brand you use), your pretty face, and the way your steady fingers curl around the makeup brush. He murmurs the word “powder” to himself like he’s trying to commit the steps you take in your routine to his memory. Boyfriend training, if you will.

“Right… so, do you really need the primer, the concealer, and the other thing? Why haven’t they just combined them all? It’s an awful lot of work for you makeup users,” he muses, talking as if he knows what any of them are really for.

“I have no clue, babe. You should really get on that,” you chuckle, stealing another glance at him through the mirror.

“Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I? What’s that one for, then?” he asks, reaching out and pointing at the powder in your hands.

“This? It’s to set everything in place that we just put on,” you explain, finding it quite sweet that he’s so curious about this little piece of your life, as mundane as it might be.

Matty hums and nods thoughtfully, seeming satisfied with knowing more about makeup than he did before. Not just any makeup, but his girl’s makeup that she takes so much time to get right. There’s something very domestic about this moment, everything feels a little softer when it’s just you two like this. Even the moonlight seems to seep through the window gentler. Matty’s life is irregular, there’s no denying that. It’s what makes these moments of calm feel so sacred, so untouchable.

You continue carrying out your routine, going a little slower than usual to prolong it all, your brush strokes lingering a little longer than necessary as you brush a tastefully shimmery shade on your eyelids. Your boyfriend is unusually quiet as he admires you with those sleepy eyes. It’s not often that he isn’t either speaking or waiting for someone to finish talking so he can get a word in. The silence feels comfortable for both of you, it settles over the bathroom like a blanket.

“Ah, wait, I know that one,” he interrupts, suddenly sitting up straighter as you take out your next product, snapping his fingers and pointing at it, “that’s mascara.”

Matty looks absolutely triumphant, crossing his arms over his chest with a slyness plastered on his face. You let out a breathy little chuckle, only managing half of an eye roll before a warm smile tugs at your lips.

Once you’ve finished, Matty clears his throat to get your attention, looking as though he’s mulling over asking you something.

“Hey, I know you said you liked those pictures you saw of my stage makeup. I haven’t really done it in a while… y’know, if you wanted to do some on me… before you go to your party,” he offers softly, trailing off as he looks up into your eyes.

“Wait, are you serious!?” you exclaim, your eyes lighting up with a grin on your face that could rival a kid’s smile on Christmas morning.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, chuckling as you already scramble to grab all your supplies, sliding them towards the closer end of the counter, “I’m going to trust you here, but you’ve got the perfect chance to fuck me up good, making me look like a proper circus clown.”

“I would never!” you gasp, feigning offense at his comment with a dramatic hand over your heart, “why on earth would I do that when I have the opportunity to make you the prettiest of princesses?”

“The what? Nah, never mind that, you’ve just lost the privilege.”

“No, no, no I’m sorry, I’ll behave!”

Matty eyes you suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at you like he’s assessing whether or not you’ll be calling him “baby girl” or something next. Out of the goodness of his heart (and because he does really does want you to do this), he nods at you, crossing his arms over his chest. You just smile giddily, leaning down to kiss his forehead while he mumbles “Yeah, yeah, c’mon do me up”.

You’ve decided to go easy on him and not do a full face, just his eyes and lips. With that, you crack open your makeup pallet reserved only for fun occasions, it’s filled with shimmery, bright colors that immediately attract Matty’s distractable eyes. You hold it up to him for him to get a better look, his brows furrowing as he no doubt contemplates what he thinks would look the coolest.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, still very excited that he’d not only agreed to let you do this but was the one to suggest it.

“Maybe this blueish one? I dunno, is that what any basic straight guy would pick?”

“You’re overthinking it. I think it would look really nice on you.”

You dip your eyeshadow brush in the pan, instructing him to close his eyes for you and stay still the best he can (not the easiest of feats for one Mr. Healy). He does, his gaze softening before he lets his eyes flutter shut. With your free hand, you reach out and gently tilt his face to be angled properly. You feel a little warmth blossom in your chest as you realize how intimate this feels, especially with how serene he looks as he closes his eyes. Even though it feels silly because it’s just doing his makeup, your heart still thrums a little faster at the little display of trust.

When you touch the brush to his eyelid, he lets out a short, very Matty-sounding giggle as he tells you that it feels “quite nice”. You chuckle along with him, switching to the other eyelid once you’re sure the other one is evenly applied. Your touch is delicate as you hold the side of Matty’s face, your eyes squinting with concentration as you work. He’s warm under your fingertips. You notice how soothed he seems by you handling him like this, almost hypnotized by the brush strokes. He looks so soft. Unjaded. Untouched.

While his eyes are closed, you reach for your eyeliner, warning him before you touch the point of it to his lash line. Still, he flinches slightly when the liner touches his eyelid, his nose scrunching up a bit as you do your best to trace a steady line, despite the way his eyelids flutter.

“You’re moving, Matty.”

“M’not!” he insists (he is).

With a bit of fixing, you’d managed to draw out two almost even wings. At your permission, his eyes blink open again and the sight almost steals your breath away. The blue is bringing out the honey tones of his irises, his sleepy eyes defined by the complimentary liner. He’s beautiful.

“Do I look hot?” he asks, blinking faux seductively.

“Very hot,” you grin, inspecting your work as you keep a tender hold on his chin.

