#matty healy imagines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adore-healy · 2 months

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Talk!

Introducing my next piece — my biggest ever baby — just short of 18K of pure angst so buckle up! Please read the warnings below very carefully — I think I have everything covered but if there's anything else triggering which I've overlooked, please let me know!

Please be kind! Your lovely comments always mean the world to me! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings? Please read at your own risk! Brief mentions of body confidence (insecure reader); alcohol (mentions of vomit); drugs (mentions of rehab); very descriptive illegal drug use and overdose (injecting/needles, vomit, seizures, and mentions of death), sexual scenes and references; and bad language.

Talk!

Swaying ever so slightly, thanks to the glass of wine you’d downed upon your arrival at the party for some liquid confidence, you cross your legs and pray that whoever is taking so long in the bathroom will speed things along because you’re not sure how much longer your bladder can hold out for.

Leaning against the wall for support, you find yourself immersed in people watching as a form of distraction. It seems as though the landing area of the house was the most ideal make out spot for couples tonight — and you assume that the bedrooms are already taken; so you dare not risk using any of the en suites attached in fear of disturbing someone’s mid-fuck.

A group of lads are sat in a circle on the other side of the landing, engrossed in a card game which heavily involves alcohol as you hear them egg each other on with chants galore. One girl sits on the carpeted stairs, only two down from where you’re standing, and she drunkenly sobs into her phone, desperately apologising to whoever is on the other end — presumably an ex partner — as she begs them to take her back.

Your eyes wander observantly over to a group of girls huddled in a corner and despite your innocence in the drug scene at parties, you know that they are abusing a substance as they take turns to dramatically snort white powder off a car key. You’re instantly drawn to them; each of them dressed in clothing that accentuates their stunning figures, paired with high heels that you’d surely break an ankle in.

Self-consciousness suddenly becomes your most prominent feeling as you look down at the loose-fitting floral playsuit you’d chosen to wear this evening, along with your white low top converse. Wrapping your arms protectively around yourself, you wait as patiently as you possibly can.

As though your silent prayers had been answered, the lock of the door clicks, indicating that somebody is finally exiting the bathroom — although you’re hardly surprised when a girl stumbles out of the doorway and balances herself against the doorframe, a slight giggle escaping her lips.

“Steady, love,” a voice sounds from behind her.

Even in your tipsy haze, you’d know that northern accent anywhere — and as his hand comes to rest on the girls’ hip to support her in her drunken state, there’s no mistaking the recognisable box tattoo inked on the inside of his forearm.

Tears pool in your eyes and cloud your vision as you drink in the girls demeanour. Despite having full awareness that it’s not her fault, you can’t help but feel incredibly bitter towards her.

She’s hot.

Her brunette hair frames her face and the luscious curls fall to halfway down her back; fake tan and make up seemed to have been applied in excess but she was able to pull it off with ease; her lips — clearly injected with filler — were ruby red (although the smeared lipstick across her face doesn’t go unnoticed by you); and her waist is adorned by a matching black leather co-ord, her knee high boots giving prominence to her stature.

She’s really hot. Something that you’re not.

And …

… Matty.

The amount of times you’d spoken his name aloud; shouted it during an argument; whispered it in your sleep; whined it each time he would bring you close to the edge with his fingers, or tongue, or sometimes both, only to deny you of the orgasm you desperately craved; moaned it when he did finally let you come around him.

You wonder if his name would roll off your tongue so easily now.

He looks, dare you jinx it, healthy; adorned in a simplistic but dressy pair of black slacks paired with a plain white shirt (because he thinks it makes him appear ethereal — note: it does) and the outfit is completed with black patent shoes. He looks every inch the award winning successful pop star — and you liked it — until you remembered the girl he was keeping company with.

You hadn’t expected this situation to arise tonight; hadn’t prepared yourself for an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend; let alone seeing him clinging to a girl — a girl who isn’t you.

Upon handing out her birthday party invites this summer, Charli had confidently assured you that Matty wouldn’t be attending. You’re now realising it had perhaps been a ploy to get you here in the first place. Charli knew you wouldn’t miss her birthday, you’d promised her that yourself; but you would have preferred to have done something different between the two of you — or your group of shared girlfriends — to celebrate; a spa day; a bottomless brunch; a trip to the theatre; anything that didn’t require much social interaction (such as the disorderly house party currently taking place).

Dazed and slightly unsteady, you’re at a loss for words as you look up at Matty and the brunette — but your heart need not race with anxiety, your body need not shake with trepidation, your mind need not be perplexed — as the pair wade past you, not bothering to acknowledge your existence.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch the couple shuffle down the stairs and dodge past the sea of people loitering. Matty keeps the girl close to him, her back pressed against his chest, as his fingertips dance on her skin, his nails biting into her flesh as though he fears letting her go.

The urge to vomit overwhelms you — and you don’t think it’s tonight’s consumption of alcohol. Stumbling into the bathroom, you’re sure to lock the door behind you, before grabbing the porcelain basin for stability. Steadying your breaths and grounding yourself with a few ‘you’re okay’s,’you’re able to calm yourself down enough to remember why you’re in here in the first place; your bladder is about to explode.

Seating yourself on the toilet, your body slightly swaying in your intoxicated state, you close your eyes to ground yourself, drifting off in a daydream where times were different.

You were never Matty’s type — not typically. Fans often reminded you of that across various social media platforms, although not all comments were nasty. Some simply stated that you were far too innocent to be dragged into Matty’s world of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll; whilst other opinions were cruel, leaving you to question your existence in Matty’s life altogether.

Their bitterness was laughable — until it wasn’t. Your rockstar boyfriend would often come home to you - a shell of your former self - locked away in the bathroom; tearfully obsessing over your looks (although not narcissistically); picking yourself apart; and somehow managing to find non-existent faults.

But ever the charming boyfriend, Matty loved on you every day of your relationship. You were continually reminded of his affection towards you with lavish bouquets of flowers, luxurious gifts, romantic picnics, candlelit dinners, and general expressive gestures — often intimate.

However, in spite of Matty’s adoration of you, it was his weakness that had come between you and ultimately resulted in the end of your relationship.

Although grateful for Matty overcoming his heroin addiction, his reliance on drugs had acted as a permanent barrier to a potential future together. You wanted forever with Matty; yearned for him to get down on one knee during an idyllic getaway to pop the question; desired to raise a family with him and experience the highs and lows of parenthood; and eventually grow old together (the only argument being who would be the first to go, because neither of you could live without the other).

It was an unrealistic scenario; you were unable to bring a child; Matty’s child; into a world where his substance abuse was coming first again; and before you. You didn’t condone it but you had accepted his use of recreational drugs — your boyfriend was in a band, after all, and smoking marijuana, snorting lines and popping pills was normalised in his world where creativity was key.

But Matty getting high once a month had soon turned into once a week, and coming home from a writing session in the studio with red eyes which rolled into the back of his head soon became once a day; and spending your evenings alone in your shared apartment whilst you awaited his arrival was proving difficult as you succumbed to the loneliness. Along with the lack of intimacy and the diminished romance, it felt as though you were living separate lives, passing ships in the night.

Late nights, drug dependencies and an obvious lack of appreciation often resulted in slanging matches between the two of you; harsh words thrown around and reverberating off the walls, both viciously biting back and mocking insecurities just to one up each other and instantly regretting it but both too stubborn to apologise. Arguments between you would conclude with slamming doors and estranged sleeping arrangements.

You’d remain in the apartment, clutching the teddy bear he’d won you at a Christmas fair one year — one that held a photo frame which housed a nostalgic photograph of the two of you together after the band had performed their self-titled album in full ten years after it’s release. You’d eventually sob yourself to sleep.

Matty would be cursing to himself and running a frustrated hand through his hair as he’d roam the streets, angrily kicking the ground and scuffing his shoes all whilst contemplating who to call at ungodly hours — before ultimately heading off to find his next fix to alleviate the pain he was causing to himself and everyone around him.

You were both hurting.

“Please y/n, let me come in,” a female voice begs.

You frown, adjusting your eyes as you rewire your drunken brain to return to Planet Earth. You wonder how long you had disassociated for; how long someone was calling your name from outside the bathroom before you finally noticed their presence.

It takes a minute to sort yourself out before you open the door to reveal Charli on the other side. She gives you a solemn but albeit reassuring smile before pulling you in for a hug.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you whisper into her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder.

Charli sighs sadly as she draws back from you to close the door behind her, locking it securely and leaving you both with some privacy.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that y/n, please believe me,” she urges. “George …” she trails off, before explaining how the misunderstanding had occurred.

She doesn’t mean to throw her own boyfriend under the bus and shift the blame. It had been an accidental slip of the tongue during a recording session between the two band members, which resulted in Matty assuming he was already invited — and George didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

“’s fine, ’s not your fault,” you mumble in an attempt to reassure your friend. “Just wasn’t expecting to see him,” you add with a shrug as you sit yourself on the edge of bath.

Charli kneels in front of you, taking your hands in her own. It’s a silent comfort, a gesture to say that she’s here for you, one that you’re grateful for.

“Is he —” you begin, sighing heavily as your eyes find the ceiling, struggling to vocalise the words. Charli understands and gives you time to figure out what it is that you want to express. A tear rolls down your cheek and you finally whimper, “Is he clean?”

Charli sighs heavily, the pads of her thumbs gently rubbing reassuring circles on your knuckles.

“He’ll always have a problem with drugs, y/n,” integrity is laced in her voice. “But it’s mostly weed nowadays. He hasn’t touched heroin since rehab, you know that,” she reminds you. “He occasionally does coke, but it’s for creativity, and he’s never alone.”

You nod in understanding. You’re fully aware of the demands of his rockstar lifestyle and how the use of substances heavily influence his song writing and record producing; and using it in the company of the other band members wasn’t really the issue; it was when Matty used it alone and vowed to himself to keep it a secret that it became a problem, lying becoming a huge factor in the breakdown of your relationship.

“He realised,” she pauses, taking an in-breath before revealing, “after losing you, he needed to get his act together. He knew he couldn’t build a life with someone if he was always off his face.”

“Looks like he’s building a life with someone else just fine,” you sigh sadly, your eyes averting towards the bathroom door.

The thought of Matty’s arms around another girl especially in front of you makes you feel incredibly uneasy; your heart physically hurting as though somebody was continuously puncturing it and putting you through consistent pain; your stomach turning at the idea of their hands roaming each other’s bodies.

“Oh babe,” she whispers sadly.

“It’s ok,” you tell her with a small nod. Wiping the tears away from your face, you take a deep breath and compose yourself. “I’m ok,” you say, a little more convincingly paired with a smile. “I’ll be fine; it was just a bit of a shock, you know.”

Charli nods in understanding. “You were together for a long time, babe. You’re bound to be upset at seeing him move on with someone else … although,” her speech becomes slurred slightly due to her alcohol consumption and she’s suddenly whispering as though she’s about to reveal a sacred secret, “between you and me, I think he’s just looking for a quick shag.”

Her words, surprisingly, don’t cut deep, and you realise it’s perhaps because she’s drunk and she doesn’t really know she’s saying; or maybe it’s because you know it’s true. There had been no sign of another girl after you; no dating rumours maliciously spread online or in the media, no mention of a female name whenever you met with the rest of the band members and their other halves. Perhaps Matty was in need a good shag — and this girl was the first person willing to provide it for him.

“C’mon,” Charli gives you an encouraging nudge, breaking you out of your own drunken trance. “There’s more vodka and tequila and wine downstairs,” she lists the various alcohol options begging to be consumed. “Let’s get wrecked,” she finishes with a smirk.

It’s a mystery to you how both yourself and Charli have made it to the bottom of the stairs in one piece; not once stumbling or losing your balance despite your intoxicated state. Although, you weren’t complaining. Nobody needed to end up in hospital with a sprained ankle or broken leg, especially on Charli’s birthday.

“There’s my girl,” a male voice can barely be heard over the deafening beat of music that pulsates throughout the house. Emerging through the sea of people and heading towards you both is George, his arms outstretched as he makes a beeline for his girlfriend.

“Baby!” Charli yells dramatically as she stumbles into his open arms, nuzzling into his broad chest. She takes a few moments to regain her composure, inhaling his scent; the strong cologne smothering his plain white t-shirt.

“Someone’s having fun!” George exclaims over the music that reverberates around the house. He glances down and presses a kiss to Charli’s head, running a hand comfortingly across her back as they look ever the disgustingly in love couple.

“We are!” she slurs, smirking up at her fiancé, before loudly declaring, “I’m going … that way!” She points theatrically towards the kitchen as she suddenly steps out from George’s embrace to meet his gaze.

“And why’s that, baby?” he asks, pressing his hands gently to her cheeks, cupping her face.

“Because … that’s where the vodka is, silly!” she giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, as she feels as though she’s stating the most obvious thing in the world before she starts swaying on the spot.

“Whoa,” George murmurs softly, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. “‘m not sure you need anymore vodka, babe,” he sniggers at his girlfriend’s drunkenness, although already dreading the raging hangover she’ll experience in the morning. “I best get this one some water,” he tells you, when Charli once again drunkenly collapses against his chest. “Will you be alright?” he asks, peering over her head to meet your gaze, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah … go on, you look after her. I’ll be fine,” you nod in reply, waving him off.

Taking a step down the corridor, Charli flings her arms around George’s neck, causing them both to stumble down the hallway and out of sight into the kitchen, leaving you alone. You watch them for a while, noting the interaction between them — physical touch clearly their love language as they can’t keep they hands off of each other — and despite your happiness for them in their relationship, you can’t help but feel immensely jealous of the love they have for each other.

Taking in your surroundings, you’re indecisiveness would normally kick in around now, unsure of where to go and who to spend your time with, but thanks to the many shots you’d manage to knock back this evening, your anxiety is currently kept at bay as you head into the lounge.

Drunken revellers are scattered all around the room — some making out with each other on the sofas, hips grinding against each other and moans of pleasure filling the air; others are in large gatherings and engaged in booming conversations about anything and everything; party goers sit on the floor playing drinking games; whilst a couple of guests are sprawled, uncomfortably looking, across the sofa clearly sleeping off the early hangover that’s already kicked in.

Panic threatens to rear it’s ugly head as you suddenly become hyperaware of the scenario you now find yourself in currently playing out — and you mentally scold yourself for ever thinking that the alcohol you'd consumed this evening could ever give you enough liquid confidence to mingle at such a social event.

You’re in a room full of people; yet you’re alone. None of these people are your friends, and you’re not looking for a quick fuck, either. You don’t have anyone to talk to; anyone to interact with. Desperately seeking a solution, your eyes dart around the room, yet in only a matter of seconds they seem to find a problem in a darkened corner, and you’re forced to watch an intense interaction unfold.

How was it possible to feel everything and nothing at the same time?

Your heart stops beating within your chest, whilst simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. Dizziness consumes your entire body as though you could collapse at any given moment, but your feet are planted firmly to the ground. Your palms start to sweat and your cheeks glow red, your body’s way of telling you you’re overheating, yet your blood runs cold within your veins.

The scene in front of you burns into your eyes, as though it’s a movie that you must involuntarily watch repeatedly; experiencing the trauma over and over again; because you’re adamant that even when you close your eyes, the image will be etched in your brain, one that you’ll see in your nightmares every night from now on.

Matty’s hands are snaked around the brunette’s waist, his fingertips digging into the fleshiest part of her as his larger, overpowering frame keeps her in place against the magnolia wall. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned three from the top, his inked skin exposed as the woman’s palms rest atop his chest, her digits occasionally finding themselves dancing upon the artwork that adorns his body.

You can’t help your eyes wandering below as it becomes increasingly apparent that Matty’s erection is straining within his trousers, his well-endowed manhood threatening to break free of the material. As he becomes progressively turned on, he thrusts his hips towards her body, and one of his hands comes to rest on her inner thigh.

Based on your previous experiences in make out sessions with Matty, you know his fingers will soon find their way up the leather skirt that clings to the girl’s body, before they seek out her sweet spot and have her coming all over them.

You watch his tongue battle against hers for dominance; and you’re surprised at how easily you play into your own imagination as you’re plagued with thoughts about his mouth; because you know you would have submitted by now, granting Matty permission to take full control of the situation.

The affectionate act would be reassuring, your comfort absolutely paramount to him. With your arms around his neck and your bodies desperately pressing together as though intertwining, Matty would trail sloppy wet kisses along your jawline. One hand resting upon your hip and the other placed on the wall of the darkened corner behind you, you would be trapped, pleasantly, in his company.

As his head lowers towards your neck, he’d pull the strap of your playsuit down, exposing your clavicle. He would greedily eye up your collarbone, before allowing his lips to linger for longer than necessary as he gently sucked at your skin, surely leaving a bruise as a reminder. Expressing your pleasure through a small moan would have his lips crashing against yours instantly, the taste of cigarette smoke still on his breath, his lungs full of tar as you inhaled the tobacco second hand.

However, it wouldn’t be long before your insecurities during intimate acts would rear their ugly heads, getting the better of you, and a small whimper against Matty’s plump lips, as you desperately seek solace, has his hands cupping your face, his confidence blooming as he guides you throughout.

“Doin’ so well for me, love,” he would murmur against your lips. The conviction in his voice soothed you, the passionate kisses made you feel secure, and the tenderness of his touches made you feel safe; as though you have a place, with him, in this world.

