#Eat fruits with high blood sugar

[spectrumorb]

Control High Blood Sugar: 7 Fruits With Low Glycemic Index To Keep Diabetes Under Control | Health News

Control High Blood Sugar: 7 Fruits With Low Glycemic Index To Keep Diabetes Under Control | Health News

High blood sugar, or diabetes, occurs when the body is resistant to insulin or does not produce enough insulin, and the most common form of diabetes in adults is type 2 diabetes. According to the World Health Organization, diabetes is the leading cause of blindness, kidney failure, heart attack, stroke and lower limb amputation. Controlling blood sugar is very important, failure can have serious…

[lifechangingtips]

How to Get More Fiber Into Your Diet

Incorporating More Fiber into Your Daily Meals: A Comprehensive Guide If you’re looking to give your health a boost, one of the best places to start is by ramping up your fiber intake. You see, fiber is a bit of a superstar when it comes to our health. It aids digestion, helps control blood sugar levels, lowers cholesterol, and even helps you feel fuller for longer, which can be a big help if…

[girlwithrituals]

GLOW UP GUIDE FOR 2025⠀

READ: On average, it takes more than 2 months before a new behavior becomes automatic — 66 days to be exact. And considering that 2025 is precisely these many days away, why not start with our glow up plan already?

Physical Glow Up-

BODY

— 5-10K steps a day.

— 7-8 hours of sleep.

— workout everyday for 1 hr atleast- yoga/stretching/pilates/cardio. a workout may take one hour, but your mood will be boosted for the next 12 hours.

— posture training.

— sunlight exposure after waking up for at least 10 minutes.

NUTRITION

— 2-3 liters of water every day.

— limit your caffeine intake.

— avoid sugars as much as you can.

— high protein diet, pre and probiotics.

— more fruits and veggies (+ green smoothies if you like).

— no junk/processed food/trans fat.

— no eating after 8 pm.

SKINCARE

— be clear on your skin type (oily, dry, combination, sensitive).

— once you're clear, use these accordingly- cleanser, toner, targeted serum, eye cream, moisturizer, sunscreen (≥50 spf).

— keep your bedding clean as well.

— no picking of skin on your lips, cuticle etc.

— gua sha to help improve blood circulation and lessen toxins.

— cold therapy may take three to five minutes of being uncomfortable, but your energy levels will be boosted for the rest of the day.

— remove makeup before you go to bed.

BODY CARE

— shower every day.

— exfoliate 2x a week.

— use body lotion (shea butter/aloe vera gel/coconut oil).

HAIR CARE

— wash hair 2-3x a week

— oil your scalp 2x a week, at least 3 hours before shampoo.

— hair mask 1x per week.

— never brush wet hair.

— use silk pillow case.

HYGIENE

— brush your teeth 2x a day, clean tongue and the roof of the mouth daily.

— floss daily.

— cut your nails 1x a week, never remove the cuticles.

— glycolic acid under arm for odor and discoloration.

— never use soap on your coochie.

Mental Glow Up-

MINDSET

— set clear goals- define and breakdown your aspirations.

— start your mornings with positive affirmations.

— surround yourself with uplifting content and people.

— be shamelessly selfish to your career and mental health, remove anyone or anything that doesn't align with your priorities and wellbeing.

— boost your brain health by these 4 neuroscience tools:

difficult first: start your day with the most difficult task (cortisol and dopamine are high in the body meaning that your body/mind is primed to work).

rest your eyes: introduce a micro-pause after learning by resting/closing your eyes - will help retain information better.

tomorrow's worries: write tomorrow's to-do list before bed as it is proven to be effective in helping you fall asleep.

find time to play: engage in low-stake play. can be anything you find fun but where the outcome doesn't matter (induces neuroplasticity + reduces stress).

MIND

— meditation might take as low as ten minutes, but your focus will be improved for the rest of the day.

— no social media after waking up and at least an hour before bed.

— keep aside 1 hr of time to read daily! reading a new book may take five hours, but you will keep the knowledge forever.

— journaling, gratitude.

— digital detox once a week or for 12 hours.

— limit unnecessary screentime, unfollow or cut off people you don't want to see.

JOURNALING

— choose a regular time each day to journal, making it a part of your routine.

— find a quiet, comfortable place free from distractions. light a candle if you want.

— allow your thoughts to flow without censoring or editing.

— write about your feelings and emotions to understand them better. write about things you are thankful for to boost your mood. write about your short-term and long-term goals. identify what triggers certain emotions or reactions

— set a timer for 5-10 minutes and write continuously during that time.

— reflect on both positive experiences and challenges.

— make lists, journal your thoughts on these questions.

— journal at night to clear your mind before bedtime, because emotions and thoughts lose their power once we acknowledge them.

— a gratitude practice may take five minutes, but your mindset will be shifted for the rest of the day.

AFFIRMATIONS

— customise affirmations to your needs.

Personal Life-

WEEKLY TASKS

— initiate small changes: begin with small, manageable tasks such as making your bed or cleaning your room every sunday.

— celebrate your success: reward yourself when you achieve your goals or have a consistently productive week. consider treats like buying flowers for yourself or watching your favorite show.

DAILY WORK

— set achievable goals: establish realistic goals for the day, week, or month ahead.

— track your progress.

— organise your work space, declutter your shelves etc.

— embrace the power of lists: keep a list of tasks to be done and their deadlines. this way, you start each day with a clear plan. to make it visually appealing and motivating, consider using productivity apps like evernote, habit tracker, or notion.

PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

— wake up early.

— plan ahead everything, do scheduling. you can use:

google calendar / notion / tasks .

— if the task takes less than 2 minutes to finish, do it immediately.

— countdown rule, if you are procrastinating, count 1-2-3-4-5 and jump.

— start slow, don't rush and try to do everything at one time.

— follow a proper routine, use app locks based on screentime.

— pomodoro technique, 25 min work, and 5 min break.

— schedule longer break times as well e.g 30 min nap.

[genderqueerdykes]

i just think it's bullshit that alternative meats, milks, eggs, breads, and other foods are prohibitively expensive. like i don't know how to tell people that not everyone who eats vegan or vegetarian is choosing to eat that way because of their moral beliefs- a lot of people are eating these foods because they have food allergies or intolerances, or have other gastrointestinal issues

i don't have a choice. it's downright cruel to make these different options more expensive. there is no one size fits all diet- every single person needs a unique diet and some folks literally have no choice but to utilize these substitutes. some vegetarians cant digest soy. some vegetarians can't eat beans. i also don't know how to tell you that not every vegetarian or vegan can ingest raw vegetables and fruits, or even cooked ones, for that matter

there are a LOT of health conditions like irritable bowel syndrome, gastroparesis, crohns disease, and other gastrointestinal issues that can cause a person to become very sick or even die if they ingest too much raw plant matter, especially vegetables high in fiber. when these fibers cannot be broken down by a person's digestive system, they can form blockages in the intestines and kill people. not every person on this planet benefits from eating a lot of leafy greans. some people are allergic to chlorophyll. some people are allergic to citric acid. diabetic people have to be careful with certain vegetables and fruits causing spikes or dips in blood sugar, and many people with diabetes end up with gastroparesis, or similar gut issues. there are a lot of reasons why people can't just switch to a diet of salads and fruit smoothies every day.

alternative foods need to be available to everyone, regardless of how much income they make. having safer alternative foods should not be relegated to the rich. these are not just being consumed by spiritual white moms on instagram. these foods need to be accessed by disabled people all over the world.

[thehauntedetheral]

Yan Husband x Pregnant Reader ~

Requests are open!

• You and your husband has been married for 3 years and you have a happy marriage that your life couldn't get any better

• Until one day you realise your period has been late a few weeks. You take a pregnancy test and found out you guys are gonna become parents.

• You told yan about your pregnancy and now you are the happiest couple in world. You always thought yan husband is very protective? Well get ready darling because this man is gonna get double protective and stress out about every single thing till the baby is born.

• Yan Husband who hires the most famous, experienced and expensive gynecologist in city.

• Buys every pregnancy book available and remembers every single thing mentioned in it

• Food cravings? My love he would go buy anything even at middle of night. But you wanted from that specific shop? Well then he is going to make owner open the shop and make food for you at the middle of night no in between.

• Makes the most nutritious breakfast, lunch, dinner by himself. Makes you eat fruits, homemade smoothies that even professional fitness coaches plan is colourless compared to his.

• Reads so many pregnancy articles, cases and watches video. The only thing remaining now is getting a medical degree which he thinks upon to get just in case which you have to put a stop on.

• Constantly checking your blood pressure, sugar levels, pulse that he has become personal doctor of yours.

• Going with you on walks, doing yoga together.

• Buys all the baby stuff with the most safety guarantee even if the price is ridiculous. When it comes to you and baby nothing is expensive.

• Takes leave from work or work from home throughout your pregnancy. Won't let you go out of his sight.

• Won't even let you lift a finger and you are thinking about continuing job? THAT'S JUST STRAIGHT UP NO.

• Baby proofs that whole house. Always looking up at nutritious recipes for pregnant ladies on internet.

• Buys everything that he finds adorable and spending unnecessarily very high that you have to sit him down and explain the budget but still doesn't listen.

• Wants Baby to look like you because you are the most beautiful person in this world for him.

• Attends every doctor's appointment with you like a ritual and bores doctor to death with his constant questions about your pregnancy. Don't be surprised if you find him talking to doctor and asking a question at two in night.

• Talks and kisses to your baby bump everyday and mostly talk about you to baby telling how much lucky he is to have you and how much he loves you both.

• Has multiple panick attacks through out your pregnancy just thinking about you and baby's safety.

• When your water broke and the contraction begins he is just a centimetre away from having a heart attack.

• When you are under going labour threatens doctor that if anything happens to you or the baby the doctor will become a dead body.

Requests are open!

Read more yandere fics:

[an4stitties]

back to sch00l with an 3d

below: tips, diet (+ recipes), & workout

❤︎₊ ⊹ studying is soo important and sometimes dis0rdered eating gets in the way, so we have to do everything we can to avoid brain fog while maintaining high grades!

tips:

make sure you’re getting enough electrolytes! you can do that by drinking lots of sparkling water (or if you don't like the taste of sparkling, mix electrolyte packets into water)

eat nutritious foods! some good l0w cāl options are fruits and veggies, eggs, berries, and more

sleep is soo important to keep your brain running!! try to get at least 9 hours or more every night + sleeping helps with avoiding f00d cravings!

even if you don’t eat the rest of the day, you need to have a protein rich breakfast! that way, you’ll have plenty of energy and your blood sugar will remain low, so you’ll feel satisfied for longer

exercise is a must! every time you feel braing f0g coming, go on a walk!! you have to move your body, whether it's for 10 minutes or an hour (more on that below)

caffeine is your best friend! drink your coffee without sugar, but feel free to add a pinch of cinnamon instead!! if you don't like your coffee black, pour in some milk (either almond, coconut, or oat)

dress warm and comfortable!! being sk1nny means being cold all the time and you don't want to get sick!

don't beat yourself up for e4ting. we all make mistakes and sometimes we have to listen to our bodies and prioritise our wellbeing. just do better next time.

— ❤︎₊ ⊹

diet:

❤︎₊ ⊹ breakfast

coffee with almond milk and a pinch of cinnamon (20c4ls) + two poached/boiled eggs with vegetables (160c4ls) or 250g greek nonfat yogurt with berries (160c4ls)

❤︎₊ ⊹lunch

have two rice cakes, with a tablespoon of greek yoghurt each and use fruit/vegetables as toppings (100c4ls) + green tea with lemon to help with digestion (0c4ls)

❤︎₊ ⊹ dinner

100g canned tuna (strained of water), cucumbers, tomatoes and bell peppers (170c4ls) + lemon or cucumber water (0c4ls)

❤︎₊ ⊹ snacks

choose any three (all are 50c4ls)

40g green olives

thinly sliced cucumber with 25g sour cream

loads of veggies

one sliced apple with cinnamon

rice cake with strawberries/raspberries

cucumber with eggwhites

bunch of berries and a piece of dark chocolate

70g frozen grapes

cucumber with 60g greek yoghurt, season with red pepper flakes

total: 650-700 c4ls

— ❤︎₊ ⊹

workout:

try to walk at least 5k steps every day, focus on low impact, fat burning workouts like pilates and yoga, and remember to drink plenty of water

my workout routine

❤︎₊ ⊹ abs — 25 leg lifts — 25 stretch crunches (regular crunch, but arch your back when you lay down) — 30 russian twists — 2 minute plank

❤︎₊ ⊹ legs + butt — 100 side leg lifts (on each leg) — 50 lunges (25 on each leg) — 50 fire hydrants (each side) — 50 butt kicks — 30 squats — 25 hip thrusts

❤︎₊ ⊹ arms — 50 arm circles — 20 arm pushes (forward) — 20 arm pushes (upwards)

fav youtube workout channels

— move with nicole — lilly sabri — madeleine abeid — growwithjo — daisy keech — gloria song

alright, that's it for now. taking requests, so please lmk what you'd like to see next <33 this is like my fourth time reuploading !

