#1975 fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lottiecrabie · 1 year ago

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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sugar-coat-it · 4 months ago

Text

Teenage Dream

Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight <3

Contains: Drive Like I Do!Matty, slightly subby Matty, first times, young love 🥲, dry humping, hair pulling, Matty being a down bad dork, giggly little mishaps, guided fingering, unsubtle dirty talk, protected penetrative sex, hand-holding during sex, Matty fighting for his life not to cum, first L word

Fem! Reader

WC: ~7.8k

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2007ish: Completely inexperienced but so eager, Matty and his girlfriend have their first time

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Matty can hardly shut the door before your hands are on him, you’re all over him in every sense of the term. You crush your lips to his, making him stumble slightly from the force of your kiss. He smiles against your mouth at your impatience, his chuckle swallowed by the eager locking of your lips. You feel your head swim, almost dizzy at the passion being exchanged as trembling hands reach for everything they can touch, it’s almost like your brain is dripping down your spine. Matty’s fingers knot into your hair as he walks you backward until you’re pressed against his front door. You can practically feel his adrenaline thrumming in his veins, rushing to his every nerve as he licks into your mouth with fervor. He’s still brimming with the rush from his gig, and you’re reeling from the memory of watching him perform. It’s honestly a miracle you’d made it inside his house at all considering the frenzied heat burning you both up from the inside, the flames fanned by the knowledge of what’s planned for the night. Every kiss is sealed with the promise of more.

You can feel the heat radiating off of Matty’s body as he keeps you trapped between his lanky frame and the door, your teeth slightly clashing with his from the intensity of the kiss. He pulls away to catch his breath, panting hot fans of air over your lips as he grins at you widely, toothily.

“What?” you prompt, breathless, pursing your lips playfully.

Matty swallows thickly, seemingly frozen for a moment as his eyes search your face, quietly observing your touseled hair, swollen lips, cheeks tinged a lovely shade of pink: his new favorite shade of pink. He shakes his head, his thick, dark (and messily side-parted) hair swaying.

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry. I just–” he pauses, glancing away for a moment like your stare is burning a hole into him, “I dunno… you look very pretty tonight.”

Something sparks in you at that, the realization that Matty, your Matty, was getting a little shy, trying to hide it by looking everywhere but at you. When he finally glances back, finding you a little awestruck, he just smiles fondly, his lips almost a little wobbly. He makes a surprised noise as you pull him by the collar of his shirt into another heated kiss, his hands pawing down your back to hastily grasp the curve of your ass through your jeans. He presses himself impossibly closer to you, his hips flush against yours as excitement thickens the air around you. A tingly shiver rushes through you, leaving blooming warmth in its wake as you feel the tenting in his pants protruding against you. Matty pulls away from your mouth, beginning to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. You can feel the sound of a low groan rumbling through his chest as he licks a stripe from your collarbones to your jawline.

His hips make a sudden, reflexive jump forward as you tighten your grip on his hair, tugging just enough to draw a wanton moan from his lips. Matty chokes, a new, fizzling sensation arising in him as he realizes just how damn good that felt. Tentatively, he tries again, rolling his hips into you and immediately cursing under his breath at the feeling. Your eyes go wide as the seam of your jeans catches on you just right while he begins to mindlessly search for friction against you. You let out mirrored, breathy moans as Matty lifts his head from the crook of your neck, the both of you staring at each other in awe of your little discovery, sparks flying like stray shooting stars. His gentle, dark eyes twinkle as he watches your expression closely, kiss-bitten lips parted and shining.

“O-oh shit,” he murmurs, his eyes rolling back slightly as he continues to grind into you.

The friction is dizzying as you begin to rock into him, matching his slightly stuttered rhythm as you sigh out, giving his dark tresses another pull with the fingers intertwined in his hair. Matty reaches for your thighs, grasping at the back of them pointedly to get your attention. He’d seen it in a music video before, one that his mother wouldn’t approve of him watching on late-night MTV. The girl had jumped up to straddle the guy's waist while they kissed passionately against the wall. That little scene had been nestled in his mind ever since he saw it, he was frankly a little obsessed with it. How hard could it be to replicate? “Straddle me,” he pants, his greedy fingertips digging into the denim of your jeans.

“What? How?” you whisper, feeling almost lightheaded at the suggestion.

“Just- erm… jump, I’ll catch you, yeah?”

You just laugh, shaking your head with a bit of uncertainty, but Matty seems anything but uncertain. He stares back at you with determined eyes, his hands twitching like they’re ready to hold your weight up at any moment. With nothing to lose (except your tailbone in one piece), you jump and wrap your legs around Matty’s slender hips with a squeak. His eyes go wide as he wobbles slightly, but his hands firmly grasp your thighs to keep you upright, seeming absolutely petrified at the idea of dropping you. Your eyes lock and you share a triumphant, breathy laugh while you place your hands around his neck, Matty beaming at you boyishly.

Heat prickles at your cheeks as you realize just how much more distinctly you can feel him through his skinny jeans in this position. Experimentally, you rock your hips forward, relishing in the way Matty’s mouth drops with a gasp, his brows drawing together tightly. His head bows forward, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a resounding “fuck”, the pressure in his pants only getting achier. You can feel him twitch beneath the measly layers of fabric.

Within only seconds, you’re both eagerly moving against each other, gasping as the heat between you gets more intense with every needy roll of your hips. Matty whines, his face buried in the crook of your neck amidst the frenzied chase for sensation, he could swear he’s never been so hot and bothered. Neither of you is thinking, you let your bodies speak everything your hazy minds could never express. You’ve never felt so insatiable in your whole life. Hot, liquid need is corroding you, it’s building to new heights, it’s–

Suddenly, Matty’s whole body tenses against you, a strangled noise tearing through him that sparks a flutter between your thighs. He presses his hips forward hard as if trying to pin you against the door with his body so tightly that you wouldn’t move, his blunt fingernails biting into your skin through your pants. Your eyes go wide at the way your boyfriend has just about seized up, your body going stagnant against his.

“Wait-wait, fuck, just slow down a second, I-I’m actually gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. Fucking hell,” he rambles, barely able to get the words out as he gasps for breath, utterly flushed.

The revelation washes over you like an electrifying wave, your lips parting with surprise. The knowledge that he’d almost creamed his skinny jeans just from some kissing and grinding makes you feel almost… powerful. Pride warmly simmers in your chest as you gently pet his hair, watching him with a bit of fascination.

Matty desperately clutches at your thighs, his breath hot and heavy against your neck as he wills his body to get back under his control. He’s internally cursing himself for getting so carried away, almost letting this end before it had even begun. He mutters out a breathless apology, his soft lips grazing your skin. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t suppressing a giggle at the moment, forcing your lips not to crack with a smile.

“Fuck me! You’re a menace,” Matty groans, biting at your shoulder in retaliation.

“What is wrong with you!?” you protest, giggling as he lightly sinks his teeth into your skin, grinning while he does it. You’d argue that if anyone’s a menace, it’s him.

He soothes over the mark he left with his tongue, finally loosening his vice grip on your legs now that he’s not seconds away from embarrassing himself. Matty lifts his head up, gently pressing his forehead to yours, gazing at you quietly while you toy with his hair, rendering his brain practically useless with how nice it feels. His eyes are searching yours, staring back at you with pupils so blown, his eyes look almost black.

“Do you wanna go up to your room?” you whisper, the implications making Matty’s breath catch in his throat.

He doesn’t even let the question hang in the air for an entire second before he replies, practically tripping over his words. “Yeah. Yes, absolutely,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as he tries to contain his excitement.

You smile at him, ruffling his hair just to watch him keen into your palm. Matty slowly eases you back down onto your wobbly legs. He snickers at the way your knees buckle slightly, earning him a smack on the arm as you start to chase him up the stairs, bounding your way to his bedroom as fast as your legs can carry you while his loud laugh echoes through the empty house.

Once you reach his door, Matty insists that you let him go inside first to set things up. You snort at the way he opens the door just wide enough for him to shimmy through the slim crack, not wanting you to see his room unprepared. You shake your head at his pure, unbridled dorkiness, but really, you can’t ignore the way it affects you to know how much he cares. Many boys your age would have already finished up with you in their dingy room after a sloppy affair of shallow thrusts and a faked orgasm on a bed with no sheets.

What you can’t see beyond the door is Matty fishing in his pockets for his lighter after setting out candles he’s “borrowed” from his mother’s bathroom. He’d picked up a few small, unscented candles from the ledge of her bathtub, wrinkling his nose at the intense, unsexy aroma of jasmine and mahogany ones they were surrounded by. Matty carefully lights each of the scattered candles, trying his hardest to control the slight nervous quiver in his hands. He nods, satisfied at the way the amber glow hazily paints his walls (girls dig stuff like that, right?).

He watched the gentle flickering of the flames for a moment, making sure nothing was going to catch fire before he moved to his next task, reaching into one of his cluttered drawers for a CD he’d burned for the occasion. He thought it’d be far too cliche to actually write “sex playlist” on the disc, instead opting for the more tasteful scribble of your initials put together. He’d spent hours trying to compile the perfect list of songs to soundtrack an intimate moment, getting a little lost in imagining how your gasps of pleasure would intertwine with the music.

Matty grins to himself as he glances around the room, everything set in place how he’d imagined it, perfectly organized teenage boy chaos. He’d even made his bed for once, flannel sheets tucked back and smoothed the best that he could.

Just as he was about to open the door, a particular piece of wall decor caught his eye: a magazine cutout of a topless model glaring from the corner of his room. He gives the nameless model a once-over, hesitating for a moment before crossing the room and tearing it off of the wall, the scotch tape flaking away bits of paint. It felt cool at the time, very cool. But now he’s pretty sure he’d rather fling himself from the window than let you see it, god forbid compare yourself to it.

A soft grunge song plays quietly in the background as Matty swings the door open, arching his eyebrows at you boyishly. You roll your eyes and push past him, admiring how unusually in order his bedroom is, grateful to not be slipping on a t-shirt strewn on the floor as you cross the room to his bed. As you take a seat on the edge of it, Matty trails behind you, watching with a love-struck, dorky smile pulling at his lips. He almost trips over his feet to sit down next to you when you motion for him to come, curling a finger in his direction. Matty kicks off his beat-up sneakers and slips his graphic t-shirt over his head on the way, revealing his lean torso. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same giddiness bubbling inside you, unable to suppress a fond smile as the bed dips under his weight.

“Cute candles,” you whisper, drawing him closer, “are they for me?” “Nah, I have them out all the time. It’s kinda a new thing I’m–”

You stop him mid sarcastic quip by pressing your lips to his (with no protests from Matty). Between exchanges of sweet kisses, Matty reaches out for the hem of your shirt, his eyes searching your face as he waits for your permission, his breath bated. You nod at him, watching as he shudders with excitement, bursting at the seams. He pulls the fabric upwards while biting his lower lip raw, ogling you as more and more of your soft skin is exposed to him.

Matty’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he spots the lace of your bra, revealed to match your panties as you squirm out of your jeans, letting them crumple to the floor in a heap. He swiftly lifts your shirt the rest of the way off, carelessly tossing it over his shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

His brain might as well be short-circuiting, his hands frozen in place, hovering by your sides as he shamelessly stares at the way your breasts look, snug in the intricately patterned lace, the heart locket he’d saved up to get you for your birthday sitting perfectly between them. Your heart thrums against your ribs as you watch his hungry eyes rove over you, heat simmering at your cheeks as you wait for him to do something, anything. The silence from the normally motor-mouthed boy feels like somewhat of an accomplishment.

Slowly, a pleased smile spreads across Matty’s face, one of his hands gingerly moving to trace a single finger across the lace of your bra, delicately running over the cups with pure awe written all over his face.

“Oh my god… did you get this for me? Shit, that’s so mint,” he beams, his eyes twinkling.

“Please don’t say “That’s so mint” when we’re about to have sex.”

Matty’s eyes flicker up to your face with a start, his thick eyebrows shooting upwards as if he’d just realized the words that had come out of his mouth, his hand pausing its gentle exploration.

“Erm, right. I meant incredibly hot and sexy and beautiful and hot. Yeah. Did I mention hot already?” he clarifies, smiling sheepishly, “Can I touch more?”

You let out an amused exhale through your nose before permitting him, watching his pretty eyes light up. When you’d bought the set at the mall, you imagined his hands would be all over you, tearing it off like gift wrapping the first chance he got. A beautiful first impression left forgotten on the floor of his bedroom. But he doesn’t. Matty carefully brings his palms to your breasts, his breath hitching as he cups them, feeling their weight. Experimentally, he gives them a squeeze, a shudder running through his lanky body. He smiles up at you giddily, his cheeks flushed as he looks at you like you’re nothing less than his entire world.

“Can… can I kiss them, too?” he whispers tentatively.

A soft pant is stolen from your lips at the question. Wordlessly you bring your hand to the back of his head, your fingers entangling in his hair as you guide him forward. Matty’s eyes swim with wonderment as he brings his mouth to the swell of your breast in a tender kiss. He moans softly, lashes fluttering as he trails his lips along the edge of the lace, mouthing a slow line up to the satin strap as his hands continue to knead your chest.

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he sees the blissful look on your face, quickly wiped away as you gently tug on the strands of hair caught between your fingers. Matty’s eyebrows draw together, running his tongue over his plush bottom lip before he dips his head down to the valley between your breasts, pressing a kiss to your gold locket. Somehow, it feels even more intimate than his lips on your skin.

“You’re so beautiful…” he whispers against the pendant.

Matty’s nimble fingers snake up your back, feeling over the warmth of your skin almost with reverence. He leans his cheek against the softness of your chest, nuzzling his face into you as his hands work to undo the hooks of your bra. You feel him blindly fumbling with the band for a few moments before it comes loose, allowing him to fully trace his fingertips down the expanse of your spine.

Slowly, Matty eases you backward, laying you down onto his sheets with such gentleness that your heart aches, the straps of your bra sliding down your arms at gravity’s manipulation. He slots himself between your legs, his slim hips settling against yours before finally allowing his gaze to drop to your bare chest, sucking in a sharp breath. You feel him twitch against your thigh through his skin-tight pants as he breathes out something strained and incoherent.

Matty begins to lean down, in turn accidentally pulling on your hair that’s trapped under his palm. You jolt, quickly reaching to grab his wrist with a hiss. He freezes above you for a split second before pulling away, staring down at his hand like he’d been seared. He looks absolutely petrified as he glances back at you, apologies spilling from his lips like opened floodgates, asking if you’re alright. You can’t help but giggle at the pure horror on his face as if he’d ripped out a section of your hair.

“Matty,” you whisper, smiling warmly as you reach and cup his face, running your thumbs over his burning cheeks, “it’s okay, I’m fine!”

You watch the tension slowly melt away from his rigid posture as he nods slowly, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips. It isn’t long before he’s giggling along with you, leaning his forehead against yours as you laugh, Matty’s music playing quietly in the background.

“You’re… so perfect,” he murmurs in between laughter, his breathless giggles making his tone sound giddy, “I mean that… you’re just so-” he doesn’t finish as he dives forwards, silencing himself by pressing his lips against yours.

You’re both smiling into the kiss, barely able to move your lips because of the way you’re grinning, ending up bumping teeth more than making out. Matty’s hands envelop your breasts, gently thumbing over your pebbling nipples, making you sigh into his mouth happily. He groans against your lips, the heat between you spiking again and he pulls away just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he continues to flick his thumbs.

“Fuck. Can I finger you? Really want to make you cum,” he murmurs, his eyes darting over your face.

Your eyes widen at his blunt question, heat flushing through your body as your breath gets stuck in your throat. How can he just say that so casually?

“Christ, Matty!” you whisper-shout, your fingers tensing at the sides of his face.

He tilts his head at you, blinking much like a clueless puppy, clearly not having a grasp of the nuances of subtle dirty talk. Though he certainly hadn’t spun his words with any flowery language, there was something about his lack of finesse that was… a little hot. He was saying exactly what he was thinking, and you suppose that rawness has its own kind of appeal.

“Is… is that a no?” he frowns, tilting his chin down dejectedly as he looks up at you through his lashes, his hands slowing to a stop.

“No– no babe,” you answer quickly resuming the gentle running of your thumbs over his flushed cheeks with a breathless laugh, “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

You realize that you don’t have much of an answer for him, not when he’s looking at you with such sweetness, such eagerness to make you feel good. You shake your head softly, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose, causing his face to scrunch up with a chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yes, you can touch me,” you whisper, watching a slow grin spread across his lips.

Matty places a quick kiss on your lips before sitting up to slowly hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties, gently tugging them down your legs with the aid of you lifting your hips off of the mattress. He sucks in a breath as you slowly spread your legs for him, a burning feeling swelling inside you as you let yourself be exposed to him, to anyone, for the first time. Insecurity rattles in your head and gnaws at your insides, but when you see the look on your boyfriend’s face, the whole world stops.

Matty lays on his side next to you, his hand coming to your inner thigh as he gently strokes his thumb over your soft skin, eyes unable to stay in one place as he gawks at the sight of you naked in his bed. His girl. In his bed. No clothes. He’s not entirely sure that he’s not dreaming.

Tentatively, Matty allows his hand to skim up your thigh, swallowing hard as he feels more of the heat emanating from between your legs the higher he goes. You force yourself to keep breathing, watching his trembling hand as he musters up the courage to cup your heat, listening to his gasp as he feels the slickness at his calloused fingertips. Tingling sensations flood your senses at the contact, a throb resounding between your legs at the uproar of unfamiliar feelings. You’re hyperaware of each of his fingers as you feel him experimentally dip them into your pooling arousal, the sight of Matty’s hand between your thighs alone is enough to make your face burn, your heart race.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, the word “wet” coming out like a secret just between the two of you.

Matty glances up at your face, watching your expression carefully as he slowly begins to move his fingers, sliding them back and forth through the wetness, feeling your honeyed folds spread under the gentle pressure of his fingertips. You meet his gaze as your lips part with a shaky breath, his pupils blown wide as he continues his exploratory grazes.

With his slick middle finger, he feels over you till he finds your slit, slowly pushing inside of you. Matty moans lowly as if he’s the one being pleasured, his gaze transfixed on the sight of his single finger sinking into you, easily being taken into your tight warmth until he’s knuckle deep. His hips instinctively jerk forward, rutting his clothed erection against your leg as you share a mirrored, shuddering exhale. Matty’s fingers feel starkly different than your own, they’re thicker, and longer, with guitar calluses at each of his fingertips that graze your velvety walls.

The sensation feels foreign, but not uncomfortable as he begins to gradually pump the digit in and out of you, the both of you watching his maneuvers with widened eyes. He doesn’t have much rhythm, but he’s trying his best to learn as he goes. And god… the look on his face. He’s eager, so eager.

“Is- is this good?” he asks hesitantly, his eyes searching your expression for approval.

You bite your lower lip, not fully knowing how to walk the fine line between guiding him and embarrassing him. The feeling of his finger inside you is enough to make you pant, to make heat stir inside you, but certainly not enough to make you cum. “It’s good, babe. But, what feels really good is when you touch…” you whisper, beginning to gently guide his thumb to your aching clit, “Here.”

Matty’s lips part with an “oh”, his cheeks flushing slightly at your correction. He allows you to direct his hand, lightly brushing his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves with gentle uncertainty. You jolt slightly at the fizzling spark of pleasure that courses through you. That’s much… much better.

You feel Matty shudder as you place your fingers over his thumb, pressing the digit down more firmly as you guide him to move in slow, tight circles in tandem with the pumping of his middle finger. Sighing out, you begin to roll your hips against his hand in search of more friction. You can feel Matty’s stare burning into you even as your eyes squeeze shut, the boy focusing so intensely on your every reaction to gauge if he’s doing a good job.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, sinking a second finger inside you as he lets you puppeteer his hand, studying your face.

“Yes… yes,” you gasp, your lashes fluttering as the heat and tension whirl, coiling tighter in your belly.

“You sound so pretty,” he murmurs breathlessly, looking like he wants to bottle up all the noises you make and keep them for himself, “Can I try on my own?”

Your eyes flutter open hazily, catching sight of his flushed features, his widened eyes. You nod at him, slowly pulling your hand back and resting it on your stomach. Matty bites his lip with concentration, doing his best to mimic what you’d shown him. Silently, he promises himself that one day this will all be muscle memory and he’ll know how to effortlessly make you feel good whenever you want him to, be at your beck and call.

His thumb works against you diligently, drawing those same tight circles as you’d shown him while he continues to work you open with his fingers. He’s so entirely focused and excited that absolutely nothing else matters at this moment except making you fall apart and finding out what you look like when totally lost in pleasure. Will you call out his name like you do in his daydreams?

“Matty… breathe,” you remind him, smiling fondly at your hell-bent boy.

Matty blinks up at you, his ministrations faltering for a moment before he lets out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding. A bashful smile twitches at the corner of his kiss-bitten lips.

“Right, right… can’t make a girl finish if you’re passed out,” he murmurs, leaning to kiss the top of your breast sweetly.

Matty suddenly curls his fingers inside you, crooking them forward just in time for them to catch against your sweet spot. Instantly, you mewl and rock into his hand a little harder. He shudders as he feels your walls clench around his digits, imagining what that would feel like around his– he shakes his head quickly, trying not to get ahead of himself.

“Here? Right here?” he gasps, watching in awe as your expression twists with bliss.

You nod frantically, your eyes squeezing shut again as the sensations begin to crowd you in the best way possible. You feel it throbbing, reverberating between your thighs, threatening to crash over you with every thrust of his fingers, every swipe of his thumb. It’s not perfect, but what he lacks in skill, he makes up for with pure determination.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Matty. Keep doing it just like that,” you beg, chest heaving.

“Fuck…” he mutters, grinding himself against your leg a little more heedlessly as he does just that, making sure not to let his eagerness get the best of him.

You reach down to grip Matty’s wrist in warning as the tension inside you crescendos, knowing you’re only moments away from tipping over that familiar edge that you’ve only ever known in the privacy of your own room. Your head lolls back against the pillows as the rocking of your hips becomes more frantic.

“Please… please…” he whispers, his gaze intense, “Please, I n-need you to…”

“Matty, I-” you pant, your eyes rolling back before your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of release.

Your mouth parts with a silent cry as your body tenses, back arching off of his bed as you feel your walls spasming around his fingers. Your nails are digging into his wrist as you begin to pant with breathy whines, riding out your orgasm against his eager hand. Pure satisfaction washes over your body as your lovely boyfriend watches in complete and total awe, continuing to aid you through your climax, wanting you to feel every drop of pleasure he could possibly offer you.

Matty whimpers as he watches you fall apart for him, his free hand snaking down to the front of his jeans to grasp himself for any kind of relief, his erection aching so badly that it’s starting to hurt. He’s almost lightheaded as he watches you thrash, thinking to himself that this might be the most beautiful that he’s ever seen you, which is a tough battle to win considering that he thinks you look beautiful all the damn time. But this? You at your rawest, at your most vulnerable? Yeah, he’s going to need a minute to recover because there’s an actual angel in his bed with him.

You grit your teeth as the sensitivity starts to overwhelm you, pulling Matty’s hand out from between your thighs with a whimper before going limp against the pillows. You can’t help but smile, chest heaving and skin glowing with sweat while Matty stares down at his fingers in disbelief at the glinting arousal coating them. Without thinking, he brings them to his mouth, sucking and lapping up the sweetness to savor the taste of your pleasure. The sight makes you blush to your very roots.