It’s not even a joke, he does look hot. You’ve always not so secretly adored his more feminine side, getting absolutely giddy whenever he wore a skirt around the flat or painted his nails. You rub your thumb over his cheek affectionately before reaching back over to the counter for your mascara wand, holding it up to him before you unscrew the cap. It’s the only one he’d recognized from earlier, so of course you’re going to tease him a little.

“Time for your favorite,” you joke, moving to position yourself in front of him.

Matty glances at the wand for a second before nodding slowly, smiling with his tongue between his teeth boyishly.

“Mascara,” he recalls smugly.

It quickly becomes his least favorite when he painstakingly can only blink when you tell him to, this wand object being far too close to his eyeballs for his liking. He groans dramatically between the blink breaks that you give him, pulling all sorts of odd, exaggerated faces.

“That was god awful, hated that,” he broods, shaking his head at you.

You make up for it with an apologetic kiss to his cheek, then wipe away the pink trace of your lipstick on his skin. You reassure him that you’re almost done, now retrieving the same shade of lipstick that you’d done on yourself. You slowly ease his lips apart with the hand on his jaw, Matty being totally pliant while he gazes at you quietly. You start to apply the color to his lips, swallowing thickly as you try not to get distracted by his mouth. Despite your best efforts, your face feels a little hot as quiet tension blooms. His pupils have practically doubled in size at this point from how enamored he is with you in this moment. The tension only grows stronger when you finish, standing behind him as you lead him to the mirror.

“Oh, shit. I look… I look really good,” Matty gawks, his lips parting as he eyes himself in the mirror.

“You do. I’d go as far as to say that you look fucking stunning,” you whisper near the shell of his ear, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

The two of you stay like that for a bit longer, both admiring him in the reflection of the mirror, your hands settled on his shoulders and your lips brushing against his ear. With a smile, you place a tender kiss on his neck before leaving him to gaze at himself some more while you finish getting ready in the bedroom.

It’s not long before Matty is trailing after you, finding you slipping your “style over comfort” heels on as he frowns at you from the doorway. The fact that you’re not still fawning over him while he looks this good is pure absurdity in his mind.

“You’re really just gonna leave me here while I’m all dolled up for you? Shame,” he pouts, tilting his head at you as he juts out his bottom lip. Such a drama queen.

Matty comes closer and sinks to his knees in front of you at the foot of the bed, his calloused fingertips running up the expanse of your smooth legs. He looks up at you with lidded eyes as he reaches for the ankle straps of your shoes that you’d just put on, leaning his cheek against your knee as he starts to unclasp one of them with nimble fingers. You don’t stop him. He knows for a fact that he’s putting you in a position where you couldn’t possibly say no to him, not when he’s looking at you like that, his naturally gorgeous features only further accentuated by the makeup you’d done. Maybe being fashionably late isn’t such a big deal… Sarah hosts girl's nights all the time. Besides, Matty seems to have other plans for convincing you that the party is hardly a priority. You swear if you squint, you can see a plan racing to come together in his head as you gaze down at him, drinking him in while he’s on his knees.

“We don’t really have the time…” you murmur, reaching with one hand to card your fingers through his hair, holding it away from his eyes while he undoes your shoes.

Sex with Matty is never a casual affair. He takes his sweet time with you, he takes you apart with his mouth and his fingers before he even thinks of being inside of you. He doesn’t just please, he satisfies. Matty’s devoted appetite cannot be given a time constraint.

Once he’s finished sliding both of your shoes off, carefully setting them to the side, he clambers up onto the bed and lays down behind you. His head is tilted in your direction as he reaches his hands out to you in a grabbing motion, urging you to come closer.

“You could sit on my face,” he suggests, not a trace of hesitation in his blunt tone.

“What?” you gape, your eyebrows knitting together.

“You heard me,” he quips, swallowing thickly before speaking again, “Stay. Use me.”

You shake your head in disbelief, letting out a chuckle at his wanton request. Forcing yourself to swiftly regain your composure, you turn and slink towards him so you’re sitting on your knees at his side. It would probably be faster than sex… right?

“Where is this even coming from? Is that something you think about a lot, babe?” you smile teasingly, reaching over to cup his face, scratching your nails under his jaw.

Matty’s gaze shifts to the side and he shrugs, a coyness playing on his face as his cheeks become rosier. No one gets to see him like this but you, this is your Matty. You sigh, your eyes flickering down to his painted lips that curl up with a mischievous quirk.

“You’d hardly be able to breathe, Matty- no, stop, don’t look at me like that, I’m serious! These things don’t always work out like they do in your pornos,” you laugh, but you are genuinely concerned about hurting him.

“The fuck do I care? If I can breathe, I’m not doin’ it right,” he huffs petulantly, his greedy hands reaching for your hips to guide you into straddling him, “Literally crush me, I can take it, I’m a big boy.”

You shoot him a look and he just offers a wide, toothy grin, reaching behind you to grab handfuls of your ass through your dress that's riding up your thighs higher with every little movement. It suddenly feels a lot shorter when it’s barely covering your panties.

“I dunno about a big one, but you definitely are a boy sometimes, Healy,” you tease, leaning over him with your hands splayed on his chest for support.

“You love it. Are you gonna sit that sexy ass down on me or what?” he smirks, only proving your point further as he waggles his eyebrows at you.