“Matty,” is all you’d manage to whimper against him, your body quivering at the slightest touch, his words of praise turning you on.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d encourage more moans to escape you, desperate to hear how good he makes you feel. “Gonna let me touch you?” he always had the gentlemanly habit of asking for your consent, despite you both already knowing the answer.

With his hot breath fanning over your blush cheeks, you’d nod against him, responding with a mumbled, “mmhmm,” and granting him permission to do so, unable to form a coherent response.

Wasting no time, his fingers would brush past you intimately, and he’d be so grateful that the playsuit you chose to wear tonight was loose fitting around your thighs, giving him the easiest access to the ever growing wet patch on your underwear.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, darling,” he would express his approval at the dampness between your legs. “Good girl,” came the praise as he’d edge you, his digits rubbing hard against you.

You would flinch as his thumb circles your sensitivity in repetitive motions. His kisses become wetter and sloppier as you moan into his mouth, his lips smirking at the hushed moans leaving your lips.

Bucking his hips towards you and pushing you further into the corner, ensuring to maintain your dignity and leaving no space between you, would have him breathless against your body.

“Can you feel that, darling? That’s what you do to me.” He’d be hard; only for you.

His thumb and forefinger work in tandem against your bundle of nerves, and with the increased pressure to the circular motion he inflicts upon you, you would be so responsive for him, whimpering and quivering against him, desperate for release.

“Come on darling, you gonna come for me?” he’d ask, rhetorically, because he knows you will. “That’s it, love, give me a good one,” he talks you through it, and you don’t take much more coaxing before you come undone around him, soaking his fingers and coming over the cotton material.

He’d gaze intently, the sight of you post-orgasm incredibly mesmerising to him. He’d allow you a few moments to regain your composure; you regulate your breathing simultaneously with his whispers of encouragement, words of praise, and affectionate touches guaranteed to soothe you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come back to me,” he would press a kiss to your cheek, bringing you down from your high and back to reality, his admiration for you soaring. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of people at the house party, Matty somehow had the ability to make you feel as though you were the only person in the room.

He anchored you.

But you drowned anyway.

“Come on, darling,” a soft voice from behind you whispers.

A tentative pair of hands come to rest on your hips, fearful of startling you. Normally, despite your timid personality, you would react to unwanted male attention, uninvited hands touching your body, but it’s Ross, and you know you’re safe with him.

“Come on,” he repeats. “You don’t need to see this.”

He manages to guide you out of the lounge and into the hallway; although you’re not quite sure how your brain and limbs are working in tandem. It’s as though your feet won’t move; stuck to the spot and unable to drag yourself away from the torment unfolding before your eyes; yet you can’t move quick enough, your body urging you to leave the horror behind.

Alcohol courses through your veins and you wish the depressant had acted as a sedative but instead it’s dramatically heightened your feelings. Your stomach is turning at the sight of Matty passionately making out with the brunette as though they were a couple of horny teenagers, desperate to get their end away.

Music thumps around you, drum and bass bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room and you’re pretty sure that your pounding heart is simultaneous with the fast breakbeats, both working in unison.

Your knees begin to buckle beneath you, unable to support yourself as adrenaline pulses through your body. Desperately trying to swallow air into your lungs, your breath hitches around the tears that flow freely down your blush cheeks.

The oxymoron of your emotions is terrifying and there’s too much to contend with; it’s as though you’re in a dream like state — a nightmare — and a passing thought of, “Is this the equivalent to being high?” crosses your mind.

“Breathe, y/n,” Ross gently encourages as he steadies your body against his own. “Just breathe.”

You can feel people staring, eyes watching intently as they nosily observe your demeanour. They probably assume you're drunk or high; you don’t really care; you’re unable to concentrate on anything other than Matty at the moment.

“’s loud,” you whimper.

Cigarette smoke and marijuana fills the air, hustle and bustle continuing around you as Ross comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the party guests loitering in the hallway, as he attempts to protect you, maintaining your dignity in your vulnerable state.

“What was that, love?” he asks, lowering his ear to your mouth in an attempt to hear you around the electronic dance music that blares through the speakers.

“It’s loud!” you cry out again, shaking your head vigorously as though to rid the noise around you; the chatter amongst friends, the laughter between guests; the deafening music; your own thoughts. At the risk of looking as if having a breakdown, your place your hands over your ears, covering them.

Your eyes dart towards two figures fast approaching and even through your tears you instantly recognise them to be Carly and Adam.

“What’s happened?” Carly asks, obvious concern lacing her voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fiercely shake your head once more. “It’s too loud!” you sob this time because why does nobody understand?! Why is everybody talking so loud?

“Hey, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Carly reassures you, gently placing a supportive hand on the small of your back.

You’re too in your own head to realise that the other two men in your presence exchange a glance, Ross pulling Adam aside to fill him in on Matty’s antics tonight.

Pulling you close, Carly attempts to protect you from the continuous stares of the other party goers, and upon overhearing the conversation taking place behind you between her husband and his friend, simultaneous with her reassuring words of, “It’s ok, darling, just breathe,” she makes an efficient decision to take you into the kitchen.

Carly understands, completely, and takes control of the situation. Leading you towards the corner counter, she encourages you to rest your swaying body against the unit for some sort of stability. The kitchen, filled with pop-stars, is almost like a safe haven for you — these people were important, and you weren’t, so they had no time to focus on you and your breakdown. They didn’t care.

“Here,” a voice murmurs softly, a glass of water offered to you in an outstretched hand. It takes you a few seconds for your blurry eyes to focus, your body swaying slightly, before you realise that it’s Adam.

You reach forward, tentatively taking the glass of liquid between both of your hands, attempting to steady your hold on the object which proves to be difficult with your shaking frame. You bring the water to your lips and start to sip it, before increasing the pace in which you drink and taking larger gulps.

“Slowly,” Carly whispers, placing her hand over yours on the glass and encouraging you to take your time. “That’s it, y/n. Nice and slowly,” she praises you as you take smaller sips once again.

You finally regain yourself, tears no longer freely flowing — but your cheeks are stained with track marks where you’d previously been crying. The reverberating music doesn’t seem quite as harsh against the walls in the kitchen; and it’s perhaps the most peaceful room in the house, despite there being plenty of celebrities surrounded by cigarette smoke and noisy chatter amongst friends.

Placing the glass down on the kitchen counter, you turn to Carly and Adam. “He … there was …” you attempt to explain yourself but you’re unable to vocalise the horror that you had witnessed — Matty making out with another girl.

“’s ok,” Carly intervenes, recognising your struggle.

Your bottom lip trembles again and it shatters Carly’s heart that you feel this way, your emotions heightened and running away with you — upset; angry; distressed; inferior; betrayed. She gives Adam a knowing look, and he too is burning with rage.

“Just … wait here,” Carly tells you softly, her hands coming to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll be right back, ok?” she assures you, softly cupping your face in her hands as she wipes away the remnants of salty tears.

You don’t really comprehend what she’s saying to you; everything is a surreal blur — but you nod anyway. As you stare into space, you hear Adam whisper hiss, “I’ll kill him,” under his breath, as he and Carly head off, presumably back to the lounge.

And just like that, you’re alone, again.

With alcohol increasing your sensitivity to everything, the lingering taste of tequila is still prominent on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke — once a comforting scent when it came to Matty — and marijuana fills the air, making you feel lightheaded, and you know it will take at least three hair wash routines before you get the smell out.

Your eyes avert around the room as though you’re in a dream-like state. In body, you’re here, but your mind is elsewhere. You observe the other pop-stars who are loitering and talking, not giving a fuck about you — and you also note the amount of bottles that clutter the countertops; some beverages opened and half drank, the sides inundated with empty ones, and a few completely untouched.

“You need to lighten up, sweetheart.”

In your dazed state, you’re not sure who is talking to who right now. You lazily turn your head in the direction of where the voice had come from, to see a young man sitting on the kitchen island opposite you. It takes you a few seconds to realise that he’d aimed his comment at you.

He was alone, too.

He’s cute, you note. Dressed in a moth-bitten black knitted jumper and a pair of black skinny jeans, he mirrors Matty’s iconic grunge look and it’s enough to make you want to fuck him on the kitchen counter in front of everyone; and vomit at the sight of him; at exactly the same time.

His dangling legs are swinging beneath him as he fidgets atop of the counter to get comfortable, his fingers drumming against the granite surface.

Ignoring your initial liking to him looking every inch the boyfriend, you reach forward, opting for the bottle of wine sat next to the him, shrugging off his comment and not once acknowledging his existence. You didn’t have the time of day for any man right now.

Taking a swig from the half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio in your hand, you close your eyes, still trying to rid yourself of the image of Matty embracing another girl.

“Seriously, babe,” he tries again, “You look upset … and wine definitely won’t help you,” he tries again.

You lower the bottle, although it’s still close enough to your lips that it’s practically dancing against them, as you get ready to down another mouthful of the alcohol once this conversation concludes.

“And what will?” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him.

“Something stronger … if you get my drift,” he raises an eyebrow.

You know what he’s implying, but you choose to ignore him. You raise the bottle back to your lips, but something stops you — the guy before you wraps his hand around your wrist, preventing you from drowning your sorrows further.

“Drugs?” you ask rhetorically, mirroring his raised eyebrow at his obviousness.

He shrugs at you although you can tell he becomes slightly shifty, his eyes wandering to make sure nobody had heard you. Delving into his pocket, he pulls out a small packet containing a white powdery substance and throws it down onto the island in front of you.

“’s your call,” he murmurs with a nod. “You can have this one on the house,” his eyes flit between the package and you.

Anxiousness is your forefront emotion as you gaze down at the illegal substance. You weren’t naive to the reality of drug-dealing. The first batch this guy had just offered to you for free was a ploy to get you hooked; to keep you coming back for more as a regular client.

But in turn, it meant addiction; an illness. Being with Matty had shown you an ugly side of drugs that you could have only ever imagined. At the time of being your boyfriend, Matty had fallen into a world of lies and deceit, ultimately resulting in a failed relationship.

You shake your head, “No, thank you though.”

The man opposite you furrows his brows.

“Are you sure? I have plenty and … well, it’s just you seem pretty upset and it will make you feel better. I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s boy trouble?” he asks, almost knowingly.

You don’t respond; you didn’t want this man — a complete stranger who you'd known less than five minutes — psychoanalysing you.

“You know, everyone here is doing drugs,” he informs you in a whisper, stating it matter of factly. “These people; they might seem like they’re put together and better than everyone else, but the truth is, they need to take their pain away, too. Trust me, I can help you.”

Registering his words, your eyes avert back to the package.

“What … what is it?” you ask him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Smack,” he answers without hesitation. “Looks like you need it to work pretty quick as well,” he adds, before taking another object out of his pocket and placing it on the counter beside the drug. “The quickest way to get your high is by cooking it, and then injecting it, preferably into a vein,” he tells you as you look down at the syringe now on the kitchen side.

It would be plain to anyone watching this interaction that you’re unknowledgeable; possessed by innocence in this life. Sure, you’d experimented with the socially accepted substances; alcohol (many of nights had ended with you retching into a toilet bowl and nursing a hangover into the next day), and smoking tobacco cigarettes; but otherwise, you’d lead a pretty sheltered life, for which you were grateful for.

“How?” you ask, before clarifying, “How do I cook it?”

The attractive guy smirks back at you. Perhaps he thought you were cute? Or maybe he was lonely and wanted the company? Then again, it could be because he was grooming a young, vulnerable girl into taking an illegal substance which would hopefully have her hooked and coming back for more.

You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague your mind, your anxiety levels peaking as you realise just how unsure you are of this; and how alone you are at the moment.

Matty was too busy trying to get fucked by a pretty model; Ross, Adam and Carly had all left you to go God knows where; and knowing them, George and Charli were probably shagging in the flowerbed at the end of the garden.

But ultimately, you were alone.

“’s easy,” he mumbles, jumping down from the side and walking over to the kitchen counter where you were stood, cornering you between the units.

He’s confident, but not cocky or threatening, and right now you feel seen; heard; and maybe even safe in this man’s presence right now. He reaches towards the cutlery drawer next to you, pulling out a silver spoon.

“Firstly, we need a cooker and a heat source,” he shows you the cutlery in his hand, although you already know it’s a slightly amateur move when he hasn’t provided his own equipment in his drug sharing ritual — but you’ll let him off since you’re no expert either.

With his back turned towards everyone else in the kitchen, he’s left to secretly pour the contents of the plastic bag onto the spoon. He steadies his hand, before delving into his pocket with the other and reaching for a lighter. Placing it underneath the spoon, he begins to melt the heroin, and you watch on, fascinated as the powder gradually turns into a liquid.

“Take it for me,” he gestures towards the spoon.

You do as he says, trying your best to steady your grip on the handle of the cutlery.

The man turns to discretely observe the other party goers in the kitchen and he’s satisfied when some of the guests had filtered out of the room — a few of them having decided to go into the garden — and those who were remaining were still just as uninterested in you both.

“We can put it in this now,” he tells you, and he draws the liquidated substance into the syringe, filling it with the drug. “I need your shoe lace,” he nods down to your fresh white converse.

“Why?” you ask.

He smirks — although you’re not sure if it’s his way of flirting or if he’s amused by your lack of knowledge and obvious inexperience. It’s probably the latter, you think.

“Because …” he begins, placing the needle on the kitchen counter top before kneeling down in front of you and continuing, “We need a tie off.”

His words don’t make much sense to you as he makes light work of untying your shoe, removing the lace through the eyelets with ease. It seems almost affectionate; but then again, you were able to romanticise most things in your life. Perhaps it’s fate that you and the guy who’s teaching you to inject heroin had met this evening. Everything happens for a reason.

He stands up again, towering over your frame, the shoe lace held loose within his hand.

“I need to tie this around your arm,” he tells you, brushing the material across your skin.

Tying the shoe lace tightly around your arm, he then uses his two forefingers to tap against your skin a few times, encouraging the blood flow to make a vein become more prominent.

“If you inject into a vein, you’ll feel the effects quicker,” he whispers to you, as he runs his fingers across a protruding blue blood vessel. “You’ll get high before you even realise it.” Taking the needle from the kitchen counter, he holds it towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asks gently, an eyebrow slightly raised as he observes your nervous features.

Were you ready?

You think back to the series of events that had occurred throughout the course of the night. Seeing Matty with another girl — a hot brunette that was totally his type — had destroyed you. It made your heart physically ache; shattering into millions of tiny pieces; and he just didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t even noticed you all evening.

Despite his friends rallying around you, you knew it was perhaps out of guilt and pity. Did they really love you, or did they see you as a weak and vulnerable ex-girlfriend who needs babysitting because she can’t control her emotions?

Heroin had been a welcomed escape for Matty throughout his time of using — it distracted his brain from everything bad that was happening around him — the drug was there, begging for him to use it to ease his pain and make life more bearable.

What had only ever meant to start off as experimenting, part and parcel of being a rockstar, soon turned into a severe dependence on the drug; an addiction; resulting in constantly lying to those he loved, relationship breakdowns, arguments between family and friends and ultimately, losing you.

But heroin relieved Matty of his emotional pain and torment, even if only temporary and perhaps you needed a distraction tonight, something to take away your pain — even if only temporary.

One time wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m ready.”

Matty’s moans are soft and delicate as his back arches into the fabric sofa, the hot woman’s lips nipping at his neck as she straddles his thighs, clearly turning him on. She grinds her hips against him and he bucks himself towards her, cursing the clothing that gets in the way of his ever growing erection.

“Fuck,” he groans softly.

He doesn’t care who hears him, other drunken revellers finding themselves in similar positions around the house, and for those who aren’t looking for a quick fuck tonight are too drunk or high to get laid anyway. He seems to be the least important pop star in the room — and for once, he thinks he likes it.

“Fuck,” he moans again, when she sucks at his neck. “Fuck, yeah,” he bucks his hips towards her again as her tequila tasting lips no doubt leave a harsh love bite on his pale skin, a bruise already forming with the intensity of her actions.

“Can’t,” she suddenly groans against him.

Matty understands, immediately.

“Upstairs?” he questions.

He’s sure — so certain — that she wants to take this further but can’t because they’re in the living room — able to be gawked at by others; which is odd, he thinks, because she hasn’t been shy about where their make out sessions have been taking place so far. She hasn’t cared who has been watching.

“Stop,” she whisper hisses, before making her voice more firm. “Stop, Matty. Need … need t’ … stop,” she tells him, before pulling herself away. She can barely look him in the eye as she runs a hand through her tangled hair.

“‘s wrong?” he asks.

She shrugs before removing herself from his lap. There’s not much dignity for Matty as his erection strains against the black tailored trousers he’d chosen for this evening — and there’s no cushion or throw to cover his embarrassing situation.

“You ok?” he asks, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“I … I need to get home … to … my …” she stutters, almost embarrassed as reality hits hard.

“To your what?” he asks breathlessly, giving a deathly stare as his patience is beginning to wear thin and his nostrils flare because he has a horrible feeling where this conversation is heading.

“To my … partner,” she adds, finally allowing the words to leave her lips. She smooths the black leather skirt down her legs properly, the material having ridden up her thighs to expose her hips during the steamy session.

“You … you have … have a boyfriend?” Matty splutters, as they make eye contact with each other; the first time since the woman had pulled away from his embrace.