“That was… that was so fucking hot, oh god, when can we do that again?” he mumbles around his fingers.

After releasing his digits with a wet pop, he scrambles to sit up and get out of his jeans, unable to take it any longer. Matty sighs with relief as he starts to wiggle out of his jeans, the fabric feeling so tight and constricting at his crotch that he thought the zipper might pop off. You watch, amused as he grunts and struggles to get out of his skinny jeans that are likely a size too small.

The moment they’re off, he’s flinging them across the room and crashing his lips to yours in a messy, blissful tangle of teeth and tongues. Matty licks into your mouth with heated desperation, not even letting you get a word in as you come down from your high.

“I want to fuck you so bad, I-I think about it all the time,” he mumbles against your lips, cupping your face with trembling hands, “please, please can I be inside you?”

Your mind is still spinning as you quickly nod, barely recovered but still ready for more, for all of him. Your fingers reach for your locket, toying with it, feeling the engraved swirls etched beneath your fingertips.

“Do you have a…?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Hold on.”

Matty moves faster than he ever has in his whole life as he gets up and rummages around in his closet for the box of condoms he’d stashed away. He’d bought them earlier that week at the corner store while his mates snickered behind him (“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I don’t see you wankers getting any!”, he’d sneered, sticking out his tongue petulantly). He plops down onto the bed next to you while ripping open the rather large box, your eyes widening as you catch the number “50” printed on the side of it.

“Christ! Why do you have so many?” you gape, doing a double take as you make sure you’ve read it correctly.

Matty shrugs, pulling out a comically long string of silver packets from the box before setting it aside, eyeing them as they glint under the low lighting. It looks like a goddamn party streamer. “What? Gotta be safe, yeah?”

“You’re not going to break 49 condoms.”

“I dunno, babe! Maybe I’m a fuckin’ animal and we’ll go 50 rounds, no breaks.”

You roll your eyes with a snort, giving his shoulder a playful shove as he grins at you toothily.

“You’re so ridiculous, oh my god.”

“Nah, but really, they won’t go to waste. I promise you that, babe,” he smirks, waggling his eyebrows as he waves the string of condoms in front of your face teasingly.

He’s an idiot. However, the idea of using up all of those condoms together makes you a little dizzy, heat sparking through your veins at the thought. You reach out and snatch the packets from him, laying the strand across your chest like a ribbon while you tear one off. You stare up into his eyes, blinking at him prettily as you place the wrapper in your teeth, holding it there with a flair of sensuality. This feeling, the one that makes you feel like you’re desirable, sexual, is one you could damn well get used to.

Matty’s mouth waters, almost drooling at the sight of what must be every teenage boy’s most depraved daydream: a vixen sent to devour him whole. He wants to burn the sight into his memory forever, his stomach twisting in a tangle of arousal as your lips curl seductively around the foil. He can already envision how this memory will play inside his mind on a loop when he’s alone in his bed.

“You’re going to kill me,” he accuses, shakily taking the wrapper from between your teeth.

You just smile, watching as he fumbles with the foil for a moment before tearing it open, sitting back on his heels as he slides his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers. You allow your gaze to skim down the light spattering of dark hair from his navel to the bulge in his underwear, licking your lips as you eye the sizeable pool of precum that’s soaked into the fabric. Matty glances away, awkwardly clearing his throat as he begins to ease the elastic down his slim hips, kicking his boxers off once they reach his ankles.

Your heartbeat feels as though it’s hammering in your ears as you take in the sight of him, a rush of heat making your hips squirm involuntarily. He’s beautiful and he doesn’t even know it. You want to kiss and bite every inch of his scrawny body. You want to taste his pale skin. You want to feel him, real and warm under your fingertips as they dig into him. But more than anything, you need him inside you.

Matty lets out a breathy groan as he strokes himself slowly, gathering the precum bubbling at his tip before dragging it downwards with a shudder. He slowly rolls the condom down onto himself, feeling over the latex to make sure it’s secure before glancing up at you, his cheeks a shade of bright pink as he notices your intense stare.

Your boyfriend settles himself between your legs, gingerly spreading them so he fits above you, his arms on either side of your head, his Mortal Kombat tattoo inches from your face. You reach upwards with an uneven exhale, placing your hands on his chest which rises and falls with shallow breaths. His cock brushes against your inner thigh. Matty looks like he might combust.

“You’re sure about this?” he whispers, his breath bated.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, anticipation wrapping her hands around your throat. You want him more than anything.

“I’m sure… please, Matty,” you say softly, rubbing your thumbs over his collarbones.

“If it hurts or you wanna stop, you tell me. I-I don’t give a fuck if I’m literally about to cum, you just shout at me or something, alright?” he rambles, using one of his hands framing your face to gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Okay,” you whisper, managing a slightly nervous smile.

Matty swallows hard, bringing one hand down to his length, guiding it forward till his tip meets your slicked center. You both shiver as he begins to run himself back and forth against you, the realization that you’re about to lose your virginity seeming to hit you both all at once. He shoots you a jittery look, searching your eyes for any sense of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he begins to carefully line himself up with you, firmly gripping himself to avoid the embarrassment of missing.

“I’m going to… yeah,” he mumbles. The pinnacle of eloquence.

Your breath catches in your throat as he begins to push his hips forward, feeling your velvety walls stretch to accommodate him. Matty’s face screws up as he feels your warmth enveloping him bit by bit, panting softly as he experiences an overwhelming tightness around his cock that his own hand could never offer. He makes a choked noise, internally reminding himself that he needs to last long and do a good job for you, to not cum the second he’s inside.

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” he mutters, his teeth gritting as he tries not to completely lose his goddamn mind.

You hiss at the intrusion as he slowly inches inside you, the unfamiliar feeling being somewhat like getting split open. Almost involuntarily, you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with a comforting squeeze. Matty pauses, his eyes blinking open, flashing with affection as he squeezes your hand back, finding solace in the familiarity and simplicity of your touch. You nod at him softly, running your thumb over his knuckles as you breathe through this initial, slight discomfort. His eyes are lidded as he watches your expression closely, wanting to kiss away the bit of tension on your features.

“You’re so tight… so fucking– oh fuck,” he babbles, brows knitting together as he continues sliding inside of you, trembling.

He can’t seem to stop rambling and cursing, squeezing your hand a little tighter before finally reaching his hilt, filling you entirely as your hips meet. Matty’s head dips forward with a deep groan, feeling himself pulse inside you. He didn’t immediately cum the moment he was fully inside you, which he considered to be a win at the moment considering how fucking incredible this feels.

“Feels so fucking good… oh my god- oh my god, you feel so good…” he rambles breathlessly, his hand wrapped tightly around yours.

You breathe deeply, the stretch creating a low, simmering feeling in your walls as you try to fully relax and adjust. Matty gazes down at you adoringly, panting as he clenches every muscle in his body to try and stave off his already impending orgasm. The urge to move and thrust and fuck is urgent, but he forces himself to stay still, needing to make sure you’re comfortable.

“Baby, are you okay?” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead, quivering from his head to his toes, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

“I’m good, love. Are you okay?” you giggle, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I’m… I’m– yeah. Best. Best ever. You feel amazing, you’re amazing,” he grins, laughing breathlessly.

Matty feels like he’s drunk, intoxicated by everything about you. The way you look, the way you feel. Oh god. He’s never felt so good in his life. You’re just as bad, smiling up at him like he’s given you not only the moon but also all of the stars. Joined at the hips, intertwined at the soul.

“You can move,” you whisper, the tinge of burning fading into something warm, something to thirst for.

He nods above you, squeezing your hand like making a promise: I’ll take care of you. He begins to slowly, almost delicately roll his hips against you, the movement making you gasp for breath, gripping his shoulder tighter. Matty’s lashes flutter as he lets out a whimper, staring down at you with tenderness as he sets a gentle rhythm, allowing the both of you to ease into the deep intimacy. It’s almost an out-of-body experience for Matty, watching you below him, his hazy vision creating a sort of aura around you.

“You’re… you’re doing so good. You look so pretty. Made for me,” he gasps, barely stringing together coherent sentences between rocks of his hips.

Matty’s thrusts are shallow despite how restless he’s growing, practically overheating above you. He continues to murmur about how good and tight you feel, the praise spilling from his lips without much thought, simply pouring from his lungs as he gets lost in the overpowering feeling of you.

“Ohh, fuck,” you murmur, a spike of heat rushing straight to your cunt, clenching around him as your nails rake down his back.

Matty’s hips stutter as the breath is stolen from his lungs, almost making a wheezing sound at the back of his throat. His skin erupts with goosebumps under your touch, your nails leaving a pleasurable sting in their wake. He gathers himself enough to speak. “Holy shit. C-can you do that again?” he stammers, feeling like every nerve of his body is firing at once.

A hazy smile spreads across your lips as you clench around him again, feeling him twitch within your taut walls. Matty doesn’t just moan, he whines at the feeling, involuntarily bucking into you with more force, driving his cock deeper inside you. You pant at the entirely new feeling, your body lighting up with crackling sparks. Suddenly, the gingerly pace he’d set wasn’t nearly enough as liquid need fizzles in your bones.

“Matty… more,�� you moan, your eyes shining.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His eyes nearly roll back at every noise he pulls from you, the sounds only spurning him on further, driving his body forward into yours harder, faster. His head drops forward to your neck, burying his face there as he pants raggedly against your skin.

What had started out as gentle, loving gazes and polite rolls of hips has quickly become somewhat of a frenzy. The two of you hold each other close as you buck and rock and sweat, needing to help each other see stars to the sound of the bed's creeks. Matty shakes like a leaf as you wrap your legs around his pretty waist, drawing him in deeper. Before you can process it, he’s snaking his hand down between your glowing bodies to hastily swipe at your clit with his fingertips. You cry out as the pleasure courses through you, building even faster than before, rendering your brain fuzzy and wonderfully useless as you rock to meet his pistoning hips. The sound of skin on skin makes your face burn.

“Please, please, love. I-I need– need to-” he babbles pathetically, desperation radiating off of him, “I-I’m not gonna last,” he shudders, a lilt of panic in his tone.

“It’s okay,” you pant, digging your nails into his back to make him groan, “Let it feel good, baby.”

Matty whines pitifully, his hips losing their rhythm entirely as he begins to thrust as quickly and frantically as he can, continuing to rub at your oversensitive bundle of nerves, setting a growing fire beneath your skin. “Y-yeah feels so good. So good,” he nods.

“Close, Matty,” you gasp, your back arching off of the plaid sheets as the flames curl and lick inside you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna– gonna–”

Matty can’t even finish his sentence, biting down on your shoulder as his body goes completely stiff for a moment, his hand clutching at yours even tighter before he shudders with his release, spilling into the condom. You follow closely on his heels into the depths of pleasure, trembling as your eyes roll back in your head, your walls spasming around Matty as he pulses inside of you. His head stays buried in the crook of your neck as he moans wantonly against your skin, his hips sporadically jerking against you as you both get lost in pleasure so great, you’re not sure how you ever went without it.

The only sound that can be heard in Matty’s bedroom is heavy breathing. He stays collapsed on top of you, your legs dangling lazily over his hips as you hold each other, fingers still interlocked. Neither of you has said a word yet as you simply bask in the afterglow.

Afterglow. You realize why it’s called that now. It feels like you’re shining from the inside out and you swear you can see the same light within him as you run your fingers through his damp hair. And in this moment, you and your boy are untouchable, nothing can reach you when he’s holding you this way.

“I love you…”

The words are faint, they ring hazily through your head, and for a moment you’re not sure if they were imagined. But he says it again, quietly, delicately, to be absorbed.

“I love you.”

Your chest swells with warmth, it spreads from your heart to your fingertips and beyond. You swallow the lump in your throat, a grin spreading across your face so wide you think you might crack.

“I love you too, Matty.”

Slowly, he lifts his head from where it rests, his eyes misty as he meets your gaze. He sniffles, rubbing his thumb against your hand with sweetness, the both of you acutely aware of how you’re still intertwined.

“Oh god,” he mumbles, embarrassed as he rubs at his eyes.

You coo at him, tucking some of his hair behind his ear before leaning in to tenderly peck his lips. You simply gaze into each other’s eyes, realizing how badly you want this to last. To beat the odds of young lovers. To scream in the face of getting older, of growing apart. But right now, this is enough.

“I love you so much,” he whispers again, smiling like he’s trying out the words on his tongue, giddy at the way it feels.

This is more than enough.

#matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 fic #the 1975 blurb #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #DLID!Matty #Teenage Dream!Matty

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whimsicalpolitical · 3 months ago

Text

Perfect - Matty Healy

sweet sweet aftercare ‘cause of this ask

content warning: 18+ mdni, p in v, kinda rough matty in the beginning, dirty talk, spanking, aftercare

You know right then and there, nothing you will ever experience for the rest of your life will feel as good as the drag of his cock inside you. You feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch.

You feel like you lose consciousness for a second, but regain it with the brutal snap of his hips. Very quickly he finds a pace he likes and sticks with it.

You scream out on instinct, and seconds later you are met with his hand across your mouth.

"Be fuckin' quiet." Matty snaps. He pulls you up by your shoulders, your back against his front. You'd never been in this position before, his cock is so deep inside you, you are seeing stars. You are whining against his hand and letting him use you like a toy. He is splitting you open and you fucking love it.

“Moan ‘round my hand all you want, m’ gonna fucking use you.”

"Shit, this is my perfect pussy." He says, his pace increasing as you feel the head of him brush something deep inside of you. You feel impossibly full, pleasure coursing through every vein of your body just letting him take you in any way he needs.

You squirm around him, trying to move a bit, to make you both feel better.

You feel a harsh slap on your ass next.

“Quit your fuckin’ brat shit.”

A whine slips from your lips, it’s been to long since you’ve felt his kiss. “Matty.”

“What? Hm?” He asks, “tell me your color.”

“Yellow- green-ish.”

You so badly want him close, to feel his lips on yours, kiss until your lips are red and wet from his tongue.

“What d’you need, darlin’?”

“Kiss.”

Matty chuckles and pulls your hair until your head is falling back. He collides his lips with yours. It’s an open mouth kiss, his hips not stilling but moving even more. You moan into his mouth as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip.

“Alright?”

You nod before letting your head fall back down.

“God, my good girl, s’ it green now?”

“Yes, yes, all green.”

“S’ all it takes, a kiss from me? Pathetic.”

That makes your eyes roll back in your head. You love when he humiliates you.

"You’re a slut f’me, only f’me, understand?”

“Only f-for you.”

The white hot pleasure rolls inside of you, sparking every where it can like a frayed wire and igniting fires inside of you. He strucks down on your ass, leaving a red mark.

“That’s right.”

“Oh fuck- matty.”

He sneaks a hand around you and rubs your clit in circles, and relishes in your bitten back moans and cries for his name being muted by the roughness of his hand. He feels your muscles going limp underneath him. He feels you squeezing him tightly.

"You gonna cum baby? Go ahead, soak my cock." His voice just above a whisper.

You soak his stomach, his thighs, yourself, cumming all over him but his pace doesn’t relent. He's using you. Sliding in and out while holding your body upright against him. He's ruining you even more than before, the sound of your wetness squelching with the crack of his hips. You feel like you are going to die, in the best way. If you died right now with his cock inside of you, it wouldn't be too bad.

You feel his hips falter, and you know he is close.

The moans he is choking back sound like heaven. The whisper of your name on his lips does something cynical to you.

"Where d’you want it, love? Gonna let me fill you up? Mark you as mine?” He manages.

"In. Inside. Need to feel it, Matty, mark me.”

Not even a second later you feel it pour through you, the warmth of it filling up your cunt and dripping out of your hole. He pulls out and watched himself drip out of you. It is pornographic. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds to push it back inside you, gasping when it hits your swollen clit.

“Matty-“ you whine, the soreness already starting to get you to feel a bit shit.

“You should see yourself, all filled up with my cum, s’perfect.” He leans down to kiss your lower back, signalizing you that it’s fine to turn around and drop down against the mattress. “You’re perfect.”

You smile sleepily and lay down on the blanket, too exhausted to wrap the blanket around you and you already know he’s going to clean you up.

“Be a good girl now and stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

You sound displeased and that’s because your behind is much more sorer then any other body part. It stings and that’s why you try to find a comfortable position.

Matty stands at the edge of the bed putting on a white Calvin Klein boxer.

“baby, take it easy, and lay on your stomach. I’m gonna take care of you.”

His voice is more distant.

“Where are you going?” You ask, a little bit panic in your voice as if he didn’t just tell you he’s going to take care of you.

“Just going to the bathroom, I’m gonna grab a few things, I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry.”

“No, please,” you plead.

“Love,” Matty begins to walk towards the bed, “have to clean you up.”

“Later, matt,” you sound drowsy with your eyes closed and your hands trying to reach Matty’s body.

Matty hums and lays down on the bed, your head falls onto his chest and even though he’s now next to you, you’re still hurt. He, of course, notices.

He loops his arm around your leg pulling it over his own, his hand then travels to your red ass rubbing slow circles on your skin.

You relax under his touch, your breathing slowing down.

“That’s it, my love,” he whispers, “you’re so perfect, d’you know that? You always do so well for me.”

You don’t answer, too tired to move or talk.

“Baby, don’t fall asleep, you have to use the toilet and I have to clean you up.”

You shake your head and smile, “kiss me first?”

“Of course,” he laughs.

He leans down more, aware of the fact that you’re physically exhausted, breaking his neck while doing so. But he doesn’t care the second your lips intertwine with his. You don’t have much strength to kiss him as deeply as you do most of the time, but he doesn’t care at all.

“How about a quick shower?” He asks.

This time you don't try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he'll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you're sure you won't float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately.

"Can you answer me?" He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position.

"Baby. I wanna hear your voice."

"Mhm," you manage.

Matty rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry.

"Now?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can't seem to get him close enough.

"Just want to stay here.”

“I know, we really need to get up now, though.”

Matty thumbs away a few stray tears, purely from pleasure, that have fallen down your cheeks. Your eyes are still a little clouded.

"c'mon, darling," Matty snakes an arm around your waist to pull you flush to him. You keep your head in the crook of his neck as he helps you to your feet and into the bathroom.

He sets you down onto the counter while he’s prepping everything, laying the softest towels down, his sweater and new panties for you.

He turns the shower on, waiting a bit until it’s warm enough. Your eyes are still a little clouded and Matty notices almost immediately.

"feeling okay?" he kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and finally your lips.

You nod, face flushing. "more than okay." Matty hums.

Matty takes his time with you in the shower. he makes sure the water is just the right temperature before he pulls you in.

His hands are soft as they wash and massage your scalp. He’s mindful of your sensitivity and when you're done, he wraps you up in a big fluffy white towel.

“What can I get you?” Matty asks.

“Bed,” you mumble, tiredness finally taking over. “But also m’ cold.”

"You're cold?" He asks and you answer him with a nod.

Earlier matty was wearing a basic white button shirt with an elegant wool sweater draped over it. You told him at least ten times of how nice you think the sweater looks.

Matty kisses your forehead. He squeezes your hip and turns around to lift his sweater off a little shelf..

"Arms up," matty instructs gently.

You do as you're told, the soft material concealing your body in the best way possible. The smile on your face tells Matty he made the right choice.

He then slides your underwear over your legs and a few seconds later you finally make it back to bed.

Matty helps you before sliding in after you. You promptly curl into Matty’s side.

“Wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

You shake your head and lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth, “nah, you’re perfect. Always.”

He massages your skin gently, over all the places he had been a little rough earlier, gentle fingers pressing against your hips and thighs.

“You’re perfect, sweet girl.”

Locking eyes with him, you then utter in utmost adoration, “I love you so much,” craning up to kiss his lips softly.

“I love you, I love you,” he murmurs between pecks.

“Let’s get some sleep now and then we can watch the ridiculous show you like s’much.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” you roll your eyes.

“Whatever you say.”

He snuggles in behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso much like he had when he was in the bath with you. You turn around to face him one last time to press a kiss to his lips before nuzzling into his chest. His arms shift to move around your shoulders and waist, your leg thrown over one of his own.

“Sleep well, my love.”

Having having your breathing lull him to sleep is a tune he will never get tired of playing. Nights like these, cuddled up with one another, safe in each other's grasp, are the reason he knows you’re the right one.

You want to spend the rest of your life’s together.

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

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girlkisser13 · 3 months ago

Text

about you

"do you think i have forgotten?" "do you know think i have forgotten about you?"

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with a hint of fluff at the end. set in tfatws. the reader refers to bucky as james.

summary: you reunite with the love of your life.

in the heart of brooklyn, under the soft glow of streetlights, you and your fiancée, james buchanan barnes, shared what would become your final night together. the air was thick with the unspoken fear of the unknown, the looming threat of war, and the desperation of a love that had yet to fully blossom. you clutched his hand tightly, your engagement ring glinting faintly in the darkness, a symbol of a future you both hoped to see.

"promise me you'll come back, james," you whispered, your voice trembling.

he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "i promise. i'll always come back to you."

your goodbye was marked by a kiss, full of longing and fear, sealing a promise that fate would soon break.

your story took a darker turn shortly after his departure. selected for the super-soldier serum experiments, you underwent the same harrowing transformation as steve rogers, albeit with an added layer of peril.

the government was eager to see how the serum affected women, and you became their prime subject. the serum coursed through your veins, granting you strength and agility but also a burden you hadn't anticipated.

when steve plunged into the icy depths, you were there, fighting by his side until the end. you were frozen alongside him, your life suspended in the cold embrace of time. decades passed before you were discovered, thawed out much later than steve, only to find that the world you knew was gone and the man you loved was presumed dead.

years blurred together as you tried to find your place in a world that had moved on without you. you worked alongside steve, fighting new battles while mourning the loss of your past life. the pain of losing the love of your life never dulled, a constant ache in your heart.

when steve found out he was alive, it was like a jolt to your system. the news was almost too much to bear, a mixture of hope and dread.

"james?" you whispered, your heart pounding.

steve looked at you, his eyes filled with sympathy. "he's alive, but he's not the same."

your world tilted as you absorbed the news. you had to see him, to know for sure.

when you finally found him, the man you loved was a shadow of his former self. broken, haunted, and unrecognizable.

"don't tell her, steve," he pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. "i don’t want her to see me like this."

"it's too late," you said, stepping out from behind steve. your voice was steady, but your heart was breaking.

his eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the man you had loved. "james," you whispered, your voice trembling.

his breath hitched at the sound of his name, but then his face hardened. "you shouldn't be here," he said, turning away.

you reached out to touch him, but he flinched, stepping back. "james, please..."

"i'm not the man you remember," he said, his voice filled with pain. "i don’t want you here."

with those words, he walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart shattered into pieces. years had passed since that painful encounter, but the memory still haunted you. you had thrown yourself into your work, trying to forget, but he was always there, a ghost in your thoughts.

when sam called you for backup, you didn't hesitate. you were a soldier, and you knew how to bury your emotions when the mission demanded it. but as you made your way up to zemo's apartment, you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in your stomach.

stepping into the room, your eyes immediately locked onto his. his breath hitched at the sight of you, but you didn't acknowledge him, focusing instead on sam and zemo. the four of you discussed the game plan, the tension in the room palpable.

as you all geared up, he pulled sam aside. "why didn't you tell me she was coming?"

sam shrugged, giving him a knowing look. "i figured it was time you two talked. she's all you ever talk about anyway."

he glanced at you, your eyes meeting briefly before you quickly looked away. his heart ached at the distance between the two of you, a distance that seemed insurmountable.

this unspoken chasm seemed to vanish, though, when the fight with the flag smashers erupted. the fight was intense, the chaos of battle a familiar comfort. you moved with the grace and precision of a trained warrior, your super-soldier abilities making you a formidable opponent. but you could feel his eyes on you, always watching, always worrying.

at one point, someone came at you with a gun from behind. seeing the danger, he rushed over and knocked the attacker unconscious.