You can tell he’s not going to let this go, not till your thighs are locked around his head. Just as you’re about to open your mouth again, he’s easing the fabric of your dress further up your legs, letting out a satisfied hum as it bunches around your waist. He avidly smooths his hands over the newly exposed skin, need seeping through his touch. Matty’s voice is breathier when he speaks again, his fingertips digging into your hips.

“Please, darlin’, want you to ruin the pretty makeup you did for me so nicely,” he whispers.

Instantly, heat surges under your skin, your breath catching in your throat at the way he spins his sugary words. That’s something you hadn’t considered. The image that flashes through your mind of Matty between your legs with his makeup smudged down his flushed cheeks makes a pang of want rip through you. Suddenly, it looks like your girlfriends will be taking the first round of shots without you.

“...Okay,” you relent, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Yeesss, that’s what I thought,” he celebrates, drumming his fingertips against your hips excitedly, “C’mere.”

The actual process of sitting down on his face seems fairly daunting to you, your limbs feel more awkward than usual, and heat is prickling at your cheeks at the idea of actually straddling his head. It’s an awfully compromising pose to be in. Matty notices how stonewalled you seem, his thumbs rubbing encouraging circles into the bones of your hips.

“It’s okay, I’m serious, I want you to. Here, let me just…” he trails off, urging you to lift your hips by easing them upwards, letting you do most of the movement.

“So gentle,” you tease, noticing how light his touch is, like you’re his most delicate possession.

“I am when I want to be.”

Matty guides you till you’re kneeling above his head, peering down at his warm, sparkly eyes. He looks even prettier from this angle, his sea of dark curls is spread around his head like a halo. The little smile plastered on his face says “See? Not so bad.”. And it’s not, not when he’s holding both of your hands, his thumbs running over your knuckles carefully. He gives one of your hands a squeeze before letting go, placing two tender fingers at the waistband of your panties. He slides them down the front of the lacy fabric till they meet the dampness that’s gathered between your thighs, only setting your skin more ablaze. Matty hums approvingly, the noise rumbling low in his chest as he hooks his fingers under the material, sliding them to the side.

“Oh, fuck me. Perfect fucking cunt,” he groans, spreading your honeyed folds and marveling at the way your arousal gathers on his digits.

You laugh lightly at how he acts as if he’s seeing you like this for the first time and he just smiles, enamored. Matty catches his lower lip between his teeth as he runs his hands over to your thighs, holding them as he nods to signal that he’s ready for you.

“Yeah?” you breathe, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Yeah.”

Matty blinks up at you eagerly, vying for your complete attention with every flutter of his mascara-coated lashes. His eyes are wide and twinkly, only shining brighter when you start to slowly lower your hips down. His needy gaze is wildly flicking back and forth between your face and your core, slicked and glistening with your arousal. There’s a slight burn simmering in your legs at just how teasingly slowly you’re sinking downward, much to Matty’s vexation. He tugs slightly at the soft skin of your thighs, a little whine escaping the back of his throat as he anticipates the lack of oxygen to come. Matty presses his lips to any skin he can reach on your thighs, hurriedly peppering pink lipstick marks till you’re totally littered with them. He smushes his cheek to your inner thigh, his muss of dark curls tickling at your skin as he pleads with you. He looks so fucked out and you haven’t even started.

“Please, please- please, baby,” he murmurs, his tongue darting out to run over his pink, plush lips between kisses to your skin.

You smile down at him warmly, feeling your heart almost burst at just how badly he’s craving this, how long he’s likely fantasized about you using him for your pleasure this way. He’s behaving oh-so politely for a man so normally fond of brashness.

“I-I need it… please, just fucking use me,” Matty whimpers, his voice breaking slightly, his tone shooting straight to your cunt.

Finally, you indulge him, inching down the rest of the way until you’re perched on his face, your knees on either side of his head. You gasp as he doesn’t waste a single moment before his tongue is working against you with practiced swirls and figures. He’s giving you no time to even think twice about being embarrassed by the lewdness of your positioning. Your hands go flying to support yourself against the headboard, feeling like your breath has been ripped straight from your lungs as Matty laps at your sopping cunt. His shimmery, blue eyelids flutter shut as he groans against you, his hands snaking up the backs of your thighs to your ass, holding you down against his mouth firmly as he devours you. Your whole body shudders as he drags his tongue to your clit, flicking the tip of it against the bud; liquid, carnal need filling you right to your bones.

“Fuck! That’s my fucking boy, so good for me,” you sigh out, tossing your head back as you start to reflexively grind down on his tongue “You enjoying yourself, hun?”

Matty lets out syrupy moans that vibrate against your core, only adding to the dizzying, deep-seated pleasure pulsating and reverberating inside you as he nods his head. His lashes flutter, his eyes rolling back until only the whites are visible as you start to find your rhythm, rocking your hips into his mouth to chase the climax just beyond your fingertips. You let out a shuddering moan as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard to tighten the coiling heat in your belly, he knows all the little tricks to make your head spin. He hasn’t spent all this time learning your body for nothing, sometimes you think he might know it better than you do, effortlessly puppeteering you into the throws of pleasure.