(inspired by the lovely @h0neysugarfree)

pics from 📌

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

You may notice I frequently comment on the assumptions people make about animal facilities based on their branding. Frequently, people assume accredited facilities are inherently better for animals than unaccredited facilities, or assume sanctuaries are inherently more moral / better at caring for their animals than zoos.

I want to show you an example of why I am always, always skeptical of these assumptions.

If you’re in the California area, you might have heard about Hank the Tank - who is actually a Henrietta, btw - the 500 pound nuisance bear from Lake Tahoe who broke into 21 homes in search of food. She was recently captured by wildlife officials and moved to a sanctuary in Colorado. The Wild Animal Sanctuary has three main facilities, two in Colorado and one in TX. To give you some context, it’s the biggest carnivore sanctuary in the country - they advertise somewhere between 300-500 animals, mostly large carnivores, between their properties. It’s where most of the Tiger King cats went. It’s PETA’s preferred placement for confiscated exotic animals. So, obviously, it’s got to be great, right? Except… take a look at what they posted about Henrietta’s arrival.

Here’s their post about Henrietta’s arrival at the Refuge, the large facility in Colorado that isn’t open to the public. Let’s take a closer look at that food trough…

What do we see here? An entire rotisserie chicken that is either blackened or highly seasoned, and a whole ham. Maybe a second chicken underneath the pile, I can’t quite tell. The sanctuary gets the majority of their bear food donated from groceries stores once it’s past the sell-by date, so we know those are older meats and they’re full of a ton of salt. Then, for fruit and veg, there’s a cantaloupe, mango, corn, avocado, grapes, and apples. Maybe a pepper or two, it’s hard to tell. That’s a lot of sugar and not a lot of fiber or roughage.

But… on top of it and to the right… are those Twizzlers?

Yes.

The sanctuary confirmed on Facebook that they fed this recently rescued obese bear what looks like almost an entire pack of Twizzlers.

I don’t know of any world in which it’s appropriate to feed candy to a bear. Maybe a piece or two as a really high value reinforcer for hard behaviors (that isn’t relevant here, it’s openly against this sanctuary’s ethos to do any husbandry or medical training). An entire pack of Twizzlers is just appalling. But it’s not uncommon for this facility! I have a book written about their operations and animal care (that I bought at their gift shop this spring) which openly discusses how the bears get fed bread, doughnuts, marshmallows, and all sorts of incredibly unhealthy food that comes in with the grocery donations.

But hey, this is apparently fine for the bears, according to the sanctuary’s founder. He was quoted in that same book as saying “Bears are the only animal I know of that can eat insane amounts of sugar and it never hurts them. It does not hurt their organs. They do not get clogged arteries. They do not have high blood pressure. In the wild they eat all these sweet berries in the fall, and they convert sugar to fat… so the more sugar they get the better… we would all love to have a system like that!”

Now while it’s true that bears have physiological adaptations that modulate their insulin production and sensitivity in ways that appear to prevent them from from developing diabetes, that does’t mean it’s healthy for them to regularly eat processed carbohydrates, sugar, and general junk food. And remember - Henrietta gained her fame because of how incredibly overweight she already is, and because she was seeking out human food, According to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, a healthy weight for a normal adult black bear is between 100-300 pounds. So, obviously, the best thing to do is… continue to feed her candy.

Then, later on in the book, it details how they have to bribe a camel to sit tight for a regular medical examination (since they don’t train for medical behaviors) by letting him drink a can of Mountain Dew each time.

If a zoo was known publicly to be feeding their animals Mountain Dew or a couple Twizzlers - even just once, on a rare occasion - they’d be eviscerated in the media and by public opinion. But feeding out inappropriate junk food appears to be a pretty common practice at this place, and it just goes unscrutinized because everyone assumes sanctuaries are inherently better for animals.

So, long story short, never make assumptions about the quality of a facility based on it’s branding or accreditation. (TWAS is accredited by the Global Federation of Animal Sanctuaries). If you have concerns about the ethics or practices of a facility, always try to put your preconceptions aside, go and see for yourself, and think critically about what you see and what you’re told.

[girlactionfigure]

Ten Tips for an Easy Yom Kippur Fast

Fasting doesn’t necessarily mean suffering. There’s quite a bit we can do to alleviate the bodily and mental stress that normally accompanies a fast. The day before the fast, follow the following guidelines:

1. Cut down your caffeine intake to minimize headaches. That means stop drinking coffee, tea, and cola at least eight hours before the fast, and preferably twenty-four hours before the fast.

2. Avoid salty, spicey, and fried foods on the day before the fast.

3. Avoid white sugar, white flour, and white rice. Eat whole-grained foods such as brown rice and whole-wheat bread or challa.

4. Drink a lot of water all day long.

5. Eat a good breakfast that includes fruits, veggies, eggs or sardines, and whole grains.

6. The pre-Yom Kippur meal (se’uda mafseket) should include baked or broiled fish, a veggy salad, consomme, a small portion of chicken or turkey, and a side dish of complex carbohydrates. Substitute sweet deserts with watermelon or other water-retaining fresh fruit, and a cup of herb tea with a whole-grain cookie.

On Yom Kippur:

7. The more you immerse yourself in prayer, the less you’ll think about food.

8. Rest between prayers. Don’t run around outside, especially in the hot sun. Save your voice for prayers. Idle talking will make you thirstier, and will detract from the holiness of the day.

After the fast:

9. Drink two glasses of water, and then eat solids gradually, so as not to shock the digestive system. Begin with fruit, like plums or grapes. The worst thing people do is to consume pastries and soft drinks, or “lekach un bronfan” (cake and liquor) right after the fast (these are unhealthy anytime, all the more so right after the fast when they give your body a shock of glucose).

10. Forty-five minutes to an hour afterwards, one can eat a balanced meal with protein, carbohydrates, and vegetables. After eating, relax for an hour with your favorite book (preferably Gemara of the laws of Succoth from Shulchan Oruch) and your favorite beverage, then begin constructing your Succa.

Attention diabetics, heart patients, folks with high blood pressure, and people whose health depends on regular medication - you must be especially careful to ask your doctor if you are capable of fasting, and then consult with your local rabbi, giving him the doctor’s exact opinion. For many such people, it is a mitzva not to fast on Yom Kippur.

[crippledpunks]

if you try to police disabled peoples' diets INCLUDING how they spend their money on food: i just want to ask why? what do you gain from this? like seriously, what do you actually gain from displaying holier-than-thou behavior toward another person's spending and dietary habits? who cares if you would spend your money "better"? you're not them. this is a form of abuse. you literally have no idea what the disabled person can safely digest and actually gains nutrients and energy from. you have no clue, even if you share the same disorder, you are not that person, nor are you their gastroenterologist or other specialist.

telling disabled people to "eat healthier," "eat more salads," "eat more fresh fruits," "eat more fresh vegetables," "eat more grains," and so on can not only be outwardly dangerous for people who have digestive issues like inflammatory bowel diseases, gastroparesis, irritable bowel disease, acid reflux, a history of ulcers, gastritis, and a long list of other digestive health issues, it can outright kill someone if they form a blockage. this can also injure, sicken or kill diabetics, people with non-diabetic low or high blood sugar, blood pressure issues, kidney and liver issues, and many other people.

not only that but you're potentially forcing a neurodivergent person to eat foods that nauseate, sicken, or disgust them, and for what? autistic people know what foods are safe for them to eat. adhd people need to find finds they can manage to keep in their homes without spoiling. dissociative people, people with ADHD, head trauma, develeopmental disorders, other people with memory issues, dementia, alzheimers, psychotic people, and other mental and cognitive health issues need foods they can prepare safely, because many mentally ill and neurodivergent people can't safe;y cook without risk of injury or damage to their home.

people who deal with allergies and intolerances are constantly struggling with being told how to eat when they are the ones who know their experience the most. NOBODY gives a fuck about people with allergies and literally nobody takes food intolerances seriously. i can't digest animal products OR byproducts anymore. i lost the ability. but sometimes i question "maybe i can try it again because this food is cheaper." well. i decided i was spending too much on groceries due to inflation and bought cow's milk instead of almond milk and got so sick it was something i had never seen before. i do NOT need to prioritize "saving money" over eating foods i can safely digest. i had an IBS attack early this morning because i ate some cheese- because it is a "cheap, easy source of protein."

some disabled people need to use certain services like pre-prepared foods being delivered to their homes, be it meals on wheels, or hello fresh. guilting these people for using the services because they could "just cook at home" is insulting to say the least. many of these services have tailored meals with consistent ingredients with limitations on contaminants with allergens.

here's the big one that everyone fucking hates but needs to accept immediately: some disabled people are too exhausted, in pain, dissociated, psychotic, unable to focus, unable to follow instructions, or in other ways unable to cook for themselves and need to use food delivery services like doordash and uber eats.

some disabled people can't or don't want to drive due to their disabilities! blind disabled people exist! para- and quadriplegics exist! people with hand tremors exist! working disabled people exist! amputees exist! disabled parents exist! disabled people who care for partners and family exist!

this one is sooooooo taboo and i'm sick of it. first of all, dashers and uber drivers are every day people who need to earn income. these are people's jobs and their lives are in fact on the line because this is a lot of drivers' primary income. enough with guilting people on this one. i'm fucking sick of it. y'all hate independently employed people and it shows. this isn't a luxury just relegated to rich white moms: disabled people need to have prepared, easy to eat foods delivered to our homes too. y'all need to leave people the fuck alone when it comes to takeout.

the second someone poorer and more disabled than you does something you do regularly, suddenly you're sending articles and giving paragraphs and paragraphs of advice on how to spend money better and how the disabled person "just needs to eat rice, beans, ramen, and frozen vegetables" because disabled people are not allowed comfort NOR convenience in your eyes. this is absolutely asinine. stop it. EATING is not relegated to the privileged

disabled people are people and need to eat. why you are prioritizing money over a literal human need is beyond me this is sick behavior. why do you care so much more about the money than the person ?why is money more important than someone's safety to you? why would anyone rather see someone "spend money the right way" over a human being EATING FOOD and especially foods they KNOW won't make them sick. policing how any disabled person spends their money on food is also unnecessary and abusive. it serves nothing to gain and everything to lose. so what if you think a disabled person spends too much money on food? you do too- we all do: food should be fucking free. get over yourself and let disabled people eat. leave your greed at the door, stop feeling entitled over other peoples' finances and spending habits.

telling a disabled person how to "eat healthier" will not make you healthier, and it will not do them any good, either. all it does is serve to stroke your ego because you believed you ""helped"" someone but all you did was give unsolicited advice that will be forever moot because you do not live in that person's body. don't care if you know them personally: you ain't them. so back off, let disabled people eat. food ain't just for the rich. food ain't just for the abled. let people access food in ways that are safe for us or get the fuck out of our way because all you're doing is causing problems and making disabled people's health problems WORSE.

[adviceformefromme]

💖 NUTRITION & WELLBEING EDITION - 10 WEEKS UNTIL 2025 - GLOW UP SERIES [WEEK 10] - 💖

So we’re 10 weeks till 2025, the new year is fast approaching, your energy levels are in the gutter and despite mentally wanting to change your life there’s just something keeping you stuck. You wake up and it’s the same story different day, tired, hungry, moody as hell.

While you might mentally want to change your life, your body needs to be on board and to do that it’s gona need the right foods, drinks and nutrients to have you functioning at your optimal level. Taking drastic action when it comes to changing your diet is how you’re going to see drastic results in your energy levels, productivity and overall wellbeing… 

The foundations: 

🛌 SLEEP: All those late night movies before bed, Netflix and chill, love-is-blind binging needs to stop immediately. You need a set bed time and you need to be consistent. Waking up and going to sleep at the exact same time every single day. I recommend 10pm - 6am or somewhere around there. 

🥱 Sleep with your mouth closed. Use mouth strips from amazon if you dribble, snore, or struggle to sleep properly - breathing through your mouth is most likely the culprit. It’s not natural and disturbs natures rhythm which is breathing through your nose. Mouth strips have been a game changer for me, and highly recommended. 

🚫 No screen before bed. This is obvious but those doom scrolling morning and nights are over. Switch it off, read a book, pray, meditate, do what you need to. This is about resting your body before bed so you can sleep well and function at your best the next day. 