“Husband,” the younger girl corrects him, the disco lights suddenly reflecting off the wedding band that adorned her ring finger — a harsh reminder to him that he was being used. Biting her lip mischievously, she cruelly tells him, “Just because you’re a rockstar, doesn’t mean I was going to let you take me home. It was just a few kisses here and a few touches there. ’s no big deal. I … we had an argument and I did … things … this … in the heat of the moment.”

“No big deal?” he repeats her words, shaking his head and furrowing his brows in disbelief.

“You’ll get over it,” she shrugs unapologetically, pulling her bra strap back over her shoulder before standing up from her position on the sofa and heading towards the doorway of the lounge. She doesn’t even turn back as she leaves and Matty emits a breathy laugh, almost shocked that he, Matty Healy, would be leaving the party tonight without a girl to fuck.

It’s humiliating for him — and his dick is still relatively hard, the tip surely leaking with his salty pre-come. He sighs heavily, throwing an arm over his face as he tries to ignore the twitching in his pants.

He takes a few deep breaths, composing himself, before reaching towards his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighter. Taking a drag, he leans back against the sofa again, finally satisfied as his erection eventually begins to soften.

“No less than you deserve,” George suddenly mutters as he pushes himself away from the wall where he had watched the scene unfold. He draws in a deep breath from his own cigarette as he approaches Matty.

“Fuck sake,” Matty groans, embarrassed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before taking another drag. It had been degrading enough for Matty to experience being mugged off by the younger girl, let alone one of his best friends having watched the interaction.

“Dick,” George murmurs under his breath, shaking his head, before flicking some ash from the cigarette still held loosely between his first and middle fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Matty looks puzzled at his friend.

“What did you call me?” he asks breathily, in disbelief.

“I said,” George inhales, stepping closer, standing over his friend, and giving him a sarcastic smile, “You’re a dick.”

“Oh fuck off,” Matty quickly brushes it off as banter.

“’s a dick move,” George repeats once again with a shrug, although his tone is serious and filled with sincerity. He backs away slightly, standing upright once again as he drinks in Matty’s pathetic demeanour, shaking his head once again.

With the attitude and lack of humour, Matty realises that George is being serious. He’s upset about something, clearly pissed off — and now he’s worried.

“You knew she’d be here,” George tells him, pointing his forefinger towards Matty. “You fucking knew!” he grits his teeth, angrily, before turning around and running a hand over his face.

Matty stands up, prepared to square up to his best friend. Despite the fact that the boys never really argued much — and nothing was ever too serious between them — alcohol consumption and the fact that Matty’s really pissed off would be motive enough for them to have a few harsh words between each other.

“She saw you, Matty!” George yells, turning to face the other man again before grabbing at the collar of his white shirt. There’s no opportunity for Matty to react or defend himself as George shouts at him once again, pushing him against the wall and backing him into the corner.

The feeble one sided brawl earns a few concerned looks from the other party-goers as some guests slyly watch the commotion between the two men unfold, whilst others are more obvious, eager in their observations as they gossip amongst each other.

“She fucking saw you with another girl and it’s breaking her heart! Everything she ever did for you … she stood by you when everyone else fucked off and left you!” George shouts into Matty’s face, harshly reminding him who was there for him during his time of need.

“Who?” Matty asks, aghast. “Who saw me?”

George shakes his head in disbelief, loosening the grip on the collar of Matty’s shirt.

Inhaling another drag from his cigarette, George looks Matty up and down, regaining his composure.

“Who, George?” Matty repeats his question. “Who saw me?”

“She saw everything; y/n saw everything,” George closes his eyes as he speaks, almost pained on your behalf.

“She … she saw …” Matty stutters, releasing an in-breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The mere mention of your name has his heart pounding within his chest, his palms sweating from anxiousness, his knees almost buckling beneath him.

So many questions were whizzing around his head right now.

He didn’t even know you’d be here; was none the wiser that you’d been invited.

Were you here alone or did you have company?

Why hadn’t you made it clear to him that you were here?

He hadn’t already seen you — had he?

Matty knew you — he fucking knew you. A party like this — this wasn’t your scene. Or had he just lacked so much attention this evening that you were able to bypass him at any given opportunity?

Because if he had have seen you, he would have made it his priority to have had you straddling his hips; your mouth suckling his prominent collarbones and leaving a permanent reminder, your cunt he’d be edging with his fingers, before your pretty lips would be begging to be wrapped around his cock.

Not the woman he can’t even remember the name of.

Guilt is his forefront emotion; a horrific feeling of shame overcoming him as he can only sympathise with how you must be feeling — you’d seen him in the company of another girl — a girl that wasn't you. Granted; it was a terrible context but it was still one that he could not excuse or condone — but the only reason he’d had a sleazy make out session was to distract himself from you. He had to find you and tell you.

Arriving at the party tonight, Matty had felt lonely — all of his friends were coupled up.

Ross and Chloe.

George and Charli.

Adam and Carly.

Matty and … nobody.

“She … she’s … here?” Matty finally chokes out.

George nods slowly, finally having calmed himself down as he seeks out the ash tray that stands on the coffee table behind him.

“Where … where is she?” Matty asks urgently, mirroring George’s actions and following suit as he too, stubs out his own cigarette.

“I don’t think she’ll want to see you, mate,” George tells him regrettably.

“I need to talk to her! I need to …” he shouts desperately, making a beeline for the door of the lounge, but George’s broad frame comes to stand in front of him and is able to stop him from going any further.

“You need to calm down first, yeah,” he begins, placing a hand on his chest, but Matty quickly interrupts.

“I am calm!” his tone contradicts him — although George knows his raised voice isn’t from a place of anger at you — but more so frustration towards himself.

“You’re angry,” George clarifies; it’s a statement, not a question.

Matty nods in agreement, knowing there’s no denying his emotions, before reassuring his friend, “Not at her, though.”

“I know,” George sighs, his eyes finding the ceiling as he contemplates allowing Matty to find you — but he’s really not sure that’s a good idea right now considering you had been having a breakdown no less than fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m not … don’t want t’ churn out any drama,” Matty runs his hand frustratedly through his hair, clearly at a loss. His eyes wander intensely around the room, unsure of how to approach the situation. “I just … want to make it right, ’s all,” he adds, desperation evident in his voice.

Matty knows — he fucking knows — he has to make this right. He doesn’t want to be finding a meaningless fuck at a party. It’s you — and only you — that he wants — and despite the breakdown of your relationship that was his fault, the history between you, the chemistry; it’s always you.

“Ok,” George sighs, defeated. He steps aside, allowing Matty the freedom he desires to find you, but he’s stopped instantly when Carly appears at the door frame, her cheeks blush and her features panicked as she catches her breath.

“Carly?” George questions, mirroring the concern etched on her face.

“What?” Matty’s husky voice asks. “What’s happened?” he repeats, urgency evident in his tone when he drinks in Carly’s solemn expression.

Time stands still for a few moments — George’s expression is full of confusion, his brows furrowed, and Matty’s stomach drops, his palms beginning to sweat and he’s worried — because he knows whatever she’s about to reveal isn’t good news.

Carly sighs heavily, her tongue running across her bottom lip before she finally utters the words, “It’s y/n.”

“Get out the fuckin’ way!” Matty’s voice can be heard as he forces his way through the sea of onlookers before he’s eventually pushed himself to stand at the forefront of the crowd, George and Carly hot on his heels as they both come to stand behind him.

The sight that greets Matty is one that he never, ever, thought he would see; and he wishes, so desperately, that this is a nightmare and he’s about to wake up any second now; but not all things were possible.

He’s certain, one hundred percent, that his heart stops beating once he claps eyes on you; fear and anxiety consuming his entire being as he suddenly feels nauseous, his mouth as dry as sandpaper and his legs wobbling like jelly.

Your body is passed out on the kitchen floor; limp and lifeless.

“No,” a strangled cry leaves Matty’s lips, as George’s hand comes to firmly rest on his shoulder.

It takes a moment before his brain can signal for his legs to move, shock taking over him as he looks down towards your unconscious body placed in the recovery position against the cold tiles.

“No, no, no, no,” he continues breathlessly as he lowers himself beside you. “She … is she …” he chokes on a sob, grabbing for your wrist. Placing two fingers on your pulse point, he sobs frantically once again, “I can’t … she hasn’t …”

“She has a pulse,” a voice sounds from the other side of your body.

Ross.

“She …” Matty stutters.

“It’s faint but that ambulance needs to hurry up,” Ross speaks more to himself — but it’s a hint to Adam as well — who Matty now realises is on the phone to a call handler. Adam rests a palm on the kitchen countertop, remaining calm as he passes on the crucial information to whoever is on the other end of his mobile, to ensure help arrives as soon as possible for you.

“What’s happened?” Matty cries out, not even attempting to compose himself in front of the onlookers as his eyes scan your features for any sign of visible injury.

There’s nothing upon his initial inspection; his eyes wandering briefly over your body — no bruises or bleeding; nothing that would indicate any valid reason as to why you’re passed out on the kitchen floor and unresponsive to everything going on around you.

“She’s …” Ross begins, “She collapsed. She’s taken …” he gulps nervously, unable to continue.

“What? What has she …” Matty begins, but he’s unable to vocalise the rest of his question as his eyes avert around the room, looking for any clues as to what substance you had abused.

Much to his horror, he notices the needle, spoon and empty packet that lays only a meter away from your unconscious body. The last straw for Matty is seeing the tie-off around your arm, and quickly recognising it as a shoe lace, he confirms his suspicions as his gaze wanders over your converse with the missing lace.

He shakes his head, attempting to rid himself of the thought of you injecting an illegal substance to numb the pain that he caused tonight. George was right; this was his fault.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, running an agitated hand through his hair.

It’s Ross who takes the lead on trying to stir you as he gently rolls you onto your back and applies a harsh stimulus, rubbing his knuckles along your sternum. “Come on, y/n,” he encourages. Adrenaline coursing through his own veins, he increasingly adds more pressure, no doubt leaving bruises along your chest.

“Come on, darling,” Matty whimpers, focusing his attention entirely on you as he instead runs a hand through your hair. It’s a reassuring gesture, one to let you know that you’re not alone, despite Matty knowing you’re completely unaware of your surroundings and the situation you’re currently in.

“Do you have any Naloxone?” Ross is confident he already knows the answer now that Matty himself is clean of heroin, but he clutches at straws anyway in any attempt to revive you, not once stopping applying the stimulus to your chest.

Matty shakes his head.

“No,” he swallows, his hand still stroking your hair affectionately.

If only it had been that simple. For once, he curses himself for no longer possessing the cruel and life changing heroin addiction he’d once been a victim to; maybe then he could provide an antidote that would reverse the opioid overdose.

“Alright everyone, out!” a voice suddenly yells.

Carly.

Despite her smaller frame and her sobriety, she’s forceful in her words.

“Come on, we don’t need an audience!” she speaks again, encouraging the guests to leave — although not giving them much of a choice as Charli and George come to her aid to create a barrier, ushering them away from the kitchen.

“We’ll keep them away and … entertained,” George murmurs, considering a choice of words, although he’s not sure either Matty or Ross are taking on board what he’s saying, understandably preoccupied with helping you. Together, the three of them ensure they maintain your dignity as much as possible.

There’s a few groans, some of the party goers wishing to be nosy at the scene unfolding. If Matty wasn’t so consumed by your unconscious state, terrified of your fate, he thinks he would have been physically violent towards some of these people, prepared to start a brawl with anyone who was revelling at your position and the drama unfolding.

“s ok, love,” Matty whispers softly, although he’s not sure if he’s attempting to reassure you or himself when there’s still no inkling of you coming round just yet.

“Fuck sake,” Ross mutters, as he observes the equipment sprawled across the floor nearby. His eyes averting to the shoe lace around your arm, he shakes his head, before saying, “Someone’s helped her to do this. She wouldn’t know where to start.” He gestures towards the equipment before returning to rubbing your sternum once again.

Matty whimpers, knowingly.

It was true; respectfully, you had no idea how to administer any form of illegal drug or how to even get hold of any such substance. Even when Matty himself was actively using, he made sure you were nowhere near heroin — or any other drug for that matter. The fact that the equipment littered around your unconscious body had indicated that you’d cooked a drug before injecting it made both Matty and Ross feel uneasy — another person had played a part in this.

“C’mon y/n,” Ross repeats.

It feels as though it takes a lifetime before any success comes of the stimulus Ross applies but a sudden choked splutter indicates your regain of consciousness.

However, there’s no time to waste as the two men kneeling at your frame quickly realise they need to roll you into the recovery position again. You emit a small whinge at the action, taking a dislike to being moved so suddenly before you vomit violently on the cold tiles beneath you.

“’s it darling, there we go,” Matty comforts you, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He shuffles himself as close to you as he can possibly be, as though his presence alone could make you better, and not once fazed by the sick that you eject.

“That’s it baby, let it all out,” he encourages, brushing your hair away from your face as Ross rests his hand gently atop of your back as you uncontrollably empty the contents of your stomach.

“Ambulance will be another twenty minutes or so,” Adam murmurs softly as he comes to kneel beside you as well.

Keeping the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he looks between Ross and Matty as they try to deal with the copious amount of vomit. Adam shakes his head, knowing just how touch and go this situation could be for you now, and swooping in with one hand full of kitchen roll, he wordlessly begins cleaning up around you.

Your bout of sickness seems never ending and it’s obvious that the alcohol you’d consumed in high volume has also played a huge part in why your reaction to the heroin you’d injected was so severe, your body rejecting the liquids you’d downed that night.

“That’s it, good girl,” Matty praises you softly, once you finally stop being sick, gently resting his palm on your face, skimming your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart, how much have you taken?” Ross speaks next, hoping for some sort of response from you, although as he’d expected; nothing.

Instead, you let out a whimper, softly beginning to cry.

“’s alright darlin’,” Matty assures you, continuing to stroke your hair. “I’m here, we’re all here.”

“Did you take all of it, y/n?” Ross tries a different approach, reaching out for the empty syringe that had previously contained the contents of the illegal drug. There was no knowing just how much you had taken but Ross realised he had to consider the worst case scenario — that the syringe had been full.

There’s no answer once again. Unbeknown to what is happening to you at the moment, all you can do is express your dislike at the situation you’re in through a cry and an agitated moan; but at least you’re conscious. You’re alive.

“Hey, ’s ok,” Ross attempts to calm you down. “We’re gonna help you.”

The relief that both the men had felt over you being awake — although not alert — is short lived, however, when your cold and pale body goes limp once more, your breathing shallow as you fade back into unconsciousness against the tiles.

“No,” Matty raises his voice slightly in an attempt to keep you awake. “No, no. Stay with me y/n,” he encourages, gently shaking your frame.

Adam stands from his kneeling position on the floor, talking to the call handler with urgency to make them aware you’d once again slipped into a state of unconsciousness, leaving only the other two men towering over you.

Your lifeless body suddenly goes stiff before your limbs starting jerking and your eyes begin rolling into the back of your head and it takes Matty a few seconds to realise you’re having a seizure. Understanding completely, both Matty and Ross allow your body to move freely, not once restricting your uncontrollable movements.

‘Hann!” Matty shouts.

With Adam acutely aware of the severity of the situation, he passes on the vital information to the call handler once more, explaining that you’re experiencing a seizure. Ross’s eyes flit between everyone in the room; panic being the forefront emotion as your body continues to shake; compassion for Matty as he watches this nightmare unfold; all whilst wishing he could intercept the phone call mid-air to hear what is being said.

“That’s it darling, ride it out,” Matty reassures you. “‘m here, sweetheart, ‘m right here.”

“Fuck,” Ross mutters underneath his breath.

He removes the jacket he had been wearing throughout the course of the evening and places it carefully beneath your head, supporting you against the cold, hard tiles.

“Where’s that bloody ambulance?!” he shouts to Adam, as he checks his watch.

“ETA of ten minutes,” Adam responds without a beat.

“Ten minutes?” Ross questions rhetorically, shaking his head in disbelief, as he notes the time of your continuing seizure by tapping away aggressively on his phone.

“She needs them now!” Matty yells, a sob escaping his lips.

After three minutes, your body begins to regulate itself, your flailing limbs slowing as your previously tense body begins to relax, indicating your seizure had finally come to an end.

“That’s it darling, good girl,” Matty encourages once again. He tentatively reaches out his hand to comb through your hair once again, soothing you as you shiver and whimper against the cold tiles. “‘m right here, darling, ‘m not going anywhere.”

It feels like a lifetime, but after another seven minutes and true to their word, the distant sound of sirens can be heard — but Matty still can’t bring himself to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

Since arriving at the hospital, you’d been cruelly snatched away from Matty, wheeled to your own private room where you received the treatment needed for a heroin overdose, leaving Matty, Ross and Adam in the family waiting area, none of them able to seek solace amongst the lacklustre slate walls, or the strong smell of disinfectant in the air.

The scene continues to play in Matty’s mind, all too easy to remember. When the paramedics had arrived, they quickly tended to your lifeless body, as the other three men watched on.

The hushed begs of, “Please help her,” and whispered prayers of, “Please please please,” had escaped Matty’s lips as the older female paramedic placed an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose to help your breathing.

She was a seemingly maternal lady, no judgement passed despite it being quickly obvious that you’d taken an illegal substance tonight, and she kindly told Matty, “We’re going to do everything we can to help your girlfriend.”