Matty’s cock throbs and twitches in his trousers as the plushness of your thighs start to constrict around his head, smiling into your cunt as he truly does enjoy himself, evident in the way his hips are squirming against the mattress. The blissed-out look on your face only fuels his determination that much more, you’ve lit that familiar, insatiable fire in him. You glance over your shoulder and catch the way his thighs flex as his hips jolt upward into nothing, his dick aching and straining against his pants. You always knew Matty got off on you feeling good, but watching him pathetically hump the air while he eats you out is really getting to your head, you feel a little dizzy with a rush of power. Any sense of worry about putting more of your weight onto him is totally dissolved, overshadowed by the sensations rendering your mind fuzzy. You’re weightless.

“Tastes so sweet, so fucking good,” he rambles, his voice muffled and wavering, barely audible from under you.

The urge to own, to ruin flares up in you like a struck match. One of your hands strays from the headboard, reaching to grasp a handful of his meticulously cared-for curls (he pokes fun at the amount of makeup you have, yet his curl-care product collection is extensive). Matty whines, his eyebrows sloping, eyes squeezing shut as he feels your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling on it firmly at the root just the way he likes it. He pulls your hips down onto his face harder, like he’s trying to drown in between your legs.

“Oh my god… good boy, Matty,” you croon, panting as the tension compounds with every swipe of his tongue.

Matty’s hips buck particularly harshly at your praise. He’s quivering at the slight friction from the tight fabric of his pants, but he won’t allow himself to indulge in more than that, he’s far too preoccupied with satisfying you. You smile hazily at how instantly he reacts to the pet name, curious to know how far you can take this while he’s so pussy drunk.

“So fucking pretty for me like this,” you compliment breathlessly, watching as the half of his face that’s visible to you contorts with neediness.

He looks like he could burst like a horny balloon, poor thing. The bed is creaking from the way his hips writhe, rose tattoo lifting up to meet the air. He’s eating you out urgently, his brows drawn together tightly as his tongue fucks in and out of you deeper than you’ve ever felt, the tip of his nose nudging at your swollen clit. You tug at his dark tresses again as the feeling makes your whole body tense, your back arching as it all builds to a fizzling high. Matty doesn’t seem to mind one bit as you start to grind more frantically, your head lolling back with a wail.

“Close, I’m close,” you pant, your chest heaving with shuddering breaths.

“Please, please, oh, god, cum on my face,” Matty whimpers as he pauses for just a moment, turning his face to breathe before delving back in, fluttering the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit.

His begging is what ultimately makes your orgasm crash over you, the tension snapping as you ride the white-hot waves of your orgasm out on his mouth, euphoria rushing through your veins, throbbing at your core. You can’t fully understand him, but what you can make out are garbled moans of your name and babbles of “I love you” as he watches you arch backward, his tongue unrelenting. You let out a cry as the stimulation gets to be too much, your thighs trembling as the sensations crowd you. You have to physically get up off of his face before he stops, gasping for his breath as you settle back down on his hips.

It’s only now that you get to truly see him and god, he’s a beautiful fucking wreck. Your vision is slightly hazy as you peer down at him, the afterglow pleasantly clouding your head as you simply admire him. His eyeliner and mascara have slightly run down his cheeks from the heat, blue eyeshadow smudged and shimmering under his eyes. What’s left of his lipstick is spread around his grinning mouth, glistening with your arousal. Unruly, stray curls stick to his forehead with sweat that glows in an angelic sheen over him. You’ve ruined him, and he couldn’t be happier.

“Fuck, that was incredible,” you breathe, draping yourself over him to kiss his needy mouth.

Matty lets out a dazed giggle against your lips, humming contently as you taste yourself lingering on him. When you shift forward, you feel a distinct lack of the hard-on that was against his thigh when you started. Curiously, you pull away from the kiss to find that the protrusion in his trousers is missing, and in its absence, a sizeable wet spot soaked into the fabric. Pride simmers deep inside you as it quickly clicks into place.

“Matty… did you cum?” you ask, as if it’s not obvious.

He squirms, biting the inside of his cheek as he glances off to the side like the wall has suddenly become extremely interesting. Your smile is almost wolfish as you lean over him, grasping his jaw with one hand to turn his face towards you. His eyes rimmed with runny makeup get wider.

“I-I…” he stammers, his voice cracking and trailing off into a little gasp.

“Felt so good that you came without me even touching you?”

Matty nods slowly, tilting his chin down to drag his pink-bitten lips against your hand, his breath warm against your skin.

“Say thank you,” you whisper, purposefully pressing your thigh (still covered in his lipstick marks) against his softening cock, just to get another pretty, breathy sound out of him as his eyes roll back.

“F-fuck. Thank you. Thank you, baby,” he mumbles, staring up at you like you’re some kind of deity while he kisses the palm of your hand, “don’t go yet, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet boy.”

You capture his lips again and he smiles into the kiss, his hands tentatively knotting into your hair and ruffling it. He rolls the two of you over to embrace as you exchange murmurs of sweet nothings. You’re frankly disgustingly in love, and neither of you would have it any other way.