Sleep supplements: Magnesium oil spray or tablets before bed 

🍴 FOODS & DRINKS: 2 litres water MINIMUM per day. Absolutely no alcohol for the next 10 weeks. Strict diet of vegetables, fruits, protein and healthy fats, high quality meats and fish. More herbs into your food. Seeds, whole grains such as Chia, Flaxseed, Pumpkin seed, Bulgar wheat. More pre-and-probiotics. Sprouted veggies. Snack on nuts. No sweets, no cakes, no carbs. No bread, no pasta, no rice, no gluten. No nothing that is not a whole food, or from the earth. You are your own doctor when it comes to food, so you will know what is best for you. Above is the closest diet to nature and has changed my life. Eating vegetables in season. Removing western foods, removing vegetable oil, only drinking structured water, herb teas, and freshly pressed veg juices. Changing your diet might mean you stop eating out, you cut the takeouts, you spend your evenings researching meal preps for Keto, or healthy diet. Your life will completely change when you start feeding your body ALIVE foods, instead of nutrient deficient, processed food that keeps you craving more. Yes you are going against the grain. You will be the minority, but what are the alternatives? Stay binging? Stay eating crap? Stay feeling crap? 

Supplements: 

Chronium, Berberine for support with blood sugar 

D3 + K2, B12, Vitamin C 1000mg, Turmeric, Probiotics, 

DIM, Milk Thistle, Selenium, Iodine Drops, Omega 3, Mega GLA for women’s health.

Other: 

Get full blood panel done to see any deficiencies 

Invest in a continuous glucose monitor from Amazon - see how your body is responding to foods you are eating in real time. 

🏃🏽‍♀️EXERCISE: There is no way around this. You need to do some fucking exercise. Even if you start with 10k steps per day. Just do it. Once you’ve switched up your diet you absolutely WILL have more energy. Join a gym, set the intention, put reminders on your phone affirming you ARE someone whoo does exercise and works out. Leave your gym clothes out before bed. Set yourself up to win. Find a friend or someone to work out with. Look on YouTube for a workout if the gym is not possible. Just try your best. This is a mind over matter. ~You got this. 

🧘🏽‍♀️ Finally…STRESS FREE LIVING…

You can eat all the healthy foods, do your 10k steps but if you are involved in a stressful life, those stress hormones are going to come and f**k shit up. You have to remove stress where possible. This is the NUMBER one health destroyer. Stress literally makes is ill. It depletes your energy, exhausts you, and keeps you in survival - not much different to the animals living in the wild. Your life can be so stress free once you realise you are actually in control of a lot more than you realise. Blocking HIM. Saying no to hanging out with HER. Hanging up the phone. Removing yourself from the drama. Quitting your job. Changing your course. Deleting social media. Switching off the news permanently. Distancing yourself. There is SO much you can do to remove stress. But it’s completely on you. You have to take control if you are serious about changing your life. 

That’s all for this week! Next week more advice on your pre-2025 glow-up.

[beyondthebloodsugar]

My Fasting Experience: Low Blood Sugar Moments and How I Handled Them

Fasting can be a tricky journey. At times, it feels like walking a tightrope. It’s not just about skipping meals; it’s about tuning into what your body is saying. I started my fasting experience hoping for clarity and health. Little did I know, I'd face some surprising low blood sugar moments that shook me up! Here’s how I navigated through the bumps and found my footing.

Understanding the Ups and Downs of Fasting

Fasting often feels like an adventure. You think you’re on solid ground, but then—bam! Your blood sugar drops. Moments like these can feel alarming. Suddenly, you're weak, dizzy, or even lightheaded. It left me wondering: How did I get here?

When you fast, your body is running on empty fuel. It’s like trying to drive a car on fumes. Eventually, you hit a wall. This happened to me on several occasions. I realized that understanding my body’s signals was key to managing those low points.

Recognizing the Signs of Low Blood Sugar

Low blood sugar can sneak up on you. At first, it might just feel like a little fatigue. The next thing you know, you're staring at your feet, wishing the ground would steady itself. I started recognizing my signs: the shaky hands, the foggy brain, and that annoying little sweat on my forehead.

Each of these signs was a warning bell. It’s like my body was sending me a text message saying, "Hey, pay attention!" The trick was learning to listen and react before things got serious.

Quick Fixes to Raise Blood Sugar Levels

When low blood sugar hit, I needed solutions fast. I learned to keep a stash of easy snacks nearby. Something as simple as a piece of fruit or a bite of granola could make a world of difference. It was like pulling a parachute cord when free-falling. Instant relief!

I kept small packets of honey in my bag. They’re tasty, easy to carry, and bring up my sugar levels quickly. It’s amazing how a little sweetness can turn your day around!

Planning My Meals to Avoid Low Moments

Planning became crucial in my fasting routine. I started mapping out my meals, making sure I had enough nutrients to fuel my body. Eating wholesome meals before starting a fast was like filling my gas tank to full before a long trip. I wanted to avoid running out of fuel halfway.

I learned the importance of including proteins, fats, and fiber. These kept me feeling full longer and helped maintain steady blood sugar levels. It’s all about building a foundation that can handle the ups and downs.

Finding Balance Through Fasting

Fasting is all about balance. There were days when I hit those low points, but they were also days filled with learning. Each experience taught me more about my body and its signals.

It’s not just about the act of fasting itself; it’s about how to balance your body’s needs with your goals. I found that adjusting my approach and listening closely helped me handle those low blood sugar moments better.

Conclusion: Embracing the Journey

My fasting experience was filled with highs and lows. The low blood sugar moments were unexpected challenges, but also valuable lessons. I learned to listen, prepare, and react. Instead of fearing these moments, I embraced them as part of the journey.

So, if you’re thinking about fasting, keep in mind that it’s a personal adventure. You may face your own struggles, but with a little preparation and awareness, you'll find your way. Fasting isn’t just about food—it's about understanding your body and embracing the experience!

[scientia-rex]

On the weight loss thing - how much does A1C matter, and what are you supposed to do about it, if not 'aggressive weight loss'? I've dug through some studies but ... there's so much fatphobia, and honestly, it's poking my own eating disordered history in the nose. My partner's terrified of becoming diabetic and I don't know how to support them on that.

A1c matters, but the thing is, the medical community dropped standards so “pre-diabetes” is now defined as an A1c of 5.7 or up in most settings I’ve worked in. (Hemoglobin A1c is a way to measure an estimated 3-month rolling average blood sugar based on glycosylation, which Autocorrect turned to “glucose Latinos,” which, no.) Diabetes is defined as an A1c at or above 6.5.

But like… the goal we’re told to set for diabetics is under 7.0.

So does tissue damage from high sugars start happening at 5.7? No. And I would argue that if we don’t say that medication is required until 7.0, then the DISEASE starts at 7.0.

There’s been attempts to medicate people with “prediabetes” to prevent the development of diabetes. It’s not effective. Lots of people in the “prediabetic” category never go on to develop diabetes. I just think it’s a bit of a garbage categorization scheme.

And you’re never gonna believe what I’m going to tell you about preventing diabetes… it’s eating right and exercise. Doesn’t matter whether you lose weight. Eating right and exercising will help even if you don’t lose a pound. Even if you gain weight. Stay active and eat lots of fresh fruits and vegetables and whole grains, and your odds of developing complications from diabetes are quite low. Plus, if you DO get diabetes, we have highly effective medication options. Yes, insulin is still a mainstay, but the last 30 years have seen incredible advances in diabetes care.

Diabetes is neither a moral judgment nor a death sentence. Genetics has a whole lot to do with it, and it is highly manageable. Proper care of your body will help it live its longest and best life.

Eat well, move around, do things you love. Sleep right—that’s a huge component of blood sugar. Minimize stress. You do not have to hate your body to keep it in line. It’s part of your team.

[prying-pandora666]

The Gaang’s Favorite Foods

Aang is an ovo-lacto vegetarian. He still consumes milk and eggs, just nothing that requires killing an animal. Being more used to getting nutrients from a variety of plant foods including nuts and seeds, supported by nutrient rich bison milk and whatever eggs they eat in this world, Aang’s diet is surprisingly diverse and not as restrictive as it first seems. People have and still do eat this way. He loves egg tarts!

Sokka is a growing teen boy, used to a high-fat diet of primarily fish, mollusks, large ruminants, marine mammals (and their blubber), full fat milk, eggs, blood, etc, and only minorly supported by additional foods like seaweed, berries, tubers, perhaps the occasional imported flour or rice. He is going to need a LOT of animal meat and fat. Especially organs. The cookbook says he loves dried salmon collars.

Katara is also a growing teen girl, and considering what starts for girls around her age, she probably also has higher iron requirements. Heme-iron (from meat) is the most easily absorbed, and if it’s what her body is accustomed to, I imagine there’s going to be a lot of cravings there too. It’s possible she slowly converted to a vegetarian diet eventually, but there isn’t actually anything in canon to say that Katara and Aang didn’t just maintain different diets. The comics and cookbook say she likes soups and stews including sea prunes which are actually a type of mollusk.

Toph comes from a wealthy family. Although most of the Earth Kingdom relies primarily on staple grains (rice mainly, but also others), she likely had a decently diverse diet compared to others. Including plenty of meat (beef, chicken, duck, pork), a variety of vegetables, and even luxury items like refined sugar. According to the cookbook, she doesn’t like to eat her vegetables, which implies she had open access to meat for most of her life. She is fond of tea eggs.

Zuko comes from the wealthiest nation which is also in a tropical climate. He’d have access to a plethora of fruits the others had never even heard of! Tropical fruits, berries, coconut, and all the different dishes you can make with them. The nutrient-rich volcanic soil would also lend itself to farming, giving this country plenty of fresh vegetables and staple grains. However, culturally they seem to be a meat and seafood loving people, and spiciness is critical! Being a prince, Zuko would have even more access to all of the above than the common person. According to the cookbook, his favorite snack is sizzle-crisps which is basically fried and seasoned pork belly. He also sneaks Komodo-chicken to his uncle in prison.

BONUS:

Azula, like Zuko, is royalty in a nation blessed with great diversity of fruits, meat, seafood, and fresh veggies. We know she attended a harsh military academy which puts its students through rigorous survival training. Azula knows how to live off the land and likely can survive off of whatever petty things she can forage or catch. But being royalty, she is more accustomed to having whatever she desires prepared for her. She seems to have a bit of a sweet tooth, which can happen when you give a teen unfettered access to luxury goods like sugar. With her nation’s relatively advanced stage of industrialization, certain more processed foods and desserts are available to her. She is fond of cherries and in the comics she is a fiend for mochi!

[lottiecrabie]

pray for my soul. part three – matty healy

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

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

part three of five

13683 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe she’s right. 

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

But at least you wouldn’t burn anymore. 

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

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

You hold back a roll of your eyes.

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

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

They just don’t fucking know. 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the first time, you’re hit with the fact that Matty Healy might actually be hurt. By you. That he’s a boy, a confused teenager kissing a girl, and not some horned serpent luring you to your doom. It demystifies him. Drenches him in normalcy. 

You clutch your cross, softening your stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “Big bad atheist is forsaking you. Bo-ring.” It’s mean. Cruel and careless. Still, it’s easy to see through him. 

You take the lashing out, smirking at the hit. It’s obvious to you now how open he is, how clear the emotions read across his forehead. How could you have ever wondered what he was thinking? It’s right there, to pick and cherish, to hold between your palms. 

It would mix with the stain of you. Your dirty hands would be indistinguishable from his dirty thoughts. Two spirits catching at the edges, blending into some messy art, wrong and off-putting and yet undeniably beautiful. 

You want to hold him. 

You’re afraid he’d pass through the crack of your fingers like water. Gone before you could bend and sip an indulgent mouthful. Gone before you could let the taste linger in your mouth. Gone before you could swallow him and stick him in your throat. 

Would he leave? You cock your head, considering him. Where would he go?

You feel the ground shift beneath your very feet. The Earth must spin dusty seconds slower. Oxygen must be lighter, dangling your head just slightly over your neck. That’s right, you must be entirely headless. 

“Matty,” you sing with your own saccharine smile, taking a slithering step towards him. 

His jaw ticks, watching you carefully. You stop barely a few breaths away from him, staring him straight in the eyes, unflappable. How good to look at him without shame, without manually blinking between the seconds. 

“You’re not ruining me.” You smile some more, teasing and playful and perhaps just a little bit seductive, if you can manage that at all. Leaning into him some more, you whisper conspiratorially, “I can do that myself.” 

Matty looks away, shaking his head. You spot some faint blush spreading across his cheeks. You bite back a giggle, something overjoyed and overpowered striking through you at the very sight. 

Your hand, ring-free but still sporting that splash of damning scarlet, reaches out for his. You trail two fingers over his, grazing the metal of his index. His eyes snap to the spectacle, engrossed by just the tips of you. You smile victoriously, kidnapping his cigarette. 