"james, i can take care of myself!" you snapped at him, your irritation clear.

"i know, but i just worry about you," he replied, his voice soft, almost pleading.

you scoffed, your eyes narrowing. "you didn't seem to care about me when we last saw each other. why do you suddenly care now?"

he opened his mouth to respond, but you had already turned away, your heart aching with the weight of your unresolved past.

after the battle, he found you leaning against a wall, catching your breath. he approached slowly, his steps hesitant. "y/n, can we talk? please?"

you looked at him, your eyes guarded. "you have five minutes."

he took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "i'm so sorry for how i treated you. i was lost, and i didn't want you to see me like that."

"when steve told me you were alive, i was terrified you wouldn't remember me. that you wouldn’t remember us," you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

he reached out, taking your hands gently in his. "do you really think i could ever forget you? the thought of seeing you again was the only thing that kept me going when i was being brainwashed. i kept imagining our wedding, our life together."

tears welled up in your eyes as you listened. "i did the same thing."

"i always hoped i would find my way back to you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"then why did you leave me?" you asked, your voice breaking. "if you loved me as much as i loved you?"

he looked down, shame flooding his eyes. "i wanted to find the man you fell in love with. that's why i went to wakanda. i needed to be better for you."

you shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "you could have asked me to come with you. or at least said goodbye. do i really mean that little to you?"

"no!" he said vehemently, his grip on your hands tightening. "you mean everything to me. i was just... i was afraid. i didn't want you to see me like that, to see how broken i was."

he dropped to his knees, still holding your hands. "i’m on my hands and knees y/n. just like i was when i asked you to marry me. please, give me another chance."

a tearful laugh escaped you, and you pulled him up, looking into his eyes. "i forgive you, james."

he cupped your face, leaning in to kiss you passionately. when you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours. "god, i've missed you."

you laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "i've missed the sound of your laugh."

his eyes closed in a dazed smile as you touched his face. "i missed your eyes."

he opened his eyes at your words, the warmth of your touch making him smile.

he kissed you again, the world fading around the two of you. but just as you were lost in each other, a familiar voice interrupted your moment.

"hey lovebirds, we've got work to do," sam called out, smirking.

you broke apart, smiles on your faces. he took your hand, squeezing it gently. "we'll finish this later."

you nodded, "yes, we will."

as the two of you regrouped with sam and zemo, the weight of your past began to lift, replaced by the promise of a future you could finally begin to build together. he couldn't stop looking at you, his heart full for the first time in decades.

"are you okay?" sam asked, his voice low enough for only him to hear.

he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "yeah, i think I will be."

the battle wasn't over, but the both you had already won something more important. you had found your way back to each other again. and together, you could face anything.

last that night, after the dust had settled and your enemies were subdued, the two of you found a quiet corner away from prying eyes.

"i can't believe you're really here," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you smiled, leaning into his touch. "i'm here, james. and i'm not going anywhere."

he pulled her into his arms, holding you close. "i love you. i’ve never stopped loving you."

"i love you too," you whispered, your voice full of emotion.

you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, knowing that the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least you would face it together.

"james," you whispered, the name rolling off your tongue like a prayer.

you were the only one who still called him james, a name that reminded him of a simpler time, of the man he used to be. he closed his eyes, savoring the sound. "i love it when you call me that."

you smiled, resting your head against his chest. "you'll always be james to me."

he held you tighter, his heart swelling with love. "and you'll always be my everything."

in that moment, surrounded by the chaos of a world that had changed so much, the two of you found solace in each other, your love a beacon guiding the both of you through the darkness. and as you stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, you knew that no matter what came next, the two of you would face it together, just as you always had.

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ughgoaway · 2 months ago

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casual

It's hard being casual When my favourite bra lives in your dresser

a fic inspired by Chappell Roan's casual; snippet below the cut. 18+, 1.5k.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

Hot bodies press against you as you weave through the house, spilt beer making your skin sticky as more and more people carelessly dance with drinks sloshing in their hands. A playlist you don't recognise fills the air, and whilst Matty might be hosting, you can tell the playlist is completely out of his control. The vaguely rhythmic pumping drum and bass overwhelming your senses isn't something you can see him listening to, but maybe you just don't know him as well as you hoped.

Your eyes dart around the hoard of people looking for him and then back to your phone, desperate to see those three dots pop up and for him to finally respond. He never does, though, and when you scroll back, you see message after message go unanswered, unless they're about hooking up, of course. Those always get a response within minutes, which should be flattering, but seeing it laid out in front of you instead leaves a hollowed ache in your chest.

You know what you were signing up for the very first time his crisp white sheets got wrapped up between your thighs, sleeping with Matty Healy was a path well worn by girls before you, and not one of them had got a meaningful relationship out of it. More people have seen every inch of his skin than have ever seen his true personality, or maybe the faux rockstar cool guy act is who he really is, but you're not so convinced.

But that facade was all you needed. It's exactly why you started this in the first place. Misplaced anger towards your ex suddenly became you ripping a condom open with your teeth and sinking down on the dick of a man you'd spoken to maybe 5 times.

But that next morning, after he raised his eyebrows and asked if he wanted to go again, you ignored that screaming head in your voice to stay away and instead slid into his lap and put your lips on his.

Here you are now 4 months later, and your relationship is… something. Matty would say it's completely casual. it's fun, low-commitment sex and nothing more. And when he says that, you nod and agree, immediately going for his belt to try and get those words out of your mind. And usually, within 30 seconds, with his hand in your hair and his dick in your mouth, it's pretty easy to forget. But it's times like this you're rudely reminded. When he invites you to a party knowing you don't know anyone and leaves you stranded, the truth comes crashing back into your head, impossible to ignore.

Some faces that glide past you feel familiar, but when a body crashes into yours and you look up at their face, it's the first one you really recognise.

“George! Thank god, where’s Matty? he won’t answer my text” You try to sound blasé when you ask, acting how you think you should, running the gone girl “cool girl” monologue in your head. When George scrunches his face in confusion, you think he's seen right through your act, but what comes out of his mouth is worse than any transparent ploy he could've seen through.

“Sorry, do I know you?” George asked, nervously running his hand over his neck and looking down at you with squinted eyes. Suddenly, it feels like you've been shot in the chest, blood covering your clothes and hands. If you looked down right now, you swear they'd be stained red. But that's not very chill girl of you, so you giggle nervously and try and hide the crimson that covers you.

“Oh, sorry. I’m y/n. Has Matty ever mentioned me?” You giggle awkwardly as you speak, silently crushing the plastic cup of cheap beer that was forced into your hands as soon as you passed the threshold.

Finally, after time dragged on for about 10 seconds longer than you'd like, a flicker of realisation fills George's eyes, and you expect an explanation. Maybe he's pissed, or high, or just not that good with faces. You convince yourself that there are a thousand reasons why Matty’s closest friend wouldn't know your face, but none of them match what falls from his lips.

“Oh yeahhhh. You're the girl Matty’s messing around with, right? The girl he fucked on the sofa at a party one time?” he drunkenly giggles, hiccupping halfway through his sentence.

Bang. The sound of a second gunshot fills your ears, and you swear you can feel the blood pouring again. He doesn't know it, he doesn't even know your name, but George's words felt like the eulogy at your funeral, as if he had just killed you and now he was sending you away. “The girl Matty is messing around with” not “Matty’s girlfriend”, or “Matty’s partner”, not even “Matty’s friend”, just the latest girl in his never-ending rotation.

Still, you smile even if you do feel yourself dying as you stand on the liquor-sodden carpet. “Yup. That's me… I guess. any idea where he is?” Even if you do speak through gritted teeth, George seems oblivious, quite easily directing you to Matty without a second thought.

“Uh last time I saw him was on the sofa in the front room, check there, maybe?” he shrugs, casting his eyes over your shoulder and smiling at someone. Well, it's nice to know he is capable of smiling, maybe he only does it with people who he actually knows, not people who he only kind of recognises for fucking his best friend.

“Yeah thanks, bye Geor-” Before you can even say a proper goodbye, he weaves through the crowd and shouts someone's name before tackling them in a hug. You wonder how he’d treat you if you were really Matty’s girlfriend. Would he cast you a smile and wrap you in a hug? Maybe you could have double dates with him as his girlfriend, then you'd know all Matty’s friends, the funny stories about him from childhood.

You know the most intimate parts of Matty's body, the places that only your fingers brush, that you press kisses to. You know the tattoos that hide from everyone else. You've traced them with your tongue. But you don't know him. His favourite colour or movie, you don't know how his brain ticks, what his first kiss was, his first love, or if he's ever been in love.

He doesn't know anything about you either, but you think that's a blessing in disguise. If he asked if you'd ever been in love, you don't think you could lie. he'd see the lie in your eyes, swirling and fighting to leave your mouth in a way that sounded anyway believable. hed know that you are in love, right now. with him. No matter how thick you lay on the denial, there's only so much you can do to hide from your own thoughts.

So when you slip into the living room and see another girl on his lap with his hand around her waist, the third bullet of the night hits you, and this time you can't bring yourself to smile awkwardly and brush it off.

The blood won't stop. Each time his fingers stroke over her skin like they do on yours, you feel like you're dying. That any breath could be your last. The thump of the bass in your ears is replaced by your thumping heart, each beat permeating your skull.

Thump. His hand pushes up her shirt, and his fingertips dance on her bare stomach. Thump. He throws his head back, laughing at something she says. Thump. He grips her hip and winks at her, pulling her deeper into his lap. Thump. She turns to face him. Thump. Her hand grips his cheek. Thump. He's kissing her. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart won't stop racing, growing faster with each second. You watch his hand move from her waist to her neck, pressing his fingers into her skin the same way he does to you. Subconsciously, your hand goes up to your neck, brushing over the very places where you're sure those same fingertips left bruises two nights before. Slowly, her hand slides up to his hair, gripping his curls the way you know he loves. You watch his hips jump at the feeling. It makes you sick to your stomach, that once empty space fulling with dread and jealousy over a man who barely spared a thought for you.

Someone bumps your shoulder and suddenly the world comes back into colour, and you can hear the familiar beat of the shitty music, the shouting of some teenage boys as a random girl takes her top off, and the chatter of the people around you. You can breathe again. But he's still there, her tongue in his mouth and his hand cupping her cheek.

Fuck. you need a cigarette.

#another snippet wow #long one but hey why not just share the whole first half of the fic #not even half like... 1/5?#idk shes gonna be long asf i fear #anywayyyyy hope you enjoy!!#matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy angst #the 1975 fanfic

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wreckedandpolemic · 4 months ago

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won’t fuck unless he famous - matty healy

(mdni) in which you're a serial starfucker, and you finally have a chance at the man who tops your wishlist. part of summer75 2024. 3254 words.

warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), titwank, slightly problematic power dynamic

The energy surrounding you is electric as the final note squeals out of the amplifiers, drawn out as the crowd around you cheers wildly. Fireworks pop and fizz against the inky sky, heralding the end of the evening’s entertainment for so many. Yours, though, is just beginning. As you watch the band leave the stage, your eyes are glued to the frontman with a singular goal in mind: getting under him.

Look. You aren’t famous, by any stretch of the word. Notorious is more like it, a careful balance of easy charm and knowing the right people buying you access nearly anywhere you want. Matty Healy, though, is your white whale, having eluded your grip at every turn, a blank spot in your ever-growing red ledger. You’ve wanted him ever since you first laid eyes on him at 16, screaming along to The 1975 in your bedroom, bars you’d snuck into, the front rows of sold-out arenas.

And you can pinpoint the moment it switched from an idealistic, childish fantasy to a question not of I wish, of if, but of when.

The first time you’d flirted and conned your way backstage at a festival, you were barely legal and making the most of your gap year. It hadn’t led to much, a passing fling with some singer whose album and dick were equally forgettable. The lasting impression of that night was the split-second of eye contact you’d made with Matty as you came — you and the guy hadn’t really tried to hide, just slipped around a corner and backed against a wall. You’ve replayed the memory so many times it’s worn smooth, and you don’t know whether you recall his eyes dilating for a fraction of a second before he stumbled away, or if it was a trick of your mind, imprinted and false.

Either way, he’ll be seeing a lot more than just your o-face if you get your way tonight. Squaring your shoulders and pasting on a blithe smile, fluttering your lashes and describing a nondescript (read: nonexistent) friend who’s crew until the security guard relents and lets you back. By now, you’re an expert in acting like you belong, able not to react when you brush shoulders with celebrities. You know just when to stroke an ego, play up your awe without coming off obsessive, and it’s gotten you under men far more famous than your next target.

The grass is worn through under your feet as you wander up to a bar, carefully scanning for his presence as you scoop up your rum and coke and saunter away. A girl you know is their crew catches your eye, one you’ve met before, the last time you failed to catch Matty’s attention. You wave, and she brightens, dashing up to you like you’re old friends. “Sorry!” she hisses in your ear when she flings her arms around you. “I could not shake that guy.” You laugh, tipping your head back like she said something hilarious, and cast your best disgusted glare at the guy, who thankfully takes the hint. “How’d you get back here, anyway?”

You grin. “Well, you know what they say about lying, right?”

“What, it’s the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off?”

You lean in. “But it’s better if you do.”

She chuckles, eyes alight with mischief. “Hey, you scratch my back, I scratch yours. You want me to introduce you?” Raising an eyebrow, she nods in answer to the question you haven’t even asked. Your eyes practically bug out of your head, unable to hide your shock.

You’d figured that actually getting to him was going to be the hardest part, but clearly it pays to have friends in high places. Steeling yourself, you let your mask of implacable calm fall over your face and follow the girl (whose name you still don’t remember!) as she strolls up to Matty like it’s the most casual thing in the world. He greets her with a smile and a friendly side hug, then lets his gaze flicker over you. He maintains a skilled poker face; if you weren’t so well-versed in what interest looks like on the faces of men like him, you’d miss it entirely, the brief flare of his nostrils, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips, his hand unconsciously raking through his hair.

You let the moment hang for a second, charged as his lips quirk into a half-smile, then introduce yourself. Matty doesn’t remember you, but he recognises you, immediately catching onto exactly what you want. Good. You like it better this way, when you don’t have to play cat and mouse, act coy while they pretend not to want you. As the conversation rolls on around you, Matty starts literally, actually eye-fucking you, gaze lidded as he imagines all the filthy things he’d like to do to you. When there’s a lull, you seize the moment, dipping into your pocket for your out. “Spliff, anyone?”

The others, predictably, decline, so you and Matty wander off until you’re mostly secluded, lights and music fading into the background as you edge towards the tour buses. “I know who you are,” Matty says as you lift the spliff to your lips.

“Then you know what I want,” you say, smirking. The flame from his lighter illuminates him for a second, shadows pooling under his features as he’s cast in an ethereal, golden glow. You inhale deeply, letting the burn in your lungs pull you away from his distracting beauty. You pass Matty the spliff, smoke curling free from your mouth, his gaze glued to your lips. He’s calculating, formulating a response that will give him back his footing. You interrupt before that can happen. “So, why don’t you tell me what you want? You wanna hear how incredible you were tonight? How incredible you’ve been every time I’ve seen you?”

At that, he seems genuinely surprised. “You’ve seen us before?”

The answer comes before you think it through, impassive facade slipping the longer you spend in his presence. “Yeah. This must be, what, the tenth or eleventh time, now?” Matty’s eyes light up, and you thank God for his ego, that his decisions are already being made by his dick and not his rational brain.

“Thought you were just lookin’ for another name in your little black book. But this is personal, isn’t it?” he breathes, voice thick with smoke. “You want me, don’t you, darling?” He leans close, takes a deep pull and slots his lips over yours.

You breathe in greedily, letting the high overtake you, head going hazy with some intoxicating combination of the weed and his hand sliding into your hair. “Yes.”

Matty groans against your lips, the spliff burning forgotten in his other hand. “S’fucking hot. Girl like you, spendin’ all her time looking for a famous fuck, and the whole time you’re just hoping I’ll look your way, right?”

Heat creeps up your spine, warming your cheeks as arousal starts pooling in your belly. You nod, swallowing thickly “Been tryin’ forever. Think about you every fuckin’ night,” you confess, gasping for it as his lips hover cruelly out of reach.

He grins wickedly, backing away to stamp out the spliff. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about, and I’ll decide if you deserve me, yeah? Needy little groupie.” Your thighs clench involuntarily, desire burning in your blood as you search his expression for anything but sincerity.

“Think about waitin’ on my knees for you when you come off stage, lettin’ you take out all your stress on my throat and swallowing like a good girl.” Matty inhales sharply, pupils blowing wide despite his straight face. “Wished you could fuck me backstage, shove your fingers in my mouth to keep me quiet while you just take what you need from me. Knew you’d change my life,” you add, feeding into his ego a little as his smirk grows wider.

Gripping your hips, Matty pulls you in, eyes liquid with desire as your breathing grows laboured. You stumble, crashing into him as his lips meet yours, his kiss commanding. Arousal drips between your legs and you moan into his mouth, knees buckling when he pulls away to mouth at your jaw. “C’mon, darling. Come let me change your life.” His expression is pure arrogance, a man who knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you, wet and needy and made of pure desperation.

You trail after him as he suddenly turns on his heel and strides away, tugging you by the hand and pulling you in for hot, breathless kisses every few steps. Matty knocks the wind from your lungs, pressing you against the outside of their tour bus, kissing and biting possessively at your neck. “Please,” you whimper, writhing under his touch and widening your legs pathetically.

“I don’t think so,” Matty scoffs. “Already bein’ so greedy, baby, gettin’ the dick you’ve been gaggin’ for for so long. M’gonna take my time with you, okay?” You nod frantically, his clothed cock pressing insistently against your core as you soak your panties. Your head is swimming, dizzy and still a little high and disbelieving that Matty fucking Healy has a hand creeping up your thigh. You don’t say a word, not risking anything that could break the spell surrounding you in this breathless moment. “Get your tits out f’me, yeah?”

Thoughtlessly, you obey, tugging your shirt down off your shoulders so your tits spill free, hissing softly at the cold air kissing over your bare skin. Matty groans appreciatively, taking a greedy handful and squeezing hard, a low moan falling from your lips. “You like ‘em?” you murmur, arching up into his touch. “Could fuck ‘em, if you want. S’long as you cum on my face.” His jaw goes slightly slack, suddenly picturing your face painted white and growing impossibly harder against your thigh.

In an instant, your dress is shoved up around your waist and Matty’s tugging your panties down, motioning for you to step out of them when they hit the floor. He tucks them into his pocket with a wicked smirk. “For safekeeping,” he says, kissing his way down your chest until his lips wrap around your nipple. A bolt of arousal strikes in your core at the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive skin, pain flashing under your skin for a second before he soothes you with his tongue. “Such pretty tits, darling. Gonna let me fuck them after I eat you, yeah?”

“Anything you want,” you whine, sliding your hand into his hair to push him back down as he starts to pull away. “Mark me,” you plead. “Please. I need to know this wasn’t a dream when I wake up tomorrow.” You feel Matty smirk against your skin, throwing your head back to allow him access to your neck. He bites a trail of bruises down your neck, collar, over your tits, patches of sore, red skin blooming gloriously under his touch. When Matty drops to his knees, you feel shockingly exposed without his body covering yours, your dress pulled down below your tits and up above your waist so your dripping cunt is bared to the cool night air. Matty’s nails dig into your thighs, pulling your legs further apart so he can slot himself neatly between them.

Your stomach clenches in anticipation. “So fuckin’ wet, baby. D’you get this soaked for everyone before they even touch you, or are you just a little slut for me?” he murmurs, licking a broad, flat stripe across your cunt. Vision practically whiting out, your answer dies on your tongue, a helpless whine of his name spilling free instead. “C’mon, baby, answer me. Can’t be so dumb already, I’ve hardly touched you,” Matty scoffs, the condescension dripping hot and sticky down your spine.

“Only f’you,” you gasp out. “Fuckin’ dreamed about this, I– oh, fuck,” you moan, his tongue working over your clit in quick, tight circles. You grind down against his mouth, pressure mounting in your belly. You’re on a hair trigger, you can tell, the barest touches already pulling you close. It’s near-Pavlovian, the realisation of all your fantasies exhilarating. Cunt clenching as he tongue-fucks you languidly, you bury one hand in his hair as the other scrambles for purchase against cool metal.

“Close already, aren’t you? So fuckin’ desperate,” Matty croons, fingers coming up to toy with your swollen clit. You buck your hips against his hand, whimpering and pleading incoherently. He laps greedily at you, moaning softly and tugging at your hips so he can drive his tongue ever deeper. He moans into your cunt, the sound vibrating deliciously through you as you tighten your hand in his curls.

Your eyes fall closed, head thudding against metal when you tip it back with a groan. Ecstasy winds tight in your belly, tugging insistently at you as Matty speeds his motions at your clit, every nerve in your body aflame. “Shit, Matty,” you gasp, tense with the effort of holding back. His nails bite into your thighs, the pain at once sweet and grounding, a blissful anchor amongst the night’s unreality. “Feels s’fucking good, Matty.”

Without warning, he pulls away, and you whine pathetically. The sight of him on his knees with his lips and chin dripping with your arousal is almost too much, your legs going weak as you stare unashamedly, cataloguing every second with careful precision. You’re going to fantasise about this night every day for the rest of your fucking life. “Play with your tits for me, okay, angel?”

The epithet makes you hot all over, shivering under his gaze as you obey mindlessly, grasping and pinching at your tits and letting pleasure run over you. You’re helpless against the tide, head thrashing back and forth as Matty makes out with your hole, moaning into your cunt and circling your clit ever faster. Cunt throbbing, you rock your hips, unconscious of anything but Matty’s hands on you, his fingers against your clit, his curls brushing your stomach, his tongue in your cunt. It’s sloppy, soaked with spit and desire, your entire body unspooling under his touch.

“Matty, m’so close, fuck,” you gasp, your words coming out slurred through sick desire. Your heart is hammering, prey caught in a trap you couldn’t escape from if you wanted to, Matty devouring you as you’re pinned, immobile against the pure ecstasy roaring in your ears. “Oh, my fucking God,” you cry, teetering precariously on the edge.

“You gonna cum, darling? Gonna fuckin’ soak me? Go ahead, angel, cum f’me,” Matty murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard. Your knees buckle, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you practically fall out of your body, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. You can feel it in every inch of your body, your every nerve alive with it, hot and sweet and seemingly neverending. Moaning helplessly, you start to sway on your feet, head swimming in ecstasy that’s making you dizzy and dumb. Matty’s hands are steadying at your waist, electricity jumping from everywhere his skin touches yours.