He didn’t correct her — although if it were different circumstances, he would have taken pride in people assuming you were a couple; as though it was obvious to the outside world that you both have an unbreakable connection to each other.

The younger male paramedic calmly asked questions — some unanswerable — as he began injecting your body with a substance — which Matty assumes is Naloxone; to reverse the effects of the opioid overdose.

What was your name? Which drug had you taken? How much of the drug had you taken? How much alcohol had you had to drink over the course of the evening? Did you have any allergies? How long did your seizure last? How much had you vomited?

Matty could barely think straight as he was being quizzed by the ambulance crew, although it almost felt as though it was an interrogation. The finger of suspicion would probably be pointed at him as to where you’d acquired an illegal drug, but he didn’t care about that right now; his priority was you.

When the paramedics were able to move you to the ambulance, they did, and Matty accompanied you all the way to the the nearest Accident and Emergency Department who would be more equipped to help you, whilst Adam drove himself and Ross to the hospital, following closely behind.

It had been agreed that Charli, George and Carly would stay at home on the understanding that they would be contacted if there was any change to your condition — and having ushered the guests away from the party, sending them elsewhere to continue their celebrations, the three of them were on hand if they were needed at short notice.

“Matty, just … just calm down, yeah?” Ross murmurs.

Matty emits a sarcastic, breathy laugh, continuing to pace aimlessly around the room, having done so since arriving. Running a hand through his curls, something that signals his distress, he repeats the words in a murmur.

“Calm down?” he scoffs, scuffing his shoes against the light grey flooring. “Calm down?!” he raises his voice, turning on his heel to see the other two men sat on the blue cushioned chairs.

“She’s strong, mate,” Adam reassures him, his knee bouncing and indicating his own nervousness at the situation. “She’ll be ok,” he adds, although even he’s having difficulty at being optimistic at this given moment.

“She overdosed,” Matty’s voice cracks, the image of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor, vomit surrounding you, your body seizing, cruelly plaguing his mind. “She … I thought she was …” he can’t vocalise the word, unable to finish his sentence in fear of it ringing true. “Fuck!” he swears angrily, his bawled fist making contact with the wall.

“Come ‘ere!” Ross yells, using all of his strength to pull Matty away, preventing him from punching the wall a second time. Despite Matty’s pathetic attempt to fight against his friend, fists hammering into his chest, Ross’s large hands come to rest on his face, forcing eye contact between them. “Listen … listen to me!” he encourages in a raised tone. “You need to be strong for her, Matty, y’hear me?” Ross’s own voice is thick with emotion.

Ross embraces Matty as another sob escapes his lips, and not once does he attempt to hide the intense emotions he was battling tonight — fear, worry, and anxiety all at the forefront.

“I shouldn’t …” he breaks off. “She shouldn’t … shouldn’t even … be here,” he chokes out, his obvious distress preventing him from forming a coherent sentence. “’s my fault, ’s all my fault,” he cries into Ross’s shoulder. “All the times I’ve used and I’m still here and she …” but he’s stopped when Ross pulls away from him, resting his hands on Matty’s shoulders.

“Don’t!” he warns, unwilling to comprehend the turn in conversation. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is not your fault! She was … unlucky,” he sighs, closing his eyes briefly, trying to shake the thought. “She went to the wrong person … people …” he furrows his brows, realisation suddenly dawning on him that someone at Charli’s party had taken full advantage of you — your distressed state having seen Matty’s make out session; praying on you and your vulnerability, providing you with an illegal substance you’d never even seen before, let alone experimented with.

It makes him — all of them — feel uneasy that someone had targeted you.

“s not your fault, Matty,” Adam softly pipes up with his reassurances. “Come on, mate. There’s no point in blaming yourself or getting angry, it’s not going to help anyone,” he speaks matter of factly, the voice of reason amongst them, as he anxiously drums his fingertips against his thigh.

“Come on,” Ross encourages him, nodding towards the cushioned chairs and coaxing him to take a seat. Matty does so before Ross offers, “Do you want a coffee?” as he sits beside him.

Matty shakes his head and whisper breathes a quiet, “No.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees before placing his head in his hands. His quiet sobs begin to subside as he finally regains his composure and regulates his breathing. “Fucking hate hospital coffee,” he murmurs in addition, and it’s the first lighthearted comment he’s made all evening.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Ross tells him again, placing a supportive arm around him.

“Thank you,” Matty breathes softly as he looks up and averts his gaze towards Ross next to him, sincerity laced in his tone. “To both of you,” he clarifies, looking between both Ross and Adam.

“What for?” Ross frowns.

“You were there … already helping her,” Matty shrugs, placing his palms against his thighs. “What happened?” he dares to ask, against his better judgement.

Licking his lips, Ross begins, “I’d gone to check on her. She’d been upset and … well, I know George told you,” he tells him, nervously shuffling in his chair. Ross knew better than anyone that Matty would be feeling incredibly guilty right now and to soften the blow, he’d decided to choose his words wisely.

“She saw me,” Matty confirms.

Ross nods his reply.

“She’d seen you in the lounge with … well, whoever it was,” he acknowledges the existence of the brunette woman. “I managed to get y/n out of there. Carly and Adam took her to the kitchen to calm her down. I caught up with George and Charli. The next thing I knew, I went to kitchen to find her again but she was alone.”

Ross shakes his head, and runs an agitated hand over his face, a feeble attempt at ridding himself of the horrific memory that vividly replays in his mind.

“She was stumbling around, trying to steady her balance against the kitchen side. She was muttering away, talking to herself … she didn’t make any sense,” Ross takes an in-breath before continuing. “I asked her if she was alright. I thought maybe she’d been drinking more, you know? She kept saying your name, said she needed to find you. That’s when she collapsed,” he clarifies. “I couldn’t wake her. At first I thought it was the alcohol that had affected her; made her paralytic. Everyone was looking so I wanted to move her to somewhere more comfortable. That’s when you came in,” he nods towards Adam.

“I saw it straight away,” Adam sighs regrettably, before clarifying his statement and briefly describing the events that had occurred. “The needle was on the kitchen side, the bag was empty, and there was a spoon and lighter next to it. We realised then what she’d done, so I phoned the ambulance. They said it was safer to keep her on the ground where she was, put her in the recovery position and not to move her. We made her as comfortable as we could … and that’s when Carly came and got you.”

Matty’s eyes begin to pool with tears again, his vision clouded as he can only imagine all too easily how the scene had played out. He feels sick with worry over you; guilty and ashamed at his own actions which had acted as a catalyst; and intense rage at whoever dealt the drug to you tonight.

“If she’d injected, it meant she’d cooked it …” Adam speaks aloud.

“I’ve never shown her how …” Matty trails off as he defends himself. “I never had that stuff around her.”

“We know, mate,” Ross reassures him. “You would never do anything to put her in harms way.”

“What if she gets addicted now?” Matty asks in a whisper, fear evident in his voice.

“She won’t,” Ross replies confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“You know her, mate. Just this once would have terrified her enough to never touch it again. She never used anything before and tonight would have been a one off. She probably met the wrong bastard tonight who took advantage. She probably thought that one time wouldn’t hurt her; that she’d be lucky,” he bases his assumption on how well he knows you.

Leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the wall, Matty closes his eyes. Bouncing his knee nervously, he draws a deep in-breath before murmuring, “I don’t want her going through the same thing as me. All I ever wanted to do was protect her from it. It was … different for me, I guess. It’s like I fell down a rabbit hole — the first time I took it and could disassociate from life — it was like a release. And I know it put a lot of pressure on us as a band, but …”

“Mate, you had an addiction. You were ill,” Adam intervenes, comforting his friend as whole new can of worms is about to be exposed about one of the worst times they’d experienced in their career as a band; but first and foremost, within their friendship.

“Didn’t mean I had to push her away, though,” Matty whispers. “I was so lucky when I went to rehab. Some people in that place had nothing; they’d lost their family and friends, their homes, their jobs, their money. I had everything; my family, you guys, I had her. But I still left rehab and scored other drugs and fucked everything up anyway,” he sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mate,” Ross pipes up, resting a hand on Matty’s knee.

“She was always there for me,” Matty continues. “I just couldn’t be the boyfriend she needed me to be, but if I could go back and do it all again, I would do things so differently,” he whispers. “I should never have let her go.”

“Sounds like we’re not the ones you should be saying this to,” Adam half smiles.

Matty bites his lip, his thoughts running away with him as a comfortable silence fills the room.

He notes that his white dress shirt is still unbuttoned three from the top and the memory of the sordid make out session he had encountered earlier that night makes him feel queasy, a harsh reminder of the tragedy.

“How … how did you know what to do anyway?” Matty stutters as he clears his throat, breaking the quietness that had temporarily engulfed them.

Ross shrugs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair before replying.

“I guess … well … we all kind of wanted to learn how to respond in that … situation … incase it was ever … you,” he’s careful with his words. Whilst Matty’s addiction had never been an attempt on his own life, the idea of an accidental overdose had spurred the rest of the band on recognising the signs, as well as the basics in how to respond to any such situation.

Although honesty was a crucial part of their friendship, talking about Matty’s heroin addiction had always been a difficult subject to approach. The illness had taken a toll on his physical and mental health, had destructed his relationships, and had negatively impacted his song writing. Rehab helped him get back to the person he once was before the addiction.

“I fucking love you guys,” Matty manages to choke out around the lump that formed in his throat at the turn in conversation, and for the first time this evening, he smiles a genuine smile.

With the small distance between the two of them sitting opposite each other, Adam, with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, gently taps his foot against Matty’s — and it’s a minor physical touch that would usually result in a game of footsies between the pair — only this time, it’s a reassuring nudge that would normally be a wordless indication of their feelings; but Adam finds it within him to vocalise an emotional, “We love you too, mate.”

As quickly as the three men succumb to another comfortable silence, it’s broken once again, with Ross not wanting to give Matty the opportunity to get too into his head with the lack of conversation between them, understanding his friend well enough to know he’d be imagining all sorts of scenarios — none of which likely to be positive.

“Do you need to go for a cig?” Ross asks.

“No,” Matty shakes his head — and it’s a shock to both the other men in the room. Someone who seemingly can’t go five minutes without a cigarette during a live performance actively turning down the vice he uses each day. “Don’t want t’ leave her,” he adds.

Almost as if on cue, a doctor donning a white coat and firmly gripping a clipboard with important documents attached in his large hands, enters the family room and introduces himself to all three men.

He shakes hands with Matty, who is the first to approach him.

Matty quickly fires questions at the medical professional, not once missing a beat as he barely catches his breath in between the queries about your health.

“How is she? Is she ok? Can I see her?”

Ross comes to stand behind him and rests a supportive hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, to remind him of his friends’ presence — and that he’s not alone.

The doctor gives a reassuring smile, the first giveaway that your outcome is a positive one.

“I am sorry to tell you that y/n did in fact overdose on heroin; we’re yet to determine if that was intentional or accidental. The paramedics on scene administered Naloxone to reverse the effect of the opioid but another dose was required since fentanyl was also present. That combined with the level of alcohol in her system caused the severe reaction tonight, making it much easier to overdose, which is why it took her longer to respond to treatment.”

Matty groans at the information. The thought of you having mixed three substances together, although likely unknowingly, has him feeling physically sick at your vulnerability; and someone else’s cruelty.

“Fuck,” he shakily mutters under his breath, knowing just how severe this is. Shaking his head, he murmurs a quiet, “Sorry,” before allowing the doctor to continue with his medical findings.

“Since there’s no medical history of y/n experiencing seizures, it’s more than likely that it was brought on by the drug itself. Taking that into account, there doesn’t seem to be any reason as to why y/n won’t make a full recovery so overall I’d say she’s very lucky,” he pauses, before looking between the three men. “She’s awake, but is still a little drowsy, which is to be expected. I’d still like to keep her in for observation overnight, just as a precaution,” he says.

Whilst Matty understands the importance and necessity of this monologue, it seems to take forever for the doctor to spiel medical jargon, before he finally speaks aloud the words that Matty longs to hear.

“You can go and see her.”

It takes a few minutes for Matty to pluck up the courage to enter your hospital room to see you, his palms beginning to sweat out of anxiousness and his heart occasionally skipping a beat. He’d been desperate to remain by your side since arriving at the hospital, a strong desire to interfere with the doctors and nurses that had tended to your lifeless body, almost as though he could be the one to cure you.

Questions plague his mind as he runs through several scenarios.

Would you even want to see him after the events that had built up to your accidental overdose tonight? After all, if he hadn’t been so concerned with getting his end away with a random, then you wouldn’t have felt the need to find a vice to cope with your feelings. He was the reason you were here — and he’s probably the last person you want to see.

What would he say to you? No words in the English language could be vocalised to condone his behaviour this evening. Sadly, your latest memory of him was a sordid, dirty, not-so-secret make out session in the corner of a room — not very classy, and not in the least bit romantic. Sorry seemed false; even though he was undeniably apologetic, but no amount of regret could rewind the clock, no matter how much he wished for it.

Running a hand over his face, he rids himself of any negative thoughts, composing himself. He had to stop being selfish; to remove any egotistical notion of himself. This wasn't about him anymore. This was about you.

He takes a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorknob. He pushes it gently so that the door is fractionally ajar, so as not to startle you, and then, almost impatiently, he extends his arm, opening the door fully to reveal you to him.

His eyes find you immediately. Your fragile figure lays still in the hospital bed, looking almost helpless and it saddens Matty to see because he knows how much you would hate that. He avoids reacting to your demeanour, not wishing to alarm you.

Still, you were conscious.

“Hey,” he whisper breathes a sigh of relief, giving you a small smile. “You look better than when I last saw you,” Matty tells you softly, as he comes to stand at the end of your hospital bed, his patent shoes clicking against the tiles when he halts.

Hands in his pockets, he looks rough; you note; as though he hasn’t slept in weeks. The stubble around his jawline denotes he hasn't shaved in the last couple of weeks at least, most likely due to tour commitments. His dishevelled hair is a solid indicator that he’s run his hand through it many times — or someone else has — and perhaps it's because you haven’t seen him in a while — or maybe it’s because he’s mid-thirties — but the grey strands are becoming more prominent atop of his head.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously, although attentively, observing your surroundings. Monitors bleep around you, screens recording your vitals — numbers that mean absolutely nothing to him — but the consistency that the machines offer indicates that you must be within healthy ranges. Bags of liquid are hanging on a drip stand and IV’s are inserted into your veins pumping unknown substances into your body.

Removing a hand from his pocket, he nervously clears his throat as he slowly makes his way around the bed and towards you, before finally stopping beside you. Tentatively, he lowers himself and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight.

Even in your drowsy state, lethargy consuming your entire body, you roll your eyes at his comment and Matty’s never been happier to hear a breathy laugh escape your lips. Reaching for the oxygen mask, you attempt to remove it, but Matty’s hand is quickly placed over yours, stopping you from doing so.

“No, no, keep it on darling,” he whispers delicately.

Your lack of energy, consumed by tiredness, as well as the the throbbing pain across your forehead ensures you don’t fight him on this one, instantly giving up, your hand going slack underneath his. Satisfied that you won’t oppose his actions any further, he rests his hand against his thigh.

Matty’s eyes avert to your other hand which rests atop of the hospital blanket. He’s somewhat hesitant before deciding to reach towards you, his fingertips brushing against your skin, careful not to dislodge the drip inserted into a prominent vein. When you don’t flinch at the physical contact, he encloses your hand within his own.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, as though his admission will be more bearable to speak aloud if he can’t see your reaction.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

He opens his eyes again, drinking in your exhausted demeanour.

“I was so fucking scared,” he repeats, with equally as much conviction as the first time.

“Matty,” you whisper tearfully at his words, your tone apologetic.

“Never wan’ to see you like that ever again, you hear me? You … you don’t get to do that,” his words are a firm warning but he lacks any threat with a soft tone, an oxymoron of emotions engulfing him as his voice wavers, his thumb skimming the upside of your hand. “You don’t get to do that to me. Can’t lose you darling.”

He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. Metaphorically, he’d already lost you in the midst of a relationship breakdown — but the mere thought of you losing your life to the same substance he had battled an addiction with for several years would literally break him.

You reach for your oxygen mask once again, and when Matty attempts to prevent you from doing so a second time, you swat his hand away — albeit pathetically — removing it from your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you desperately try to convince him. “It was an accident,” you tell him, tears pooling in your eyes.

One of the machines begins to beep harshly, the numbers displayed on the screen increasing rapidly, and Matty immediately realises that your heart rate has spiked.

Determined to soothe you, Matty reassuringly squeezes your hand.

“I know, darling. I know. Just calm down for me, yeah?” he encourages, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You offer a small nod in response although his words seem to have no positive effect as the bleeping continues with the same level of consistency, numbers incessantly and hastily increasing.

“Listen to me, y/n,” his tone is firmer this time, obvious desperation laced in his words. “I need you to calm down for me. Take a deep breath,” he models it himself, inhaling air deeply into his lungs through his nose and exhaling through his parted lips.

You copy him, mirroring his actions a few times.

“If you need this again,” he gestures towards the oxygen mask but you shake your head as your breathing begins to regulate a little and the numbers on the heart rate monitor gradually decrease once more.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him.

He nods, understanding, but encourages you to continue, “Deep breaths, love.”