With a vague gesture of your hand, you say in a botched raspy tone, “You know, we're all really alone in life, and religion can't save you, and God is a huge dick.” You end your grandiose declaration with a drag of cigarette, blowing the smoke out in his face. You smile proudly as he laughs at your antics.��

The gray disperses around you, finally revealing him. He’s grinning warmly down at you. “Is that supposed to be me?” 

“Nah. Just generally a big bad atheist.” You make sure to coat his words with cheeky taunting which he rolls his eyes at. 

“You’re not funny.” 

“You laughed.” 

Stuck, Matty quickly changes subject, leaning back on the metal structure to peer at you from above. He crosses his arms. “I’m surprised you didn’t cough.” 

You shrug, staring down at the burning cigarette between your fingers. “Maybe it’s not my first cig.” 

When you look back at him, his eyes have grown dark, burning again with that fire that’s become indistinguishable from him. How good to see it again. You feel it seeping under your white sweater, tickling your ribs. You want him there, tearing the bones from you. 

Matty cocks his head. “Is it?” Again, you just raise your shoulders with an air of mystery. He smirks, something dangerous to the edges. Here’s not the boy, but the animal, flashing his teeth like he could sink them in your throat. “What would your God say about that?” 

You hum, refusing to look away from his tense stare. There’s much less teasing when you say, “Probably something disapproving. But then, we all have our vices.” It’s not your fault. Your breath’s caught in your throat. Your head spins, warning bells you delightfully ignore in a back corner of your brain. 

To distract the slight tremble in your hand, you bring the cigarette back to your pouty lips. You take a drag, but it goes badly down your throat, and you cough in the elbow of your other arm. Your cheeks blaze. You peer at him tentatively to find him smirking at you, condescending and smug, clearly having found the answer you so craftily avoided before. 

You scowl, mostly in warning, but that does not stop him from opening his mouth. “Gotta suck it like a straw,” he taunts. His smirk grows wider, more like a grin, “Or a c—” 

“Okay,” you blush further. Images of his— and you on your knees, finally obeying his request, praying real real hard for— You twirl the cigarette in your fingers, feeling the red spread across your face. You mumble, “Don’t be crass.” 

“I thought you liked that.” Must he be so cocky, so detestable. Must he make every cell of yours aware of him, every inch begging for his skin, must he raise your temperature to a feverish degree? Matty seems to read right through you. Perhaps he, too, sees the emotion written across your forehead. “Yes, if I recall correctly, you really, really love when I’m crass. Almost made you com—” 

Your eyes snap to his, daggering him with a glare you don’t mean. You have to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, chase that sinfully good reverb to your wet pussy. Triumphant, Matty leans into your ear, breath grazing the sensitive skin as he whispers, “I didn’t even scratch a tenth of the things I want to do to you.” His hand lingers over yours.

In an instant, he’s snapping away from you, stolen cigarette between his fingers. Matty takes an easy drag, pouring the gray cloud over your face in retaliation. A shit-eating grin reigns over his lips.

He’s beautiful. Your insides melt like syrup. He’d try to grab your hips and he’d soak through, sugar sticking on his palms. 

“Save it,” you say finally, taking one step away. You smile. “I like a surprise.” 

He snorts. “I thought I was disgusting.” 

“No,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes like he was very silly, “I said I was.” Giving him a purposeful onceover, you smirk. “Or at least I could be.” 

—

You rub the ringless knuckle with two fingers, still feeling the memory of a ghost on your skin. Kneeling at the end of your bed, you pick at your nails. You think of what to say, of prayers to mouth in the evening. You’ve been sinning, you know this. Forming an hubris, leaning into desires, smoking— smoking with a boy who smirks and pours gray clouds out of his lips and looks you up and down like he could swallow you whole. A boy who’s Matty Healy, a proud sinner, a reckless atheist. 

Still, you kneel at your bed and you find most of your head empty. Your bedroom door is cracked, letting a shine of light pass through. Your father walks; you hear the monotonous steps, loud and heavy and regular. Instinctively, you close your eyes, muttering nothing to yourself. 

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your father says, peeking his head through. You open your eyes in false surprise. 

“Oh, goodnight, Dad.” 

“Sleep well,” he says, and you nod curtly. You’ll dream of filthy things. Scandalous mirages. You’ll imagine skin and hips and breasts; fingers and lips and cock. Licking and biting and devouring. He can’t stop you. 

You grin, bright and wide. “Thanks. You too.” 

Your father keeps the door ajar as he leaves. The hallway light is still on. Your mother is downstairs, busying herself with the dishes. You hear the soothing sound of the running water, a faint hum of a song. 

Beside you, someone knocks at your window. You frown, twisting around, coming face to face with Matty Healy’s scrunched body as he peers through the glass, a smirk on his lips. Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet, heart beating in your chest, looking around like your father would pop through the door at any moment. 

Grabbing the handles, you slam the window up. Matty grins lazily at you, unworried in the face of your clear stress. “What are you doing here?” You whisper-yell to him. 

“Wanted to say hey,” he shrugs easily. 

You blink at him. “At ten PM?”

“You know, it’s still pretty early for us deviants.” He pointedly peers past the window frame, coming back to you with an arched eyebrow. “Can I come in?” 

You bite your lip, flipping back to your half-opened door, to the floating sound of your mother’s song. You should say no. Nothing good can come out of seeing Matty Healy, especially at this hour. 

But a low hum of thrill rings in your belly. Your heart slams in your chest, singing, alive for the first time in too long. You’re electrified, hyperaware. You’re never catching sleep now. 

Fuck it, you think, because you can swear in the sanctity of your own mind. You tiptoe to the door, slowly shutting it. You’re diligent, twisting the doorknob to make sure not a single sound travels back to the kitchen. When your mission is done, you turn back to Matty, a proud, victorious smile on your lips. He grins back easily, already standing in your room, dirty sneakers on your carpet. 

“Hey,” Matty says. 

“Hi,” you answer, hands twisting behind your back. It is impossibly teenage-like. You almost feel like a caricature of yourself. 

“So this is your room?” He continues, speaking softly as to not alert your parents. You half-believe your mother really could magically sense the presence of a teenage atheist boy in her house. Some sharpened instinct for sin. 

“It would appear so.” 

Matty walks in your room, faintly tentative in his steps. He looks around, taking in your vanity holding scattered bottles of perfume and lotion, your gold full-length mirror, the glued flowers to your walls, the fluffy carpet dirtied by his sneakers. The twin bed with pink sheets. The bible on the nightstand. The crucifix watching over you. You flush, looking away embarrassed. 

“Cute,” Matty says. It feels almost derogatory. Cute, like a little girl, someone you coo at and pat the head of fondly. Someone that’s empty brained, not smart enough to follow his wild wordvomit, the boundless theories haunting his mind. You scowl. He seems to see through you, chuckling easily. “I like it,” he insists. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Well,” he grins. “It’s a little pink for me.” 

“Shut up.” You shake your head, huffing a laugh. 

Matty takes off his shoes, sitting down on your bed. He scoops himself up, resting his back against the wall. A spike of nerves strikes your stomach, but it spreads nicely through your limbs. Between your thighs most of all, clenching around nothing. 

A boy in your bed. How strange. 

“What were you doing?” 

“Praying,” you answer in habit. 

He arches an eyebrow, grabbing your bible. He flips through the pages, half-curious and half-sneering. A small defensive thing beats in your heart. You frown at him. “What were you praying about?” 

“Just—” Now you’re caught off-guard. There’s much valid answers spinning in your head. Peace, health, family. But there’s an insatiable need in you to knock him off his pretentious pedestal. Shake him to his core, just so he knows the ripples passing through your soul whenever he decides to smash into your world. “Sex.”

This definitely shakes him. His hands freeze around the bible, eyes snapping back to you. There’s no shock, per say, but something darker. It calls to you, climbing up your spine. “Oh?” 

You smile. You barely register the step you take towards the bed. “Yes. I’ve been really bad, getting all mixed-up in my impure thoughts. I just had to pray the lust away.”  

Matty inhales slowly, watching you like he could eat through your flesh. You see his chest rise in quick successions. A devilish smirk teases at your lips. “Does it work?” His voice is surprisingly even. 

You sigh. “Does it ever work?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. God, he’s so easy. “Why don’t you show me?” 

A playful look through your eyelashes. “Yes, Father.” His breath hitches in his throat. Matty grips the bible like a lifebuoy, and, oh, isn’t that just deliciously ironic?

You fall to your knees under his mesmerized stare, elbows resting at the end of your bed, fingers interlocking together. Spine comically straight, eyes innocently closed, you’re a caricature of a devotee. 

You hum, licking your lips. “Lord, I’m sorry I thought about that boy again.” You relish in the breath of air choking from his lips, half a gasp and half a groan. Your eyelids tingle, begging to take a peek at his reaction, but you know your little act requires your eyes closed.

With a fake frown of guilt, you continue, “I shouldn’t have thought of him bending me over my desk in the middle of history class. I shouldn’t have thought of everyone watching us as he flipped my skirt up.” Definitely a groan, low and gravelly from his sinful lips. “Should definitely not have thought of him fucking me in front of all these students— and the teacher, of course— until I’m cockdrunk and drooling on my desk.” Another muffled sound. Rustling of jeans and sheets. You smirk, incapable of keeping the innocent schoolgirl act, devious as you say, “Lord, I’m so sorry I considered touching myself in class thinking of—”

Matty caresses your hair, following the curve of your jaw, gripping your chin between his fingers. You snap your eyes open, breath stolen from your throat. He towers over you, godly, knees siding your elbows. It’s suddenly not funny at all. 

“I forgive you.” 

And then, all of a sudden, you know what it’s like to be clean. Your soul frees of the soil; of the dirt and grime and mud tacking your bones. Your fingertips buzz, carpet-burnt knees forgetting the pain. 

Your head nuzzles in his hand, grinning. Matty’s thumb grazes your lower lip. Instinctively, your mouth slips open, practically inviting him in. 

His thumb dips inside, pressing meanly on your tongue. You suck on his finger, staring up at him through your eyelashes. His ring tastes like metal in your mouth. Something in you loves it; craves the aftertaste of blood. 

Matty breathes heavily, lips parting. Dark eyes discombobulating you. Your head feels slack on your neck. He slips away from your mouth. Drool coats his skin. It dries on your cheek, thumb rubbing it tenderly, hand spreading on your jaw. 

Your eyes are locked with his, almost mesmerized by the dark pupils. You want to drown in the murky waters. That must be where hell lies, alive and rustling. 

Where you want to dive, lose yourself in the intangible. 

Matty smirks down at you. Like he knows. Like he reads the thoughts on your forehead. Little mouse practically screaming your filthy thoughts. 

“You’re quiet,” he says almost matter-of-factly, like an observation he just realized. The smirk betrays him, broadcasting the gleeful cruelty in the words. I’ve shut you up is unsaid, but much felt. 

You resent it. You want to scream, to be heard, to crash into his ribs and burst the bone. Of course, it’s when your thoughts roar the loudest that your tongue curdles, useless in your mouth. Words escape from you, mind spinning with wantwantwantwantwant without needed direction. You’re a mess of a girl, more a tactless binding of contradictions than anything real— yarn and clusters and knots tying staggering opposites under skin. 

But you want, and isn’t it just great to allow yourself to? To desire, to hunger.

Words loose in your throat, you push yourself up from the ground with two hands spreading over his knees. He follows your biblical rise like an avid follower until you loom over him. He has to tip his chin to look you in the eyes. There is something inexplicably thrilling about it. Power surges up your spine. 

Your hands settle on his shoulders. Slowly; time is yours. Matty skips a breath. His fingers find the back of your thighs, a second nature, more a thoughtless impulse than any type of decision. His digging stare is still locked with yours. You wonder if he’s even realized he’s grazing your legs, dancing fingertips on the skin. 

Your eyes trail to his lips. Parted, gasping an irregular pattern, waiting for you. Red like he’s licked the blood off, trying to catch the last trace of you as he tears through your heart.

“I don’t want to be good,” you whisper, because he has to know. Because it has to be said. Because you don’t, and more importantly, you don’t have to. 

Matty smiles. His fingers hook behind your knees— whiplash from how present he suddenly is spreading from the still hot handprints. He tugs you into him, making you land squarely on his lap. You gasp as you settle, gripping his shoulders, digging in the cotton of his washed-out shirt. 

“I don’t want you to be good either,” he says, bending his head towards you conspiratorially, like telling you a secret. Your heart slams against your ribs, calling for him, for his lingering touch, burning even when he’s gone. I want you, I want you. 

You try to catch your breath, to grab onto your heart with two hands and tell it to settle down, but it’s not enough. He’s seeped under the cracks, loosened the knots. You’re embarrassingly wet, dripping for him even if he’s barely given you more than a brush. 