His lips and chin are fucking soaked, glistening with your arousal, visceral evidence of what you’ve just done. You lick into his mouth greedily when he kisses you, something illicit thrilling in your veins as your bare tits press against the leather of his jacket, the zipper cool against your heated skin. The contrast of him still being fully-clothed while you’re exposed makes you shiver from something entirely separate from cold. Matty steps back, eyes glued to your tits as a smirk stretches across his slick lips. “My eyes are up here,” you scoff.

“Yeah, and your tits are down here.” You can’t find it in yourself to feel shame at the rush of arousal that sweeps over you at his words.

You grab one of your tits, kneading it gratuitously and thumbing over your nipple. “Still wanna fuck ‘em?” His eyes blow wide, shooting you a look that says what kind of question is that? and fumbling to let you into the tour bus. You scramble breathlessly after him, letting him push you down onto a bed and desperately shoving his jacket off his shoulders. He tugs his shirt off, and you drink in the sight of him shirtless from up close, sweat glistening on his toned chest.

There’s a visible wet spot on his boxers when he strips out of his jeans, you notice with a bolt of pride-tinged arousal, your mouth watering as his cock springs free, thudding stickily against his belly. “Shit, got me so fuckin’ hard, angel. Gonna let me fuck those pretty tits, let me cum all over your face?” Matty kneels over you, slowly stroking his dripping cock as he watches your chest heave.

“Please,” you breathe, gazing up at him as he leans down to spit on your tits, the slick, messy slide sending a pulse of heat between your legs. His lips part around a guttural moan as he slides between your tits, thrusting shallowly and groaning out soft praises. You drop your jaw, sticking out your tongue to lick over his head, the salt taste of him intoxicating.

Precum and spit smear across your chest, rhythmic moans filling the tiny, cramped space as Matty fucks your tits. “Doin’ so good, baby. Like a little fuckin’ sex toy f’me, such a good girl. Y’look so pretty, baby,” he coos, your entire body flushing under his affections. You kitten-lick over his head every time he thrusts, his answering moans heating your core, arousal dripping from your cunt. “Such a little cumslut, angel.”

“Mhmm,” you moan, arching your back and pinching a nipple, dizzy with desire. “M’your cumslut, Matty.” His pace speeds, sloppy as he drools precum over your chest and against your tongue. You lap it up eagerly, drunk on him. Pure lust is written across Matty’s face, jaw slack as he watches himself disappear between your tits, awed.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Matty gasps, his cheeks hot and lips wet with drool. “M’getting close, angel. Where do you want me?”

“On my face,” you breathe, the words coming without you even having to think. “In my mouth, please.” With what looks like a monumental effort, he climbs off you, fisting his cock gracelessly. Eagerly, you watch him fuck his fist, jaw hanging open expectantly. With a low moan of your name, Matty spills across your face, ropes of cum splashing hot against your cheeks and on your waiting tongue.

Closing your eyes, you swallow deliberately, moaning at the taste of him and smiling beatifically. “Good girl,” he grins, panting slightly and watching you fondly. “You need anything? Want me to get you cleaned up?” God, you don’t know if you can take him being all sweet with you on top of it all. You’re going to do something embarrassing like beg for his number if you don’t change the mood, and quickly.

“What, you only good for one round, or somethin’? Getting too old to show your groupies a proper fuck?” you taunt.

The glint in Matty’s eye turns dangerous, and you gulp. “Greedy girl’s not satisfied with my cum all over her face, s’that it? You want more?” You murmur out an affirmative, anticipation tense in your belly. “My little cockslut,” he smirks, climbing over you and caging you in with his arms around your head. “Don’t worry, baby. M’gonna give you what you need.”

#this is so tenuously related to the prompt lmfao #i kind of just wanted to write a groupie fic My bad #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #groupie!au #summer75

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abiiors · 5 months ago

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cruel summer - ross x reader ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🔆:✧˚.🍉⋆𖧧🐚

a/n: sufjan stevens summer?? maybe?? slightly, if you squint. cw: CHEATING (if you have problems with it, this one's really not for you), brief mentions of the death of a parent, one extremely brief mention of a slap, SMUT wc: 12.6k (wtf!)

the first day of summer is always dull at the villa.

it’s the summer solstice—something the owner used to believe in, and so you keep the tradition, moving all your belongings to the little caretaker’s cottage for the next three months. it’s hard work, taking care of the guests, taking care of the villa, but it’s fun. there’s your seventy year old fisherman aldo who greets you with all the grandfatherly warmth in the world. he promises help should you need it. (you suspect you do, it’s your first year doing this alone after all)

there’s marta, the cook who’s worked here since before you were even born, excited to get back to work and try out some of the new recipes she’s perfected over the course of the rest of the year. her son helps out too. enzo helps with the cleaning and the more manual tasks, helps you make sure the place is spotless. then there's the more seasonal staff, people who want to spend a summer abroad doing menial jobs and traveling. they never stay long but they're good help.

all in all by the time the villa is open for business, you’re confident that it’s going to be the perfect getaway for any couple that chooses to rent it, specifically the one who has chosen to rent it—for four whole weeks. not that you don’t get long stays from people, it’s an absolutely gorgeous property after all. but four weeks is rare.

you suspect it’s someone on their honeymoon—high on newlywed bliss and disgustingly in love.

mr and mrs macdonald.

“we have a booking under macdonald?” is the first thing he says to you.

hastily you look up from your phone (which you shouldn’t have been on in the first place, but the only people you’ve seen here today are a few tourists dining at the restaurant adjacent to the villa and the locals dropping by for a catch up) and nod.

macdonald. yes. that’s a name you know.

you stand up to your full height and come up to about his chest, craning until you can meet his eyes…or well, the sunglasses, in his case. he looks like every other tourist you’ve seen—a white linen shirt, sunglasses, suitcases, slightly pink in the face. but that’s not all.

a chain peeks from under his collar, resting delicately around his neck. his sleeves are folded up to the elbows, forearms littered with tattoos, and you suspect there’s more of them that you can’t see. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, giving you a generous view of his chest.

not that you should be noticing any of that.

he is holding hands with his wife right in front of you after all… a wife that has her eyebrow raised at you at the moment.

“right!” you clap, putting on your best customer service voice, “the honeymoon couple.”

she makes a sound at the back of her throat, something that’s almost like an incredulous laugh. the man, however, smiles and shakes his head.

“not honeymoon, no. just a vacation.”

inwardly you cringe. the owner would have never outright assumed something like that. the owner, incidentally, would have also had the perfect comeback. you awkwardly toe the rug under your feet.

“oh, sorry about that. let me just, uh, let me get you checked in.”

mercifully they say nothing after that. they wait, holding hands and looking around the lobby of the villa, making little comments about the decor and the vibe. from the corner of your eye you see him rub his thumb on the back of her hand, then you see her put her thumb on his, stopping his motion entirely. he doesn’t try again after that.

“leave your bags here, i’ll send enzo to get them. he’s our helper, by the way.” you look around for any sign of enzo and find him gone, probably helping around with other things. quickly you explain some general things, let them know where to find stuff they might possibly need.

“and do you live here?” the man asks, catching you off guard. it clearly catches his wife off guard too because she stops looking around and stares right at you. you suspect if it weren’t for her sunglasses, she’d be openly glaring daggers at you.

“not here,” you laugh, slightly awkward, “the cottage adjacent. it’s right by the edge of the property if you take the back entrance.”

“ah! we’re neighbours.” it’s the first time the wife speaks directly to you, startling you a little. you nod dumbly.

“i guess we are. have a good stay mr and mrs macdonald!”

the wife is about to thank you when the man waves his hand, “please! it’s ross and ava. we’re staying in your house, after all.”

“ross and ava,” you repeat weakly. any other time you would have quickly corrected him, not my house, but with all his attention on you it’s like you’re tongue-tied and on auto-pilot. only capable of nodding and smiling.

“thank you,” the wife—ava—says softly, and then she holds her husband’s hand, pulling him along with her. ross gives you one last nod and follows her inside.

you make your way outside, trying to find enzo, and ignore the “seriously?!” that echoes from inside.

“handsome man,” marta side eyes you while making a breakfast spread the next morning. you sit on the counter next to her, legs swinging, swiping a fresh muffin while you wait for the coffee to brew.

“handsome married man,” you deadpan.

she tuts. “they don’t seem that much in love.”

“nonna!” you jump off the counter, a little flabbergasted, but she only shrugs. “none of our business, okay?”

flustered, you gather the breakfast trays, balancing one in each hand and pushing the door open with your hip. the villa has old servant's passageways, still functional albeit dimly lit, but it’s faster to use the main hallways.

besides, it’s seven in the morning, you doubt either of them is awake.

quickly, you make your way to the dining hall, balancing the trays at each turn and making sure to dodge furniture and other decor until you take one more turn and feel your foot getting caught up in the rug.

fuck how did you not see that?! your eyes widen, body struggling to not flail and drop the trays—the muffins and frittatas can’t fall, there’s no time to replace them if they fall.

panic surges in your body as you lose your balance entirely until—

“careful!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. an equally unfamiliar arm wraps around your waist, his other hand coming up to stop the trays from falling. somehow you manage to salvage the other, and quickly set it down. he follows suit and sets the other down next to it.

“fuck, you alright?” his voice comes from right next to your ear—ross. here. with his arm around your waist.

and like a starstruck idiot you do absolutely nothing to step away.

“sorry! yeah, yes!” you mumble quickly, scrunching your eyes shut and taking in gulps of air. a moment later, he’s the one to step away.

you open your eyes and smile tightly at him but the moment you look at him properly, it’s like all the air in the room vanishes. suddenly, it’s a million degrees hotter. his hair is in the same bun they were yesterday, but now there are a couple flyaways, plastered to his sweaty forehead. his t-shirt sticks to his body, damp with sweat and perfectly moulded to the contours of his chest. it’s not hard to make out the precise shape of his arms and shoulders and chest.

the gold chain is only half visible, resting comfortably on his collarbone.

he looks like a statue carved out of marble.

“th-thanks,” you stutter, belatedly kicking yourself for checking him out so blatantly, something that’s definitely not gone unnoticed. his mouth curls up into a smirk, his dark eyes that you hadn’t seen yesterday, stare at you with a kind of intensity that makes you want to melt away right there on the floor.

“you’re welcome. it would’ve been a shame to let all that go to waste.”

“it would have.”

ross points at the muffins. “you made them?”

“me? oh no, i can hardly cook much less bake. marta, our cook…”

“ah…” he nods an wipes the bead of sweat from his forehead. an errant thought enters your head—one that contains your tongue and his chest and sweaty bodies moving against each other. you cough and bite your tongue. hard.

“i’m sure you’re hungry after…”

“my run? yeah,” he smiles, “starving. have you had breakfast yet?”

“what?”

“have you had breakfast? or do you not…?”

“no no,” you take another step back, wondering if it’s wise to stand that close to him, “i mean yes, fuck. sorry.”

he snickers, “‘s alright, love. breathe. i was only asking if you’d like to have breakfast with me if you haven’t already had it yet.”

if your jaw hadn’t dropped before, it sure does now, eyes wide and trained on him to make sure he’s not making fun of you for some reason. he wants to have breakfast with…you.

“mrs macdonald—”

“ava won’t be up for another two hours.” his voice is firm, it leaves no room for argument. “besides, she doesn’t really have breakfast. and i think… if it’s okay with you, that is, i’d like to have company while eating.”

the cacophony of thoughts rages on in your head. this is so improper! god, what would the owner say?! but then again your job is to keep the guests happy, isn’t it? it’s not like you’re inserting yourself in other people’s businesses. he asked—

“well?”

his expectant gaze makes you realise you’ve been staring at him absently for the last minute. he’s clearly waiting for an answer.

and it should be no, you should say no.

but when you look at his dark eyes and alluring smile somehow the ‘no’ gets lost on your tongue. all you can manage is to pick the trays back up and murmur a quiet ‘yes’.

“rome? that’s your favourite?”

“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” he crosses his arms in front of him, playfully defensive. you observe more keenly than you should. the black tee stretches over his arms, emphasising the precise shape of them. satisfaction runs through you when you see the tattoos on his arms—the ones you hadn’t seen yesterday. you were right, there are so many more…

“it’s just so…cliché,” you giggle and take a sip of your coffee. it’s lukewarm now, that’s how long you’ve been sitting together. “so touristy!”

“i am a tourist!” he retorts.

“you’re right, you’re right. i just… there’s better places, y’know? smaller, hidden gems that get overlooked so often, it’s unfair. and rome’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s a reason it’s such a tourist destination but…”

“but?”

“it feels…synthetic? i think that’s the case with a lot of big cities though, so i can’t blame rome solely.”

ross leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. his coffee cup sits on the table, long forgotten, and his gaze is focussed solely on you, studying, curious.

“so what feels like home then? if not rome… don’t get me wrong, i don’t mean it in a bad way but you don’t sound…italian?”

you take another sip of your coffee and set the mug aside, a little further away from his. this is not a conversation you were prepared to have, not with someone who’s virtually a stranger. not with someone you’ve known for a grand total of one day.

“i am…italian,” you pause, feeling your way around the words you’ve just spoken. “but also not really? i have grown up all around the world essentially, whatever struck my mum’s fancy. but i’ve always spent my summers here in the villa. with her.”

“did she work here?”

you trace the rim of the mug, nodding slowly. “something like that…”

“and your dad?”

“not in the picture. never knew him really,” you interject quickly before ross can assume. “bit of a mamma mia situation. my mum had her fun, i suppose. good for her.”

he’s quiet for a bit, letting his eyes roam all over your face—not in a way that would suggest anything, but you suspect he’s thinking, ruminating over the information you just gave him.

“you didn’t answer my question. what feels like home?”

“that’s a bit personal,” you scoff and immediately go red in the face. he’s a guest not your friend. “i’m sorry, i didn’t…that’s not…”

“‘s alright, love,” he laughs and leans back once again. “it was a bit personal. someone needs to call me out on my nosiness every once in a while.”

still, you sputter out a couple more apologies until ross places his hand on top of yours, startling you into silence. “stop with the apologies, will you? you haven’t said—”

“ross?”

if you weren’t mortified before, you certainly feel it now. your face, red just a moment ago, pales quickly, as ava—mrs macdonald—comes into the dining room.

her hair is in the same loose curls it was yesterday, perhaps slightly messy, and even then it looks effortless and gorgeous. her pyjamas are monogrammed with her initials. and her platinum band glints on her finger when the sunlight hits it directly.

worst on all, she’s staring at you, at your hand under her husband’s—who looks barely fazed at the moment. all calm and collected.

“good morning, sweetheart,” he gets up from his chair and walks up to her. your skin buzzes where his hand just was, and you look away as they kiss, mortified of intruding on them like this. she’s the first to pull away.

“you had breakfast,” she says, her tone flat and matter of fact.

quickly, you scramble off your seat. “let me get you something to eat, mrs macdonald.”

“no need,” she smiles at you, but it’s almost as icy as her glare—mechanical and devoid of any warmth. “i don't have any appetite.”

you nod and smile, keeping your eyes locked on a vague spot on the wall behind her. it’s only when you’re about to leave that you see him from the corner of your eye, grinding his jaw and looking nothing like he was just a few moments ago.

“i have a favour to ask of you.” it’s ava who approaches you a week later.

the entire week you’ve stayed away, only talking to them in the capacity of a host—making sure they’ve had all the meals they requested and given them any and all information about the town they might need. you’ve even made sure to speak directly to ava when you can help it. ross, for his part hasn’t made it any easier.

every morning you run into him in the hallway—some days he’s in the same black tee, others he’s in a tank top that shows off his toned and (now) tanned arms. it’s the same time every day, and yet you do nothing to change your route and take the servants’ passages for once. this is easier, you tell yourself. it’s the faster route.

fortunately, you don’t trip on the rug again. rather, you make it a point not to.

he asks you to be his breakfast companion again, and once again the next day. you waffle off some excuse and hurry away before he can protest. on the third day he stops asking. when he passes you in the hallway, he greets you with a polite smile and a nod and then keeps walking towards his balcony.

“a favour?” you ask, and ava nods.

this close, she’s absolutely gorgeous, like a face straight out of a magazine. “i wanted to plan something special for ross. a nice dinner perhaps?”

“that’s…” you swallow a strange emotion, “that’s a great idea. how can i help?”

“is there a way i can rent a boat for the day?”

“for…dinner?”

“yeah, i’ve, um, i think the ocean looks quite nice out here. peaceful. ross would love to have a romantic dinner out on the ocean instead of just on the beach.”

“right, yeah.”

“oh, and money’s not an object,” she interjects quickly. “i’m willing to pay well for it.”

money is the last thing on your mind, but you nod and smile at her.

“i’ll get you the details by tomorrow.”

she nods and smiles too, much more excited that you, granted. but you expect her to thank you and leave it at at. what you don’t expect is for her to grab your hand in hers and hold it tight.

“thank you. this…this holiday is important to us, to me…” her smile turns mechanical once again and she nods some more. like she’s trying to convince you and herself. “i need this to be perfect.”

“it will be, mrs macdonald. i’ll make sure of it.”

it’s only when she leaves that you have to resist the urge to bash your head through the wall. who the fuck promises something like that to a stranger, to a guest?! without even bothering to make sure you have the resources you just promised.

there’s only one person you know who even has access to a boat. (even though it’s nowhere near the right type of boat but at this point what’s the harm?)

aldo is laughing along with the other fishermen when you reach the dock. the sky is darkening, almost dark blue with just a tinge of red and orange. aldo greets you with open arms.

“i need a boat!” you pant, panicked and half out of breath.

he laughs wholeheartedly. “take your pick!”

“no, not that! i need…i need a romantic boat.”

the gaggle of seventy-odd-year-old fishermen giggle like a bunch of teenagers. “we romanced our wives plenty on these boats,” one of them pipes up, another round of raucous laughter follows suit.

you wait for it to die down before you practically beg aldo. “it’s for the guests at the villa, please. i don’t know anyone else—”

“carissima…” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “i was joking. i know what you mean and yes, i can ask a few friends if they have something available. i’m sure they do.”

relief floods through your veins, and you practically sink to your knees onto the cobblestones. instead you pull the old man into a tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“you’re handling it well,” he declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “your mother would be proud.”

you pull away at the mention of her, giving him one last tight smile. “thank you, aldo. call me with the details please.”

once he nods you leave, trying not to dwell too much on what he said.

that night you lie in bed, staring up at the same plain ceiling you’ve stared at every summer and you think.

you think about ross and his wife.

you think about ava and what this holiday means to her.

and you think about the owner, wonder if she ever slept in this exact bed and thought of things she shouldn’t, thought of people she really shouldn’t.

and when you do eventually fall asleep, much past your bedtime, you dream of him—on a boat in the middle of the ocean, kissing you by the candlelight.

it’s a beautiful summer evening, perhaps the best one of the season, when you wait for the macdonalds at the beach. it’s warm but not unbearably so, the light is still golden, almost angelic, and the boat looks perfect. you hope it’s exactly what ava had imagined, hope that it won’t leave her wanting for anything.

you check your watch. 6:37 pm…

it’s fine, really, it’s not super uncommon for guests to be running a bit behind. they’re on a holiday after all, but you would have hoped for a call or a text or something. besides, you’ve been busy enough today to not know whether ross and ava went out or stayed in—not that you should be dwelling on it too much. and yet, here you are, checking your watch once again, wondering where he—they—got caught up.

you look out at the ocean, calm and quiet for tonight, and then up at the golden horizon. it should be beautiful, everything should be perfect.

exactly nine minutes later there are footsteps.

one set of them.

eagerly, you turn, your face ready with the polite yet friendly customer service smile, but it drops the moment you see ross.

he’s alone. the sleeves of his linen shirt are rolled up to his elbow, his hair is down too—it comes up to about his shoulders. it—

something’s wrong. you realise it about two seconds before he comes to a stop right in front of you. too close, he’s so close. and yet you don’t take a step back. you simply crane your neck up to stare at him and part your mouth, about to say something but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

his eyes are cold, flat. his mouth is pressed into a straight, unimpressed line. his hair is all over the place too—messy and tangled like he’s almost been pulling at them out of frustration.

this is not the time to let your mind wander, but for once you let yourself imagine what he might do to get rid of his anger, his frustration. how he might…take care of things.

“you’re alone,” you blurt out, voice barely above a whisper.

“ava’s not coming,” he swallows roughly. for one insane moment you think his gaze dips to your lips, but that’s a desperate thought. one that is strictly not real. “i want to use the boat.”

“w–what?”

“i want.” he stops between each word, “to use. the boat.”

“i thought it was—”

“a surprise? please!” he laughs, sardonic and borderline cruel. heat rises up your cheeks. “i want to go and have that dinner that was planned for me. i refuse to waste any more good evenings.”

“yeah,” you swallow roughly, “yes, of course. right this way, it’s all—”

“and i want you to join me.”

it’s like the sand beneath your feet shifts with one sentence. your jaw drops into a gape, eyebrows flying into your hairline. you imagine if ross weren’t so angry, he’d be laughing at you. still, this is wrong. on so many levels.

“i can’t!”

“will you get in trouble for it?” he challenges, and you shake your head dumbly. no, nothing of that sort. not anymore really. “then i insist. i don’t like eating alone, love. don’t sentence me to that, not when it’s so gorgeous outside.”

the image sharpens in front of you then, ross out on the calm, peaceful ocean, watching the golden sunset, drinking straight from the bottle of champagne that’s on board. the food behind him would grow cold eventually. you don’t think he’d eat it if you sent him out there alone now.

“your wife—”

“doesn’t care,” he says firmly. “she’d be here if she did.”

and that’s not something you can argue with really. so you nod. it’s just to keep him company, you tell yourself, it’s good service which is what you’re supposed to do. the owner would have done the same, she would have gone above and beyond.

“are you sure about this?”

“yes.” the one word answer leaves no room for argument.

you look down at yourself—a cotton t-shirt and a pair or breezy shorts, comfort over style for when you have to constantly run around. if ross notices this inner dilemma, he doesn’t let it on. he simply gestures for you to walk.

“after you,” he says and gives you something that vaguely resembles a smile. on him, it’s still gorgeous, still makes his dimples appear and his eyes crinkle, and for a brief second you simply want to stand here and stare at him in the dying light of the sun.

instead you nod and turn towards the boat, trying not to wring your hands together.

it’s only a couple hours. it won’t change anything.

it’s excruciatingly awkward in the beginning.

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be up for a good conversation—and you’ve had those, at least once you have. a good conversation over food while he’s all sweaty and his t-shirt sticks to his body.

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be here with his wife.

“you won’t ask me what happened?” his question startles you. because of course, you want to ask! you just didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

“i didn’t want to pry…”

“you won’t,” he sighs. “you’d be doing me a favour.”

“so i’ll act as your therapist then?” you quirk and eyebrow and ross cracks a tiny smile. “breakfast companion, therapist, makeshift date, what’s next?”

you regret it as soon as the words tumble out of you. what were you fucking thinking?! this is not a date. you and ross, on a boat in the ocean, with fancy champagne and a candlelit table… it’s not a date. it’s two people having dinner so it won’t go to waste. you’ve worked too hard on it to throw it away like this.

“i’m sorry i—” you sputter, shaking your head wildly, “that’s not what i meant, that’s—”

“we’re separating.”

it shocks you so much that you gape at him. it’s a sudden confession, one that you would have never expected him to say out loud. not to you, a complete stranger. then again, maybe it’s better to talk to a stranger anyway.