————————————————————————

This one has been in the works for a whiiiile

I’m dedicating this to Ace @ughgoaway , the biggest makeup fic supporter and one of my dear friends <3

#matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #I REALLY HOPE THIS WAS GOOD OH GODDD

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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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toomuchracket · 6 days

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drunk in love (d word matty x reader smut)

d word smut hiatus over, everyone cheer! inspired by a fun anon i got, takes place immediately after this blurb from last year. enjoy <3

matty's skin is warm under your lips, the salt from the ocean you both swam in earlier still lingering faintly. it's a nice contrast to the sweetness of the champagne you're currently sharing, entwined on a blanket on a deserted malibu beach, watching the setting sun.

once you're done kissing all over your boyfriend's palm, you continue your trail up his middle and index fingers, cheekily taking them into your mouth with a wink. matty giggles, champagne escaping the corner of his lip and dripping down his lightly-stubbled chin; quick as a flash, you stop sucking his fingers in favour of catching the liquid on his face with your tongue, savouring the heady taste of it and him before attaching your lips to his own. your brain is already fuzzy from the bubbles in the drink, and matty's lips and tongue certainly don't help it - when he finally pulls away to breathe, slowly releasing your bottom lip from between his teeth and grinning, you're actually woozy.

he brushes a thumb over your cheek, glowing in the golden hour light. “hi, baby. i love you.”

“i love you,” you beam. the words still feel unfamiliar on your tongue, but getting to say them rather than think them makes you glow as much on the inside as matty is in the evening sunlight. “and i love telling you that i love you.”

“me too,” matty kisses your forehead, then your nose, then all over your face, drawing giggles from your throat; with a chuckle of his own, he pulls you into his chest for a cuddle. “fuck, i love you so much. my sweet girl.”

there's no doubt in your mind that he means it. in fact, there's nothing in your mind except thoughts of matty, how much you love him, and how you wish you could stay in this moment forever, bottle the feelings and the atmosphere and cork it like the champagne in your hand.

you think it might be twice as potent as the alcohol, though. but maybe that's just him.

still holding you, matty moves to lie on his back; he twirls your sun-dried hair around his fingers while you shuffle on top of him to get comfy, smiling warmly when you look up at him. he’s so beautiful that it breaks your heart, all happy-tired and messy-haired and soft worn-out band tee, but the total adoration for you in those pretty eyes is enough to mend it again.

with a kiss to his chest, right where his tattoo is, you sit up, stretching as you take a swig of the champagne set into a little well of sand beside you. matty sighs, moving his hands behind his head and continuing to look at you lovingly. “you're gorgeous, you know that, yeah?”

your cheeks burn as you shake your head. “you're drunk, baby.”

“well, maybe a little bit. but you're still gorgeous,” he runs his hands down your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “i always think that. even when i'm asleep.”

“you dream about me?”

“yeah. a lot.”

“nightmares?”

“no, for fuck's sake,” matty huffs out a laugh, flicking you on the thigh while you giggle. “always good dreams, when you're involved.”

“that's cute, babe,” you trace a little heart on the strip of bare skin visible where matty's t-shirt rides up. “what about sexy ones?”

matty smirks, nodding slowly. “oh yeah,” you have no idea if he means to or not, but he slides his hands across the tops of your thighs, pads of his calloused fingers tracing patterns into the silky skin on the inside of your upper legs; it makes you shiver, in the most delicious way. “those dreams are my favourite.”

“really?” you beam, flirtily biting your lip. “what are we doing in them, my love?”

matty watches as you take another drink from the champagne bottle, his pupils dilating yet never breaking from your own. “well, sweetheart, a lot of the time… you're doing something quite like that.”

“oh?” you blink faux-innocently, flicking your tongue over the opening of the bottle. “like this… daddy?”

your boyfriend groans, shuffling beneath you to try and alleviate the obviously-growing hardness in his shorts. still, he doesn't break eye contact with you, even when you slide your lips as far down the glass neck of the bottle as you can. “jesus christ, princess,” he whines, watching you pull off the bottle and tip some more of its contents into your mouth. “c'mere. wanna kiss you.”

mouth still half-full of champagne, you lean down and let your lips be manipulated by matty's. he moans softly when the alcohol falls into his mouth, drawing satisfied noises from your own throat as he licks practically all traces of it from you - these noises only increase in volume and quantity when his hands slide down to grab at your bikini-clad ass, rocking you back and forth across the hardness below you. it's heavenly, actually, being like this with the man you love in a place like this, just the two of you and the day's last warmth of the sun and the soft crashing of the sea behind you. your head is cloudy, from both bottle and boyfriend, but the desire in your stomach is as sharp as it's ever been.

you need to get matty off. now.

pulling back from his lips just enough to talk, you take a deep breath. “daddy,” your voice is soft, eyes wide and adoring and trained right on matty's, just the way you know fucks him up to an insane degree. “please can i suck you off?”

“shit,” comes the shaky reply, your boyfriend's soft lips meeting your own once again before he talks. “right now, sweet girl? princess wants to make daddy feel good, right out on the beach like this?”

you nod, an involuntary rush of pleasure pooling in your bikini. “mhmm.”

“come on, princess, you can do better than that,” matty runs his thumb over your lips, pulling them apart. “be a good girl and use your words, yeah?”