You compose yourself relatively quickly, almost surprised at your own resilience as you inhale and exhale a few more times, steadying your breaths and repeating the action until you’re fully calm.

“That’s it,” he praises, stroking your hand with his own, whilst his other hand finds its fingers twirling through your hair, stroking loose strands out of your face.

He takes a few moments, allowing you to succumb to the peace that surrounds you both — but he has questions and he yearns for answers.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened tonight?” he practically dares to ask.

You shift uncomfortably beneath the thin blanket that covers you, barely keeping you warm. Taking a deep breath, you nod, nervousness consuming you as you brace yourself, preparing to inform Matty about the events that had occurred earlier that evening.

“I saw you,” you state matter of factly, although it’s not news to him. “You were with someone … another girl,” you clarify.

Your gaze subconsciously averts away from Matty’s but out of the corner of your eye, you’re hyperaware that he also follows suit, unable to make eye contact with each other at the harsh admission. Your cheeks redden slightly in embarrassment, whilst his features are full of guilt.

“I saw you coming out of the bathroom together at first. I didn’t realise it was serious, not until … well, I came down to the lounge and you were … the two of you were …” you trail off, fiddling with the hospital admission band around your wrist that suddenly becomes interesting.

The pads of Matty’s thumbs gently massage your skin, encouraging you to continue. Raising his head and meeting your gaze, you’re able to find the strength to carry on.

“I was upset and didn’t want to feel anything. I’d had a lot to drink but that wasn’t numbing the pain. So when I was offered heroin,” you shrug. “It never affected you that way so I thought … I thought I’d be ok,” you whimper, your bottom lip trembling.

“Darling,” Matty whispers, his thumb gently soothing your skin as your hand remains enveloped in his. “It affects everyone differently. There’s so many factors that affect someone’s reaction to drugs — the amount you’ve taken, it’s purity, what it’s cut with, the method of using …” he begins to list.

“I know, I know,” you shake your head, cutting him off.

You already felt foolish enough for ever trusting the guy you’d met tonight in the kitchen — felt embarrassed that many people had seen you unconscious against the cold tiles, vomiting and experiencing a seizure. Whilst you know it’s not Matty’s intention, the last thing you want — or need — is a lecture.

Instantly understanding, Matty drops the topic as quick as he'd raised it, and instead, decides to pass on the good news.

“The doctor says you’re lucky; reckons you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to rest,” he breathes a sigh of relief himself as his sentence rolls effortlessly off of his tongue.

Your ears prick up at his words and you give him a hopeful smile.

“Does that mean I can go home?” you ask, suddenly sitting yourself upright, ignoring the pounding in your head accompanied by the dizziness, in turn making you feel a little nauseous.

Home.

Matty wonders where home is for you now.

In an ideal world, Matty would want you living with him again — reliving your favourite memories that you experienced as the couple you once were when you were unconditionally in love with each other, as well as making new ones together.

You’d be waking up in his bed each morning; sometimes to sex, always to coffee, with mundane household chores threatening to be completed as adulthood entailed cooking, cleaning, tag teaming washing the dishes, and starting petty arguments over whose turn it was to dispose of the rubbish on bin day (it was his turn every week).

He would give the world and more to have you telling him that you don’t mind what film you watched together — even though you did — only for you to fall asleep within minutes of putting it on. He would ensure that you have warm, fluffy towels for after your bubble bath, and you’d be welcomed into the kitchen with the inviting aromas of your favourite dishes that he’d cook for you.

Matty would keep you safe — always — keeping a watchful eye over you so as something like this could never occur again, giving not one single soul the opportunity to hurt his girl — and the realisation dawns on him that perhaps one of his downfalls was that no matter how hard he tried in this lifetime, he couldn’t protect you from everything.

“They want to keep you in overnight,” he breaks the bad news to you, regrettably.

“No,” you whine, emitting a groan as you roll your eyes to the ceiling.

“‘m sorry, love,” his tone is apologetic, “But they want to monitor you.”

“Please, Matty. I’m fine! Please see if they will discharge me tonight,” you beg, your doe-eyes pleading with him.

“Darling,” he murmurs softly, stroking your hand reassuringly once again. “You overdosed on heroin, which was cut with fentanyl, by the way,” he informs you, before continuing matter of factly, “Your alcohol levels were through the roof, you had a seizure and you were sick. You’re in the best place right now.”

There was truth behind Matty’s words and you know it. Admitting defeat, you know there’s no arguing against the doctor’s decision to monitor you overnight.

Instead, you ask, “Stay?” your tone nervous, as you softly plead with Matty. “Will you stay with me?”

Matty exhales a shaky breath, offering a small smile as relief washes over him that you want him; need him.

“Of course I’ll stay, ‘m not going anywhere.”

There’s not much time to succumb to the silence that threatens to engulf the two of you as a hesitant knock, accompanied by a throat-clearing cough, can be heard against the grey door to your hospital room. Straining your neck and peering towards the entrance, you notice two figures lingering in the doorway, one of which is leaning against the doorframe.

Matty whips his head around to see who the disruption is, before turning back to meet your gaze and announcing with a small smile, “I think someone want to say hello.”

As if on cue, Ross and Adam enter your hospital bay and approach you. Coming to stand beside you, Ross acknowledges you with a small kiss to your temple and Adam rests a hand atop of your hospital blanket, reassuringly squeezing your leg.

“How’re doing?” Adam is the first to ask, as they each take a seat in the grey plastic chairs beside your bed.

You give a small nod and shrug in tandem.

“I’m ok,” you tell them — although even you know that they know that you’re not being entirely truthful so you decide to elaborate on your answer further, providing them with some honesty at least. “I’m tired and have a headache, but other than that I’m alright.”

“You scared us back there,” Ross pipes up, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” your eyes avert to your hand enveloped in Matty’s.

“Don’t be,” Ross softly murmurs, shaking his head and resting a hand atop of your arm.

You shake your head in protest.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” you tell them apologetically, sincerely adding, “I’m sorry that you had to deal with me like that.” You shake your head slightly, closing your eyes for a brief second as embarrassment consumes you.

“’s not your fault,” Ross tells you. “We’re just glad you’re ok.”

“Thank you,” your eyes flit between the three of them this time, acutely aware of the vital role they had all played tonight in getting you the help you needed from the emergency services. You can only imagine how terrifying and surreal the ordeal must have been for them as well.

“Don’t need to thank us,” Matty furrows his brows.

“If you hadn’t …” you begin. “I’d be dead,” you state it so matter of factly, that Matty feels physically ill.

“Don’t, y/n,” he gently warns, unable to fathom any other outcome.

Silence fills the room, further accentuating the bleeping sounds of the machines that whir around you. For the first time, it’s an awkward quietness, seemingly uncomfortable between the four of you once the discussion had taken a darker turn.

However, there’s still one more topic of conversation dancing on the lips of the three men amongst you but nobody has seemed willing to take the lead in voicing their thoughts just yet — that is until Ross clears his throat, less confident than he actually appears as he delivers his question.

“Who gave it to you?” he asks, a strong desire to know who dealt you the drug.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Please, y/n,” Matty begs breathlessly, his eyes finding the ceiling. “Please don’t protect anyone,” he pleads, the pad of his thumb continuously circling itself against your hand.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Honestly. It was a random guy who got talking to me. I didn’t even ask his name.”

Your earnest tone is all that’s needed for them to know you’re telling the truth; you’d just been unfortunate enough for your vulnerable self to fall victim to the dealer this evening, him cruelly having taken full advantage of your distressed state.

"If I ever find out who it was," Matty begins, using his free hand to clench his fist out of anger.

“Don’t,” you practically beg, shaking your head. “Please don’t. It was my own fault. I should never have listened to him or trusted him in the first place. It was a bad idea and I knew it. I just went against my own judgement in the heat of the moment and acted on impulse.”

Whilst you knew how it appeared, you really weren’t defending the dealer who had provided you with the substance and tools that could have resulted in you ending your life tonight — but the last thing you wanted was violence. Neither Matty, Ross or Adam had fighting tendencies and that wasn’t about to change because of you and your one mistake.

Ross sniggers slightly, before raising an eyebrow as he looks between you and Matty.

“Impulse? You two really are perfect for each other,” he laughs.

You roll your eyes at the humour implied in his light hearted comment. It was public knowledge that Matty would often find himself in hot water due to acting on impulse, often through the portrayal of an online persona, or through expressing controversies during live performance and interviews.

You had often scolded him during your relationship, heavily reminded him of his role model status to many young and impressionable fans, because his words had consequences, often resulting in him being ‘cancelled.’

Before you can respond, another small knock at the door indicates an interruption for the second time — saddened when the nurse on call entered the room and informed you that only one person could be at your bedside for the remainder of the night.

Adam emits a groan, admitting defeat once the nurse bids you farewell for the night, although not before reminding both you and Matty that she’s on duty throughout the course of the early hours and until sunrise, so if you needed anything, she was your go-to.

“Suppose we best be off then,” Adam rolls his eyes.

“You take care,” Ross offers you a smile and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “See you soon, mate,” he reaches forwards and offers Matty a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You look after her,” he finishes his goodbyes.

Once the hustle and bustle of them leaving your hospital room subsides, you and Matty are left only in each other's company, surrounded by a comfortable silence once more.

Your eyes avert to the window of your hospital room as you observe the outside world, nothing but darkness consuming everything at this ungodly hour, with the exception of the few street lamps that light up the hospital car park that your room overlooks.

With your hand still enveloped within Matty’s, you can feel his eyes focussing on you — and you alone.

“I’m ok,” you whisper softly, turning to Matty, distracting him from his own thoughts.

“Hmm?” he hums, indicating that he had been out of touch with reality. Your statement had grounded him, bringing him mentally back into the room with you as he looks up to meet your gaze.

“I said I’m ok,” you repeat, and it’s your turn to massage the palm of his hand with your thumb, reassuring him you are physically well — and alive.

He nods in acknowledgement but it’s clear he has a lot plaguing his mind. You decide not to push him just yet, knowing him well enough that he’ll communicate his thoughts and feelings on his terms, although you're surprised when his response comes almost immediately.

“I thought …,” Matty exhales a shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, your bottom lip trembles, the heightened emotions you’re both feeling needing to be addressed with each other properly. There was still so much to say, so many things you had to discuss, questions that had to be asked, answers that needed clarifying.

Matty shakes his head vigorously, stopping you from continuing your apology.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” his tone is full of sincerity. “I just need you to know that … if I’d lost you … I don’t know what I’d do.”

He chokes on a sob, the memory of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor still haunting him — and he fears that your lifeless frame will appear in his nightmares every time he closes his eyes. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he presses a soft and tender kiss against your skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“Matty,” you breathe, comprehending his words immediately.

“I love you so much, darling,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply, barely missing a beat.

He knew it were true; you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.

“I’m sorry if I ever … that I let you down,” he adds — and it’s not a comment out of guilt or pity for himself. It’s an apology to you — an earnest admission, honest and sincere, as he recalls the times when he hadn’t been the boyfriend he should have been for you.

“You haven’t,” you whimper, choking on a sob, emotion overcoming you at the sudden change in dynamic of the conversation. “Matty, you never let me down. You had an addiction! I know that you came off the heroin after rehab but you were still battling a drug addiction. You still needed something to get through life, a vice to help you cope. If anything, I’m sorry that I didn’t recognise the signs sooner and get you help.”

“Darling,” Matty gently warns.

Whilst he understands the importance of this much needed conversation between the two of you, it’s a topic he doesn’t want to explore too deeply just yet — there’s plenty of time to discuss everything that had contributed to the breakdown of your relationship but right now, you needed to focus on your own recovery from tonight.

“Not now, eh?” it’s a rhetorical comment.

Before he can stop himself, he leans forward, resting his forehead gently against your own. It’s the closest he’s been all night and you can still smell the smoke that lingers on his clothes; the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks each time he softly exhales. He feels like home. His eyes avert downwards towards his hand intertwined with your own in his lap — and it feels right.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, breaking the silence, your lips a hairs breadth from his.

Nervously gulping, as though an in love, giddy teenager, Matty agrees.

“Yeah, we do. But it can wait, darling. You need to rest.”

You shake your head, a feeble attempt at protesting against his suggestion.

“Rest, sweetheart,” he reiterates. “We can talk about everything tomorrow, yeah?”

You both know you won’t. Matty will still want to give you time to recover, waiting on you hand and foot, treating you as though you’re made of glass for at least the next month — but you don’t actually think you’d mind.

“I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere,” he reaches forwards, resting his palm gently against your cheek.

Muscle memory, instinct, and habit amalgamate and you tilt your head towards his hand, leaning into his soft touch on your face. The welcomed familiarity makes your heart swell as he cradles your cheek. Inching forwards ever so slightly, Matty presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his soft, plush lips lingering against your skin for longer than necessary — but you weren't complaining.

“‘m not going anywhere,” he repeats quietly, emotion thick in his voice as he swallows the small lump that has formed in his throat, his brain in overdrive as he contemplates the magnitude of events that had occurred tonight.

“You promise?” you question, as you raise your hand to cover his own, your fingers intertwining with his against your blush cheeks.

“I promise.”

74 notes · View notes

honoraryfairy · 1 year

Text

literally begging anyone who’s a good writer to write cute soft platonic! fics for matty i am dying over here

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #the 1975 imagines #matty healy imagines

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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 · 4 months

Text

Matty helping you deepthroat him <3

Aka: Matty having a power trip over you choking on how big he is and wiping your tears and petting your hair and and and

Fem! Reader

Contains: Oral sex (M receiving), gagging on big dick Matty lol, looots of praise, dirty talk, Matty being a cocky bastard, reader tearing up while giving head

—-----------------------------

Frustrated about her gag reflex, reader asks Matty to guide her through deepthroating him

—-----------------------------

Don’t choke. You can do it.

This is what you tell yourself as you dip your head down further, slowly trying to take more of your boyfriend’s generous length in your mouth. Desperate to please, as usual, you eagerly want to try taking him all the way down your throat tonight. Matty watches you with heavily lidded eyes as he holds your hair back to get a perfect view of you sucking him off. Whispers of praise and obscenities spill from his lips, he doesn’t even try to filter himself.

“God, that mouth of yours was just made for my cock, huh?” he says, biting at his lip as he rubs his thumb affectionately at the base of your neck.

Contradicting his filthy talk with gentle touches is so earnestly Matty, it makes your heart swell. Unfortunately, the moment is cut short the second the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Your eyes go wide as your throat constricts, panic settling in your veins as you rush to pull off of him and go right into a coughing fit. You curse through gritted teeth as your own body sabotages you. Immediately, Matty is reaching out with alarm, sitting up ramrod straight.

“Woah, fuck’s sake, you alright?” Matty frowns, wiping the saliva that has dripped down your chin while holding your cheek.

You nod at him, waving off his concern as your coughing subsides. You can’t seem to meet his gaze at the moment, and he notices the look on your face, a tension in your expression that only comes from frustration. Matty searches your eyes, trying to read you as he thumbs over your cheek softly, waiting for you to say something.

“... Does it bother you that I can’t take you all the way?” you ask, your voice uncharacteristically small as you finally meet his eyes.

Matty’s brows raise in surprise at your question, then he scoffs like what you just said was preposterous, reaching to grab your hand and squeeze it.

“What? No, of course it doesn’t. Don’t want you to hurt yourself for the sake of sucking my dick, babe,” he says, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know, but I really want to try again. Do you think you could… guide me through it?” you suggest, tilting your head at him in that way that gets his heart thrumming against his chest. How could he say no to you?

He hesitates for a moment, clearly not wanting you to push yourself too far, but he also knows you know your own limits, and he would never try to tie you down. His mind wanders, and Matty’s cock twitches at the thought of easing your mouth down his shaft, him talking you through it till he’s down your throat. That settles it.

“Well, yeah, I can. But the second you feel like you want to tap out, you do it, understand?” he replies sternly, raising an eyebrow at you.

He knows how you get, always eager to please, but he will not have you feeling uncomfortable on his watch. You nod quickly, smoothing your hands out over his thighs with a smile pulling at your lips at how your boyfriend dotes on you. Batting your lashes at him, you start to lower yourself again and he just smiles at you, bringing a hand to the back of your head. A low groan rumbles in his throat as you start kitten licking at his slit, kissing at the tip of his cock while looking up at him with those siren-call eyes of yours.

“My beautiful girl,” he mutters, caressing the side of your face gingerly.

You always look so perfect like this to him, so vulnerable. The fact that his sweet girl is so eager to deepthroat him and make him feel good just has adoration pulling at his heartstrings. You hum happily at his sugary praise, dipping your head down further as you wrap your lips around him, graciously swallowing the salty pearls of precum. He’s weighty in your mouth, even just the tip of him heavy on your tongue. He moans wantonly the moment you hollow your cheeks around him, pretty pink lips tight around his shaft. Matty’s eyes are clouded with lust as he watches you begin sinking your head down, encouragingly petting your hair.

“Look at you… atta girl, you can do it,” he says softly, keeping a close eye on your expression, making sure you don’t look uneasy, “Go slow, love.”