“but you seem so happy,” you hesitate, wondering if that’s something he’d even want to hear.

it turns out not. ross rolls his eyes. “oh come on, darling, let’s not lie. we have been here two weeks and we’ve already fought thrice. this was supposed to be a last ditch effort, did you know that? this holiday. after this,” he swallows, looking off into the ocean, “when we go back to london… i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers.”

“oh…”

“yeah.”

silence settles over you, uncomfortable and sticky. you wonder if he wants comfort, sympathy. if he wants you to agree with him or challenge him, if he wants you to be a sounding board and just let him vent, if he wants this to be a conversation.

“sorry,” he shakes his head, “a lot to dump on you isn’t it?”

“yes…” you turn to him, taking your time to look over his face. it’s so much more tanned than before, a bit more freckled too. there’s a hint of sunburn poking through his shirt collar and suddenly your mind flashes images of ross on the beach in front of you. ross, shirtless, lying in the sun with those annoyingly hot sunglasses covering his eyes, ross coming out of the water, dripping wet and fucking dreamy. “but i don’t mind.”

you clear your throat quickly, cursing in your head for sounding so breathy.

ross raises an eyebrow. “you tell me something.” he turns and grabs a bottle of expensive champagne. you expect him to get the glasses next, instead he opens the bottle and takes a swig directly from it.

“a secret,” he winks, “for a secret.” then he extends his hand and offers you the bottle.

at first, you hesitate. it isn’t for you, none of this is for you. but you’re here now, aren’t you? so you grab the bottle from him, trying your hardest not to dwell on the brush of his fingers, how you both linger for just a moment too long.

you take a sip of the champagne and think, feeling the bubbles all the way down.

“this is my first year running the villa alone…”

“is it?” ross sounds surprised. you wonders if he means it as a compliment.

“it was, um, it was shut, last year. my mother used to run it. she’s not…alive anymore.”

his eyes widen. “oh, that’s–i’m sor—”

“no please,” you interrupt before he’s had the chance to finish it. “i’ve heard that far too much. i’d rather not be offered condolences ever again.”

for a moment he is quiet, then he nods like he understands something. “you’re a natural at it. everything has been so good for us so far. i mean look at this fucking boat, this food. you’ve planned everything so well.”

a wave of uncharacteristic shyness floods your brain. “it’s not just me,” you smile bashfully, “the entire staff she trained still works here. they do more than i ever could, honestly. i’m just…learning the ropes.”

“and do you like it?” ross takes a sip of the champagne and leans against the railing. you mimic his pose, looking off at the horizon.

“honestly? yes! i never thought i would and now… it’s like i know why she loved doing this. growing up, i’d always feel like a ghost haunting a mansion, and now i finally get it.”

“a ghost haunting a mansion,” he smiles and hands you the bottle, “you were pretty dramatic as a child.”

a laugh bubbles up in your throat because he’s right, you were dramatic. perhaps you still are deep down under all the grief. ross must have sensed the sudden shift in your thoughts because he expertly changes the subject.

“have you always had the villa in your family?”

“oh that’s a funny story, if my mum is to believe anyway.”

ross turns, his back pressed to the railing and his eyes focused entirely on you. he’s so close. golden light reflects on his skin, in the hollow of his throat and over every bit of exposed skin. with his hair tied up now, you can once again see that gold chain, dainty and pretty, and you wish you could trace it with your fingertips, feel it against you somehow. you watch ross swallow some of the champagne, how his adam’s apple bobs and a drop of it clings to his lips and suddenly it’s like your cheeks, no, your whole body is on fire. you look away and continue.

“so the story goes, and mind you i don’t know how true it is, she was travelling around england. my father was, turns out, some minor aristocrat with a useless title, no one important really. but he had an estate, a whole lot of money and an ego the size of britain.

“his mother never liked that he was with a ‘filthy commoner’ like my mother and oh she made that very known…” ross makes a face and you laugh, feeling a bit lighter than before.

“and then she fell pregnant, my mum. she was so happy, wondering how to tell him, getting scans to show him and whatnot. somehow his mother got the news first,” you wince and ross leans forward, his face rife with interest and so much closer than before. “that woman made her a deal—leave now and never contact my father again, they will set her up with a small house and some money in any country of her choice so she won’t have to worry, as long as she stays far far away.”

“generous,” he whistles low.

“it is, isn’t it? she didn’t take it though, she fancied herself in love. that night she told him about me. turns out he was only ‘fucking around’ and ‘did not want a child’. he told her to get rid of it, she said no and they fought. and when she raised her voice, he slapped her. my father slapped my pregnant mother…”

ross gives you his rapt attention.

“she didn’t run though. she stayed there the night, shared a bed with him even though they stuck to their corners. in the morning she went back to his mother and accepted the offer.”

ross laughs, sharp and surprised, and then clamps his mouth shut. “sorry i–it’s not funny, i know, it’s just—”

“no, it is,” you interrupt quickly, “we used to laugh about it.”

“and the house…?”

“is the villa, yes. the small ‘house’ they promised her.”

“seems like his mother had more integrity than him.” ross extends you the bottle of champagne again. gratefully, you take it.

it’s half-empty now, gone in the flow of the conversation. you feel it too, the bubbles flowing through your blood, buzzing through your head in a way that almost feels soothing. that, combined with the gentle rocking of the boat… you close your eyes and inhale the ocean breeze, take another swig of the champagne.

“this is nice, isn’t it?” you speak, eyes still closed and tipping your head towards the champagne.

“‘s amazing,” he murmurs. his voice surrounds you like it’s floating on the breeze, like he’s so close and so far away at the same time. his cologne, too, is suddenly so much stronger.

your heart beats in your throat. you know what you will find when you open your eyes—ross, so close and irresistible, in the dying light of the sun, more tempting than the damned apple. an involuntary gasp escapes you when you feel his breath on your face, feel the fabric of his trousers brushes against your leg. his breath quivers.

“if i kiss you right now, would you kiss me back?”

you swallow, wondering if it’s a yes or a no. “why don’t you find out?”

a moment later you feel his hand on your waist, holding you just tight enough to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. it’s slightly cold from holding the champagne bottle, not that you particularly care. a second later, ross crashes his lips against yours.

it’s not soft like in the movies, it’s not a kiss of love or tenderness.

it takes you precisely one second of hesitation to give into your instincts and kiss him back—you hand in his hair and the other fisting his shirt, wrinkling it, leaving your mark on him even if it’s insignificant and ephemeral. you kiss him back with just as much hunger—all tongue and teeth and roaming hands.

ross’ hands moves from your waist and comes to rest on your ass, hitching your leg up, wrapping it around him. his hand spray across the back of your thigh, rough fingers trailing up smooth skin, it’s all too much, too much for you to hold back a moan.

you moan into the kiss and somehow that undoes him completely.

air whooshes out of your lungs as ross flips you both, trapping you between him and the railing. the bottle of champagne falls and rolls away, dripping the last of its contents on the floor, but it’s so insignificant, so inconsequential… not when you have this burning need coursing through you to feel him everywhere all at once.

involuntarily your fingers fidget with his trousers just as his mouth moves to your jaw. he stops you though, lightly swats your hand away and pops open the buttons of your shorts instead. you let him, mostly because when they touch your stomach it’s like lightning exploding right under your skin, crackling, buzzing, you simply want to feel so much more of him, of his fingers.

“ross…” you moan, not sure if you want to beg him or stop or let him take charge completely.

“i know, darling,” he breathes, kissing you again. tentatively he dips a finger inside the waistband of your underwear, asking for permission.

“please, fuck, pl–please.”

you throw your head back, whimpering when his teeth graze your neck and his finger presses into your clit. it’s heady and intoxicating and all you want to do is be greedy and ask for more and more and more. you don’t have to ask though. his fingers work against your clit, creating a rhythm just perfect enough to weaken your knees, and you hold on to him tight, your nails digging into his back.

would they leave crescent moon marks on his skin? just dark enough to stand out, just dark enough to be distinct. will his wife look at them and know what they are?

his wife…

and just like that all your ecstasy turns into nausea.

you falter, a small hesitant movement. and that’s all it takes to shatter the moment entirely.

“we can’t,” he pulls his hand away abruptly just as he’s about to push his fingers inside you. you stare at him in surprise, gripping the railing to stay upright. it’s hard not to pant and breathe hard, especially when he’s breathing heavily too, guilt written all over his face.

his lips are swollen, wet. red enough to almost make you go back to him and kiss him all over again, thread your fingers through his hair—it looks so lovely and effortlessly messy. the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, gold chain fully on display, gleaming against tanned skin. you swallow. fuck.

“we can’t…” he repeats, and steps away completely.

you imagine what you must look like—t-shirt almost off your shoulder and the buttons of your shorts undone. not naked and yet so exposed and vulnerable. you wonder if his mouth left any marks against your neck.

“what…” humiliation burns through you. what the fuck were you thinking, throwing yourself at him like this?!

ross looks like he’s trying hard not to lose control, jaw set, eyes firmly on you and pupils blown out so wide you resolve almost weakens. but the ring on his finger glints and just like that the nausea is back. the guilt, the self loathing, all of it is back with a vengeance.

“i’m married.”

and that shuts you up thoroughly. surely the captain of the boat heard everything that happened just now. surely…

you hurry as far away from ross as possible, turning around and fixing your clothes. ross stays where he is, his back towards you, hand trembling by his side.

the food stays untouched.

the awkwardness from before is nothing compared to what you feel now, completely unable to meet his eyes or even turn around to look at him, not even to check if he’s still facing the other way. maybe throwing yourself into the ocean is the best course of action right now.

in a moment, you will gather strength again and tell the captain to take you back to the shore. in a moment you won’t have to share the space with him, you will finally be able to get a full breath into your lungs. for now you stay still, ignoring the fire still burning low under your skin and right in your belly, lust coiled like a snake. for now you simply look out into the ocean and will your body to stop shaking.

“enzo, would you set up breakfast today?” you find him in the gardens bright and early the next day. not that it matters how early it is anyway, not to you who hasn’t slept a wink the whole night. you’re sure there are dark circles under your eyes to give that away instantly.

enzo looks down at his hands and then back up at you, slightly apologetic. they are covered in soil, of course. he’s been helping with repotting some plants. of course he can’t just leave all of that and do your job instead because you’ve fucked up and made a giant mess. of course not.

“right…” you trail off and back away.

“it’s okay, i can—”

“no,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended, “that’s alright. i’ll do it.”

and you will. you can act like a professional and do your fucking job. you will be in and out as quickly as possible and not look anyone in the eye. you will nod and smile and get the fuck out of there.

absently, your hand trails over the faint hickeys on your neck. hopefully, they’re well covered by the concealer you slathered on at 5 in the morning, hopefully the collar of your shirt helps disguise it too. not like ava would be there to see it, she’s yet to be in the dining room for breakfast. and yet you don’t know what would be more mortifying, her seeing it or ross seeing it.

“good morning,” a voice greets you the moment you step foot into the dining room. a pit opens in your stomach.

ava sits at the head of the dining table, still in her night clothes with a dressing gown loosely wrapped around her body. it’s… she’s…

“i know i’m up early, and in here” she laughs, “not very much like me.”

her fingers are curled around a fork in a tight grip, knuckles almost white, tines digging into the place mat. it takes you a second to find your voice.

“morning, mrs macdonald.” the words burn like acid on their way out, and for the first time you look at her properly. she looks exactly how you feel—circles under her eyes, a sallowness to her face, like her skin is stretched thinly over her face. she looks like she’s been up all night, tossing and turning. “is r–mr macdonald joining you?”

“no,” her voice turns sharp. “he says he has a migraine. just me today.”

“ah…” you nod, rooted in the spot awkwardly.

“champagne hangover, i suspect.”

a quick hot and cold flash runs through you, like she’s caught you directly in a lie. and maybe she has…how much did ross tell her exactly? did he tell her?

ava smiles, cold and hollow. “i’m starving, though.”

“yes, of course,” you avert your gaze, eyes firmly on the ground. fuck fuck fuck. she knows. bile churns in your stomach as you move on autopilot, doing the same thing you’ve done every day for the last three weeks. except this time there will be no joining ross for breakfast.

through some miracle of fate, ava doesn’t bring up the boat or the dinner or the champagne again. she just thanks you and digs into her breakfast, eating like absolutely nothing is wrong. the ring on her finger is still there, just as shiny as before.

you leave her be and get out of the dining room. there’s no air in there anymore, there’s no air in this entire villa anymore. your breaths turn into pants, footsteps echoing in your ears and the rush of blood almost drowning them out as you run run run through the corridors. you need to get out of here, out of this place but there’s nowhere private enough to go but back to your own cottage, and so that’s where you turn.

soundlessly, you slip out of the back door and run on the little cobblestone path until you get to the door to your cottage. it’s unlocked, to your utter relief. silently, you thank your past self for forgetting to lock it because all you need right now is to shut the world out and rot in bed.

the moment the door thuds shut, you feel your lungs filling with air again. it’s quiet here, it’s silent.

and your bed looks cosy at least.

you close your eyes and release a deep sigh once you settle on top of the covers. does ava know? you wonder if she’s somehow guessed it… if she somehow saw the marks you left behind…

the memory comes back to haunt in full force—your thigh hitched around ross’ waist, your hand in his hair and his in your underwear, touching and teasing and making you taste insanity. against your better judgement you close your eyes and clench your thighs together, wondering if your hand can replicate the feel of his. it can’t, you know it can’t. nothing ever will. and yet…

slowly you hitch your dress up, bringing it up to your thigh and all the way past your hips until it’s bunched on your stomach. your pale pink underwear is next to go, discarded carelessly somewhere in the room.

there’s not much ceremony to it, just your fingers gently pressing against the bundle of nerves as you close your eyes and think back to yesterday, to the roughness of his hand and the hardness of his body… fuck. it doesn’t feel the same, it feels nothing like it did, no matter how hard you try. the only thing you manage to do is get frustrated finding the right angle.

fuck this, a pillow should work just fine if not your hand.

and it does, it’s better once you have a white pillow clenched between your thighs, slowly moving your hips against it, feeling the friction, the familiar feeling. it’s a slow build, but it’s there, it’s something.

inside your own bedroom, you barely hold back moans. unintelligible, lustful sounds, maybe his name slips out once or twice too. if anything, the thrill of it adds to the feeling. you’re sure there’s a wet spot on the pillow now, a slick little stain where you’ve been grinding onto it. your thighs tremble from the effort and it’s only just starting to feel good, feel so so good—

a sharp rap on the door scares a yelp out of you.

shit shit shit, what were you thinking?! it’s probably enzo or marta coming to check on you, wondering why you weren’t in the villa.

“coming!” you yell out, voice shaking, hands shaking even more.

the person doesn’t go away. instead, another knock follows.

cursing to yourself, you get off the bed, and smooth down your dress again. you’ll find the fucking underwear in a minute, the dress isn’t transparent.

“what’s—” you stop abruptly, coming face to face with ross who looks like he hasn’t had a moment’s worth of peace all night. great, that’s all three of you then.

“let me come in,” he breathes, almost urgent. “please.”

your heart's in your throat, thudding and thudding, fast enough that it might just leap out of you completely. and here you are in front of him, trying to stay cool like you weren’t just touching yourself to the thought of him mere seconds ago.

ross’ eyes scan you, from your messy hair to your wrinkled dress. can he tell something’s wrong?

wordlessly you step aside and he enters, closing the door behind him.

“your wife knows.”

“she suspects.”

“and?”

“and what?” he whirls to look at you. “what if i said i no longer care if she does.”

“ross!” your voice rises. your back is pressed to the wall, as far away from his as possible even though the room feels like it’s a tiny cardboard box at the moment, “you can’t say things like that. not after–not…”

“after what i said yesterday?” he takes a steps towards you, you stay rooted in your spot. “what if i changed my mind?”

another step, he’s barely four steps away from you now.

“what if i changed mine?” you challenge, which is perhaps not the wisest thing to do right now but…

“have you?” he asks, boldly taking two more steps.

if you had, you wouldn’t be standing there right now without any underwear on, desperately wishing he’d find out and fucking do something about it. use his hands again, use his mouth too maybe.

you turn your face to the side, trying not to whimper as he finally closes the distance between you and stands close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his body again.

“can i find out?”

saying no would be wise, you know it. and yet… it’s you who kisses him first. unlike last time he lets your hand roam wherever you wish. unlike last time his t-shirt is first to go—the only time you briefly break the kiss to get it off him and somewhere on the floor. his tanned skin is warm under your hands, freckled chest that you instantly touch all over.

his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of your throat, your collarbone. “you are so perfect, fuck.”

his words, spoken in a low whisper, travel straight to your core. heat pools, or rather intensifies, as his hand comes to rest on the back of your neck. ross doesn’t need much strength to hold you in place, to stop you from squirming and firmly against him, tits brushing against his naked chest.

his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed to as much of your cleavage as the dress offers.

“ross,” your fingers tighten on his shirt, “please, i need—fuck, need you.”

he can most definitely hear the blatant desperation in your voice, whiny and practically begging to be touched, to be fucked.

“anything you want,” ross groans. “jump.”

it doesn’t take you another second before your legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping your thighs, under your ass. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck and make him groan. he really is fucking beautiful, especially in the morning sunlight streaming into your room.

you kiss again, urgent and desperate. somewhere at the back of your mind you��re aware he’s walking, taking you to the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed with how his tongue feels inside your mouth. how his tongue might feel between your legs.

but a foot inside the room and ross comes to a stop, his eyes widening.

he takes the room in and you wonder what he sees, craning your neck to look around as well. and there it is, your pale pink underwear dangling carelessly from the bedpost, the pillow in the middle of the bed, sheets wrinkled. it’s not that hard to guess what happened in here…

that much is confirmed when you meet his eyes again and see pure lust in them. they look so much darker than before, so much dilated. ross all but throws you on the bed, climbing up after and practically on top of you.

“what was happening here…before?”

“does it matter?” you raise an eyebrow, hoping he doesn’t see the flush growing rapidly on your cheeks. the chain dangles from his neck, so close now, practically touching your skin. you hook a finger in it and tug him closer.

“did it feel good at least?” ross smirks, and you suspect he already knows the answer.

“not even close.”

“and what do you want now?”

everything, really.

you want to feel his fingers like yesterday and his mouth between your legs. you need him inside you and in your mouth and everything in between.

“why don’t you get on your knees first?”

ross raises an eyebrow. so this is how it’s going to be then…

the anticipation of it makes your pulse raise, makes goosebumps scatter all over your body. he can definitely see you trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, nipples peaking out from the thin cotton of the dress, hair a complete mess. the room burns a million degrees hotter now or maybe it’s just you, dying to be touched.

“let me take care of you then,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words affect you immediately. your toes curls and hands fist the sheets in anticipation of the sounds you know he will draw out from you.

“was thinking about you,” you confess as he trails a finger over your leg, starting from your ankles and up your shin and thigh until his fingers at your hip, resting where the band of your underwear should have been.

involuntarily, you lift your hips up, making the fabric of your dress slide away a little more.

“i could tell” ross teases, a cocky tinge to his voice. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to your stomach. "come on, darling," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and ross drags a finger through your slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing you and spreading you open while his mouth presses kisses all over. your lower stomach first, then your thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit, and just like yesterday, he works it up in a lazy rhythm.

“shit, ross,” you whimper as a jolt goes through your spine, skin burning wherever his hands touch. the build up is a sweet torture.

you gasp when he sucks on your clit, unexpected and quick, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. your thighs tremble under his hands, your muscles shift and ross doesn’t stop you at all when you squeeze your thighs together trapping his head between them. his hair is already a mess, all over the place, and his beard tickles the inside of your thighs.

“oh god,” you moan loudly. “fuck, just like that…” your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while you squirm and against his face and ross takes it all. his tongue laps at your folds, his nose pushing against your clit.

his hand pushes under your dress, pinching and squeezing your nipples at almost a bruising pace, it’s all too much. and yet there’s no way in hell you’d stop him when he meets your eyes from between your legs—eyes dark and intense, beard glistening with your slick.

you clench around nothing then and for a moment ross looks like he’s going to come undone right there, staring at your with his mouth parted. his eyes have a little glazed-over quality to them, like he’s in a trance.

you’re so close now, rocking your hips against his face, and your thighs squeeze his head harder. you’re so close you can almost taste your release in the air.

“so perfect,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over your clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” your trail off and ross places a kiss on your thigh, utterly out of place from everything he’s been doing so far. in the middle of everything filthy, that one soft kiss feels chaste—a request maybe or even a way to coax you.

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against your clit. his tongue thrusts inside you again and you mewl his name. louder than before.

“don’t stop, ross, don’t—” and you feel it then, feel yourself drenching his lips and his chin. feel the spasm of your thighs and your ragged breaths reverberating through your body.

just like you requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop you have to over, fucks you with his tongue till you’re completely done riding out your orgasm.

once ross straightens you’re met with the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen—his lips raw and red, his beard wet. his hair is almost out of his bun now and that damn gold chain around his neck. it’s all so beautiful, you almost beg him to come up to you. and ross obliges, his arms on either side of you and his body between your legs while he kisses you so thoroughly, you can taste all of you on his tongue—every want, every desire, down to the last drop of lust running through your blood.

“i need to be inside you or i will die,” he says, his voice more like a growl. and yes it’s so full of want and desperation but that just eggs you on more, makes the heat in your belly flare up all over again.

“there’s condoms in the drawer,” you moan, trying not to whine when ross gets off your for two seconds to find them, and comes back with the silver square.

it doesn’t take another second before your legs are around his middle again and his big hands are gripping your thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you run your hand through his hair and make him groan.

“fuck, love” he breathes on your skin and lets you pull the trousers off him. “i couldn’t think of anything else all night. just you…”

“me too,” you confess, a shameful secret, but ross tilts your chin up and kisses you all over again, slow and gentle.

your hands trace his spine and ross shivers

“want to be inside you,” he groans, letting you hook a finger in his boxers. he wraps his hand around yours too, getting rid of them completely.

once they’re off him you can’t hold back the shameless gawking. he’s big, fucking huge and hard and leaking with precum already, you’d die to get a taste of him but that’s not what’s important right now. right now you need him to destroy your insides until you can’t remember your own name.

“like what you see?” he sounds smug, tearing the foil with his teeth and spitting it aside. you blush, and pry your gaze back to his face.

“let me,” you take the condom off his hands, dying to touch him first. and he reacts just the way you want him too—a hiss when you wrap your hand around base and a moan when you twist it, run it all the way to his tip and back down.

“stop being a tease,” he grunts, and you decide it’s enough, decide to finally roll the condom down on him.

there’s barely any words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of your laughter when ross nips at your skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a kiss. he leaves a mark and rewards you with a kiss. he even sees the marks he left before, kisses over them like he’s appreciating his own art.

his hand inches between your legs and finds your clit once again, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until you’re squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and ross definitely knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once you aren’t opposed to begging.

“stop being a tease,” you whine, repeating his words from before, and he laughs at your desperation.

finally, ross decides to end this misery. for you and for him. the need is probably driving him insane too.

when the first thrust comes, hard and fast—and without warning—your eyes roll back in your head. you whimper something, curse softly and hold onto him, legs locking around him so you can take him in deeper.