“mkay,” you smile sweetly at him. “wanna make you feel so good, daddy,” you kiss down over his jaw and up his neck, savouring the little moans he can't hold back before you talk again - well, whisper directly in his ear. “wanna show you how much i love you.”

the noise matty makes in response to that is almost enough to make you cum. he gently guides your head so he can look at you properly, kissing you surprisingly sweetly given the circumstances. “love you, my perfect girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “go on, then, do whatever you want to me. m'all yours. always.”

you hum happily. “all mine.”

matty nods, forehead resting against your own, voice barely a whisper. “yours,” he gently taps your cheek. “let me get ready for you, darling, yeah?”

“alright,” with a final kiss to his nose, you climb off matty's lap, watching as he moves to sit back on his knees and then settling onto your stomach in front of him. this position was an accidental discovery, borne out of you being too eager to get your mouth on him to let him move to lie down, and it's now a mutual favourite; you can watch each other, it's quite comfy for both of you, and - most crucially - it's incredibly easy for matty to fuck your mouth if he wants to.

you hope he does, today. but you'll have to put some work in first for that to happen, so you gently tug down his shorts just enough to free his cock, enjoying the little whine from the man above you when you take it in your hand. eyes locking onto matty's, you let a line of spit drip from your lips onto the head of his dick, smiling at the way he breathes shakily when you slowly pump him. “will you hold my hair back for me, please?”

“of course,” matty does as you ask, swearing under his breath when you press a kiss to the tip as a thank you, wrapping your lips around and flicking your tongue over it just as you did with the champagne. “beautiful girl, so fucking pretty with my dick in your mouth. use it on me, princess, that's my good girl.”

and who would you be to deny him?

you start slow, shallow, savouring the salt of him on your tongue; it cuts through the lingering sweetness of the champagne in the most delectable way, and soon enough you're speeding up your movements, inching further and further down your boyfriend's dick with every movement of your head. and even if you weren't completely obsessed with the way he tastes, the way he feels… the noises he's making, those gorgeous whimpers and groans and whines of your name, they would be enough to spur you on.

the noises turn to proper dirty talk after one particular movement; when he hits the back of your throat, you can't help but gag slightly, and the feeling of it seems to drive matty insane. “christ, princess, love it when you take all of me in that pretty mouth. so good for me, taking me so fucking well.”

you hum happily around him, pulling off quickly to breathe and beam at matty before ducking back down and taking him fully, again. squeezing your thumb in your fist with one hand, you use the other to flatten matty's hand on the back of your head; he understands immediately, gently pressing you down to keep your lips at the base of his cock and his length in your throat. you gag again, despite your thumb trick, but you don't make any attempt to move - you love being like this, mostly because you know matty loves it. he looks down at you, pretty eyes hazy with desire, smiling lazily as your teary gaze meets his own. “fucking hell, princess, look at you,” he coos. “pretty little - breathe, baby, that's it - pretty little slut for me, aren't you? sucking daddy's dick on the beach, where anyone could see, dirty girl. fucking love it,” his face softens, and he softly wipes the tears from your eyes with his free hand. “fucking love you.”

your heart glows, and you pull your mouth off your boyfriend, gasping for breath but still continuing to stroke him as you refill your airways. pressing a kiss to his hip tattoo, you grin up at him. “love you so much. and i need you to fuck my mouth almost equally as much, daddy. please?”

“god, you're so fucking cute. my needy girl,” matty laughs, massaging your scalp. “and to think you were quite innocent when i met you - had never had good sex, and now you're begging me to fuck your face in public. mental.”

you roll your eyes, cheeks burning - not so much out of shame for what you're doing, but more out of embarrassment for how clueless about sex you were when you met him. “yeah, yeah. but you fucking love it, don't you?”

“i do. i love everything you do,” matty boops your nose, smiling. “being in love with someone tends to make you feel like that, though.”

“yeah, it does, doesn't it?” you kiss the head of his dick again, smiling at the way he giggles. “and you know what i love you doing to me, yeah?”

“point taken, princess,” matty weaves his hands into your hair. “you know the drill - three taps if it gets too much, alright? and please remember to breathe, my love. no dick is worth dying for, even mine.”

you sigh. “you're an idiot. i can't believe i'm in love with you,” readjusting yourself on the blanket, you smile up at your boyfriend. “ready?”

“yeah. you?”

blinking coquettishly, you nod. “yes, daddy.”

“good girl.”

matty's eyes don't leave yours for a second as he slowly thrusts into your mouth. he's beautiful like this, you somehow manage to think despite your pleasure-addled brain, jaw slack and pouty lips parted and chest heaving, looking at you like he wants to eat you alive; that last bit changes when he’s fully down your throat, though, eyelids fluttering shut as he tentatively begins to fuck into you. “oh, baby,” he practically whimpers, hips speeding up a little - involuntarily, you think. regardless, you moan, and the vibrations egg him on even more. “i'm not going to last long, princess. you're too - jesus - too fucking good at this. made for it, yeah? made for me, for gagging on my dick like the slut only i know you are. talk to me, angel. tell me who you belong to.”

christ. you're fucking soaked.

you move to pull away so you can talk, but matty harshly pushes your head back down; another bolt of pleasure gushes into your bikini bottoms as he does. “i didn't tell you to stop doing that, princess,” he murmurs. “are you so cockdrunk that you can't multitask anymore? aww, baby.”

“no,” you whine, the sound barely inaudible with your mouth already so preoccupied. “m'sorry.”