“It’s settled then,” you say with much bravado, traveling your begging hands to his nape, scooping your hips to sit closer to him. You smile playfully, leaning into him. “I’ll be very disgusting.” 

Matty cringes, letting go of your scraped knees. Fear grips you— you act on instinct, taking his wrist and puppeteering him to your waist, wrapping him around you, interlacing him before he can slip away from your fingers. “I want you,” you say, crystal clear. 

Matty considers you, perfectly controlled if it wasn’t for the betraying blush pinking his cheeks. Two fingers dip under the hem of your pajamas, thumb rubbing at your rib, pinky resting on your hip annoyingly still. It ripples in your body, toes curling like some prophetic foreteller. You throb around nothing, biting your lip. 

His other hand ghosts over your collarbone. The non-touch is still enough to race your poor heart, drunk on the presence of him. He watches your breath quicken, chest rising and falling, then flips to your eyes. “Do you really mean that?” He asks, unsettlingly serious. You nod, once again lost for words. His fingers skislope down the bone. 

He lands on the cross dangling from your neck, sitting perfectly straight on your chest, the crowning ornament of a paper girl. Your breath catches; the world stops. He arches an eyebrow at you, hooking into the gold chain. “Do you really mean that?” 

Turning points, life forking in two like the tongue of a snake. Possibilities on the tip of your teeth, so close you can taste it. 

“I want you—” Catching the chain, he tugs you to his lips, siren to your sailor. Your mouths lock, frenzied delight spinning around your neck, scrambling any remaining wit. Yes, you think, parting your lips, finally.  

You sigh into his mouth, from relief or pleasure or perhaps the vertiginous feeling of standing on the cliff of the unknown, unstable ground rippling under your feet. But Matty is solid under you— your hands rack through his curls, softer than you remember them, gripping the tangible, the steady. 

His hand at your side digs into your hip, drawing you square on his hard cock. You gasp, rolling your head, lingering in the first electroshocks of bliss biting into your limbs. Like jumping into cold waters on the hottest day of summer— shocked from the contrast, giddy from the refreshing cool. You grind into him again, a happy laugh spilling from you. 

Matty doesn’t waste opportunities. He finds your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your pulse. He climbs up to your jaw, biting then licking away the ache. You shiver, trapped between his arms.

The cross rests in the center of his palm still, pretty and cool. He could tear it apart if he wished. Tear you straight to the bone. Instead, he runs a thumb over the metal, over the bloody edges of you. You drip on him, wax candle melting from his flame, but you can trust he’ll lick it clean. 

You take him by the cheeks, drawing him back to your lips. You’re already panting. The room blurs around you; your hip exists because he touches it, because it’s him that does it. You roll them against his, reveling in the choked groans from deep in his throat. 

Matty lets go of the cross, finding your breast instead. He pushes down your camisole, revealing your peaked nipples. The back of your mind half-thinks of being self-conscious, but he pinches one, rubbing it, making you moan, and suddenly there’s no thoughts at all but his name. His mouth rips from yours. He bends down, licking a nipple with an expert tongue. A strike of pure ecstasy waves through you. Your fingers twist into his mane, encouraging him, furiously humping his lap. 

Matty can’t make his mind up— he vacillates between wanting to devour your tits, biting the underboob meanly, kissing it better; between watching your face as you whimper, frown digging in your eyebrows as you concentrate on not making much sound; between kissing you, tongue slipping through your lips; between wrinkling his face close, letting himself get washed in the euphoria. 

In the end, he twists you, laying you down on the bed, him over you. It’s a practiced maneuver— you want to scowl, but he settles deliciously between your thighs and now you’re too busy rolling your eyes into your skull. 

“Beautiful,” he says, short-winded, flicking between your face and your untidy body, pajamas barely covering any flushed skin. You redden, chin dipping shyly. 

Matty burrows underneath your tank top, uncovering your skin inch by inch as he slowly climbs up your waist. His calluses dance on your ribs, branding iron to your vestal body, something to linger when he’s gone. You breathe harshly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to stay very still. 

He passes the shirt beyond your head, hair falling through the neck. He throws it over the bed carelessly, like it didn’t exist now that you weren’t wearing it. 

It’s not like it was occupying its function as a shirt before, more a bunched belt around your waist than anything. Still, you feel self-conscious, uncovered like this in front of him. Topless. Naked. You have the impulse to cover your breasts, hide away from his baring stare. It tickles at the back of your mind. 

“I wanna hear you,” Matty whispers, ghosting up your stomach, eyes following his hand religiously. “You had so much to say before.” 

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. It’s all impossibly real. You don’t know how to do any of this. 

Matty smiles reassuringly. “What do you want?” He spurs you on, thumb finding your nipple and circling it. You moan, arching into his palm. 

You don’t know what you want, you just do. Everything. Anything. As long as it’s sinful; as long as it’s worth the damnation. 

“Angel, what do you want?” He whispers in your ear, biting your lobe, unwilling to let it go. You try to contain a shiver, but your legs still part instinctively for him. He smiles at that, something crooked to it, something raw. 

“I’m not an angel,” you say petulantly. 

He’s hard between your sticky thighs. An atheist is kissing your neck where the chain meets the skin. You’re— You’re in your goddamn childhood bed, on the fluffy pink sheets you got for your ninth birthday for Christ’s sake. Nothing about you is innocent, or pure, or angelic. 

You’re poisonous, and dirty, and hungry.  

Of course, Matty doesn’t seem to agree. He pouts condescendingly at you, trailing the tip of his fingers—callused and hard worked and meant to burn, but oh so gentle on your belly — lower, near the waist of your pajama shorts. 

“Is that so?” He says, overly cocky and teasing, practically mocking the very words out of your mouth. Still, you nod. At that, he smiles wider, shadows catching his teeth. “Well, prove it.” 

His hand meets the band of your underwear. You stop your eyes from rolling inside your skull, from scrunching your face in pure delight. You want to see him. See him as he watches you, licking his lips, following every rising chest and huffing lips and trembling thighs. See him as he takes you in, as he stares like he wishes to memorize the very edges of you, like he wants to swallow you whole. 

God, you want to be consumed. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You push. “I’ve done my evening prayers,” you say with a moan. “Your turn.” Matty laughs, but he’s going down your body obligingly. 

His lips graze your skin with head-swooning attention. He kisses down your neck, pressing a demure peck on your cross, like handshaking the Lord. A blush reddens your cheeks. 

Your chest heaves, trying to quiet down your screaming heart, the overwhelming anticipation spreading through your body. Every particle of you is aware of him, of what’s coming, and you sense an incriminating flutter invading you. Your thighs close around his waist, softly grinding onto him, biting your lower lip. 

Matty kisses the top of your breasts, gently biting your nipples. He’s diligent on this part of your body, lingering there happily. You can’t seem to swallow down the striking pleasure, quietly whining as he sucks and licks and twists. 

Your mother must be downstairs still. Your father is only a few rooms over.  They could hear, or worse walk in, find you half naked with a boy between your thighs. What would they think? What would they say? What would they do? Scrub your skin off under the burning shower, scrape and scrape until you’re raw, as though you could ever forget the memory of his lips on you? A furrow dents your eyebrows harshly. You bite your lip, relishing in the pain spreading down your chin. 

You can be depraved as long as you’re punished for it. A taste of sin if it slashes down your throat. 

You’ve barely grown accustomed to him that he’s gone already, moving down your waist, ribs a xylophone to his tongue. A small line of hair scatters over your belly. He follows the path, lips floating over your skin. You flex under him, excited and nervous and impossibly hot. 

Matty kisses just above the hem of your pajamas, hand digging into your hip. He looks up at you and inexplicable pleasure grips you. He’s— He’s majestic. Better than some God; prettier, too. 

Dark eyes, red lips, frenzied hair. You rack through the mess of curls, tugging as encouragement. He’ll make doom worth something. A dust of a moment traded for eternity feels awfully fair when he’s looking at you like this. 

Matty’s fingers hook into the shorts. He pulls them down your legs, scratching the silky skin as he goes. Once again, the scrap of fabric is thoughtlessly discarded as soon as it slips out of your feet. 

You’re in your underwear. In front of Matty Healy. You take a few seconds to attempt to wrap your head around the fact, but it’s nearly impossible with his tough fingers climbing back up your shaking legs, approaching your thighs. 

Need throbs inside of you. You crave him. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He says, approaching the apex of your thighs. 

You moan, face clenching, toes curling in the idea of what is coming. Your body holds its breath, anticipation running down its veins. Something about this moment is inherent; your mind barely understands the implications, but your legs retain the memory of a pleasure you’ve never had. Remaining sins from Eve herself. This is millions of years in the making. 

“Love, is this what you want?” 

You huff, resting on your elbows to look at him. “No,” you bite. “I want more.”

Matty laughs, kissing your hip bone just above your underwear. You choke on a breath, shiver dancing up your spine. “Like this?” He whispers, cheeky and teasing because he knows it’s not. 

Your hips rise towards him, falling back uselessly. “No.”

He hums, finding the twin bone, giving it a sweet mirror kiss. You whine, head rolling in frustration. “How about this?” He’s so proud. 

“I want—” You sigh, words fleeing down your throat in a cruel game of hide and seek. The chasm of the unknown reels under your toes. You frown. “I want—” 

“Yes?” Matty bites your hip, smiling knowingly at you as he licks it clean. 

You stare at his dancing eyes, at that damn curl of his falling across his forehead like lightning, at his tongue, pink and soft and— “I want you to lick me.” You’re too proud to be embarrassed at the dirty words. The idea already calls to you, spinning deliciously in your head. Matty grins at you. You push his head, hand still firmly tucked in his hair, lining him up to your center. “Just—” You moan as his chin bumps your ignored clit, “ruin me.”

Matty doesn’t need to be told twice— thank God. He slips your underwear off your legs. You have no time to grow shy at being completely, entirely exposed because he’s pushing your thighs open the next second, licking your clit. 

Your hips jump. A cry slips your lips. You slap a hand over your mouth, heart racing. Again, you can barely finish wondering if your mother heard that Matty is sucking on your bud. Thankfully your palm catches the moans freefalling thoughtlessly from your mouth. You can’t seem to hold them back— it’s beyond reason, beyond you. It listens to the heated bliss soaring through your limbs and nothing else. 

You’re the apple and the snake and the first woman. You’re multitudes stretching under your skin. You’ve got a man between your thighs, eating you. The thought doesn’t seem real, although his tongue proves otherwise, languid and sure and flicking. 

You can tell he’s following the same rhythm he ordered in the dark box of the confessional, ironically close to a priest prescribing penance for mortal sins. Slow and gentle and teasing; meant to boil your blood, get you begging. 

As though you’re not dripping on the sheets for him. As though you’re not dizzy with want. As though you’re not holding back screams. 

Still, he licks and sucks at your clit, swiping and circling on the nerves. He cruelly ignores your entrance clenching around nothing, practically weeping for him. His nails dig into the meat of your thigh like he wants to, though. Like he has to stop himself from doing so. 

You’ve never had more than a lick of sacramental wine, but you feel drunk already. The bed is your island, spreading across the world. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead. You grind into him desperately, chasing that syrupy ecstasy coaxing through your veins. What is the point of blood? You’d rather live off the sweetness. 

You rack your fingers through Matty’s mane, brushing it back from his forehead as though he needed to see to best work. “Matty,” you say, high-pitched and desperate, “please.” 

“You just had to say, pet,” he whispers, coming out of your thighs out of breath, slick coating his chin. You flush, thinking of why. Devoted, he throws one of your legs over your shoulder, diving back for more. 

Thumb rubbing at your clit, he runs his tongue over your folds. “Fuck, Matty—” You bite into your lip, face scrunching to keep in the visceral words screaming in your mind. 

This is what people have been hiding, keeping firmly locked behind rings and hushed whispers, spelling it out so you wouldn’t put the letters together. Endless euphoria waving, razing, ravaging. You get it now. 

It’s too much power to give to a girl. Because that’s what you are, in the end. Just a girl. 

Matty laps at you, burning tongue finding the apex of all your desires and rubbing a frantic rhythm against it. He moves purposefully, knowingly, as though he already learnt all the secrets even you haven’t discovered. 

Your head rolls back. You bite your hand, tearing through the palm lines, crushing under your teeth whatever future a fortune teller would’ve read in the fated dents. The path bursts; you’re soaring through the sky— or perhaps freefalling. The two feel awfully the same, heaven and hell intertwined until you can’t distinguish which cardinal point you’re following.

Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. He groans against you, reverberating in your cunt. You clench around his tongue, hips flapping wildly. Pressure builds in your belly. Your limbs tense, electricity coursing through the lines. “Matty, I—”

Who are you to wreck God’s perfectly curated plan? Still, you tug at Matty’s curls, grinding into his face, heel digging into his back. Ecstasy wipes your mind clean.

“I know, angel,” Matty moans. He ducks back single-minded, licking into you with a frenzied passion. Quick and strong, thumb pressing on your clit meanly; he devours you. You feel feverish. You feel sick. 

You’re on fire. 

Let you burn down. Catch the sheets, the fuzzy carpet, the whole goddamn house. You’re tired of smothering fire, like a fickle flicker of flame wouldn’t bring it back in an instant. You want to blaze. You want to melt. 

Infinity smears your tongue. You are but a body, and it breaks apart. 

You bite your palm raw holding back a scream. Euphoria erupts under your skin. The yarn rips; you fall apart on his tongue, scattered sins bursting around the room. You tug at his hair cruelly, the last remaining hold on reality as your vision blurs. 

How good. That is all you think for a blink of a moment. How good. 

The debris settles around you. You lay in ruins, catching your breath, laughing softly. This is a fucking orgasm. 

All those talks of sin, of flesh, of ashes. Of apples and girls and flames. All those prayers you’ve done, fingers intertwined as you mouthed false promises. All the guilt you’ve carried with you. For existing, for wanting, for being a girl with a body. 

You should feel dirty. Matty Healy has just eaten you out until your brain leaked out of your ears. You should be disgusting. 

Instead, you feel oddly free. 

Matty peeks out of your legs, face wet and dripping with you. He wipes at it. You finally let go of your tyrannical hold on his hair, brushing away the strands as an apology. He frowns, asking worriedly, “Are you crying?” 

You pat at your cheeks, finding the telltale tears. “Oh,” you say, somehow surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” You wipe at them furiously, flushing under his baring stare. How embarrassing. 

He settles beside you, tucking your side onto him with a lazy hand on your waist. The contact is reassuring, somehow. You nestle into him closer. “Why?” He says, trailing a finger on your skin. 

“Just—” You blush harder, looking away abashed. “I don’t know.” 

“Did I…” His eyebrows furrow further. Your heart jumps. 

“No,” you say, wide-eyed. “You were great. It was—” You wrinkle your nose, suddenly ashamed to be talking about all this. Like he wasn’t buried between your thighs just a few seconds ago. “It was really good.” God, you just don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” you add, unsure. 

Matty laughs. “You’re welcome, love.” He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your flushed ear. “What is it, then?” 

“I guess—” You bite your lip, trying to find words for something instinctive, thoughtless. “I was just really happy. And free. Like I’d broken through something.” You shake your head. “I don’t know. It was my first time, obviously. It’s… new.” 

“Good new?” 

You smile at his tentative words clearly searching for validation. It makes you a little glad. That it’s not just another day for him, certain and cool and all knowing. That there’s doubts just like you, some pubescent anxiety. 

You nod. “Good new.” 

Although you mean it, something in you still spins with nervosity. It’s new; freeing and hot and fresh. But it’s also new; strange and different and unknown. Now your thoughts are filled with questions. If he liked it too. If you were too loud. If you weren’t enough. If you tasted bad. If you looked good. If you should have done more. If he expects more. If he likes you. 

If it’s it, then. If you’re forsaken. If there’s no going back now. If you should feel guiltier. If you should care less. 

There’s no wrong way to feel, yet it seems you can’t find the right one either. Your brain goes through gymnastics, finding a new worry to latch onto, volleying between contradictions. 

You are free. You are guilty. You don’t know how to reckon with either. 

Matty seems to sense the overthinking smoking out of your ears. His fingers graze down to your naked hip, drawing a slow pattern on the skin. “What?” He breathes in your ear. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head. 

That’s what you want to feel. Nothing. His calluses press on your skin. You feel your walls flutter, already awoken by his ghosting touch. 

You know a way to get there: mind wiped blissfully clean. With a purpose, you hook a hand behind his neck, tugging him back to your mouth. Matty sees you coming, lips parted in readiness, tongue slipping in hotly. 

You moan against him, already feeling yourself boiling under your skin. It’s an instinctive reaction. He’s barely licking into your mouth that you’re already in a frenzy, heart slamming against your ribs for more. 

You comb a hand through his unruly curls, scratching at his scalp. He shivers against you, letting go to breathe a relieved groan before finding your lips with renewed fervor. You like the power it gives you. You repeat the movement over and over, relishing in the smallest reactions you can coax out of him. Not a marble man; he crinkles just like you. 

He spreads his hand under your back, drawing you to your side, titling his head to kiss you better. His fingers dance on your spine, unshy and learning. You feel awfully naked, all of sudden. Laying in your childhood bed, bare other than the cross still dangling from your neck, now tangled somewhere in your hair far from sight. With a boy who’s very much dressed. 

Attempting to rectify the situation instead of having another spout of anxiety, you sneak your fingers under the hem of his shirt. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve somehow learnt the shape of him in the one time you indulgently held him— or perhaps it’s been all those dreams you’ve replayed over and over. 

Still, you’re excited to stop touching blindly and see. Climbing up his chest, you raise the band tee, feeble and immaterial in your greedy hands. Matty leaves your lips, shortwinded as he reaches behind him and tugs the shirt off. It falls in the sea rumbling beneath your bed, lulling you softly. 

He tries to bend back to kiss you again, but you halt him with a hand on his shoulder. Your stare rakes across his chest; skinny and lanky; faint, forgotten scars you know the feel of by heart; a delicious trail of hair feathering down his stomach; a tattoo kissing his skin. Your heart squeezes in your chest. He’s magnificent. Your lips burn, needing to touch him, to lick down his belly and feel him tense and flex for you. 

Your eyes snap back to his. He’s grown almost self-conscious, blushing under your gluttonous peer. You relish in the sight, licking your bloody teeth. You want him, through the flesh and bones. 

“You’re pretty,” you say finally. 

Matty shakes his head, chuckling. “You can’t call a man that.” 

You pout meanly at him. “Big bad atheist can’t be pretty?” 

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Matty bends to your neck, kissing just under the jaw. His hair tickles your temple. You giggle cheerfully, letting him push you back into the bed. “Will you ever let me live it down?” He whispers, hot breath blowing on your electrified skin. You shiver, growing wetter just at that low tone of his. He knows this, smirking as he leaves a burning path down the curve. 

You hum, trying to gather some sort of wit. “Depends,” you say, but it already falls short, considering how out of breath you sound, practically purring. “Are you gonna start believing in God?” 

Matty snaps away from your neck, propping himself on his elbow as he watches you with affront. You can’t help laughing, wrinkling your nose as the sheer offense on his face. “I’ve got some great quotes underlined if you want,” you add playfully, pointedly looking at the bible resting on the bedside table. Quite precariously too, half of it hanging in mid-air from Matty’s careless throw. 

Matty gets on his knees, staring down at you unflinchingly. Like this, towering over your still laying body, he almost looks godly. “Yeah?” He says, grabbing the bible, cracking it open. “Should we read some right now?” 

You would usually love a chance to rip apart Matty’s skull. Find the unhealed wounds. Teach him words to plaster over. But he’s shirtless, and pretty— to hell what you can call a man, and you’re naked and wet. 

This is not the time for bible reading. You want his mouth busy with something else. 

Of course, Matty is already squinting at the pages. “Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.” His voice was made for music; it comes melodic out of his mouth, like a tempo, like a harmony, like a poem. He looks up from the pages, staring down at you with an arched eyebrow. 

You blush, suddenly hyperaware of your peaked breasts lying openly for him. “Of course you would fall on Song of Solomon on your first try,” you mutter. It’s like sin calls to him, some singing on his fingertips when he runs through the pages. 

He snorts. One hand leaves the weathered hardcover, instead grazing up your thigh. You can’t stop a shiver, feeling the hair rise where he touches. Instinctively, you spread them— just slightly, an unconscious reaction reverberating to your legs. Still, Matty smirks, proud and knowing. 

“You know, you might be onto something. This sounds like my kind of book.” And then, to prove his point, he recites, “Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” How dirty pious words sound from his profane mouth. How he twists the shape of them, warps their meaning. Matty, again, looks up to your reaction, shit-eating grin cracking his face. “I think we just got done with that.” 

You flush even harder. Your head spins with memories— not daydreams, not fantasies, not vestiges from your slumber, but memories, real and undeniable. His head between your thighs, licking into your cunt, starved and gluttonous. You throb uselessly, dripping on the sheets. “It’s not—” 

Matty’s climbing fingers find your cunt, and suddenly you have no words to say. You gnaw on your lip, whining through the shocking wave of bliss hitting you. He gathers your telltale wetness, as though to prove some sick knowledge that you’re enjoying this. That he’s tearing through your beliefs with nails and teeth. 

That you won’t ever look at those pages the same again, just like you can’t catch a peripheral peek of the confessional without straightening in your seat. 

An opportunist, Matty spreads the slick to your clit, rubbing the tender thing slowly. You moan, throwing your head back, dropping your thighs completely open for him. His calluses, rough and mean, are heavenly on your bundle of nerves. 

“Do you want more?” 

You’re not sure he means fingers or passages, but still, you open your eyes, whining, “Yes.” You raise your hips to his palm, falling back on the sheets with a pout. “Please.” 

Matty stops. You clench around nothing, unsatisfied. He flips through the pages, slick fingers drying on the bible’s hardcover. You want to look away— it’s filthy. But they’re so long, spindly and wide-knuckled, and you can’t stop staring. 

Matty finds a page, balancing the bible on his forearm as he finds your upper thighs again. “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other animal that the Lord God had made.”

You almost want to roll your eyes. How cliche. But Matty is teasing a finger against your wet entrance, and you’re rolling your eyes for a much different reason. 

Matty lingers in this moment, circling your clit with his thumb. He watches the spectacle, following his hands, your cunt, your breasts, your face religiously. 

Swallowing harshly, he continues, “He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’” 

You nod, encouraging him on. For further argument, you wrap your own hand around his wrist, grinding softly into his fingers. Matty licks his lips, distracted again. 

One finger enters you. Slow, to make sure you get used to the feel. Your face scrunches close to hold the cries in. Your cunt flutters with pleasure, begging for him, for more. He’s much longer than your own, but there’s barely any resistance. It’s still not enough to completely splinter you, unravel you to sweet nonexistence. 

Slithering around his wrist in a vice-like grip, you feel the need to tell him, “I want more. Please, Matty.” 

He thrusts in and out of you languidly, sopping sounds resonating in the quiet room. Your neck goes slack. He doesn’t seem to get the crux of the request, however, because he bends back to the book, “The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said ‘you shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’” 

You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not— But it’s too late for you, isn’t it? 

You’re famished. 

You press his hand into you, locking with his dark eyes. “More.”

Finally understanding, Matty dips a second finger into you. This time, the stretch is uncomfortable, wider than you’ve ever known. You frown at the new feel, trying to clench and unclench to get used to him. He’s patient, waiting, rubbing a delicious pattern on your bundle of nerves to loosen you up. 

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers, and your lips grow slack with a proud smile. 

When you finally feel ready, you grind into his palm. Matty thrusts his fingers, curling them just so. You’re losing your mind, organs pushing against your skin to make place for the invading ecstasy. It’s poisonous, eating through your veins, but you must bottle it up. Being quiet is the most sadistic torture you’ve ever know. 

“But the serpent said to the woman,” Matty’s rhythm falters as he focuses on the words again, “‘You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’” 

Your legs kick wildly on the sheets. Matty is unwavering, steady and consistent, fingers fucking into you. Your free hand, not knowing whether to grip the sheets or rack through your sweaty hair, finds his knee instead. Your nails dig into the jeans, like he deserved punishment for making you feel like this. Good and evil. 

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food,” Matty’s breathing is hitched, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. Words come out rough from his lips, yet still just as poetic, just as holy, “and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise.” He smirks at his emphasized words. 

Like you don’t agree with a full heart and a full mind. Like you don’t crave to take a bite of him. 

Like you don’t want to consume him and be consumed by him. 

Like you’re not letting him defile you with the Lord’s words coating his tongue. Like you’re not needing that very tongue. 

Licking his teeth, Matty stares at you. Can he see the thoughts spinning through your mind? Can he see you? “She took all of its fruit and ate.” And you did.

God, you did. 

You can’t take it anymore. You reach for him, dragging him back to your pleading lips. Again, Matty throws the bible beyond the bed, uncaring for even holy texts. How easy for him. To make religion stop existing— something for the rest of the world, but not these sheets, not you. 

He lets go of your mouth, panting above you. Faster, not to chase some quicker end but to watch your face break apart for him, he thrusts in and out of you. It’s sinfully good. You claw at his bare shoulders, glad to have some skin to sink your nails in. 