You breathe through your nose deeply, using that trick where you close a fist around your thumb to suppress your gag reflex. You can’t remember where you learned it, but you silently thank whoever taught you as Matty’s cock kisses the back of your throat. Your brows furrow with concentration, letting your eyes flutter shut. Matty’s stare is burning, you can feel it on you as he gently pushes some of your hair behind your ear, carding his fingers through your locks. He gasps, marveling at you as you take more of him than ever before.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” Matty whispers breathily, tilting his head back against the headboard with a satisfied grunt.

You can feel your throat threaten to constrict, making you pause your movements. You quickly look up at him with doe-eyes, tears brimming your bottom lashes as you try not to gag. Matty coos at you, holding your cheek.

“Aw, baby, is it too big for you?” he pouts. His voice is sweetly sympathetic, too sweet to be fully sincere.

You can tell part of him is enjoying watching you struggle to take him, it strokes his ego in a way. You whine around him pathetically, one of your hands tightening in the sheets while you fight the urge to pull away. You squeeze your fingers around your thumb hard, trying to ease your sensitivity as some tears trail down your cheeks. Only a bit of him is left, but it feels so daunting. Matty reaches to wipe your tears tenderly, dominance simmering deep inside him at the sight of you.

“I know… I know, sweet thing. Not used to taking so much cock, hm? This is what sucking off a real man is like,” he says, now clearly having a proper power trip over this whole scenario.

You narrow your eyes at him for a moment, not sure whether to be ticked off by his arrogance or turned on by it. Seeming to have repressed choking on him for the moment, you let your eyes flutter shut as you dip down hurriedly, forcing your head down. Your nose presses to his pelvis, a bit of course, dark hair tickling at the tip of your nose. Excitement thrums in your veins as you realize that you’ve done what you set out to do, eyes snapping open eagerly as Matty moans lowly at the sight of you. He fists at the sheets to restrain himself from bucking up into your tight, wet mouth.

“Fuuuck, that’s a good girl, knew you could do it,” Matty admires, smiling at you lazily with adoration twinkling in his eyes, “Feels nice? Having my cock down your throat?”

Pride swells up inside your chest as you nod at him, practically salivating at the sound of his praise. To let yourself breathe, you pull yourself up from his lap, almost tackling him to press an enthusiastic kiss to his lips. Matty giggles against your mouth, ruffling your hair adoringly at your excitement.

“Did it, Matty,” you croon, a dopey smile on your face as you bury yourself in his neck, reaching down to wrap your hand around the base of him, slowly pumping his dick.

“I know, I saw, sweet girl. Looked so pretty like that for me- fuck,” Matty gasps, hips rocking up into your fist wantonly.

He groans deeply, cock throbbing in your hand as you give him a sudden tight squeeze. Matty’s hands ghost up your spine, making you shiver as he feels each bone beneath his feather-light touch.

“You gonna let me cum down your throat now?” Matty purrs in your ear.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader

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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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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

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hrryshoney · 20 days

Text

only angel

gynecologist!matty healy x reader

A/N: the ppl voted and my blog is a democracy. i’ve written a couple blurbs abt this but here is the full fic :) i love this freak nasty man so here u guys go. (also, don’t like it? don’t read it! ;)) abt 3.6k words. also ty to my friends molly, olive, and josie for helping me out w bits and pieces of this. ily guys @think0fmehigh @automaticllamacycle @ilwysleep

warnings: smut 18 +, breeding kink, cum play, degradation, praise, size kink, corruption kink, taboo topics/power imbalance (doctor/patient), fingering, a lil oral (fem receiving), light choking, light spanking (once across the face, completely consensual), masturbation w toy (f!), mean dom!matty, use of Bunny, maybe petplay if u squint, dom and sub dynamics, problematic age gap maybe (reader is 22/23, matty is 29/30), dirty talk, lots more this is filthy etc..

You felt restless. Matty was at work, and you were home clenching your thighs together. You didn't have a class today, and so that meant no distractions either. You were ovulating, and your body was making sure you knew that fact.

Matty had left you aching this morning. Riling you up on purpose. Lingering touches on your thighs, caressing your bare skin. He didn’t listen to your whines or pleas, condescendingly reminding you that he has ‘important work to do, more important than getting you off.’ So, you lay in bed tossing and turning. Waiting for Matty’s return, however pathetic that sounds.

And time seemed to drag, nothing working as an efficient distraction. Every time you turned in bed, you swore you could smell Matty's scent each time. You couldn't find a comfortable position, and you were seriously contemplating going back to sleep. There was no reason for you to be awake anyway. Not when you had to just wallow here.

You would touch yourself. Slip your hand down under the waistband of your panties, rubbing your clit until you cum over your own fingers. But, you did make a promise. A promise to Matty this morning that you would be a good girl and wait for him to get home from work. That if you did wait, he would reward you.

You were on the brink of insanity, to disobey him or not? You didn't think you could, so you let your eyes flutter shut. Falling back into a state of light sleep, the white noise of the fan lulling you into a dream that you weren't going to remember when you woke up.

...

You woke up the same way you went to sleep, a dull ache between your legs. Grinding your teeth together, you threw the covers off your hot body and made your way to the bathroom. You were happy your boyfriend had a master bedroom with an attached bathroom, it made everything easier. You reached for your toothbrush, catching your reflection in the mirror. And, maybe you did look a little desperate. But who could blame you? It was really Matty's fault.

After you brushed your teeth, you decided you would take a cold shower. If nothing could snap you out of the state you were in, surely this would. You reached in, turning the handle to the coolest setting. Grabbing two towels and hanging them over the glass, stepping into the shower.

Even being in the ice cold shower for at least 20 minutes was no help. Images of you and Matty in the shower together came flooding back, only making you clench your thighs together more. How he would squeeze your hips if he was here, pressing you up against the glass and moving to get between your legs.

You shook your head as if trying to rid yourself of the thoughts. Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped one of the towels around your body. Opening the door to the bedroom, you walked to Matty's dresser and took one of his old band tees out. You threw it on after drying yourself off, along with a pair of simple white panties that had a small bow on the front. The pair you had worn when you first met him, you smiled at the thought.

After that, you crawled back into bed. You really had nothing to do. No work to catch up on, no shows to watch, and nothing to focus on. Your attention still lingering on the way your cunt throbbed under the fabric of your panties. You tried to remind yourself, listen to your promise.

But weren't promises made to be broken, anyway? You reasoned with yourself. You knew Matty. You knew that even his punishments could be taken as rewards. You knew that he could never do anything too bad to you. So, break the rules you did.

You tried to lose yourself in the pleasure, fingers working yourself as you shut your eyes tightly. But they didn't hit the same spots that Matty's did. And they never felt the same. Then, you remembered. You remembered the toy Matty had bought you so you could use it together. The one he kept in a shoebox in his closet, along with the other toys you two would frequently use.

You got up from the bed, searching for the black box on the floor of Matty's closet. Finding it almost immediately, taking the lid off and searching for the toy. A dildo that was almost as big as him, the next best thing if he wasn't there for you. Not that it felt nearly as good, but it sufficed when you were desperate like this.

Walking the familiar journey, you lied back down on the bed. The cold sheets making goosebumps raise on your arms. Matty's scent completely enveloped you now that you had his shirt on. You ran your hands over your own body teasingly. You knew you didn't have to do much to prep yourself, you've been ready all day.

You let your fingers slide under the band of your panties, tracing your slit. You were already so wet, moaning quietly as your finger bumped your clit. You moved the fabric to the side, beginning to get impatient with yourself. Your fingers swirled around your entrance, collecting the slick that was dripping from you and bringing it up to your clit.

You rubbed circles on your bundle of nerves, resisting bucking your hips into your own hand. You took the toy, bringing it down to your hole. The tip of the dildo prodding at your entrance, you pushed it inside of you slowly. Moaning out, one of your hands slid under your (Matty’s) shirt to tweak at your nipple. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.

Pushing the toy fully inside of yourself, you brought your pointer finger to rub lightly at your clit. You could feel yourself clenching around it, brining your hand back to the base so you could move it in and out of you slowly. You breathing picked up, chest heaving as you allowed yourself to give in to pleasure.

That was your first mistake, you guessed. Or maybe that was not checking the time when you woke up. As you didn’t hear Matty’s car pull up in the driveway. Nor did you hear the front door close, or his footsteps as he made his way up the stairs. You didn’t hear the creek of the door, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back in pleasure. But, you did hear the clicking of someone’s tongue. You gasped, hand coming to splay out over your chest. Eyes opening wide, head shooting up to see your boyfriend standing in the doorway.

Your body was warm all over. The fact that you had gotten caught, but also breaking his rules? You felt shame creep up your neck. The toy was still inside of you fully, cunt dripping wet as you looked at the smirk on Matty’s face. He walked over towards the bed, shaking his head the whole time.

“What’s this, princess? Didn’t listen to your Doctor’s orders?” He mused, knee leaning on the bed as he rubbed your bare thigh with one hand. He trailed one finger from your leg, scratching his fingernail over your abdomen as he brought it down to your other thigh. You twitched slightly and he chuckled.

You whined as Matty practically drank you in with his eyes. His hand coming up to bunch his old band tee between his fist. “N-no, m’sorry, Doctor. But you left me. You left me, and I’ve been so needy all day.” You felt childish, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The faux pout you received back from Matty only made more arousal pour out of you.

Matty ignored your words, gazing at you like a predator. “Use this often when I’m gone, baby?” He pointed at the you, gesturing as if he was disgusted at the thought of you using it alone. “Only cock you should be taking is mine.” His tone was full of condescension and it made you dizzy. You clenched involuntarily. His eyes followed the movement, looking between your legs.

“Please, Doctor. I’m sorry. I want you so bad.” You begged for him, lashes fluttering as you looked up and tears filled your lash line. “Need you inside of me, it’s not the same. Want you to fill me up.” And maybe you were laying it on thick, but it was all the truth. You’ve been so needy for him all day.

“S’a shame, bunny.” He laughs at your reaction to the word, rolling your hips into the air. “You couldn’t listen to me. Think you deserve to get fucked with a real cock? That’s only for good girls, not whores like you.” He traced the outline of your panties that were pulled aside, lingering for a moment. Tapping the base of the dildo inside of you, he stretched the band of your elastic and let it snap back against your skin.

You groaned, feet planted on the bed as you raised your hips up. He circled your clit, pinching it lightly and watching the shock run throughout your body. “I- I am good, Matty. Please, I wasn’t gonna cum without you.” You whimper as Matty slaps the toy again, then grabbing the base and beginning to move it in and out of you.

Matty scoffs at your words. “You weren’t going to, or you just couldn’t?” He says with a definite tone, pulling the dildo fully out of you. He ran the silicone toy through your slick, then tapped it on your clit three times. You dig your nails into the sheets, trying to not move. “Wanna see you stuff yourself with it, since y’were so eager.” Matty takes his hands off your body completely, moving to the tent in his pants.

You could see that he was straining against his work pants, cock begging to be released from the confines of the fabric. You could imagine how it looked, all flushed and pretty, leaking precum for you. Matty palmed himself over the material, letting his hips buck up. He squeezed his very visible length. You swore your mouth watered.

Your hand went to the toy, body begging for some type of friction. You fucked yourself with it, getting lost in the way Matty looked as he rubbed himself over his pants. It felt good, but it wasn’t him. You would never be able to cum like this. “Doctor Healy, please. I need you so bad, you’re the only one who can make me feel like this. Nothing else.” You pleaded with him, hoping he’d show some mercy. Maybe you were wrong earlier, maybe Matty could stand to punish you.

As if he read your mind, Matty just smirked at you. He was almost breathless as he shook his head. “You couldn’t be a good girl, my good girl, and wait. Now you have to be satisfied with a plastic dick, princess.” His grin made you infuriated, skin heating up. You moved your hand between your legs faster, closing your eyes. You felt a slap on your thigh, your skin stinging from the impact. Your eyes snapped open. “Look at me. You were thinking of me, right? Well, now I’m in front of you. Don’t be selfish, bunny.” He spit his words at you meanly, the smirk on his face making you lightheaded.

You thought you could cry. You kept a steady rhythm, but you just couldn’t hit the right spots. “Please, Doctor. Need your help, can’t do it by myself. Don’t wanna think.” You jutted your bottom lip out, hand slowing down as Matty sat up straighter. He stopped palming himself, leaning closer to you. His hands trailed up your thighs, meeting between them where your hands were.

He took over, how moving the toy inside of you with more fervor than before. His other hand came to swipe at your clit, the position had you moaning gutturally. The lewd noises that emitted as he fucked you were enough to make you embarrassed. Of course, Matty had something to say. “Little slut can’t even touch herself properly? Guess I’ll have to teach her.” He moved the dildo at a particular angle that had you screaming out.

“Oh my God, Matty! Right there- Please, I’m gonna cum.” You barely got through your sentence before three of Matty’s fingers were on your clit. They rubbed the nerves harshly, determined to get you to your climax. Your whole body shuddered as you came, slurring out a mix of his honorific and his name. Falling from your lips like a prayer. Matty fucked you through your orgasm with the toy, pulling it out of you when he saw you had come down from you high. You felt Matty’s tongue come to lap at your clit, flattening it against your juices. Your hands immediately came to tug at his hair from overstimulation.

He leaned up, pulling you in for a bruising kiss. His hands were on either side of your jaw as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. He swallowed your moans, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Don’t we taste good together, princess?” You nodded obediently at him, and you saw the glimmer of mischief in his eye. “Wanna taste yourself again?” He asked nonchalantly, bringing the dildo that had just been inside of you to your lips. You opened your mouth eagerly. Lips wide and tongue flat, Matty shoved the toy inside your mouth. You moaned around the object, the taste of your own juices coating on your tongue. You opened your mouth and swirled your tongue along the tip for show, watching as Matty’s eyes darkened and jaw clenched. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” He pushed the toy aside, shoving your jaw away.

His hand wrapped lightly around your throat, and he brought three fingers down to your entrance. You were already so fucked out, and you knew he wasn’t stopping anytime soon. Matty’s moved his hand and pushed your (his) shirt up over your chest. He pinched and played with your exposed nipples, sucking on them until they were completely hard. He blew on your sensitive buds, reveling in the way you squirmed from the cold air.

He pushed two fingers into your cunt easily, already being so wet and open for him. You gasped, clenching your thighs as me moved his digits rapidly. “Tight little cunt, even after I stretched you out like that. Practically fucked you open.” He shook his head, spitting on your pussy. “Can’t wait to fuck you dumb, princess.” He added another finger, stretching you out even more. “Perfect little cock sleeve for me. M’glad you know your place.” Matty spoke blissfully, almost more lost in it than you.

“P-please, Doctor. Need you inside of me. Want you to fuck me and fill me up.” You babbled and nodded your head, trying to chase another high as Matty’s fingers never ceased their relentless pace. You didn’t even realize what you said, but you realized how he slightly faltered. Rhythm stopping for a beat, breath hitching. His hand moved to your stomach, pressing down.

“Yeah, princess? Want me to put a baby in there? You want everyone to know you belong to me, that your doctor got you pregnant?” He snickered, removing his hand from your pussy. He took his fingers up to his mouth, sucking off any remnants of you.

Matty stood up to unzip his pants, finally feeling relief on his hard cock. He unbuttoned his top, shrugging it off to the floor. You got lost in his tattoos, how his muscular arms bulged every time he moved. You knew your mouth was agape, and you were just feeding his ego even more. But how could you not? Especially when he steps out of his pants, pulling his briefs down. His hard cock almost slapped against his abdomen, the tip an angry red color. He was leaking pre cum, and he stroked himself twice as he squeezed his length in his fist. “Open your legs for me.”

You put your legs up on the bed, opening them as wide as your body allowed. Your panties that had been pulled to the side were now fully discarded of, as he roughly pulled them off your body. Muttering something of how he ‘wasn’t gonna let anything get in the way.’ He lined himself up with your entrance, but didn’t push himself inside of you. You took that as your window to beg for him.

“Doctor- Matty, please. I need you inside of me so bad. Just wanna feel your cock inside my cunt, it’s all I need. Wanna feel you cum inside of me.” You whined out, your rambling coming to an end as he pushed inside of you without warning. Matty made you take him to the hilt, burying himself inside of your warm cunt. Your slick pouring out around him.

Matty pounded into you, hand finding home on your neck again. His hips slapped against yours, combining with your wetness and filling the room with filthy sounds. Both you and Matty’s moans filling the empty spaces. “Cunts clinging to me, just sucking me right in. Can tell she wants me to cum inside of her.” Matty stopped his rhythm for a moment just to slap your clit. “Tell me ‘thank you’.” He said smugly.

The way he talked about your pussy made you clench around him in embarrassment, face heating up. He tightened his grip on your throat, squeezing the sides. You felt dizzy in the best way possible.

“W-why should I? You haven’t even finished with me yet.” Your smirk and bratty attitude didn’t last for long, he lightly slapped you across the face. Just enough for it to sting. Your body felt like it was buzzing, and your hole clenched around him.

“Messy girl.” He tsked, hips stuttering. He pulled his cock out of you. Making you whine in protest. “Shouldn’t even fill you up, bad girls don’t deserve my cum.” You know he’s bluffing, but your eyes go wide in fear. He wouldn’t leave you high and dry.

“N-no! Matty, m’sorry. Please, Doctor. You know I need it.” You folded immediately. Your body was restless from the lack of contact know, the only thigh touching you were his hands ghosting up your sides.