“then i'll ask again,” a sharp tug on your hair makes you look up at your boyfriend - imminently close to orgasm, you recognise. “who do you belong to?”

you do your best to reply as clearly as possible. “i belong to you, daddy.”

matty smiles. “fuck yeah you do, princess,” his hips stutter, as do his moans, signalling what you already knew - he's about to cum. “and whose is daddy?”

fuck, you love him so much. “mine.”

and that's what does it for matty - with a groan of your name, he cums down your throat, holding your head in place until he's totally finished thrusting through the climax. you slide off him carefully, keeping your mouth open and the white liquid on your tongue to show him before you swallow; matty swears as you do, swigging more of the champagne before pulling you up to kiss him, letting the sweet and the salt mingle between the two of you as he wraps his arms around your waist. your head is spinning, a mixture of breathlessness and tiredness and drunkenness and matty, but you know you'll be alright in his arms. safest place in the world, you think.

he kisses your nose when he pulls back. “thank you, my darling. that was… yeah, that was incredible. you were incredible, perfect girl.”

shrugging, you snuggle into his chest. “i just like making you feel good, angel.”

“you're really fucking good at it,” matty giggles, sliding his hands under the hem of your t-shirt and kissing your temple. “will you let me return the favour, sweetheart?”

“can i cash it in a bit later tonight, baby?” you look up at him a bit shyly. “might sound, like, cliché or cringe or whatever, but i kind of just want to watch this sunset with you right now. if you want to, that is. we can do something else if you think it'll be boring.”

matty looks at you so tenderly you think you might cry, an eye-crinkling smile spreading across his face. “i don't think i could ever find anything boring if i was with you,” he kisses you, chastely, but the love is obvious in his lips. “come on, let's cuddle.”

and you do, until the stars appear in the inky-blue sky, and you and matty have drank all the ones stored in the bottle - which, incidentally, you make matty carry you back to the beach for, after you both decide to go indoors, tipsily saying “we can't litter, baby. what if a sea creature gets stuck in it?” and almost toppling the two of you when you reach to pick it up.

he puts you down quite reluctantly on the decking next to the kitchen door, grumbling while you put the empty bottle in the waste bucket. “hate not holding you.”

“awwwwww, baby. s'just for a second, though,” you - with some difficulty, admittedly - gently turn on the hose hanging on the side of the house. “okay - ooh, it's warm,” giggling, you hand the hose to your boyfriend. “right. get me wet, babe.”

matty smirks. “done that already, i reckon.”

“nooooooooo, not like that,” you sigh. “i mean get the sand off my legs. can't go in all messy. s'not our house.”

“could be,” matty says, absentmindedly waving the stream of water at your calves.

“hmm?”

“i could buy it. we could live here,” he smirks as another thought comes into his head. “you could just wear those sexy little bikinis all the time. i'd love that,” his smirk fades into a dazed smile as he daydreams. the hose almost slips from his grasp, and the stream of water goes up too high and soaks your t-shirt as he fumbles to catch it. “oh, fuck.”

you shriek, the water sobering you up. “matthew!”

“sorry, darli- actually, no i'm not,” the smirk returns as your boyfriend takes in the white t-shirt now clinging to you like a second skin. “i am not sorry at all, fucking hell.”

“god, you're such a boy. give me that,” you frown, turning the hose on matty and rinsing the sand from his legs in seconds. “there. easy peasy.”

“you're not going to get me all wet? you know i love it when you do that.”

despite your annoyance, you grin. “take me inside and i might.”

“no need to tell me twice, darling,” matty scoops you up, bridal-style, and carries you through the french doors into the kitchen. with a kiss to your nose, he sets you down on the counter beside the sink, leaving you to flick the cabinet lights on while he closes and locks - with a little bit of difficulty, given his tipsiness - the door, before returning to you for another sloppy kiss. he tastes like champagne, even sweeter than usual, and you're mildly upset by the loss of it when he pulls back and raises your arms for you. “need to get this wet top off you, sweetheart. can't have my love getting a cold, now, can i?”

you giggle, letting him pull the t-shirt over your head and drop it into the sink. “take yours off, too? not that you're as at risk as i am, obv. i just think you're fit.”

he laughs, obliging you. “i love you.”

“love you,” biting your lip, you lightly drag your nails down matty's chest, hooking them in the waistband of his shorts and looking up at him as seductively as you can. “would it be possible for me to cash in that favour from earlier, baby?”

“i like the sound of that,” matty kisses you deeply, hands finding their way home to your tits and squeezing gently. “wanna go down on you first, though, if you'll have me.”

“yeah,” you whisper into him. “how do you want me, daddy?”

he smiles against you. “i want to bend you over this fucking counter, princess. how's that sound?”

shit. your bikini’s practically soaked through. “sounds so fucking good. thank you.”

“my sweet, filthy girl,” matty coos, kissing you. he gently lifts you off the counter and sets you down on the floor, stepping back slightly. “alright, you know what to do.”

with a quick final kiss and a whispered “i love you”, which is eagerly reciprocated, you turn away from matty and bend over the counter. the surface is cold under your bare chest, and your entire body trembles slightly; matty groans quietly at that, a sure sign his eyes are glued to your ass. without warning, he brings his hand down on it sharply, eliciting a moan from your lips and a matching “fuck” from his. “god, princess,” he murmurs, rubbing the now-sore spot on your ass. “you're so fucking hot. gonna make you feel so good, baby, alright?”