“shit baby…” he moans too.

he’s stretching you open with his cock, thrusting into you again and again until the buzz in your head grows so loud, it drowns out any other thought. all you can focus on is his breath and the chain brushing against your chest, cold metal against sweaty bodies.

that errant image from that first day comes back to you, your tongue against his chest, and before you can over think you do exactly that—trail kisses against his collarbone, his neck, letting your tongue roam over his skin too. you don’t dare use teeth though, you don’t dare leave a mark. no matter how tempting it is.

your eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open any longer as his hips slam into yours, his hands grip onto your waist tighter. ross tuts.

“open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”

and so you oblige, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting your hips to meet his and grinding your clit on his pelvis.

the pressure inside you builds with each thrust, your entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under your skin. on top of you, he’s as electric as a live wire.

“look at what you do to me,” he breathes and you feel your thighs begin to tremble.

he can probably tell you’re close now; you’re certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so you don't scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, you would have liked to scream out his name though.)

your hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. you’re erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to any of your movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that you feel a wave of it run between your bodies.

you shudder and gasp, trying to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at him still “gonna cum, f-fuck!”

he opens his mouth to speak too, about to say something but you’re already there. your body goes tense as you squeeze around ross, so tight it practically sends him into a frenzy, fucking into you faster and faster, rougher, harsher. you take it all, trying and failing to keep your voice down to a minimum. ross thrusts into you as the orgasm hits you hard. a second later you hide your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and feeling him practically emptying himself into the condom. ross doesn’t stop you, he holds you just as close, for just as long as you want him to.

it’s almost 10 in the morning when you lift your head off his chest in a sleepy haze. ross tries to protest but you kiss him quickly until all his complaints die on his lips.

“you should go,” you bite your lip, guilty, and thumb the chain around his neck again. if he’s noted this particular fascination with it, he doesn’t mention it.

“i don’t want to.”

“but…”

“i have to, yes, i know,” he sighs, deep and almost sad.

it’s a silly thought to want to stop him. the cottage might feel like it’s detached from reality entirely but it’s not. once you step foot outside of it, everything will come crashing down on you. you can easily explain your disappearance away—the farmers market in town, some other errand, whatever excuse that comes to mind. what does ross plan on saying?

you don’t ask, mostly because you don’t want to manufacture and discuss one more thing and make this more morally depraved than it already is.

wordlessly he gets up and walks around the room in search of his clothes. his nudity doesn’t bother him in the slightest, doesn’t bother you either—for one, you finally know all the tattoos on his body, something you’ve been dying to find out since day one. you let your eyes roam over them for as long as you can, try to commit them to memory before they get covered by his clothes.

he finds his t-shirt in the living room and comes back to the bedroom wearing it, fully clothed now while you’re naked under the sheets still.

“right then…”

you smile, a little sad. is this the first and the last time? do you want there to be more?

“let’s just…” you clear your throat, “i’m going to go use the bathroom…”

“and i’ll be gone by the time you come back…”

you nod, already getting up. the sheets fall of your body too but what’s there to care about? he’s already seen all of it now. still his breath hitches in his throat and a jolt of satisfaction run through you.

“kiss me one last time?” you ask, and ross closes the distance between you, pulling you so close to him you’re almost crushed into his chest, held like he doesn’t want to let go.

you try not to dwell too much on that kiss—it’s a fucking kiss, not your first and it won’t be your last, there’s no point in reading too much into it. it’s not a lovers kiss. it’s a kiss. because you asked for it.

and yet his hands cradle your face and you can almost feel him smiling, almost, before he pulls away. then you turn around and practically beeline to the bathroom.

by the time you’re out and ready to get dressed once again, the cottage is empty, silent. a silence that almost echoes with lingering sounds, but you stay in for the rest of the morning, only venturing out when you can’t ignore your growling stomach any longer.

marta looks at you suspiciously before feeding you a bite of her orzo. it’s delicious; it always it, her food. but you still refuse when she offers to make you something. you just want to be alone, not in someone’s company and answer a million questions.

to her credit marta lets you be.

you don’t see the ross or ava at all for the rest of the day. or the day after.

it’s the end of their third week when ross finds you again, well… a handwritten note finds you, a crumpled piece of paper stuffed through the crack in the cottage door.

meet me at the beach tomorrow at sunrise?

the entire night you toss and turn, wondering if you should even go. you haven’t seen him in days, only glimpses of him and his wife. every time he’s in the room your eyes linger on him, stealing glances when he’s stealing them right back. it’s like an unspoken rule between you—no secret meetings. not again.

and now he seems to want to break it.

you know which beach he’s talking about—the one where you had a boat waiting for him. at 4 in the morning you give up on sleep completely. you should still have about an hour and a half till you’re supposed to meet him. and you still don’t have a decision. on autopilot you get up and brush your teeth, take a quick shower. no one’s awake yet. maybe marta, but she certainly won’t be out of bed this early.

by 5, when the mug of coffee in your hands is almost empty, you decide you want to go after all. what’s the harm? it’s not like you’re going to end up fucking him again so publicly on the beach…

and so you leave the cottage, strolling down to the ocean on the sandy path. the twilight is giving way to some light. the sun’s probably almost on the horizon. still, you reach the beach before ross, before the sun comes up. so you linger, sit in the sand and collect the little shells left there overnight.

there’s no one here, just you and waves crashing on the beach. it’s peaceful—perhaps the first time you’ve truly felt any peace all summer. and yet somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t shake off the anticipation of meeting him. five minutes have already passed. maybe he changed his mind.

maybe he’s not coming.

just as the thought is about to solidify, you hear a set of footsteps. he’s here. and still you don’t turn until ross walks up all the way to you and sits next to you in the sand, his body pressed against yours, thighs touching. you lean your head onto his shoulder, taking in a deep breath.

“is this a rendezvous?” you almost laugh. it’s a lame joke but ross cracks a smile anyway. it lasts about a second before his face falls again.

“i’m leaving.”

“i know,” you close your eyes, “next week.”

“no. today.”

a pit opens up in your stomach and you bolt upright. “today?! what…?”

his smile turns sad, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not just because he’s leaving, it’s something else too. you look at his face, properly, at the deep lines etched onto his forehead and the hints of grey in his hair and his beard. his arms, just as gorgeous as usual. his hands, hands that you haven’t stopped thinking about, his fingers…

your eyes linger on them. there’s no ring. he’s not wearing a ring. it’s just pale skin where it used to be.

“our plans changed,” he shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to happen. you remember what he’d said to you all those days ago on the boat. when we go back to london, i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers. so that’s happening then.

“what time?”

“around 10.”

around 10… five more hours.

“okay,” you nod and go back to how you were, resting your head on his shoulder. this time ross rests his head on yours, both of your eyes trained on the horizon where the sun rises slowly and the beach turns golden. the water shimmers, gorgeous and like it’s out of a painting. you can’t bring yourself to move.

“will you have breakfast with me one last time?” ross breaks the silence after a while, and you wonder if it’s a good idea. what’s the point? it won’t lead anywhere, will it?

“i don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you swallow the lump in your throat, still unable to fully look at him.

“i see…” more silence follows. you wonder when he will decide this is enough. you wonder when he will get up and leave you here to be rooted in this spot until the sun blazes high in the sky and you can no longer sit outside. instead ross presses his warm fingers to your cheek, and gently turns your face to him.

“can i at least kiss you one last time then?”

now that… that you can’t say no to. and so you press your lips to his. just that, no movement, nothing—just your face cradled in his hands and your lips against his until you taste salt and realise you’re crying. maybe just a little teary. only then does he properly kiss you, moves his lips against yours until it feels like the sand beneath you is shifting. but it’s going to end anyway, it has to. and so you pull apart, take a deep breath to store his scent in your lungs for as long as you can.

“i’m going to go stare at the ocean now,” you laugh, teary-eyed. his eyes are tinged a little pink too.

ross chuckles. “and i’ll be gone by the time you look back.”

and that’s where you leave it. no goodbyes, no hugs and promises to come back. just you staring at the blue sky while his footsteps become quieter and quieter until you can’t hear him at all.

enzo checks them out. you don’t know if they say anything to him, and he doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary to you. just that he’ll send someone to clean the room, to which you protest, let him know that you’ll do it.

the room isn’t unfamiliar, of course not, you’ve been in here a thousand times now and you will a thousand times more. still, something about it looks different. for one there’s a piece of paper folded on the bedside table. something that looks like a note. you hurry to it, not realising that there’s something inside in your eagerness to open it until a gold chain falls out. his gold chain… the one you’ve spent all of summer being fascinated by. and now it’s yours. then you unfold the note.

thank you for the summer, it’s the best one i’ve had in years.

ps: the chain is yours. don’t think i didn’t notice.

with trembling fingers, you put it around your neck. the metal is cold of course, and yet it reminds you of sun warmed skin and the sweat between your bodies. you clutch the note close, and sit on the bed. it has to be his side, it smells like him. maybe it won’t hurt to curl up there for just a moment. there’s no one to occupy it for another week after all.

and so that’s what you do.

a moment turns to an hour, to several hours until you decide you don’t want to strip the linen just yet. until you decide you want to sleep here for the night. for the rest of the week until you have to give up the villa again. marta raises her eyebrow when she finds out, but you wave her off.

“it’s my house, nonna, i can sleep wherever i want to,” you say, confident in that statement even though it feels a little foreign. it is your house. it is.

she just leaves it at that.

the rest of the summer passes just as you’d planned.

first there is an actual honeymoon couple—utterly in love and completely inseparable. you find them making out in all corners of the villa, in nooks and crannies like they can’t get enough of each other, like there’s no one else for them but each other. and maybe there isn’t.

then there’s a week long bachelorette party. the girls convince you to get drunk with them too, to let loose a bit. it’s then that you’re most tempted to look up his number in his booking information and call him, wine drunk and slurring, in the middle of the night.

what will you say?

what will he say?

it’s a terrible terrible idea. the worst one you’ve ever had. worse than sleeping with a married man and letting yourself feel something for him. maybe you even hate him a little then, just a little bit of resentment tinging the memories of your summer.

a summer that ends within the blink of an eye.

three months gone just like that.

and yet you stay. a ghost haunting a mansion like you’d told him all those months ago. now truly alone. none of the staff stay the rest of the year, just some locals who check up on you once in a while. aldo and his fisherman friends who call you over for dinner some days. other than that it’s just you.

alone all over again. until…

six months later the villa’s phone rings on a cold morning. it’s rare, you think. almost as rare as it is for you to be still here this time of the year, but this year you haven’t felt the desire to go anywhere. this year it’s like you’re froze in summer, trying to chase that which is long gone.

“hello?” you put on your best customer service voice, cheerful and vacant.

“is this the villa?”

the moment you hear it, your heart stops beating. the receiver almost falls. it’s one of those old-fashioned landlines, something you never thought you’d have to change. the chord wraps itself around your finger. a moment later your heart comes back to life, racing twice as fast.

“yes…” you breathe, voice almost wobbly.

“is it booked out for the summer yet?”

a smile blooms on your face, just as tears threaten to fall from your eyes. it’s ross. it’s his voice, it’s really his voice. all soft and lovely and already making its way around the insides of your skull.

“not yet,” you laugh. it’s a watery sound. “you’re early. we don’t start taking reservations this early in the year.”

“oh?” the smile in his voice is clear. “i was hoping you’d make an exception for me. it’s only a party of one…”

you grab onto the chord of the receiver, tightly twisted around your fingers.

party of one. party of one. party of one.

“hello?”

“i’m here…”

for a few seconds, he doesn’t speak. but you imagine he’s smiling on the other end. you imagine his dimples on display and the crinkles around his eyes. “and will you let me come?”

involuntarily you clutch the gold chain around your neck, the one you wear every single day. the one you haven’t taken off since that very first day. it’s warm now, just as your skin is. just as his skin once felt under your hands. the tears you were barely holding in fall on your cheeks, and yet your face splits into a wide grin.

“party of one, you say.”

“it could be two,” he laughs a small, secret laugh, “if you’ll allow it.”

you do a little jump in place, giddy and practically acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. then you clear your throat and clutch the receiver closer. “why don’t you come find out?”

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @indierockgirrl @tonguepiercedanyway75 @if-my-heart-bleeds @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny @wrongendofyourcigarettte

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#no the villa has no name it's literally just called the villa #summer fics #seasons #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you

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lonesome-sometimes · 1 month ago

Text

up on the bookshelf

wheels on the bus 2 and it’s completely different because there is no bus or any form of transport at all really and matty is a librarian but it’s still wheels on the bus 2 (in the brat remix album cover format)

that was until a certain someone sitting behind the librarian desk caused you to drop them abruptly, sending a loud echo throughout the near silent building.

“matty?” you say in disbelief.

matty healy x female reader

content warnings: public sex, sweet service top matty, age gap, oral (female receiving), slight blood kink when you squint, lovey dovey stuff because I miss matty I’m genuinely a trainwreck right now

minors do not interact!

with your reading list in one hand, you huff in annoyance as you fail to find the last few textbooks you needed for the rest of the semester. admitting your defeat, you carry the rest of your books towards the front desk, already dreading the walk back to campus on the other side of town.

that was until a certain someone sitting behind the librarian desk caused you to drop them abruptly, sending a loud echo throughout the near silent building.

“matty?” you say in disbelief.

he looks up from the book he was engrossed in, startled by the loud thud. he takes a second to register who you were, scrambling to push his bookmark into place before turning his full attention towards you. “y/n? oh my go- hey! hey, how are you? god, I haven’t seen you since-”

“since the really, really long and awkward bus ride home with your wife in our presence after you-” you explain nonchalantly, causing the older to choke on his own spit as you remind him of your rest stop bathroom antics, not that he had ever forgotten.

he laughs nervously, pushing a hand through his shorter curls. “I mean, I guess? anyway, what are you doing here?”

“oh, I go to college here.” you say like its obvious, gesturing to nothing as you look around the empty room. “I just hate our campus library, or just our campus in general I suppose, so I come here to study and take my books out. It’s much quieter here, campus is too…studenty?”

he laughs with you, chuckling softly at how ridiculous it sounded. “I get your point, but aren’t you meant to like, enjoy all of that?” he thinks for a moment, shaking his head softly. “nevermind, that’s not the point. this is crazy, what a nice surprise I-”

“you have a moustache now.” you observe out loud, your tongue working quicker than your brain as your eyes lingered on his upper lip and the new strip of hair there, moving down towards the tight sleeves of his grey tshirt and admiring the way it hugged his frame perfectly. “...and you look like you’ve been working out…don’t tell me you…”

his cheeks tinge pink, swinging his chair slightly away from you as he lets out a nervous breath. “I told he, I mean, not about us! not exactly, I just told her how I felt and here I now am, working day shifts at the local library, waiting for my whole music thing to take off, while she vacates on some island somewhere with her neeew husband.” he draws out the new, politely taking a book from an older lady and wishing her a nice day, turning back towards you. “I’m happy here though, the people are nice and well, you’re here.”

It’s your turn to blush at his words, forgetting how sweet he had been with you in the bathroom moments after he had fucked your throat raw. “oh, come on matty, it’s not like you sat and dreamt about me everyday like a fairytale princess waiting for her prince to come…” you half joke half admit about yourself, causing his cheeks to turn a darker shade of pink at the comparison, his secrets spilling without having even said anything.

“oh I seeee.” you singsong as you lean forward, putting your hands on the desk so that you were leaning over him, letting your oversized tshirt fall off your shoulder slightly and revealing your collarbone. not the most flattering outfit you could have worn, but you weren’t exactly expecting your random one bus stand to show up anytime soon. “been thinking about me, matty?”

he visibly swallows, opening his mouth to answer but instead his eyes widen as a mother and daughter approach the desk. you stand up straight again, slightly embarrassed as you pull your tshirt centre again. you watch the exchange, matty smiling ever so sweetly as he hands the young girl her picture book and again wishes them a lovely day. he turns to you once more, sighing softly. “darling, I don’t think now is a good time, I’m working and-”

“matty, I managed to seduce you into fucking my throat with enough time for small talk afterwards inside the bathroom of a service station during a twenty minute rest stop, all while your wife-”

“-ex wife.” he corrects, smiling softly.

“...ex wife, was sitting back on the bus unaware of how her sweet little husband was crying for me and asking me about my favourite radiohead album, and you’re gonna sit here and tell me you can’t have a private conversation with me because you’re at work?”

theres a moment of silence as he looks between you and the empty room, standing up suddenly and grabbing your hand as he pulls you back towards an abandoned section of the library. smiling wide, you expect him to push you up against one of the old bookcases and start kissing you like a man starved as he pulls you in front of him, but it never comes.

Instead, he pulls you in. hands coming up around your waist, he hugs you. unexpected and unsure of what to do at first, you let your arms come up around his shoulders, pulling him in closer as you stroke the hair on the back of his neck softly, letting him breathe you in as you stay silent for a moment.

he pulls away, the both of you laughing as you realise how ridiculous this is, not having shared more than ten minutes alone together that didn’t include a quickie in a restroom. “everything okay, matty?” you ask, pushing his hair away from his face and letting your hand rest against his cheekbones as he nods.

“I wanted to erm, thank you, for helping me realise things about my life and marriage, I might not look like anything special at the moment but since meeting you I’ve been able to find my own place, I have a kitten who I adore, and I actually get to work on my music I-” he stops. “I’m really happy y/n, and I owe that to you.”

for a second you’re worried he’s being completely serious. “m-matty, you surely can’t fully believe I’m to blame for all that, you barely even know me I-”

he starts kissing down your collarbone, letting your tshirt fall again as he sinks down down down till he’s almost kneeling in front of you, his hands coming up towards your tshirt, breathing heavy. “no really darling, thank you so, so much.” he breaths, punctuating each so with a wet kiss to your stomach, kissing and licking at each expanse of skin he can reach. your hand comes up to cover your mouth, the other moving to hold the back of hid head through the fabric of your shirt. somehow this felt much more intimate, more naughty, than the restroom ever did.

he reappears from under your shirt, staring up at you with complete adoration as his fingers dance up your thighs and hooking themselves into the waistband of your leggings. “can I please?” he asks ever so politely, although your pants are already being pulled down low enough so that he can access where he wanted before you had chance to answer. your face was on fire.

“been thinking about doing this since I met you, wanted to taste you so bad darling.” he breaths out against you sending goosebumps across your skin, lips so close to you as he teases before finally settling on your core.

you desperately try to stay quiet, the fact that you were both in a library being some sick torture and punishment for engaging in infidelity beforehand because good god was he good with his tongue, licking and sucking at your clit like he was desperate. his large hands almost enveloped your waist, holding you in place as he began to fuck you on his tongue up against the shelf behind you. you thread your fingers through his salt and pepper locks, frowning when it was a little too short to pull. still, you let your fingers stay where they were, your lips bitten red as you tried to conceal your noises.

suddenly he stops, pulling away from you with only a trail of spit connecting the two of you, lips glistening with your wetness. you look down, brows furrowed in confusion as you try and catch your breathe. “w-why’d you stop?”

he giggles before diving in again like a teenager, his hands moving to hook around the backs of your thighs now. you moan around your fist, desperatly trying to stay as quiet as you can but failing miserably. he shushes you, the vibration from his vocal chords not helping your situation as you feel yourself quickly approaching the edge. “m-matty I-”

he pulls away for a small second, eyes wide and hungry. “please cum for me darling, need to feel you cum on my tongue-” he begs, quickly diving back in as he licks you through your orgasm, groaning softly as he feels you clench around his tongue, lapping at your folds as he cleans up your orgasm.

“fuck-” you bring a finger up towards your lip, blood pooling on your tongue from where you had to bite to keep quiet unless you wanted the whole library to hear you. he pulls your leggings back up and over your thighs, the both of you silently thanking somebody for the fact that nobody was looking for cooking books. he smiles up at you dopily, allowing himself to catch his breath before standing back up.

“good?” he breaths out, pulling your bloodied finger to his lips to lick it clean. You couldn’t find the words to answer, nodding as you watch his lips sucking your fingers entranced. He pulls off them with a pop, smiling at the way he left you speechless.

you both forget where you are until an older male comes around the corner, causing you both to jump away from each other. he doesn’t suspect much, why would he? shooting you both a small smile before turning and going back the way he came, sending you both laughing.

“so…” he begins as your giggles come to a stop, shuffling from foot to foot nervously. “I don’t actually finish up in here for another hour, but I could drive you back to campus? your books seemed heavy, and I’m guessing you don’t have a car…”

god, you were so smitten for him and you had only spent less than an hour with him alone at most. “...or I could come to yours?”

he smiles, thinking for a moment as you two start walking back towards the desk, to no surprise the place was still pretty much empty. “wanna see a picture of lilah?”

you squeal at the idea of singing his kitten, sending apologies to nobody at the sudden loud noise coming from you once again. “yes please.” you nod and whisper, the idea of seeing both matty and lilah filling you with warmth.

you were right, the local library was definitely better than the campus library.

#matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic

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izzismissingsatv · 6 months ago

Text

it's giving professor matty and I'm fucking barking

#matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #matty healy #matty the 1975 #matty healy fic #trumanblack

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sugar-coat-it · 2 months ago

Text

The one where Matty reads smut to you

I don't know what to call this but it was fun to write! Shout out Matty reading part of 50 Shades of Grey in like 2015

Fem! Reader

Contains: dom! Matty, him making fun of her shitty romance novel, Matty reading smut to her, recreation of book scene, fingering in front of a mirror, blink and you miss it pussy spanking, praise (good girl)

WC: ~2.8k

—-------------------------------

Matty discovers his girlfriend’s secret reading habits and can’t resist recreating one of the scenes.

—-------------------------------

You can feel Matty’s eyes on you without even having to look up from the pages in your hands. A smile twitches at your lips. It’s like a little game, pretending you can’t feel his gaze drinking you in, admiring the way the sunlight streams through the window. The way the light graces you, bathing your skin in glowing warmth. For a man who prides himself on his talent with words, he finds himself speechless. He doesn’t mind it one bit.

You’d been immersed in your book for hours. Admittedly, it’s not high-brow reading in the slightest. But when life is so serious, sometimes a shitty, steamy romance novel is exactly the remedy you need. Sometimes, you like to disappear into the dynamics of someone else’s life where things are simple and clean-cut. Predictable.

Unhurried, Matty pushes his weight off of the doorframe, padding across the floor to you as you lay on the couch, your book comfortably resting in your lap. He leans down, his necklace dangling in front of your face as he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flicker away from the pages when you feel his lips press to your forehead with such tenderness that your heart swoons. You listen to his soft hum as you reach up to cup his face, your fingers naturally finding their place against his jaw.

“Hi, baby. What have you got there?” he says softly, trailing a hand down your arm absentmindedly.

“Just a silly romance book,” you answer, marking your page before handing him the book.

He takes it from you, motioning for you to scoot over on the sofa to make room for him. Curled up at your side, Matty runs his finger down the spine of the book, observing the cover with a squinted, analytical stare. You already know he’s going to have plenty of opinions just from the art on the front alone.

“You’re not gonna like it. I’m sorry, it’s not philosophical, foreign literature,” you joke, causing him to scoff.

“Oh god. Don’t start with me, miss,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering over the title, “Well, I certainly don’t read about kissing and stuff but I’m not above trashy reading sometimes. I suppose I always thought these books were for grandmothers and like, desperate housewives.”

“They’re not just for grandmas and housewives!”

“Alright, alright. Forgive me,” Matty chuckles, kissing your shoulder apologetically, “What’s this one about then?”