He ignored your pleas. "You know, bunny," You moan out as Matty speaks, running the tip of his cock through your soaking folds, pulling back when you try to arch into him. "Best time to try and knock you up is right now, when you're ovulating." Whines fall from your lips helplessly, pleasure being robbed from you as he keeps pulling away from your cunt. Of course he remembers the cycles of your body. "Gotta make sure it takes. Can't have you wasting my cum, right?" He chuckles at your reaction, his thumb pressing down on your clit as he brings his cock to your entrance again.

You feel full again as he presses into you, and your body felt like it was on fire. You nodded along to everything he said, easily obeying him. You needed to cum, and you needed his cum, too. “God, Matty. I’m close, please.”

“Hold it.” He replies, rubbing hard and firm circles on your button. “Tight hole is creaming around me. Little bunny, should get you a collar. Tie you down and keep this pussy stuffed full all day.” You groaned out, no longer being able to string a coherent sentence together. All you could do was shake your head. Matty chuckled. “Yeah, bunny? Like that idea? Maybe we should get you a tail, too.” Your senses were on overdrive. Matty really was fucking you dumb. And he almost seemed pussy drunk himself.

“Come on, princess. Cum around my cock, let me feel you.” He spit on his fingers, bringing them down to your clit, letting it drip down to where you two were connected. It sent you over the edge, coming for the second time that night. Your eyes rolled back in your head, throat already sore from how you were screaming his name and title. You felt Matty’s dick twitch inside of you, his steady pace faltering.

“Fuck- gonna fill this cunt up.” He groaned out in a raspy voice, and you felt the warm liquid painting your insides as his chest heaved. You moaned at the feeling, loving how he felt inside of you. You could see beads of sweat on Matty’s forehead when you opened your eyes, and a blissful smile crossed your face. You moved the hair from his forehead, and he smiled back at you.

When Matty pulled out, you winced from the empty feeling. He watched as his cum started to leak out of you, reaching up by your head to grab a pillow from the top of the bed. He positioned it under your hips, scooping up the cum that had already dripped out and pushing it back inside of you. He bumped your clit as he did so, enjoying the way you jolted. He let his fingers slip inside of you again, hooking them as he found that spot that made you go crazy. You felt tears prick your eyes. Matty poured in faux sympathy. “Oh- I know, baby. I know. S’that my spot? Just know this little cunt too well.” He curled his fingers inside of you again, leaving them now to act as a sort of plug. You giggled, slapping his shoulder. “Matty!”

“What? M’gonna make sure you get pregnant.” You could barely see the brown in his eyes, pupils completely blown out. He smiled, leaning in to kiss the top of your forehead. “Wanna see you all round and full of me. Even if that means fucking you every day this week, and again tonight.” And from his tone of voice alone, you knew Matty was deadly serious.

#divider cred: @cafekitsune #enjoy ppl <3 #matty healy x oc #matty healy blurb #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #matty healy oneshot #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #matty healy x you #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x fem!reader #the 1975 smut #gyno!au #gyno!matty #gynecologist!matty #matty healy imagine

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uramilf · 15 days

Note

Dude I need some Matty fluff rn

I’ve been really tired lately and in need of a hug from him as I feel so snuggly till I fall asleep when he sings softly like in Now Is The Hour🥺🥺🥺

A/N: This is so adorable cause I’ve been feeling exactly the same 😭 sorry it’s a short one!

You yawned loudly, your eyes fluttering closed as you lay cuddled up against Matty’s chest on the sofa. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and turned the TV off.

“C’mon darling, bedtime.”

You groaned in protest, not wanting to move, but he pulled you up onto your feet and threw an arm round your waist, walking you to your shared bedroom. It didn’t take long for you to get into your pyjamas and under the covers, and you lay there waiting for Matty to come join you. The sheets were cold, having not been laid in all day, and you needed his warmth against you.

He got under the sheets and pulled you close to his body, wrapping his big arms around you.

“You’ve been so tired recently, darling. What’s going on? Is it work?”

“Yeah, I guess. Everything’s just a bit too much.”

He sighed deeply and tightened his arms around you. “I wish I could do more to help. I really do.”

“You do enough,” you smiled sleepily. “This helps. A lot.”

You both fell silent, breathing deeply as you started drifting off. But the last thing you heard before you fell asleep was the sound of Matty gently humming into your ear while he stroked his hand up and down your back soothingly. Eventually, when he knew you were asleep, he buried his face in your neck and fell asleep himself to the sound of your breathing.

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagines

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adore-healy · 1 year

Text

The Birthday Party.

Matty and y/n have a heart to heart.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, addiction and rehab (nothing graphic) and occasional bad language.

The Birthday Party.

You’re not drunk.

At least not drunk enough to do this. Even with your judgement partially clouded in your hazy mind thanks to the shots of tequila and vodka combined (you know there will be violence in your stomach later) and the feeling of carelessness that washes over you after a few too many, there’s no way that enough alcohol has passed your lips to even consider taking part in your friends’ party ritual.

So instead, you excuse yourself; conjure up a lie; not that anybody cares; they’re far too gone to notice your absence anyway; and you’re not complaining.

Using the bannister to support your swaying body as you lean against it, you manage to singlehandedly climb the stairs where the words to the music become incoherent and all that’s heard is the thumping beat reverberating throughout the house.

Reaching your bedroom, you make a beeline for the ensuite, the white wooden door the last obstacle to combat before your destination. Fiddling with the doorknob, it takes a couple of attempts before you’re able to twist it enough to be able to open the door and stumble into the bathroom.

“‘Hey, poppet,” a soft voice sounds behind the shower curtain.

There’s a hint of huskiness and a slight edge to the tone and you’d recognise that northern accent anywhere. Your hand reaches for the material that hangs above the bath and you pull it back, revealing your best friend, Matty, laying in the bathtub.

He peers up to you through the curly hair that flops over his forehead — you’re surprised he can see anything through the mop — although perhaps more impressed that he’s in his thirties and is yet to start the balding process.

“What …” you breathe softly, stunned to see that the usual life and soul of the party is the most withdrawn tonight.

“Good job I’m not naked, innit?” he smirks up at you before taking a swig from the bottle of red wine he clutches in his hand. “Could’ve been ‘aving a bath and all sorts, love.”

You stare down at him, speechless, drinking in his demeanour. You hadn’t seen him arrive at the party, none the wiser that he’d even attended as of yet, so it confirms your suspicions that he was running late as usual, since timing had never been his strong point, and you’re left wondering how long he’d been hiding; adorned in his stripy jumper (albeit slightly moth bitten) paired with his black skinny jeans; looking every inch the soft boyfriend.

Running your tongue over your bottom lip, the lingering taste of tequila haunts you and you’re berating yourself for being in this situation because you’re not drunk — at least not drunk enough to do this.

“You’re blushing.”

It’s not a question but rather a statement; and one that leaves you feeling a little rattled at his observation.

“Thinking about me naked in the bath, are ya?” he asks with a smirk, taking another mouthful of the crimson liquid.

“Oh fuck off,” you roll your eyes and dismiss his banter, before taking the bottle effortlessly from his hand and helping yourself to his drink. One mouthful is enough for you to cringe at the taste, the burning sensation hitting your throat instantly. “Fucking hate Merlot,” you grimace, defeatedly handing him back the bottle.

“I know,” he sighs in understanding, accepting the bottle back into his hand and taking another sip as he intently watches you lower your body to the floor and shuffle back to lean against the radiator to support your drunken state.

A comfortable silence washes over you both and for a moment it feels as though you’re living in a coming-of-age movie where the protagonist and the, usually somewhat unaware love interest, transition from friends to lovers — although you know it’s your mind playing tricks on you since you’d accepted very early on in your friendship that you and Matty would be nothing more than friends.

You’d often be in the background of his lifestyle choices; forced to watch on each time a ridiculously hot girl would leave his apartment the morning after the night before; or stood in the VIP section during tours and seeing Matty kissing some of his most devoted fans at the barrier. It was painful then; and agonising now. Whilst you know Matty holds you in high regard (and you would never doubt that), selfishly, it wasn’t enough for you.

“Hiding from your own birthday party?” he asks knowingly, raising an eyebrow.

His question snaps you out of your daydream and you’re only too grateful to be distracted from your idealistic notion. You nod and let out a breathless laugh, simultaneously hoping that the chemicals in your brain would diffuse the fantasy that was playing out inside your mind.

“Yeah, too much attention,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Can’t all be like you, you know.”

Normally your joke — admittedly at his expense — about his egotistical self-indulgence would result in some back and forth banter but he’s been your best friend for years, and despite your disbelief, he knows you (probably better than you know yourself at times) and he’s not willing to accept your excuse.

“You’re forgettin’ who you’re talking to, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he observes your features. “Can tell me, you know? ’s just me, innit?” he reassures you, in an attempt to put your obvious nervousness at ease.

Your eyes avert to a spot on the floor as you try to focus your brain into working in tandem with your mouth; something that proves to be more challenging having been the one to down the most shots during a game of Drunk Jenga in your kitchen less than an hour ago.

“Drugs,” you blurt out.

Matty’s attention span is heightened at just one word alone — fear being the forefront emotion.

“What ‘ave you taken, love?” he quickly asks, panic evident in his voice as he sits up suddenly at your revelation.

You shake your head and hold up your hand, hoping to diminish the uncomfortable thoughts that plague his mind.

“It’s not me,” you quickly clarify. “Sorry.”

You can’t mistake his sigh of relief but his eyes still scan your features despite the physical distance between the two of you. He relaxes back into the bath, resuming his previous position, once he’s satisfied that you’re safe and not under the influence of any illegal substance.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s not fair.”

“’s fine, love. ’s not your fault. Seems we’re both in here for the same reason though,” he tells you, a small smile dancing on his lips at the irony of the situation. “I heard Greg saying everyone was fucked up. Some of the girls were asking me to join them, too.”

You subconsciously roll your eyes.

“Mel,” you exhale, shaking your head, knowing the culprit. “I’m so sorry, Matty, I didn’t know …”

“She offered me heroin,” he interrupts you.

Your eyes find the ceiling, disbelief consuming you as you lean your head back against the radiator, processing the delivery of the information; shocked at the audacity of a so-called friend and how she could be so inconsiderate.

“Oh, Matty,” you sigh sadly, pulling your knees towards your chest and hugging them tightly, resting your chin atop of them.

“‘m glad you’re here,” his voice is laced with sincerity. “Didn’t want you to think I was hiding from you. You mean the world to me, love, but all your friends in one place is … it’s a lot,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. “They take that shit recreationally and can stop whenever they like …”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me … or to anyone,” you reassure him, softly.

“I want to,” he gulps, a slight nervousness at the direction this conversation has taken. Pointing his forefinger to his head, he continues; “’s jus’ always there, y’know. Can’t be around it and not want it, ’s why I needed to get away from it all. I … I don’t think I could control it if I went back there and when I haven’t got full control of it, it takes over me … and it’s hell. Can’t be stuck there again. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t ever want to be that person again, doll. I can’t be that person again.”

He closes his eyes, running a free hand over his face and you know that both shame and guilt are consuming him this very second. Matty’s heroin addiction was highlighted upon his admission to rehab and whilst he and his family never hid from the truths of his illness, the devastating effect it had on him and the people around him was the constant living reminder that a relapse could affect his recovery and jeopardise everything he worked so hard to achieve.

You nod in understanding and shuffle forwards towards the bathtub. You reach for his hand, removing it from his face, and you grasp his ring clad fingers within your own, subconsciously fiddling with the jewellery.

“Matty, look at me,” you encourage, and he does so, almost instantaneously. “You’ve come so far and we’re all so proud of you. You’ll never go back to being that person,” you assure him. “You recognise when things are … a lot … and you remove yourself from that situation. You know how to stop that desire from escalating and you know that you have friends, real friends, that you can talk to about this. You’re never on your own, Matty. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, emotion overwhelming him as he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Needed to hear that,” he mumbles. “’s just sometimes I feel like a shitty friend to you; I rely on you so much to stay clean; ’s like I take advantage of knowing you’ll always be there to pick up the pieces. You’re a safe space for me, y’know.”

“You’re not a shit friend, Matthew,” you give him a small smile, knowing that the use of his full name will tease him and diffuse any tension throughout this circumstance. “I’m glad you trust me enough to share that with me. And just for the record, you’re a safe space for me, too.”

He presses another kiss to the back of your hand, a soft whisper of, “Made you cry, love, ‘m so sorry,” bringing you back to reality — although you hadn’t even noticed the tears that pooled in your eyes during the conversation.

“Honestly, look at the fuckin’ state of us,” he snorts, shaking his head disbelief. “We look a right scene, ‘specially you, crying at your own birthday party.”

Your fingers remain interlocked as you wittily remark, “Me?! Sorry rockstar, but you used to do coke in the bathroom at parties, and now you’re hiding in them!”

“Touché,” he smirks, winking back at you. “We should probably get back, love. People will start talkin’.”

Let them you want to tell him, but you don’t. Instead, reality hits you like a ton of bricks as a quick glance around the bathroom ensures the porcelain toilet in your peripheral has you begging to release the vast amount of alcohol you’d consumed throughout the night.

“Need a wee,” you state simply.

“Go ahead,” Matty nods towards the toilet in encouragement.

“Not with you in here!” you gasp in disgust.

“Promise I won’t look,” he tells you, holding his free hand up in defence.

“Too bloody right you won’t look!” you shriek as you stand from your spot and pull the shower curtain closed, separating the two of you once again. Now out of sight, you feel a little more at ease; although one more thing would make you totally comfortable with urinating in his presence.

“Have you seriously turned the tap on?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, lowering yourself onto the toilet to ease the ache from your bladder that had been building up.

“Why?” he confusedly asks.

“Because I don’t want you to hear me pissing.”

You hear Matty laugh and you just know it’s the sort of giggle that has him throwing his head back, dimples etched deep within his skin, as his wide smile shows off his ridiculously perfectly teeth. How you wish you could kiss those dimples he’d been blessed with; your lips brushing over his rough stubble. You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts — thoughts you shouldn’t be having about your best friend.

“Been bringin’ you on tour wi’ me for the last four years, doll. Think ‘m over hearing ya piss by now.”

You roll at your eyes at his comment before being satisfied that you’ve emptied your bladder. You flush the contents of the toilet bowl, sort yourself out, and wash your hands, before pulling the shower curtain back to reveal Matty once more. Holding out your hand, you encourage him out of the bath.

He gratefully accepts the gesture and climbs out of the porcelain tub. His other hand steadily holds the red wine and once both of his feet are firmly on the cold tiles, despite your hatred of the alcoholic liquid housed within the bottle, you can’t help but crave the taste of something other than the lingering tequila and you reach forwards. As you do so, you lose your balance and Matty’s timely reaction has you stumbling into his embrace.

“Whoa, steady love,” he giggles.

You don’t even process what you’re about to do. Perhaps its the liquid confidence; spirits running through your veins; or maybe it’s the vulnerable emotions and overwhelming conversations that have taken place tonight that make you think fuck it as you reach up onto your tiptoes and press your lips against Matty’s.

It’s soft and tender; admittedly, not a kiss that holds much conviction.

“Whoa,” Matty repeats, pulling his mouth away from yours. His hands remain around your body, his hold on you exhibiting the reality of oxymorons; delicate (as though you’re a piece of glass ready to break with the slightest touch) but also firm (preventing your body from swaying in your drunken state).

You gaze up at him breathlessly, before murmuring a quick apology.

“S…sorry,” you stutter, shaking your head, pathetically attempting to remove yourself from his hold.

“You’re wasted, darlin’,” he states the obvious as he places his hands either side of your face, his eyes intently scanning your features. “So fuckin’ wasted,” he whispers under his breath as he leans towards you, lips hovering just above yours, close enough for you to inhale the lingering smell of his cigarette smoke.

You’re disappointed, however, when he instead opts for resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I can’t,” he mutters sympathetically, breathless as he licks his lips, before continuing, “Can’t stop myself if I go there darlin’ and you’re drunk. Can’t take advantage of you, love, not like this.” He pulls away the slightest amount before his eyes scan over your features once more in an attempt to read you.

“’s not taking advantage if I want it,” you tell him, surprised at how easily you’re both playing into this.

He presses his lips against your forehead, the twitch against your skin indicating that he’s smirking. He allows for the tender moment to linger — perhaps for longer than he should.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, a reminder to himself more than anything.

“‘m not that drunk,” you tell him, almost as though you’re a petulant child.

“You’ll regret it in the morning,” he responds.

“What if I won’t?” you press.

He ponders for a moment because fuck he wants this so bad, too. You’re his best friend and he doesn’t want to ruin your existing relationship but he’s aching for you; desperate to have you in every aspect of his life as something more; but despite his longing for you, he wants the sober version of yourself to make a conscious decision. He sighs heavily, his thumbs skimming your cheeks. You whimper at his affectionate gesture and wrap your hands around his wrists, holding them in place.

“Then if you still want me, you can have me,” he speaks with conviction. “Can ‘ave me, darlin’. Can ‘ave all of me.”

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floras-imagination · 21 days

Text

guitar hands 🎸✌️- matty healy x reader

summary: You can no longer hide the longing obsession for your best friend matty's hands... word count: 3.8k warnings: 18+ smut, fingering authors note: It's been ages since I've written a fanfiction, so this one might be a bit rusty. I hope you enjoy it, though.❤️

"I can't do this anymore!", you gasped as your best friend Matty opened the door.