You want to leave him permanently changed. Scarred. Because you will be. God, you will be. 

Moaning against his lips, heart beating to the rhythm he fingers into you, brain surely melting out of your ears, you hear a knock at your door. 

You gasp. Eyes comically wide, you freeze in the bed. Matty goes still inside of you. 

“Honey?” Your mother calls, sounding worried. 

Your eyes flip to Matty, sending him an alarm call. He looks pointedly to the door, nudging his chin towards you. You miraculously understand. Racking your throat, you say, “Yes?” It comes choked out of you, clearly out of breath, and you cringe at the fact. At least it’s an answer. 

“Are you okay?” She continues. “I heard a thud.” 

Your face wrinkles in annoyance. Matty sighs above you. That fucking bible. How comical that it’s this and not Matty’s literal tongue between your thighs that will bring your downfall. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I just— knocked something over.” 

After a torturous moment of silence, time and destiny hanging in the air waiting for the final blow, your mother finally answers, “Okay.” 

God is real. Some higher above is watching over you if, for the first time in your life, your nosy mother chose to drop a line of questioning instead of following it to its fatal end. Your eyes find Matty, grinning in surprise. You have to stop yourself from giggling giddily. He smiles back, nosing your neck. 

He moves between your legs again, a slower rhythm, building back to what once was. Pleasant tingles spread up your belly. You frown, biting down a wait or a moan. Your mother can’t be gone yet. She pesters incessantly. Although, if you were to make a noise, she would definitely burst into the room, nose sniffing sin. 

You’re right. “Well, go to sleep soon. It’s late.” You dagger Matty with a stare, trying to send him a telepathic message. She’s there. She’s right there. 

But Matty just smirks against your jaw, curling his fingers perfectly. You arch your back, slapping a hand over your mouth. Fire courses through you, pleasant and all-consuming. 

“Uh-huh,” you manage, spit out between two smothered groans. 

“You need your beauty sleep,” she continues on, always one to martel a point home. “Remember those dreadful eyebags you had a week ago? We don’t want a repeat of that.” 

You were studying for a test, but that reply is too lengthy to come out of your trembling lips. Matty is now shamelessly thrusting into you. He’s risen to his elbow to properly see you struggle through monosyllabic words, like watching you tortured was a personal pleasure. 

Stress and pleasure coaxes through your body with this twisted excitement. Something sick in you likes the idea that your mother is right there, one door away. That if she found you in bed, getting fingered by a filthy boy who laughs in church, she’d faint on the spot. That you’re spitting in her face and she doesn’t even know it. 

You won’t have a wink of sleep. You’ll sport the eyebags proudly. 

Smiling, your legs close around Matty’s hand, trapping him there. He’s so fucking smug and proud, bending down to suck at your nipples. You want to scream. You need to. He’s so— so perfect. If God is real, he made him for you. Built him out of your rib. 

“Yes,” you manage out difficultly, sticky and ill-fitting out of your mouth. 

“I put some spoons in the freezer to help with the puffiness. Of course, nothing is better than prevention.” You can practically hear your mother nod to herself, snobbish and all-knowing. “Good night’s sleep is the best makeup, that’s what I’ve always said.” 

Matty smiles up at you as he bites on your nipple. You roll your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Yes.” Your eyes dig into his dark stare. Yes, yes, yes, yes! is what you mean. 

“Well, I will leave you to it then.” Your mother finally declares. “Goodnight, sweetie. Sweet dreams.” 

Matty’s thumb swipes at your clit in a frenzy. “Night!” High-pitched, transforming into a cry you cruelly kill behind your palm. 

When you hear the steps diminishing in the hallway, you slap Matty’s shoulders. “Asshole,” you bite, but the insult loses all meaning when you’re laughing, rolling your hips into his hand. 

“D’you reckon she knows the ‘sweet dreams’ will be of me?” 

You up your nose. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.” 

Matty laughs, rolling the both of you. He lays on his back as you straddle him, fingers still firmly buried to the knuckles inside of you, hand practically sprouting from his jeans. It’s— It’s phallic, sort of. You blush at the new position, at the feel of his actual hard cock pressing into you, too.

To get you going, Matty’s free hands dig into your ass, puppeteering you to grind into his fingers. You roll your shoulders, shiver dancing down your spine. White heat coils in your belly. 

“Am I wrong?” 

And he’s not, of course. But you don’t want to just let him win. 

Hips rolling on his palm, clit deliciously hitting his wrist, you hold yourself up with two hands on his chest. “There’s a lot of profane men out there.” 

A displeased groan leaves his lips. He wipes his face clean of telltale emotions, cocking his head at your far too proud grin. “Is there?” He whispers dangerously, eyes twinkling. Your belly flexes, some sick thrill at the sight of him, of what he could do. 

To egg him on, you nod eagerly. “Tons. Enough to make my head spin.” 

Matty reaches up, hooking his fingers into the cross tangled in your messy hair. He frees it, letting it dangle between your collarbones, dancing to the sinful rhythm of your hips. He watches the show for a second, enthralled by the necklace, breasts bouncing as you— you ride him. 

Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking yourself into his fingers, chasing some new mind-wiping orgasm. Peering down at him through your eyelashes, with his swollen lips and his unruly halo and his dark eyes; some fallen angel orchestrating your dive. 

“D’you think about them a lot?” You can feel him set the trap, dropping pomegranate seeds for you to follow between each word.

“Oh, all the time,” you lie, smile loose and languid on your flushed face. 

Matty’s smirk cuts through his face. “And do they make you wet like this?” He lingers in a quiet moment to prove his point, the sopping sounds of your cunt ringing through the room, heavy breaths harmonizing. You have some leftover decency to blush. “Do they have you purring and dripping on their hands? Moaning so sweetly for them?” Your throat closes on itself, attacked by waves of dirty pleasure. You clench around him, shamelessly scorching for him. Robbed of words, you manage a nod. “Yes?” Matty repeats. Smaller, distracted by the resonating bliss throbbing inside of you, you nod again. 

His voice goes low, rough but implacable. Meant to be listened to, to be obeyed. “Well, that’s not very pious of you, is it?” 

A rush of euphoria. You shake your head fervently, still thrusting into him. “No, Father,” you whimper.  

He cocks his head. “What shall I do with an impure girl like you?” Your eyes close, letting a wave of rapture swim through you. How good he makes the words sound— not mean, not real. 

You hit your hand beside his face, bending over him. It hits a new spot inside of you, sweet moans falling through shamelessly. You grab his free hand, spreading it across your bare throat. 

Matty groans at that. His fingertips dance on your skin, repositioning correctly over your arteries. “You sure?” He pants. 

Again, you nod eagerly. “I want you to.” To unexist. To unmake. To unravel. To unlearn. 

Matty digs his fingers into your neck, pressing meanly. Headrush, pure and saccharine. Your lips part in bliss, eyes rolling in your skull, hips rolling into him. The world swims around you, soupy, lazy. The tips of you burn. You want his handprints on your collar like some branding iron. Want to be his, want to be known.

Matty lets go of you. The world snaps back to reality all at once. You've never been high either, but this must be awfully close to it. Everything is frenzied, electrified and crazed. Exhilaration strikes through you. You laugh at the contrast. You flutter around his fingers; he curls them into you, like an unsaid good girl, some physical sort of praise. 

“How many guys could do this to you?” His hand still ghosts around your neck. 

“Only you,” you say, revering. “It’s only ever you.” 

A flash of elated grin splashes across his face, but it’s wiped clean for a cruel pout. “Oh, poor little girl,” he tsks. “You lied to me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand and trailing it up your lips. Staring down at him, unflinching, unwilling to blink, you suck him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers. He groans, head falling back tortured. 

“What shall I do with you?” He says roughly. It seems like a genuine question, like he doesn’t quite know. You giggle, laugh choked by his digits. You revel in the fact. To overwhelm Matty Healy himself. To be too much girl, too much hands and skin and hips. To wrap around him. 

Freeing him with a ‘pop’ sound, spit sticking between your tongue and his fingers, you bring them between your thighs, joining its hardworking twins. Wet and crowded, he rubs at your clit instinctively. 

“That’s not quite a punishment now, is it?” He smiles at that. Your free hand presses against his shoulder again, straightening your spine. He’s at a very focused spot between your legs, but you still feel him everywhere. On your stomach, your breasts, your neck. Under your very skin. Everywhere he’s touched, everywhere he’s merely grazed— hell, sometimes you almost believe he’s lodged himself under your lungs, breathing with you.

You shake your head. Feverish elation spreads through you. “Don’t want to be punished.” 

Matty softens at that, toffee eyes growing warm. You could sink into them. “No?” 

You don’t. And, better, you don’t even know why you should be. Why be punished for wanting? You might be a poor collection of sins stretching under a girl, but the names of them fade from your mind as quickly as his thumb swipes at you. Faceless monsters. Unfanged. Uncovered. 

You can have everything you want. You deserve to. 

Staring at him, you grin shamelessly. “Can you eat me again?” 

Matty has never seemed happier than to do anything. For a profoundly rebellious person, he smiles at your demand, boyish and eager to please. You expect him to roll you over, but he takes you by the thighs instead, pulling you over his face. 

You kneel above him, hovering awkwardly, unsure of where to rest. What if you break him? 

You tell him as much, to which he answers, “Well, what a way to die.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“Don’t worry, love,” Matty smirks, although you can’t really see it when your cunt is blocking the vision. “I’ll haunt you afterwards. Let you know which one of us is right.” Something in you secretly likes that. That he’d linger for you, seep into your routine. 

It hits you almost in surprise. That some part of you might actually like him. Beyond what he makes you feel, beyond the taboo, beyond the serpent smile. 

You don’t have time to meditate on that. He distracts you instantly, peering at you as he whispers, “My choice fruits.” He turns his head at that, kissing your thigh. 

You laugh, a small shiver grazing your spine at his tender lips. “Shut up,” you say, amused, still chuckling. 

Soft and chaste turn into open-mouthed kisses, wet from his tongue, which turn into a bite, sucking at your skin, licking it better afterwards. Your breathing quickens. Excitement drips down your ribs. (Although that might be your heart. You barely can feel it anymore, a small miracle considering how fast it’s racing.)

Your eyes roll back. Something catches your stare— it snaps to the crucifix hanging above your bed. Jesus Christ himself, nailed to his cross, nailed to the wall. Your savior, all-knowing, all-loving. He died for your sins, and this is how you thank him. You swallow thickly. “He’s watching us,” you whisper.  

Matty’s eyes rise to the cross. “Good,” he answers, careless, impossibly nonchalant. You’re glad for him. For ease. “Give him a show.” 

Matty’s hands pull you down to him. You fall on his mouth, moan ripped out of you as you collide with his burning tongue. It’s already working at you, singleminded, passionate. You’ve been teased for long enough— you know it’s a short matter of time before your end, especially with the fervor Matty licks into you. 

Legs spread around his face, he’s swallowing you whole. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, blunt claws leaving crescent moons on your skin as a starved groan graces his hungry lips. Your head rolls back, stomach flexing with need. 

Your hands rack through his hair, grabbing a fistful just to tug on it. Your hold is fierce; you soothe the burn away with a thumb, rubbing at his forehead as your fingers wreck ravage on his curls. 

Breathless, scattered moans fall from your lips. The strangled cries, stifled to the best of your abilities, make him buck against nothing. You would feel guilty at that, at taking and taking and giving him nothing in return. Unfortunately, your brain is working overdrive just to remember your own name.

You rock carelessly against his face. You’re unafraid of breaking his neck, chasing your promised release with acute precision. Your clit rolls against the tip of his nose, strikes of euphoria licking up your spine every time you find just the right angle. His tongue laps at your entrance, thrusting inside. 

This is heaven. You do not rest on some material cloud, do not grow feathered wings and shiny halo. You sit on a man’s face and you whine oh, my God. You make it sound sacred. 

God cannot blame you for your blasphemy; if he made this tongue, he understands. 

Your eyes flick to the crucifix. You could say sorry. You should say sorry. 

Instead, they fall back on Matty. Locked with his dark gaze, you rub against him, chanting his name. “I’m— I’m right there—” 

Gently, he bites on your clit. Slash of ecstasy tears through your stomach. It ripples down your limbs, biting through the flesh, leaving you bloody and scarred and, oh, fuck, you’re coming. 

Gripping his curls vengefully, slapping a hand over your mouth, you scream. Your head loosens from your neck, parts of you discombobulating and reattaching in under a second. You break on his tongue. The proverbs were right— it’s a poet’s greatest weapon. 

Once again, you float a moment into the sheer idea that you can. That you did.

Breathing heavily, you unmount him, laughing to yourself. He takes a gasp of air, but he’s just as languidly satisfied as you. Sticky chin shines with the moonlight. 