You give him a look. An untrusting one. Matty looks at you right back, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“No, I won’t. I swear. Tell me.”

Sighing, you watch as he cracks open the book, beginning to leaf through the pages, smirking to himself as he scans over words with eager eyes. He nudges you with his elbow expectantly, waiting for a synopsis of the story that feels increasingly dumber and more cliche the more you think about how to explain it. But, damn it, you’re allowed to read something silly and romantic in your free time if you want!

"She's a princess and he's the knight bound to protect her. He's kind of roguish, and she's never really experienced anything, she's bound to the castle most of the time but she’s still a badass. They fall in love even though they know they can't,” you mutter, watching his smirk grow wider, clearly amused. “Ah, I see. Classic, cheesy, forbidden romance shit,” he nods, glancing over at you with a glint in his eyes (one that means he’s about to say something stupid). “Is the knight hot? Does he have a big sword?”

“Yeah. Huge,” you snort, making Matty cackle in response, flipping through random pages, only making you feel more on edge. You should survive this as long as he doesn’t come across a few particular parts…

He scans over a passage, his brows furrowing slightly as he goes, seeming thoroughly unimpressed by the author. You listen as he mutters the words to himself under his breath, practically being able to see how he’s mentally tearing it to shreds as his eyes catch over the sappy dialogue and paragraphs of woeful yearning.

“Christ. How many times is she going to use the word ‘longing’? This is… terrible.”

“Would you stop being a critic for once? It’s sweet,” you protest, finding the pining endearing. You’ve always been a slow-burn lover at heart.

Matty groans, yet he continues to read on, underwhelmed but curiously hooked at the same time. Just as you’d begun to lay your head on his chest to relax, he lets out a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth.

“Oh, he’s not just protecting her, he’s ‘trailing his calloused hands down her curves, his hands rough from years of wielding his sword’,” he reads before making an exaggerated moan, fanning himself with his hand dramatically.

You feel your stomach drop. You know exactly what chapter he’s reading from and it only gets more indecent from there. You pick your head up, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as, to your horror, he begins to read directly from the pages.

“‘Her breasts heaved as he unhooked her corset, his rough hands against her pale skin as he lays her on the silken sheets’. Wow, I take it all back, this is better than I thought, you didn’t say they fuck.”

You sputter, realizing you should have known better than to let him get his hands on your novel. You’re never going to hear the end of this now. God help you, the look on his face is absolutely wicked.

"But it's not just physical between them! He loves her more than anything and wants to show her what she’s been deprived of,” you shake your head, trying to snatch the book back to no avail, “You don’t get it, it’s for the girls, Matty.”

Matty rolls his eyes, chuckling at the heated scene that is unfolding on the pages before him, holding the book out of your reach. “Sweetheart, you can defend it however you want, this is absolutely filthy. You’re sitting here, casually reading pornography. Doesn’t matter if it’s ‘girly’.”

He leafs through the pages with the intent to get you thoroughly worked up, jabbing his finger at the page when he finds a particularly lewd section. He’s having far too much fun with this and he knows it.

“I mean, seriously, listen to this part. ‘His stare was piercing through her as he let her feel the stiffness of his pulsing member.’ Babe,” he chuckles in disbelief, “Horrid word choice there, so unsexy. I mean, just say dick.”

“Matty! Are you seriously doing this right now? Give it back,” you protest with heated cheeks, trying to reach for the novel just for Matty to hold it further away from you.

“No, no. We’re just getting to the good parts now, lemme see,” he grins wolfishly, curling up closer to you so his lips are brushing against your ear, “‘Maneuvering her to sit in front of the tall, gilded mirror, the knight slips her silk nightgown over her waist. With his fingers on her delicate jaw, guiding her gaze forward, he lets his opposite hand smooth down her body…’”

You can feel the air between you change as the detailed, obscene words begin to slip from his lips with ease. He has one hand holding the book while the other slides over your waist, stirring warmth inside of you as he gently moves his fingers back and forth. His tone has dropped down to a low, sultry murmur, a shiver racing down your spine at the slight rasp in your ear, the hairs standing up at the back of your neck. The tips of your ears burn every time he emphasizes dirtier words, rubbing little circles against your hip as he drawls to you about how the knight is tearing off her panties. The chapter is salacious enough as is, but the way he reads it to you makes it feel downright foul.

“... ‘She could feel an unfamiliar pressure building inside of her as he slowly curled his calloused finger upward, his thumb rubbing in tight circles against her heat, staring at her through the mirror’s reflection’,” Matty whispers, his breath hot, fanning against your skin.

He’s having a harder time focusing on the words when he can feel you getting increasingly warmer as you cling to his side, the heat radiating off of your skin from beneath your clothes. He doesn’t miss the way your hips squirm slightly, the crackling tension thickening the air between you as he reads. Matty can’t help but glance at you periodically, the unmistakable lust in your lidded eyes making him ache.

You can’t take it any longer, it feels like your entire body is buzzing with need, warmth coursing through you endlessly, pooling deep inside of you. You cut him off mid-word by turning your head and pressing your lips to his heatedly. Matty moans into your mouth, letting the book tumble to the floor as he moves to roughly grasp your hips with both hands, pulling you flush against his frame.

“Dirty girl,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you with enough fervor to make your head spin.

Your hands cling to his shirt, letting his tongue slip past your lips as his eager fingers roam, groping and feeling you as he pleases. Your breath shudders as Matty pulls away to mouth under your jawline, alternating between heated kisses and nips of his teeth.

“Does it get you hot when you’re reading it, babe? Thinking about the knight fucking his princess?” he rasps, grabbing a handful of your ass.

You can only whimper in response, your head tilting back to give Matty more room to continue his loving assault on your neck, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin.

“Yeah, I bet it does,” he mumbles, laving his tongue over a faded love bite just above your collarbones.

Matty slides his hands to the backs of your thighs, scooping you up with your legs around his waist. As he carries you from the couch to your bedroom, you can’t resist grinding a little against the front of his gray sweatpants, feeling him twitch beneath the fabric. He digs his fingers into your hips, you’re not quite sure if it’s as a warning or to encourage you. You love it either way.

Just as you think he’s about to lay you down on the crisp sheets of your bed, Matty lowers you to the ground in front of your floor-length mirror, pulling you to sit in his lap with your legs spread, just like in the book. He taps your thigh, signaling for you to lift your hips, allowing him to slide off your pajama shorts.

With an approving sigh, Matty smooths his hands out over your inner thighs, making a shiver skitter down your spine with tingling warmth. He coos, settling his chin on top of your shoulder as he stares at your body through the mirror.

“Aw, you really liked me reading to you, baby. Look at yourself. You’re soaked through,” he admires, parting your legs wider to allow you a look at your dampened panties.

Matty skims his hand up your thigh with a murmur of “don’t look away” as he starts to feel over the darkened fabric of your underwear. You shudder, your lashes fluttering at the sensations that begin to stir at just the light brush of his calloused fingertips. You can feel your cheeks flush brighter at this new perspective, watching the two of you in the reflection of the mirror, seeing not only Matty’s reactions but also your own. You get to see the expressions that Matty loves so dearly when he’s making you fall apart, telling you how pretty you are. You do look pretty like this, with your skin flushed and your chest heaving with desire.

Agonizingly slowly, he presses two fingers against your panties, rubbing in little circles over your clit just to make you squirm in his lap. Matty kisses from the top of your shoulder to right under your ear, his breath hot as he watches you from the corner of his eye. His eyes are intense, darkened with urges.

Steadily, he hooks his fingers under the fabric, sliding the soaked material to the side with a groan that rumbles against your back. A gasp is ripped from your lips as he parts you with his fingers, exposing you to him with frustratingly gentle pressure. You can tell he’s restraining himself tonight. Even though he’s itching to have you writhing, he slowly dips his thumb into your pooling arousal, his digit slick as he finds your clit with practiced ease.

Your eyes roll at that feeling of first contact, sensations coursing through you as you get your first lick of relief. Matty traces firm circles, his other hand moving to grasp your breast, thumbing at your nipple over your shirt.

“Matty, faster, please,” you pant, your voice wavering with need.

“Shh, this is how it went in the book, hm? He was so gentle with her, isn’t that right?” he mutters, dismissing the way your hips jump, aching for friction. You can’t stand it. He’d whined about how awful your book was, but now he’s treating it like gospel, refusing to stray from how the scene was written.

Once he’s satisfied with how long he’s been lazily circling your clit, Matty picks up the pace just enough to make you whimper, still in control of your pleasure. His brows pinch together as your hips rock heedlessly on top of him, both of your eyes glued to his hand between your thighs. You can feel him, stiff and twitching beneath his sweats as the heat continues to bloom between you. Slowly, he starts to sink one finger inside of you, curling it just so. It’s obscene to watch.

“That’s it. Show me how much you like it,” Matty whispers, dragging his lower lip along your earlobe, “What does he do next?”

“What?” you mumble, too caught up in the feeling of your brain melting down your spine to understand the question. Matty smirks with the satisfaction of rendering you wonderfully dumb.

“In the book, darling. What does he do to her next?” he finishes, landing a firm spank on your cunt, relishing in your cry, “You didn’t let me finish readin’ ‘cause you got impatient, didn’t you, sweet girl? Always just gagging for me.”

You try and gather yourself enough to speak as Matty presses on your clit, your head lolling back against his shoulder. He moves his hand from your tits to your inner thigh, holding open your trembling legs in his secure hold.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he says with a kiss to your neck, encouragingly rubbing his thumb against your soft thigh, “I know you remember.”

“He… he has her look into her own eyes as he makes her cum.”

Matty whistles lowly, impressed, sounding like he’s sorry he didn’t think of doing that to you first. He reaches for your chin, grasping it to tilt your head down, watching you meet your own stare in the mirror.

“Good girl, stay like that for me,” he murmurs, keeping his fingers splayed across your jaw.

You watch as your eyes widen the moment Matty begins to swiftly move his thumb, pumping his finger in and out of you. Your brows furrow with a shuddering moan, your mouth dropping open. You grasp his wrist with urgency, feeling yourself approach the edge almost mortifyingly quickly as you pant and writhe on top of him.

“See how pretty you look when you’re about to cum? I fucking love that look. I live for it,” he grins, “That’s it, just let it happen, my love.”

He tightens his hold on your jaw, reminding you to watch your face as you feel it wash over you in waves of relief through your whole body, your expression contorting with pleasure.

“Ah, fuck!” you cry, listening to him mutter breathy sighs of “Good fucking girl” and “Yeah, that’s right” in your ear.

Once you go slack against his body, Matty withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean, obscenely sliding his tongue between them while you catch your breath.

“I reckon I did it better than him, what do you think?” he smirks, his voice muffled around his digits. You shake your head hazily as he lets go of them with a wet popping sound.

“You’re insufferable…”

“You love me. You looove me so badly,” he sings, grasping your sides lovingly as he presses his lips to your cheek.

You do love him. Badly. Even if you’re never going to hear the end of how terrible your book choices are.

#i need him to read tumblr smut to me pls #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy imagine #the 1975 fic #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic

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whimsicalpolitical · 6 months ago

Text

Family bonfire // Matty Healy x Reader

a/n: send me more requests, I love nothing more :) also I know it’s getting warmer and summer feeling but this gave me an autumn vibe.

summary: Matty and you spend some days with your family in your childhood house. Not only the fire gets hot in the evening ;)

content warning: 18+ smut, fingering,idiots totally in love, unprotected sex

based on this request

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As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the kitchen, you stand alongside your mum and sister, watching through the window as Matty and your dad work tirelessly to prepare the bonfire.

Your two brothers are running around the pile of logs, doing anything else besides helping both.

Every time Matty comes back with wood, he searches for your gaze in the window and every time he can catch a glance, he does.

You’re doing the dishes with your mum, while your sister is just sipping her green tea. You try to suppress a little giggle when Matty tries to wipe away the sweat with the sleeves of his brown cute lumberjack jacket.

Your mum glances at you, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "He's a good one, isn't he?" she remarks, her voice soft with affection.

You nod, your heart swelling with pride as you watch Matty and your dad laughing over something. “He really is,” you agree, a smile spreading across your face.

Your sister chimes in, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “And look at them bonding over chopping wood,” she teases, nudging you playfully.

“Dad wasn’t this open when I brought my boyfriend home,” she states. Your sister is only two years younger than you but she’s with her boyfriend for 5 years now. When she brought him home, your dad was skeptical if he would be the one.

With Matty it was different. It’s only the second time you’re together at your home and your dad seems to really like him. He hasn’t said any judgmental comments or asked him thousands of questions, which is always a good sign.

“That’s probably because he realized that the both of you have made great decisions.” You laughed because it’s definitely not the truth. Your dad just found it easier with Matty.

Together, you watch as Matty and your dad continue their work until the logs are stacked up perfectly. “Finally, come and help me get the chairs out,” your mum says to your sister. She takes the last sip of her tea and hands the cup to you.

Both leave the room and only seconds later Matty comes in, pulling the gloves off his hands, laying them on the table. “Hey lumberjack,” you giggle.

“Lumberjack? More like fucking legend,” he jokes, lifting his arms to show his biceps, walking towards you. “Had fun out there, especially with you watching me like a stalker.”

His hands find your waist, the coldness of his finders radiating to your body. You smack his chest at his comment, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. "Please, you were practically posing out there," you retort, a teasing glint in your eye.

Matty tries to act offended, placing a hand over his heart. "I'll have you know, I take my wood-chopping very seriously," he declares, his tone overly dramatic.

You just laugh and get yourself a small kiss from his lips, humming as you pull away again.

As Matty's hands rest gently on your waist, you feel a shiver of anticipation run down your spine. His touch both comforting and electrifying, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your sides, sending tingles of pleasure dancing across your skin. “Should we join them?” He asks, nodding towards the laughing people outside.

“In one minute,” you argue, wrapping your hands around his back, hugging him.

Matty chuckles, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your lower back. "clingy much?" he teases, his voice playful.

You leaned back slightly, meeting his gaze with a playful grin. "Can you blame me?" You reply, your tone light but sincere.

His lips curl into a fond smile, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "Not at all," he admits, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You keep your head resting on his chest, meanwhile Matty watches as your dad tries to light the fire, the wind being a huge obstacle. “As much as I’m enjoying this, think we have to join your family.”

You groan as he removes his body from yours, kissing your cheek one more time to try to make this separation easier. He intertwines your fingers, walking outside the kitchen to join the others in the backyard.

“Matty,” your dad tells, “mind helping me light the fire?” He’s kneeling with a lighter and some tinder, to light the fire.

“Of course not,” you watch as Matty walks over to your dad, kneeling as well, holding his hands in front of the tinder, to keep the wind away.

Your other sister walks towards you with her boyfriends arms around her. In her hands, it’s Matty’s acoustic guitar. You look at her, lifting your eyebrows questioningly.

“Mum wants Matty to sing for us later,” she laughs, knowing it’s a bit awkward, “here.” She hands you the guitar, the material almost slipping through your hand. You lay it down gently against the wall, walking towards the chairs around the fire.

It’s 8pm when you’re all sitting around the fire, hands reaching out to the heat, trying to ignore the cold wind through your hair.

You pulled your chair right next to Matty’s so you can nuzzle into his comfortable jacket. “I can give you the jacket y’know?” He chuckles, his arm around your shoulder rubbing soothing circles into your arm.

You feel a warmth spreading through you, both from the jacket and the comforting presence of Matty beside you. "Nah, I like being close to you," you say, leaning into his touch.

Matty's smile widens, and he squeezes your shoulder gently. "Fair enough.”

Everyone’s busy talking, your mother discussing something with your sister, in their own world.

The fire lights up Matty’s face, his brown eyes glowing in the darkness.

You rest your head on Matty’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mingled with the smoky aroma of the fire. "You know," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mum really likes you."

Matty pulls back slightly, a surprised smile spreading across his face. "She does?" he asks, his eyes bright with curiosity.

You nod, a fondness shining in your eyes. "Yeah, she said you're the right one," you admit, feeling a surge of warmth at the memory of her mum's words.

Matty's smile widens, a hint of emotion tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, I'm glad to hear that," he replies, his voice soft with sincerity. "Because I think her daughter’s the one for me”

Your heart swells at his words, his head leaning down to give you a soft peck which follows by gagging sounds of your 13 year old brother. You just flip him off, making Matty giggle.

Some time passed, the crackling of the bonfire filling the night air, casting a warm glow over the gathered family. Blankets are draped over shoulders, laughter echoe in the darkness, and the scent of roasting marshmallows mingle with the crisp autumn breeze. It is a scene straight out of a storybook, where time seems to stand still and worries melted away in the flickering light.

After your mums request, Matty sits on a weathered log, his acoustic guitar resting comfortably in his hands. His fingers dance effortlessly over the strings, producing melodies that seemed to weave themselves into the fabric of the night. His voice, rich and soulful, filling the air as he sings ‘be my mistake’, each note carrying the weight of emotion.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you listen to the haunting beauty of Matty's voice. The vulnerability in his tone sending shivers down your spine, and you can’t help but be moved by the raw honesty of his performance.

Some times when you’re asleep Matty sits down next to you, to sing to you. Most of the times, it’s be my mistake and it’s definitely one of your favorites.

“He's incredible," your sister murmured in your ear.

“Truly talented," you agree, nodding in appreciation.

And when the song comes to an end, the silence that followed is filled with whispers of awe and admiration.

You lean in close to Matty, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You were amazing," you whisper, your voice filled with love and pride.

Matty smiles, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Thanks, love," he replies, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "I'm just glad I could share it with all of you."

It’s already pretty late, your brother’s the first ones having to go to bed and you can’t wait to finally leave as well.

As the warmth of the bonfire envelope you, Matty can’t help but notice how close you are every second. He leans in, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "You're awfully cuddly today," he remarks, his voice low and teasing.

His hand finds your thigh, squeezing it slightly, his touch driving you insane. You shudder and give him a look. “Matty,“ you mutter, trying to free your thigh from his grip but he’s very persistent.

You let your eyes trace over his profile; the strong, curved line of his nose, dark stubble that’s flecked with a little grey. He thinks it makes him look distinguished. He catches you watching him out of the corner of his eye and squeezes your thigh again, kneading the flesh there.

You shift in the seat, open your legs wider, encouraging him to move higher. You think about pressing your lips against the juncture of his throat, inching your own hand over the front of his jeans, wondering if he’s already half hard. “In front of your family?” He tuts, “you know better.”

You look around, making sure no one is aware of the scene, when you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Take me inside,” you lean back, watching his eyes go dark before whispering a quiet ‘please.’

You bite your lip, almost letting out a whine when his hands leaves your thigh, to run it through is curls. “Fucks sake,” he mutters, “you were the one telling me I need to behave, and what now?”

It’s true. Before you left the car you told him he cannot hit on you in front of your family and he didn’t but it’s slowly driving you crazy, missing his touch.

He turns his head away from you when your sister’s boyfriend starts talking to him about tour. It is the subtle tension in his demeanor, the vein pulsating on his neck as he speaks, that draws your attention.

With a sudden impulse, you reach out and gently take Matty's hand, guiding it to rest on your thigh beneath the cover of darkness. His fingers tighten around yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you as his gaze briefly meet yours, a spark of understanding flickering in the depths of his eyes.

“Behave,” he whispers, when your brother isn’t looking, too busy searching for his phone. You just stick your tongue at him, making him roll his eyes.

You fake a yawn, followed by you standing up, grabbing Matty’s hand, forcing him to stand up. “I think we’ll head to bed.” Matty glares at you, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile never leaving his mouth though. You thank your parents for everything and say your goodnight when you finally make your way into the house.

“You’re unbelievable you know that?” He says, following you into your room. The second the door is closed, you press him against the door, crashing your lips onto his. You don’t let him say anything else while you get rid of his jacket and his shirt under, tracing your hands all over his chest.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling your hands squeeze his bulge, “what’s gotten into you?”

You lead him to the bed but as fast as you’re on top of him the faster he has you on your back. “Are you out of your mind?” You bite down on his shoulder, “baby-“ he groans, pushing your head away from him. “C’mon, you know these walls are thin.”

You groan, knowing he’s right and you definitely don’t want an essay from your parents about how you should act. “Then be quiet, it’s not my fault you decided to touch my thigh and give me ‘fuck me’ eyes.” You roll your eyes dramatically.

“Fu- darling, can’t even look at you anymore without you getting all hot and bothered?” He smirks, “besides, we both know you can’t be quiet.”

“But I can,” it doesn’t come out as convincing as you wanted it too and Matty just raises his eyebrows, “c’mon just try okay? And when I’m not quiet we can stop.”

You place a hand on Matty’s chest. It’s crazy, but you can feel his heart pounding; the heavy rise and fall of his breath. He looks at you for a second, his lips on yours again. His hands finding your zipper and button of your jeans, opening them. He removes himself from you, pulling your pants down in one swift movement, then your panties.

His lips scrape against yours, parting so you can slip your tongue inside. Your lungs have left your body, leaving a hollow space in your chest, making it impossible for you to breathe. You feel lightheaded. But oh, the way he’s biting at your lips; tangling a hand in your hair and pressing against you. His leg is between your thighs and you practically melt on it, trying to grind on it, but he holds you down.

“Where did your patience go huh?” Your legs open to wrap around his waist. Matty groans, wanting to feel friction as well, grinding into your core one time.

He brings a finger to his lips; fixes you with a gaze that shows he’s serious. Be quiet. “I love nothing more than hearing you moan for me, not tonight love, be quiet okay?” You nod and gives you a kiss for your understanding.

You throw your head back and close your eyes. If you look at him for another second, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from moaning. Even with the simplest gestures, he drives you crazy. You feel Matty reach his hand down between your legs. “Fuck,” you whisper.

Two seconds in and he has you gasping for breath. If you were wet before, you’re positively dripping now. You dare to crack open your eyes. Matty’s face is stoic with concentration, fixating on you, trying to make you stay quiet, and you can’t believe how incredibly turned on it makes you. He bites his lip slightly, and you think you might pass out. Looking was a mistake, but you can’t tear your eyes off him.

“What am I gonna do with you?” His thumb is rubbing your clit, while his fingers pump in and out of you, leaving you gasping, suppressing your moans, “you’re dirty, can’t even stay a few days without me having to make you cum.”

You ride his fingers until you forget your own name, and you already feel the coil tightening inside you. You grab Matty’s shoulders, pulling him to lean down over you. He kisses you. Rough and sloppy and frantic. You let out the smallest whimper into his mouth as you cum, hard, clamping your legs around his fingers. “Didn’t know you can fucking listen,” his words are mean, teasing but his kisses say otherwise, praising you for being good.

“You’d do anything to cum,” he gets up, undressing his pants and getting rid of his boxers, only to be on top of you after only seconds, “can stay quiet again right? Can show me how good you can be?”

He puts a hand on your waist to steady you, and you feel him line up with your entrance. It takes everything not to scream as he slides into you. “Shh, love, you were a fucking beg, now take it.”

The stretch is intoxicating. You haven’t even recovered from your orgasm, but just the sight of him pausing after he’s buried inside of you, needing to collect himself, breathing hard. It’s enough to make you ache. “Please Matty.”