“mhmm,” you whimper, wiggling your ass in total desperation. “please, please, daddy.”

“relax, my girl,” there's the sound of movement, and you whimper when you feel his breath on your core. “let daddy take care of you.”

you've barely whined out an agreement before matty's tongue is on your clit, flicking over the bundle of nerves before licking a flat stripe up your cunt. you gasp at the feeling, a gasp that quickly turns to a moan when you feel him dip his tongue into you, groaning at the taste he's often told you is his favourite thing in the world; you never really believe him, but the enthusiasm with which he's utterly devouring you right now hints that he might not actually be exaggerating. his hands are warm, firmly gripping your ass to keep you exactly where he wants you while he makes out - there's really no other word to describe it - with your cunt. you're not sure whether it's drunkenness or tiredness or something else, but matty's sloppier than usual with his mouth, his usual precise (deadly) tongue flicks replaced with messy licks and sucks and grazes with his teeth.

it's not like you'll complain, though; he's still making you feel good, drawing half-screamed whines out of you every two seconds, and you can feel how desperate he is for you to cum, all over his face. and isn't that just the hottest thing of all?

you find it so hot, actually, that you give your boyfriend what he wants in an almost embarrassingly short amount of time. after what seems to be an attempt by matty to bury his entire tongue inside you, your body begins to shake, nerves sending bursts of electric pleasure into the pit of your stomach and lifting your heels off the ground slightly; matty smacks your ass again, a warning for you to keep still so he can finish you off properly, and you whimper. “need to cum, daddy, please, please. so fucking close, so so fucking close. can i?”

matty doesn't answer, but his mouth continues its efforts - your grasp on reality isn't too great at the minute, but you're pretty sure he gets even wilder, even more enthusiastic, licking up past your cunt and frantically sucking your clit in his determination to get you off. and he fucking loves it; in the end, it's the vibrations from him moaning into you that actually tip you over the edge, kinetic energy coursing back through your nervous system as you cry out. “yeah, yeah, daddy, m'cumming. oh, fuck me fuck me fuck me, please, so good, so fucking good.”

amidst your babbling and the orgasm still ebbing from your body, you're vaguely aware of matty pulling away from you, one hand leaving your ass as he pulls himself to stand - that changes about a second later, though, when he slides into you without warning and just thrusts. you smile breathlessly, cheek smushed into the counter, sighing contentedly. “oh, thank you.”

“so sweet for me, princess,” matty laughs breathily, his tender tone at odds with the roughness he's fucking you with. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whine at a particularly good thrust. “oh, fuck, daddy, please don't stop.”

“wouldn't dream of it, my love,” he presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. “you gonna be a good girl and cum for me again?”

“yes.” you aren't lying - already, your limbs are starting to tremble again.

“yes what?” matty fucks harder into you, hips slapping against your own. “who is it that's making you feel so good, princess?”

you gulp, eyes rolling back into your head from the overwhelming pleasure. “yes, daddy. s'you making me feel good, making me cum.”

the smile in your boyfriend's voice is audible. “that's my girl. c'mere, sweetheart,” matty pulls you up so your back is flush against his chest, still fucking you as he turns your head to look over your shoulder. “give daddy a kiss.”

you oblige eagerly, sloppily kissing him and letting his tongue explore your mouth. throughout it all, his hips don't let up, and the pressure in your stomach grows with every further movement. “m'close again,” you whimper into matty, moaning when you feel his hand slide down the front of your body to your clit. “so close.”

“yeah?” you boyfriend coos against your lips. “want me to make you cum, sweet girl?”

the pleasure is blinding, your vision literally blurring as you reach breaking point. “please, daddy.”

matty smiles, fingers frantic between your thighs. “go on then.”

his lips attach themselves to your neck as you tip your head back onto his shoulder, orgasm hitting you like a freight train for the second time in minutes. you wail a garbled mixture of your boyfriend's name and the nickname only you call him, throwing an arm back around his neck to keep him close while he fucks you as best he can through your climax, given that you're clenching so tightly around his dick.

once the aftershocks subside, you flop forward; matty stops you from clattering against the counter by wrapping an arm around your stomach and lowering you gently, hips faltering as he chases his own release. “shhh, baby, i know,” he murmurs, hand returning home to your hip and softly rubbing patterns into the skin. “so good, so perfect for daddy, princess. want me to fill you up?”

turning your face on the cold wood, you smile at him, completely fucked out - he doesn't look any better, you note, sweaty and tired and red and maybe the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. “mhmm,” you nod slowly. “love you.”

“i love you, so much - oh, fuck, sweetheart,” matty spills inside you with a groan, resting his forehead against your back as he slows to a stop. you can feel him smiling into you. “christ, i'm fucking knackered - well, actually,” pulling out of you with a hiss and a hushed “sorry, baby”, matty turns and lifts you to sit on the counter, angling your hips just so to avoid creating more of a mess. “reckon i'm awake enough to clean you up before bed, if you like.”

you card your fingers through his hair. “you really do so much for me. s'amazing.”

he shrugs. “what can i say? i love you.”

smiling, you pull him in for a hug. “i love you too. come on, let's go and clean up.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty x reader #matty healy x reader

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