You walked in quickly as he opened his mouth, to greet you, but you cut him off before he could say anything, leaving him standing in the doorway, staring at you in surprise.

"I will never date anyone ever again!", you turned around, looking at a very confused Matty who was still holding the doorknob in his hands.

You pointed your index finger in the air to emphasize your words, "And this time I really mean it, so don't you dare laughing!", you frowned furiously in his direction, in a way that Matty finds terribly cute. It's a facial expression you often make when you're mad and Matty can't ever hide his little smirk when he sees you like that. But this usually makes you even angrier, which Matty doesn't mind because, obviously, he loves it.

Sometimes he even teases you a little bit to see that fuming, adorable glance of yours. But he always chooses his words carefully to make sure he doesn't hurt you with anything he says.

You threw your black bag in the corner before plopping down on the couch in his living room, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Still frowning, you focused your eyes on the floor in front of you.

He closed the door and slowly made his way over to the couch. His hair was messy and a few strands of his curls hung over his forehead. He looked a bit drowsy, like he'd just woken up from a nap.

"Well... hello, love.", it was finally his turn to speak. His voice sounded low and sleepy.

He rubbed his left eye, before placing the palm of his hand on his cheek, "It's nice to see you...", he continued.

You didn't say anything.

He sat down beside you, admiring you with a big smirk on his face. Suddenly, he seemed less and less tired. You could literally see the sleepiness leaving his body as his smirk grew wider and wider. In his head, he counted down the seconds, well aware that his silly smile was going to drive you nuts in less than five seconds. One, two, three, four...

"What?" you spat at him, turning your head to your right to face him. "Can you please stop doing that?" you asked, finally relaxing the muscles of your forehead.

"Doing what?" he giggled back at you. The "what" sounded more like a "wha". You've always had a weakness for his strong British accent. Hearing Matty talk gave you a weird feeling inside your lower belly, a feeling you've been trying to ignore ever since you first noticed it.

Matty and you had been best friends since year 9. You met him on your first day of school, just a few days after you and your family had moved from New York to Manchester. After the teacher introduced you to the class, Matty offered to give you a tour of the school. You were extremely grateful to have such a friendly classmate as Matty, and the fear of spending every break alone promptly vanished as he never left your side during breaks, welcoming you into his circle of friends.

You must admit you found him attractive, and he became even more appealing over the years. But he never made any moves that could suggest he wanted more than friendship, so you kept convincing yourself that this wasn't what you wanted either. You somewhat accustomed yourself to the idea of never getting closer to him, which made it easier to live with your hidden feelings. It has been ten years now, and sometimes you were so adept at denying your feelings that you even started to believe the lies you told yourself. In the meantime, you also had a few boyfriends and situationships where you completely forgot about your feelings for Matty due to being preoccupied.

Sadly, each of your relationships turned out to be exceedingly toxic, which made it difficult for you to focus on anything else. You constantly worried about not being enough or being too much. Days without arguments and tears were extremely rare, but Matty was always there for you.

"Oh come on, you know what I mean"

He was about to say something again, but you didn't let him.

"Looking at me like that when I'm mad. It's not funny, Matty! This is a serious situation!"

"A serious situation? Oh, okay. Well, you already said that a few weeks ago, when you came home from your date with that other bloke... Wait, what was his name again?", he paused for a moment as he touched his chin, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to think. After two seconds he gave up, because he really didn't remember the boy's name.

About 10 months ago, your boyfriend of two years broke up with you. It was a tough time for you, but Matty had been incredibly supportive. He let you sleep at his place on nights when you didn't want to be alone, which was almost every night for about a month and a half after the breakup. You cried a lot, and your best friend held you throughout the entire night, calming you down and making sure you had someone to talk to. The two of you shared a few restless nights during which neither of you got much sleep. However, cuddling was nothing new or special since you've been doing this ever since you became close friends. Matty has always craved cuddles from you, especially during movie nights or casual hangouts. You didn't read too much into it, presuming it's a normal thing best mates tend to do, but little did you know that he's been hiding his feelings as well...

When you eventually started to feel a bit better, Matty encouraged you to download some dating apps because he said something like 'the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.' That's also how the singer tried to get over his crush on you. He hooked up with numerous girls over the past years, desperately trying to feel something similar to the affection he feels in your presence, yet each trial remained unsuccessful.

You decided to give his advice a shot, and it was actually an excellent way to distract yourself from your aching heart. Though you didn't have much luck with your dates, you were at least able to get over your ridiculous ex.

"Anyway," he shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

"I don't remember his name either," you said dryly, still not averting your gaze from his face. Matty immediately turned his head to the left, now looking into your eyes as both of you burst into heavy, heartfelt laughter.

"Come here, darling..." he laughed, raising his left arm to pull you into a lovingly sweet hug.

He loved having you around and spending intimate and funny moments like this one with you. Seeing you heartbroken and sad broke his heart into a million little pieces. Lately, he's been struggling a lot with his self-control, not knowing how much longer he'll be able to keep his longing feelings for you a secret.

As you lay in his embrace, head resting on his soft, comfy chest, he snuggled his nose into your freshly washed hair, which smelled like a huge field of spring flowers.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" he mumbled against your head.

You were now completely relaxed, feeling happy in the lovely arms of your friend. "The date was horrible," you laughed, starting to tell your story. "We met up for dinner, and he was talking about himself the whole time! How he goes to the gym every single day... and it was just gym, gym, gym... and then he asked me if I did any sports, and I said no, and then he was talking some kind of bullshit again... but I wasn't even listening anymore at this point," you tittered before continuing, "Then I wanted to order some ice cream for dessert, and then he told me how unhealthy sugar was..." you couldn't stop yourself from laughing.

"No, really?" Matty laughed, still holding you tight. "What did you say then?"

"Nothing. I just grabbed my bag and left."

Matty threw his head back, roaring in laughter. "This is my girl. I'm proud of you," he breathed heavily. "I have ice cream in the freezer. You want some?"

You immediately jumped up at his words. "Yes! Please!"

He got up from the couch, preparing you a bowl of ice cream in the kitchen.

He strolled back to the living room, carrying the cold bowl in his hands. You found yourself lost in your thoughts, admiring his large, delicate fingers. You called them guitar hands, since you've seen plenty of other guitarists having these kinds of hands, but Matty's have been your favourite. The mere thought of his agile fingers touching your neck or thighs caused shivers, leaving your whole body covered with goosebumps. In your dreams, you imagined them slowly unbuttoning your jeans, gently sliding into your panties to...

You briefly shook your head, forcing the end of this forbidden daydream, after staring at Matty like you've just seen a ghost.

"Are you alright?" he questioned, throwing a rather puzzled glance at you.

"Hm...what?" you uttered, shaking your head once again. "Yeah, yes, I'm fine. I was just... nevermind," a slight chuckle left your lips, masking the huge amount of shame you felt.

"Honestly, why was I even mad?" you snickered, trying to change the topic as he handed you your much-needed dessert. "This is just so hilarious. But anyway, I meant what I said earlier. I won't go on any more dates," you licked the spoon delightfully, "I'm done. From now on, I'm going to enjoy my single era alone."

For a very brief moment, a smutty thought crossed Matty's mind as he saw your tongue gliding over the back of the spoon you held in your small, soft hand. He pushed the thought away quickly.

"Whatever makes you happy, love. I'm just glad you're finally over your ex. You were too good for him. You deserve so much more than that," he declared, fantasizing about being the man by your side, knowing you well enough to meet all your unique needs.

"Yes, I know. I don't know what I saw in him," you agreed. "But let's just forget about it, please."

He smiled, pulling you into his arms to place a peck on the side of your head. The Netflix logo popped up on the big flat screen in front of you as Matty turned on the TV. "You wanna stay with me tonight?" he asked his best friend needily, in a romantic, cuddly mood. It had been a long time since your last sleepover, and he was desperate to have you near.

Your right cheek was already pressed against Matty's chest as you were sleepily nestled in his hug, mumbling your answer "Guess you already took that decision for me, didn't you?"

"Yep," he stated, resting his head on yours. Though he couldn't imagine anything better than lying there with the one person he loved, his gracious smile was tinged with melancholy, as he couldn't shake the doubt that you would never reciprocate the depth of his feelings.

--------------------------

You found yourself waking up alone in the soft embrace of Matty's bed, the night still cloaking the world outside. With a sleepy sigh, you shifted beneath the covers to get up. The door stood slightly ajar and the enchanting sound of a guitar drifted into the moonlit room.

You opened the door, following the echoing noise of music that came from the living room. Matty was sat on the couch with a guitar on his lap, wearing his blue nike sweater. His messy curls tangled all over his forehead, making him look so effortlessly handsome in the gloomy warm light of the fairy lights hanging from the bookshelf.

He was so deeply focused in playing, he didn't even notice you already stood in the living room. Seizing the moment, you took the opportunity to observe him, particularly captivated by the way his hands deftly fingered the chords on the guitar, moving with such grace as if they were dancing in silent harmony with the music.

He looked up to see you standing in front of him, adoring your dozy appearence as he stopped strumming the strings of the guitar.

"Morning, sleepyhead", he greeted you in the usual flirtatious way. "I couldn't sleep. Wanted to work a bit on that new song. Was it too loud?"

"No, it's fine. It sounds good. Can I listen?"

"Course you can. Sit down", he demanded with a grin on his face as he continued playing.

You loved the sound of Matty's new song and even though you tried your best to concentrate on the rythm of the music, you couldn't help yourself from staring at his hands again. The way his fingers nimbly glided over the fretboard, made you think about all the other things these supple hands could do to you. A sinking feeling of guiltful embarassement was spreading inside your stomach. You hated having these lustrous thoughts while sitting in front your best friend.

While you were still submerged in your shameful thoughts, Matty slowly emerged from the trance he typically falls into when he plays the guitar. His gaze drifted over to you, curious about what you were thinking about the new piece. He observed you for a moment until he realized you were absentmindedly fixated on his left hand.

Recalling a similar situation from earlier that day, he recognized the same expression on your face as when he had brought you the bowl of ice cream.

He stopped playing, causing you to look at his eyes as your consciousness returned. "Is anything wrong with my hands?"

"What? No, why?", you raised an eyebrow, snickering nervously. "What could be wrong with your hands?"

"You've been staring at my hands again!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. When did I stare at your hands?"

"Well, just now? And earlier when I gave you the ice-cream?"

"I haven't!"

"You have! And it's not the first time I caught you doing that..."

"I was just wondering which chords you used", you declared, visibly annoyed.

"You're such a bad liar."

"No, it's true!", you tried to defend yourself.

"Ah, so you were staring? "

"I wasn't!", your voice grew louder and louder. You weren't angry at him but at yourself for not being careful enough. What if he finds out about the feelings you'd been trying so hard to hide all these years? What if your friendship ended right now, right here, in this night? The enormous weight of fear and sadness settled like a lump in your throat, making it hard to swallow. You had to swallow though, since you already felt tears coming up that needed to be hidden at all cost. It was impossible for you to gulp without making a noise as the lump of woe was already way too big to be swallowed in secret.

"Gaslighting...", Matty teased in a lighthearted manner instead of being serious or mad. He knew he was right, especially now that you seemed so offended by his question.

"Okay, that's enough. I'll go home", without hesitation you bolted upright from the couch.

Matty immediately reacted by grabbing your wrist with his right hand, while still seated on the couch, holding the neck of the guitar with his left one. You turned around to face him as he was looking deep inside of your eyes. Contrary to your expectation he was still far from being furious. You caught a glimpse of him still holding the D chord as your eyes darted around. His thumb rested on the e string, tightly gripping the guitar's neck.

"It's quarter past midnight. You're not going anywhere", he stated with a slight chuckle, his playful demeanor both infuriating and comforting you. He endeavored to soothe your frayed nerves, but his touch and gaze left you feeling uncomfortably giddy, leaving you unable to think straight. You swallowed hard, meeting his piercing stare.

As Matty's intense gaze locked onto yours, he felt the floodgates of longing burst open within him. No longer did he bother to conceal his desire.

'Now or never', he thought to himself, 'do it, you muppet!'

With another firm grip on your wrist, he summoned up all his courage, guiding you towards him with a sudden movement as he finally crushed his lips onto yours. After years and years of dreaming about this exact moment, it now became reality. And it felt even better than both of you could have ever imagined. Setting the guitar aside, he placed it to his left on the couch, drawing you closer. Pressing you gently against the cushions, he positioned his body on top of yours, eagerly seeking your lips again.

In the next thirty minutes you were having your long awaited make out session, filled with lots of wet and fiery kisses along with tender, passionate touches.

No words required, Matty was overjoyed and now well aware of the fact that you returned what he felt for you. Even though Matty didn't mention a single word, you knew it too.

"I love you so much, baby", he confessed, right before he started to work his way down your neck, placing gentle kisses on your soft skin, "I've been meaning to do this for ages"

"I love you too, Matty", you whispered, still not knowing if you were awake or dreaming.

As he was passionately devouring you, he could feel your body trembling while lust was written all over your face.

"I didn't expect you to have such a dirty mind, though.", he smirked against your neck.

"What do you mean?", your voice was shaking.

"You haven't answered my question yet"

"Which question?"

"Why you're so obsessed with my hands...",

"Matty please...", you whined.

"What?", he asked as his lips were still clung to your neck, "Tell me what you want me to do with my hands"

You gulped as feelings of overwhelming embarrassment came flooding over you again.

He slowly moved his hand from your back over your chest, sliding it down your belly, causing you to shiver even more. He stopped at the button of your jeans, resting his hand on your waist as he peeked up to lock his gaze with yours. With fluttering eyes you glanced down at him, wondering why he stopped. The intense craving for having his fingers inside of you became unbearable.

While Matty was grinning from ear to ear, finding pleasure in torturing you with his teasing touches, he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Please, Matty... I...", you stuttered, still not being able to speak properly.

"Tell me, love"

"I...", your words came out as a faint whisper, "I need you. Matty, please..."

"Where?", he whispered back at you.

"Inside me...", you finally gave him the words he wanted to hear, not caring about another wave of shame that was crashing all over you.

Not waisting any more time, he unzipped your jeans, slowly making his way into your slip. By the time his soft fingers reached your clit, you closed your eyes, throwing your head back in deep pleasure. A heavy moan left your mouth, as you were electrified by his heavenly touch that you've been craving so desperately.

"No, no, no, no, no!", he complained, "I want you to look at me."

The inability to move made it impossible for you to follow his command.

He tightened the grip between your legs as he repeated his order, "I said look at me!"

Continuing his teasing game, Matty was about to pull his hand back out of your pants, due to your disobedience, but you immediately stopped him by grabbing his hand to keep it in place. "What are you doing?", you questioned, wanting him to continue what he started.

"Uhm.. pulling my hand out.", he answered casually with a shrug, pretending it wasn't part of his little game. His plan worked out immediately when you looked at him with that cute, furious frown on your face.

"No! Why?", you protested.

Matty leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered "Because only good girls deserve to be fingered by Matty Healy."

"But..."

"And you aren't one", he gently pecked the skin of your neck again.

"I am", you moaned in response to his soft kisses.

"Don't think so. If you were, you'd do what I say"

"Please Matty stop teasing me now! I can't take it any longer"

"Hmm... seems like someone's being really needy...", he kept on playing with you, "will you be a good girl for me now?"

"Yes, Matty. Yes, I will", you answered impatiently.

"Then look at me.", he said as he carefully put his hand back between your legs and this time you were following his command, being the good girl he asked you to be, though it was definitely not easy for you to keep eye contact with him.

"Now you are being a good girl. I want you to keep looking at me, okay? Will you do that for me, darling?"

You nodded in response, "Hm... yes."

All of a sudden he pushed his middlefinger inside you, causing a loud moan from you.

"That's what you were thinking about when you watched me play guitar, isn't it?", he gently whispered in your ear.

"Maybe...", you admitted between your lusty moans.

"I knew it.", he smirked, "Couldn't quite believe it though..."

"Hmm..", you hummed as he continued his skillful work with his fingers, beaming you into another dimension of reality.

While listening to your ravishing moans he kept on talking, "My best friend is a dirty slut. Unbelievable. But I'd be lying if I said i didn't think about you every time I wanked.", he winked at you with a dirty smile, roughly jabbing another finger inside your dripping wet pussy.

"Matty, I... I think I...", you stammered, having difficulties to breathe.

"Yes baby, cum for me, please", he permitted, but you were already collapsing in heated pleasure as you eventually broke the eye contact, letting your head fall onto his chest, gasping for air.

With his free arm, he hugged you, pressing your body tightly to his own. He gave you some time to calm down while you were catching your breath, before he slowly pulled out his fingers, bringing them up to your mouth, so you could lick them clean. "If that was part of your phantasies too...then...", he shook his head with a radiant smile on his face while you seemingly enjoyed sucking your juice from his elegant guitar hands, "...like... who are you? And what have you done to my best friend?"

"Shut up, Healy!", you laughed after letting go of his fingers, "and cuddle me!"

You snuggled yourself into his loving embrace, but Matty had other plans....

"Nah... later, love.", he told you with hungry eyes, "I'm not done with you yet."

#matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty the 1975 #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #smut #the 1975 smut #matty x reader #matty healy fanfiction #imagine #matty healy imagine #guitar #guitar hands

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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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