Matty is fucking into you, careful at first to stay quiet, but getting sloppier every second. He can’t pull out all the way for fear of slapping too loudly against your thighs, but the result is an incredible friction that has you soaring. You grab at his shoulders, his neck, and Matty lets you. When the pleasure has you tear open your eyes, you catch him watching you again. Enjoying the way you fall apart on his cock. It makes you clench around him even harder, and you catch the faintest whisper of a curse fall out of his lips as he leans forward, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” you half whisper, half moan.

His eyes shoot up, ready to punish you if you are loud again. “Fuck, fuck,” you whisper into his ear.

“You have a filthy mouth,” you moan at his statement, not being able to hold it in anymore and the second another moan threading to leave your mouth, a hand is slapped over your mouth, the side of it slotting just under your teeth. Your heart pounds as Matty leans in to whisper to you again. “Bite down if you need to, don’t make another fucking sound.”

He continues to thrust inside of you, his body somehow lowering to get even closer to yours. When he has gotten sufficiently near, he presses a kiss to the side of your mouth—now stuffed with his hand and leaking spit—and mutters something about how good you are for him, how nicely you fit around his cock.

Then he tilts his hips and proceeds to pound you into the bed like an animal in heat. Your ankles lock behind his back, and his nose settles next to yours, breathing hard.

He couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again. “C’mon, cum for me.”

Then, he doesn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adore his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car. Matty scrunches his nose up, ripping his hand out of your mouth, a bite mark very visible and some blood dripping down.

“Fuck, sorry,” you apologize, taking his hand, gazing at the wound you created. “Don’t be, did what I told you to.”

You reach for a tissue and try to clean his hand, Matty hissing every second the fabric touches his hand. “You’re a fucking bear with those teeth.”

You giggle, the sound is replaced by a whine when Matty pulls out of you. “Told you I can stay quiet,” you wink, pulling him in for a kiss.”

“We can be very lucky if no one gives us shit tomorrow,” it’s not regret in his voice but more like a thrilling sound. He loved the secret.

“Mhm, very lucky,” your sentence has a double meaning and Matty understands it immediately, laughing before grabbing his shirt, pulling it over your head.

“Your mind is in the fucking gutter love,” he walks to the drawer to but on a pair of boxers before picking you up. “Use the bathroom, I’ll be waiting.” You smile and waddle over to the bathroom, your legs still shaking and Matty watching you with a goofy grin on his face.

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic #matty healy smut #matty healy x you #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy oneshot #you do make me hard but she makes me weak

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lottiecrabie · 1 year ago

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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god-has-entered-my-body · 5 months ago

Text

Twist around the lounge - George Daniel & Matty Healy

A/N: i've been writing since 10am also this is barely spellchecked @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff ur a legendary beta thank u for fixing the fuckass formatting xx

wc: 5k

content warnings: super gay, smut, fluff, kissing, power dynamics, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, begging, teasing, threesome, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, so gay, pain kink, cumplay, sub! matty, switch(?)! george, shy G oh my god, they get high moments before they fuck so tw for that, allusions to pegging (i reckon that isn't even a warning but better be safe xx)

“What happened to ‘girls don’t roll their own spliffs?’” George comments as you drag your tongue along the paper, the question directed at Matty. You roll your eyes dramatically, holding your hand as George passes you the lighter and you flick it on, rotating for an even burn. Matty shakes his head from across you, adjusting his legs under him he wipes his thumb on the glass of the coffee table.

“There's some things I'm willing to give up.” he settles on a vague answer, eyes darting over your face as you chuckle at the implication. Your legs shift over George’s lap to a more comfortable position as you take the first drag, letting the smoke curl around you in pretty patterns.

Passing the lit spliff to Matty, you pick at your nails as you let the hazy sensation take over your body, though it's not quite as strong as you’d like.

A soft breeze from the open window kisses your skin and you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling. George lets his arms splay out on either side in a relaxed manner, sucking in a deep breath as he watches Matty inhale the smoke, his eyes drooping closed when it hits him, a lazy smile spreading onto his face.

Matty blows an O in your direction and you catch it like a kiss, shooting him a wink. Too distracted by you looking at him, Matty manages to fumble the spliff, letting it drop into the sliver of skin exposed by the mid-length black skirt he’s wearing.

“Fuck– shit, fucking bullshit-” he curses, brushing hot ash off his leg, hissing in discomfort.

“Hm, I thought you liked pain?” you joke, eyeing him up and down in a teasing manner, giggling quietly. George perks up slightly at your words, his eyes darting between you and Matty.

“Not like that, you know well enough the type I enjoy.” he breathes, wiping his fingers on his skirt to rid them of the black residue from the ash, going to take another drag.

You expect a fucked off groan from George, the typical annoyed expression you’re used to replaced by one of undeniable intrigue, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Matty looks up, a bit confused at the lack of conversation, a heavy silence falling over the three of you. George runs an unsteady hand through his hair as Matty blows smoke, his eyes getting visibly redder as the seconds tick by.

The silence is broken by George’s deep voice, timid and unsure.

“What do you mean he likes… uhm- pain?” The end of his sentence is punctuated by an uncharacteristic voice crack, your eyes narrowing at the odd question. It takes a few seconds for the words to finally register as Matty hands George the spliff, their hands lingering in a way that could be labeled as more than platonic if you looked close enough.

The more you look, the faster the gears in your head turn. You can see a thousand thoughts running through Matty’s mind as George stares at both of you, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the obscenity of the question. It finally clicks for Matty when he sees him looking at the bit of skin visible over the collar of his shirt, littered with multicolored hickeys and bite marks.

“Oh you know, just like….” you trail off, moving your legs from their position on George’s lap, sitting up in a more normal position.

“I like it when she pulls my hair.” Matty’s bluntness almost makes you cringe, but the feeling of embarrassment is curbed by the look on George’s face, his lips parted in surprise at the answer. The curly haired boy smirks at you mischievously, eyes flicking between you and George, waiting for one of you to answer.

“Oh, uhm– thats-” George stutters, his voice incredibly meek right before Matty cuts him off.

“Really fucking hot? Yeah, mate, you wouldn't believe.” your eyes widen at the conversation being held right now, and you try to gather your words to steer it away from whatever this was, hoping and praying Matty hadn't spooked George into never wanting to speak to either of you ever again.

“Yeah, it is.” George breathes, no stutter in sight as Matty watches his every move, acting accordingly. In what feels like a fraction of a second, you suddenly feel the weight of a body in your lap, and it takes a moment to realize its Matty, straddling you like George isn’t sitting two fucking feet away from you.

His lips catch yours in a searing hot kiss, all tongue and teeth as our mouths work against each other, quiet wet sound filling the space as you feel George’s eyes on you, shamelessly staring.

“See? I was right.” Matty murmurs against your lips, vaguely gesturing in the direction of an incredibly flustered George, his confidence unfaltering. You pull away for a few moments, cocking your head in confusion as you see him set the spliff down in the corner of your eye, bright pink ashtray glimmering in the dim light.

“Our little Georgie here,” he cuts himself off with another peck to your bruised lips before continuing. “likes to watch, don't you, love?” The pet name makes George visibly twitch, Matty’s sultry words evoking something primal in him, something he’d never felt before. You feel his hand trail down your chest, grazing over your nipples as he caresses your skin, his touch tantalizing. Turning your head slightly, you see a sight that will be ingrained into your frontal lobe until the day you die. Georges nods, confirming Matty’s suspicions and you gasp as curls brush under your jaw, hot lips pressed to your collarbones.

The energy in the room shifts dramatically as George makes a move towards the two of you. He opens his mouth to speak once, twice, until he finally manages to force a string of words out.

“W-what else–” Matty stops, turning towards him with a look of encouragement, nodding at the clearly nervous blonde.

“What else does she– does she do..?” The question is directed at Matty, his eyes avoiding you at all costs, too shy to even look at you properly.

“Fuck, she makes me hurt so good, m’dizzy even thinking ‘bout it.”

George's breath hitches and you can tell he's turned on by the way Matty moans the words, grinning maniacally at the both of you, this whole situation like a dream come true for him.

“See this?” Matty hooks his fingers into the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal a myriad of bruises and marks, flaunting them to George. You can see a small part of him wish George would touch him, run the rough pads of his fingers over his pale skin, maybe even press down onto the fresh splotches of color.

“Got a bit too annoying so she put me in my place, marked me up all pretty.” Endless nights spent holding him down, murmuring into his ear, your mouth attached to his throat as he whines spin in your head, the memories going straight between your legs as you absentmindedly spread them, and action not going unnoticed by Matty.

“Fucking hell.” George mutters, entranced by the scene in front of him, trying to convince himself he was dreaming. You don't even notice how close he really is until Matty grabs the edge of his half unbuttoned shirt, smashing his lips against his. A startled gasp escapes George before he melts into the kiss and Matty moans, licking into his mouth at a dizzying pace.

Your heart beats against your ribcage when George threads his dominant hand into his curls, tugging experimentally. The action is tentative, unsure, but Matty’s wanton groan spurs him on, a sudden rush of confidence making him pull harder, earning more sounds from him. A high pitched moan spills from Matty’s lips as George slips his tongue past them, the sight pornographic as you watch them, eyes darting between the two men.

Letting out a groan of protest when Matty pulls away, you catch the beginnings of a smirk right before George presses his lips to yours, his stubble scratching along your chin roughly. It feels different yet so, so fucking good as he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck, that's so hot.” Matty breathes, running his fingers through his hair, still perched in your lap as George continues kissing you frantically, wanting to feel every inch of your lips.

You barely notice Matty sinking to his knees while George keeps you busy, your eyes screwed shut tightly as a carnal desire takes over your body, lighting every fiber of it aflame. Both of them can visibly see how worked up you are the moment Matty slides your shorts down your thighs, your hips lifting to help him out. There's a visible wet patch on the front of your panties, one that makes George gasp when he sees it, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, don't stop on my account.” Matty pouts, not liking this you-and-George-not-kissing turn of events. George catches your lips again, the kiss searing hot as his hand finds your jaw, his chest pressed up to the side of your body.

“Gorgeous, isn't she?” you giggle at Matty’s words, letting one of your hands thread through his hair as he mouths along your thigh, licking over your clothed cunt. His fingers play with the hem of the cotton, making you shiver at the coldness of his fingers against your skin.

“You should see him in a bit of silk, takes your fucking breath away.” you whisper to George, quietly wondering if he did have a pretty little number on under that skirt of his.

“Fuck, seriously?” George says, almost to himself, looking down and locking eyes with Matty. Matty rests his cheek on your thigh, his fingers slowly pushing the fabric of your panties to the side.

“Shame I didn't have time to prepare, would've even gotten those pretty little garters out. Love those, don't you?” You nod, smiling at George as the mental image flickers in front of his eyes, fantasies running wild in his mind.

You feel rough fingers against the skin of your stomach, and you realize what the blonde is hinting at.

“Can I..” he trails off before he can even finish his sentence and you nod, urging him to rid you of the unnecessary material. A choked gasp spills from his lips when he realizes the lack of bra under your top, his hands shamelessly groping your tits as you moan, fingers toying with your nipples meanly.

His mouth finds the space between your tits, leaving aggressive marks in his wake as Matty watches the scene in front of him unfold, licking his bottom lip. Matty’s fingers dip under your underwear, applying pressure to your clit making your hips buck upward, searching for more pleasure as Matty grins up from below you.

“Fuck– you’re so tight.” he murmurs as his digits sink into you, stroking against your walls at a dizzying pace, your head spinning at the blinding ecstasy.

A desperate moan escapes you as George feels you up, your chest looking eerily similar to Matty’s as your nails dig into the cushions of the sofa, your feeble attempt at grounding yourself. Matty presses soft kisses to the inside of your thigh as you writhe under his touch, sucking lightly and leaving similar marks to George, if not a bit less harsh.

“Matty, please– m’so close.” you whine, cut off by George’s lips against yours, all the oxygen in your lungs being knocked out of them in a split second, leaving you feeling weightless. Your vision is blurry as your orgasm approaches, the coil in your belly winding impossibly tight as Matty’s hand reaches up to graze your stomach reassuringly. A rough hand grabs yours and you open your eyes fully to realize it's George’s, smiling softly as Matty brings you to that delicious edge.

You cum with a whimper of his name, gripping the blonde’s hand so tightly you might've cut off the blood supply to his fingertips, pleasure washing over you in tidal waves, your hips unabashedly grinding down onto Matty’s fingers.

It takes a few minutes for you to properly come to, your chest heaving with effort as Matty kisses your thighs sweetly, gazing up into your eyes. A beat of silence passes between the three of you as you and Matty exchange silent conversation, George blinking rapidly at what he had just witnessed. He still felt like he was dreaming, his whole body floating above the mortal plane as you move to get up, Matty shuffling to the side to make his way between George’s legs, giving you space to do the same.

“You don't have to– I can just-” he stutters, so unsure of himself it's adorable, his face flushed a deep shade of red. You smile to yourself as Matty speaks, his confident tone having a visible effect on the boy above you.

“Do you want us to? Because I want you both so fucking bad.” Matty’s hands grope George's thighs, playing with the buckle of his belt cheekily as he peers up at him, his eyes dancing with desire.

“Let him take these off you, hm?” You trace your fingers over his stomach where his shirt had ridden up slightly, making him twitch. The movement reminds you of Matty, yet still starkly different.

“Yeah, okay– fuck.” he groans as delicate hands unbuckle his belt, the clinking of metal making your heart thrum in your chest in anticipation. Matty’s fingers start unbuttoning his jeans, stealing a glance at your face, signaling you to take over. George’s cock is hard, precum leaking from his tip as he strains against his grey boxers, a sight you commit to memory

Matty’s now free hands grip the back of your head, pulling you into a messy kiss, so clearly for show it makes your head spin at the mere implication that George was getting turned on from watching you. Your hand finds the front of George’s boxers, palming his cock through them as soft groans fill the room, his legs shaking at the sudden stimulation.

“So ready for us, hm? Should've done this earlier if it got me that.” Matty gestures to the blonde's face, scrunched up in ecstasy as you take him out of the confines of his underwear, fisting the base of his cock. Settling into a more comfortable position on your knees, you take the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as George gasps, screwing his eyes shut in pleasure.

Matty takes the few spare seconds to grab at the hem of his shirt, sliding it off of him to reveal his bare chest, glistening with sweat and adorned in tattoos. The sight of him half naked never ceases to make you stutter, the low rise of his skirt only adding to the inherent erotic energy surrounding him.

It takes effort to take all of him into your mouth, Matty watching intently as you choke, sputtering on his cock with spit dribbling down your chin obscenely.

“Look how well she’s taking you, feels so fucking good I bet.” Matty reaches down to touch himself to the scene in front of him, letting his face fall onto one of George's thighs. Soft whimpers and moans spill from his lips, barely audible over George’s masculine groans, the juxtaposition making you feel lightheaded as one of his hands finds its way to the top of your head, resting there.

“Please– fuck, feels so good. Keep doing tha- ohhh shit, fuck.” The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag. Matty presses an encouraging hand to your lower back. One glance up makes your breath hitch. George isn’t looking at you, but at Matty, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his velvety skirt, squeezing himself through his underwear. The air is charged with lust, the eye contact between the two men so intense you can feel it in your bones.

Matty’s eyes are glazed over with desperation, the sight of you getting George off fulfilling every fantasy he’s ever had. He’s sure nothing could ever top this, silently begging this wouldn't be the last time it would happen. Matty brushes strands of hair out of your face, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek as you deepthroat George, tears threatening to spill at the effort.

You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, a low groan following as his hand goes slack in your hair, his hips bucking involuntarily. Sincere apologies spill from his lips and you pull off him, wiping your mouth and assuring him everything was alright, offering him a sickeningly sweet smile like you didn't just have his cock down your throat.

“Make him cum, darling, I wanna see him cum– shit.” Matty whines, eyes begging you. You nod, a smirk spreading onto your face as you take George back into your mouth, his immediate groans of pleasure letting you know just how close he really is. Matty watches as you manage to not gag, making George throw his head back in ecstasy, moaning your name like a prayer.

The thing that finally does him in? Matty’s hand grazing over the skin of his arm, making him spill into your mouth with a cry, the musky taste of his cum filling your senses. George shakes, actually shakes at the force of his orgasm, hair sticking to his forehead. An idea pops into your head moments before you swallow, and you turn your head to Matty, tapping his bottom lip with your index finger.

Matty’s eyes widen as he realizes what you want to do, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he opens it. You let cum drop into his mouth, some of it missing and hitting his lips, a pornographic moan ripping itself from Matty’s throat at the salty, distinct taste of George.

“Love tasting you on my tongue, shit.” Matty mutters at George, growing impossibly harder at the eroticism of it all, his cock visibly tenting his skirt.

You lick a stripe up the side of his neck, bringing your wet lips to his ear and whispering into it.

“Get up on the sofa for me baby, let's get you off.” you speak, your words sultry and coated with thick honey, making both Matty and George shiver.

The curly haired boy nods frantically at your request, scrambling up to find his seat next to George, still panting from his recent orgasm, and the proximity to Matty definitely not helping his current state. You let out a sigh Matty knows all too well, searching your expression to decode what you really meant. It clicks for him when your eyes flicker over to George’s lap, grinning wildly as he clocks it, draping one of his legs over George in a heartbeat.

Using his body weight to hoist himself to a sitting position, he relishes in the surprised sounds George makes, stuttering over his words while trying to process the events unfolding. Something shifts when Matty makes direct eye contact with him, that sight probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“God, you’re so pretty.” George mutters, his lips inches away from Matty’s as they both breathe heavily.

“He is, isn't he?” you grin, your thoughts running wild as your eyes dart around the space, your breath hitching when they land on the discarded leather belt right in front of you, innocent and unassuming.

Matty is the one who initiates the kiss, immediately taking George’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down meanly as the blonde gasps into his mouth, pupils completely blown out. Both of them are completely breathless, too caught up in each other to notice you get up and circle around to stand behind Matty, leather in hand.

Matty’s eyes fly open when he feels you grab his arms suddenly, the belt clamped between your teeth as you pull them back, a small yelp spilling from his lips. George notices your movements, knitting his eyebrows in confusion before he realizes that you’re restraining him, the thought making his heart race. The metal clinking is deafeningly loud as his movement is restricted, a high-pitched whine leaving Matty.

“He loves this, look at how hard he is.” you say, your lips pressed to George’s ear as Matty’s hips twitch, bucking up against nothing, desperate for any kind of friction. He’s been hard for the better part of an hour now, watching and talking but never getting off. You see George hesitate, his hand ghosting over the bulge under his skirt while Matty yearns for his touch, eyes pleading with both of you simultaneously.

“Touch him baby, promise he doesn't bite.” you coo, letting your fingers linger on the leather, tracing the small designs of the belt.

“Unless you want me to.” he bites his lip at George, earning a chuckle from both you and him. The lip bite, despite being ironic, still made something in you stir.

“I don’t know how– i’ve never-” George whispers, deathly afraid of messing up, afraid of ruining this perfect moment.

“It's alright love, just–” Matty speaks, cocking his head in a sweet manner as George looks at him, red dusting his otherwise pale cheeks.

“Do what you do to yourself when you’re alone, yeah?” Matty reassures him, writhing against the restraints as George tentatively palms his cock over the velvety material.

The thought of George getting himself off is something you file away for later, the mental imagine making the heat between your legs grow exponentially, and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of that pressure.

“Ah, fuck.” Matty whimpers, and you see the blonde flipping the fabric of his skirt up against his stomach, the clothing bunching up at his waist.

“Look how much he wants you, basically begging for you to get him off.” you speak slowly, drinking in the scene in front of you with a primal hunger, the bulge in Matty’s boxers adorned with a wet patch on the front of them.

“So responsive, isn’t he?”

Matty whimpers as George finally reaches into his boxers, taking him out and wrapping a hand around his leaking cock, beads of precum bubbling at the tip. George mirrors the movements he uses on himself, eyes searching the other boy’s expression for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he’s met with a blissed out Matty, face contorting in pleasure as George’s hand works him, using his precum as lube.

“Hear that?” you speak, taking in Matty writhing against George, wet lips parted as his eyes droop shut in ecstasy, wanton whines filling the room. You can see abandoned spliff in the ashtray across from you, last remnants of smoke curling in the air as the weed goes to waste, reminding you of how this situation even came to be.

“Those are the same noises he makes when I fuck him.” Your inflection makes the sentence all the more erotic as George stares at both of you wide-eyed, scenes playing out in his mind like a film.

“Y-you-” He stutters and you nod, Matty’s face flushing in a way you don't quite recognise. He’s embarrassed. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as you realize this, finally finding his Achilles heel. That spot was George.

“Yeah, and he takes it, takes whatever I give him. He’ll take whatever you give him, too.” A choked whine leaves Matty’s lips as you speak about him like he isnt even there. He leans forward, resting his cheek in the crook of George’s neck as he makes eye contact with you, fucking panting like a dog in heat.

“Shit, your hand feels so fucking good.” Matty whimpers, his cock twitching in George's grip as he speeds up his movements, basking in the curly haired boy's praise. Sweat makes Matty’s curls stick to his forehead, his bare chest glistening in the dim light of the living room. You watch as George gets him off, so blatantly turned on by the boy in his lap that it's genuinely laughable.

“Let me see you, wanna see your pretty face.” George mutters against Matty’s hair, catching you both by surprise. Matty pulls back, a clear look of arousal at the boy’s words, his lips parted in a way that shows you he’s so, so close to the edge it's physically painful for him.

“Make me cum, please– i’m so fucking close, feels so good, G, fuckk.” Matty braces himself as you trail your fingers up and down his spine, shivers blooming through his whole body as his orgasm rushes at him full throttle. George’s hand squeezes his cock roughly, the slight note of pain sending white-hot pleasure straight to Matty’s lower half, making him moan desperately as George murmurs against his jaw.

The audible sounds of frustration as Matty pulls at the belt restraining his arms is incredibly hot, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe along his throat as he gasps, the stimulation feeling like pure heaven

“That's it, baby, let go for us, doing so well.” George groans, his commanding tone of voice sending Matty hurling over the edge, his orgasm crashing over him so violently tears start to stream down his face as he cums all over George’s stomach and his own, panting their skin as you watch, a soft noise slipping past your lips.

George works Matty through his high, watching every reaction, expression, and movement he offers him, his hand steadily slowing down as Matty’s full body twitches subside, high.pitched pants and whines spilling from his lips as he closes his eyes, basking in the afterglow.

“Fuck- that was.”

“The hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” You smirk, finishing his sentence for him with a cheeky wink. It takes a few beats for George to fully come down from his power trip, eyes darting between you and Matty as he registers the compromising position he is currently in. You notice his slight panic, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, acting as his tether to reality.

“Is this going to happen again?” The question is heavy on the three of you for a moment, but eye contact with Matty tells you he already has an answer.

“Do you want it to?” Though he is still restrained, Matty is as cocky as ever, raising his eyebrows at George in a teasing manner. You watch as George gathers his words, your heart thrumming against your ribcage in anticipation.

“That depends,” George says, sounding confident.

“Depends on what?” Matty cocks his head and you mirror the movement, equally as confused at his statement. The curly haired boy is still out of breath, his panting ruining the calm and collected demeanor he tries so desperately to portray.

“Depends if you take it as well as she says you do.” he gestures to you, your smirk growing as Matty flushes a deep shade of crimson, squirming under George’s touch as he rests his hands on his velvet covered hips. You chuckle quietly before answering, making deliberate eye contact with George and George only.

“Oh trust me, my sweet G, he does.”

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