“That was—” You shake your head, lost for words, falling on the bed beside him. 

“You’re welcome,” he says smugly. You push his shoulder, shaking your head. 

Suddenly, you realize you haven’t— he hasn’t— It cuts through the daze. You blush, a little embarrassed, a little unsure, a little nervous. You rack your throat, frowning. “Do you want me to…” Your eyebrows rise meaningfully. 

“Oh,” Matty exhales. He blushes, too. “Um, no. I’m… taken care of.” 

You can’t control your eyes dipping to his jeans curiously. There it is— wet patch on the front, no trace of his hard cock. Your cheeks redden further, but something in you is unbelievably proud. 

You’ve made Matty Healy come in his pants. Can you add that to your list of accomplishments? 

You roll to your back, trying to hide the self-satisfied grin. You rest your head against his shoulder. “You know, in second grade, they told us the white marks on our fingernails were signs we had committed mortal sins.” You don’t know why you say it. It bubbles out of you, beyond your usual tyrannical filter. 

Matty sighs, racking a hand through the sweaty locks. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Yes, it was he.” He snorts at that. 

His shoulder pushes your head up. “Well, let’s see them, then. How many sins have you got?” 

You flaunt your nails, raising your arms over your heads. Matty narrows his eyes, inspecting the handful of white marks dusting your fingertips. He takes one hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, bringing it down for a closer analysis. The flutter spreading through your stomach is different than usual. 

You watch his side profile, suddenly desperate to memorize all angles of him. He throws you a playful glance, teasing, “How many of those are about me?”

You scoff, ripping your hand away as he laughs. “You’re a child.”

“No, no. I’m truly impressed.” He grins. “You got more than me.” He shows off his hands in turn. Blunt nails, cut too short, roughened by guitar strings, but practically spotless.

“Well, maybe I’ll be the one corrupting you.” 

Matty rolls over you, pressing a kiss on your lips. “I’ll take it with open arms,” he whispers, then leaves another one, just a little longer, a bit more wistful. Against your mouth, he says, “Forsake me, angel.” 

You shake your head, nose wrinkling. “That’s an oxymoron.” 

Matty rolls his eyes, nearing your lips again. “Stop talking.”

You gasp, cheerfully crying, “The roles really have reversed!”

But he seemed to mean it when he said stop talking, because he doesn’t bother with an answer. His mouth finds yours, hand holding onto your jaw as he draws secrets out of your wanton lips. It’s slow, devoid of the frenzied rush you’ve spent the night in. It leaves you floating, dazing, thoughts incoherently blurring away. 

“I should go,” Matty declares, breaking away from you. Your heart pinches. 

“Yeah,” you nod along, more to convince yourself than him. “I should get some sleep or my mom will freak about eyebags.”

Matty laughs, then surprises you with a kiss on your forehead. Of all the places his mouth has been, this is where you feel him burning the most. “Goodnight, angel.” 

He rolls out of bed, catching his discarded shirt and pulling it back on, slipping into his sneakers next. You're sad to see him like this; put-together, balanced. Throwing the window open, he sneaks out, leaving you with only one last heated look. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you think once he’s gone and the room still smells like him. Your thighs are sticky with your drying juices and sport— you look down at them to make sure and, yes— a purple hickey with the shape of his lips. You're naked, ravaged, undone. And he's walking the streets right now with the taste of you still on his tongue.

Your eyes fall on the crucifix still towering over your bed. There’s really no going back, is there?

[kitsuneregin]

Adore You 4 (Yandere! Sugar Daddy! Mingi x Yandere! Yunho x Black! Reader)

Do you tell him? How do you tell him? How do you tell the man who took you off the streets, has you living in a luxurious penthouse, sends you on endless shopping trips, and is practically catering to you that his best friend is a psychopath and possibly a murderer. You bite your nails worried about how Mingi would take the news if you told him, on one hand its the truth and Mingi should know the truth...on the other hand Mingi could possibly know and kill you for speaking up. That's probably what happened to the other women the Yunho mentioned.

The clocks hands seemed to drag as every minute felt like a year, the anticipation of Mingi arriving home felt like you were at the top of a roller coaster ready to go down the hill. 1 minute, 2 minutes, 3 minutes....you were about to go insane. Finally the front door opened as Mingi walked in hanging his coat. You jumped rushing up to him ready to greet him. Mingi looked to you and smiled gently...weird. You've never seen Mingi smile at you so warmly before, the only other time you saw him smile was when you two watched the news of the perv being exposed. The warm smile made you temporarily forget your main purpose of approaching him. "Your excited to see me" Mingi commented as he walked to the kitchen, "I am?" you blush as Mingi grabbed two oranges, he peeled one and handed it to you before peeling the other and savoring each piece of fruit.

You nibble on the tangy fruit as the silence comforts you both. Mingi cleared his throat as he looked to you "I was told that my...ex wife came here" Mingi began, oh yeah....Sara. Yunho had completely taken over your mind you forgot that Sara had came. "She did...she wasn't all that happy to see me" you said picking at the orange. Mingi frowned, he didn't like that his past was popping up, he didn't like that you now knew he was once married, would the arrangement you two had be soured by this fact, will Sara run you away...no, over Mingi's dead body will you leave him. "Listen...Sara is...a previous affair, if she comes by again let me know and I will handle her" Mingi's eyes turned cold, it scared you. The sudden change in tone and the cold look in his eyes made you back off from your original plan to tell him about Yunho.

"Anyway, we're going to cook dinner together, think of it like bonding thing" Mingi informed you. Cooking...you never learned how to properly cook, you either took leftover food from the soup kitchen or steal small snacks from the convenience store. "I...I don't know how to cook" you tell Mingi. The business man looked to you for a moment before nodding "It's ok Yunho's joining us so he'll help me out" your blood ran cold, Yunho's coming.

7pm would roll around as Yunho happily entered Mingi's penthouse, Yunho loved cooking with Mingi, it was a special bonding time for the two, it would remind Yunho of when they first met in high school. Yunho would see Mingi eating alone due to his asshole friends abandoning him their reason to leave was for Mingi eating slow, Yunho would join him for lunch from then on and those assholes leaving Mingi by himself suddenly disappeared. Yunho entered the penthouse holding a bottle of fancy wine. Clattering could be heard from the kitchen, Yunho giddily skipped to the area where he saw Mingi gathering pots and pans and you sitting on the counter watching him. Yunho’s mood slightly soured, he thought you would have gotten the idea to stay out of his way when he came over, guess you were more stubborn than Yunho thought.

“Yunho put the wine in the fridge and help me” Mingi called out. Yunho fixed his face and did as so “so what’s the plan tonight?” Yunho asked, Mingi pulled out ingredients “I thought about either kimchi fried rice or bulgogi” Mingi explained, Mingi looked to you “what do you want” you looked to the counter afraid to make eye contact with yunho or Mingi “um…how about kimchi fried rice” you said softly. Mingi took notice to your behavior change, “if you’re embarrassed about not knowing to cook it’s ok” Mingi smiled softly, the older man walked around to you grabbing your hand, Mingi guided you to the counter “here take out the kimchi and cut it in chunks” Mingi stood behind you as he grabbed a knife and guided you on how to cut the kimchi.

Jealousy bubbled in Yunho as he watched you two, how pathetic of you to pretend you don’t know how to cook to get Mingi to coddle you. Yunho prepped the rice as he watched you carefully cut the kimchi by yourself as Mingi cut up the green onion and garlic. “So… (Y/N), how’s life been since Mingi took you in” Yunho asked. You kept quiet for a moment wanting to choose your words carefully who know how Yunho will react. “It’s different, I didn’t have a lot of money before so I feel weird” you said quietly, Yunho hummed “so what did you do before meeting Mingi” you froze as did Mingi. Yunho tried to hide a smirk, the both of you were hiding something.

“I um…” you tried to think, “she’s a college student” Mingi blurted. Mingi wasn’t an idiot he knew if anyone were to find out that you were just some homeless women he picked off the street he’d be a social laughing stock. “Oh what do you study” Yunho asked. You look to Mingi who only nodded towards Yunho “n-nursing” you stammer out. Yunho refrained from rolling his eyes, nursing a typical answer, it’s easy to act as if you’re a nursing student given their busy and hectic schedule.

Yunho only hummed and continued to prepare the food, both you and Mingi let out a sigh of relief. The cooking would go by quietly as everyone was stuck in their own minds. Finally the food was ready, the three of you sat and ate the meal. “So Mingi, it’s almost time for our annual trip, do you have an idea on where you want to go?” Yunho said the smugness hidden in his voice. “Oh, I forgot…well we’ve been everywhere even visited some places twice…y/n where would you like to visit” Yunho could nearly break his chopsticks the way he gripped them in anger at the mention of you joining the trip. You look to Mingi and think, you’ve never been outside of Korea, you don’t know what the world is like, is it as cruel where you already are, or is it different being the arm candy of a wealthy man.

“Mingi she’ll probably be too busy with her school work to go on a trip” Yunho smiled his teeth feeling as though they may break with how hard he’s clenching them. “She can make up her work” Mingi said, Mingi was touched Yunho cared so much about your education however he felt bad lying to his best friend. “Now y/n where would like to go” Mingi asked again. You tried not to look at the glaring Yunho “uh, p-paris?” You say more as a question than an actual statement. Mingi smiled “Paris is perfect, you loved it when we visited right Yunho” Mingi looked to his best friend. Yunho forced a smile “ I did, it was such a great time for us” Yunho emphasized on the word us. “Then that’s where we’ll go!” Mingi beamed happy his two favorite people were going on a trip. Meanwhile both you and Yunho began to dread the upcoming trip with one another. One was for certain, only one of you would make it back alive.

[lionsongfr]

Warrior's Way Snacks

Now this year is the lore it was mentioned that “We’d especially like to thank Arvelle for her generous donation towards our food budget”, and in the pamphlet for Warrior’s Way itself it mentions that “Food is available to participating warriors at all times throughout the course of the event.” So that got me thinking, what kind of food would dragons and beastclans eat during such an event?

Unfortunately, Warrior’s Way is during the summer and the heat can stifle anyone’s appetite- leading to warrior’s struggling to have the energy and hydration necessary to fight. Larger meals most likely would be served in the early morning and after sunset, and battles probably would be held off during the hottest middle of the day. But warriors would also need small meals and snacks to sustain them throughout the day. So, what kind of snacks could they expect?

Live Hornworms- a staple insect for insectivores, this import from the Mire is high in water and can be gut-loaded with either Fire Flower (for magic boost), Redblood Sapper (iron for blood), or Greenpod Bloom (calcium for bones and muscles). They are contained in large barrels with a cooling charm upon them, keeping the insects less active and from perishing in the heat.

Pickle Platter- while our most of our dragons do not sweat (I think maybe Light, Earth, and Ice dragons do), there are beastclans who definitely sweat. And with sweat comes the craving for salt. Pickled foods are high in salt, curb sugar spikes, help blood clot, and can provide the necessary electrolytes to relieve muscle cramps. The most common pickled foods are Basilisk eggs, Dubious Cucumbers, Wild Onions, Zeeba/Rambra sausages, Noxious/Leopard Caterpillar, and Kelp Beds Mackerel. Occasionally, Blacktongue Pepper is added for a spicy kick!

Cold Lume Daffodil and Spearmint Tea- every Fire Flight forge has a pot of tea cooling nearby in a large clay pot for refreshment. While Fire dragons typically prefer Cindermint, the cooling and refreshing combo of Spearmint and Lume Daffodil is a blessing on a hot summer day.  Peppermint tea may also be used for creatures having nervous stomachs for their upcoming battles.

Blood Red Smoothie- to many a Wildclaw’s sorrow this does not actually have blood. This smoothie combines Spinach, Blood Acorn, Strawberries, Blood Spath, Goat milk, and ice into a frothy, highly caloric, and nutritious drink. Sometimes it is easier to drink all of one’s calories than eat them, especially when it is hot outside. (Plus the Spirals brought these cute curly straws to drink them with!)

Cold Cut Wraps-unlike bread, flat breads can be quickly made and can be easily sized per creature.  Creating a wrap with cold cuts of meat, vegetables, and condiments makes for an easy to carry and customizable snack for busy warriors. Some favored cuts are: honeyed Featherback ham, smoked teriyaki Rainbow Trout, roasted lemon pepper Woodland Turkey, and spicy Flameleg Millipede.

Energy bites- the Longnecks are known for their Berry and Nut trail bars and the Centaurs for their Ration Pouches, and dragons have their own Elk pemmican tins and Cricket protein bars. Energy bites are a variant on this idea, mixing granola with a fat (Goat yogurt, Sunflower butter, Elk fat, ground Mealworm), Sugarbee honey, and dried fruit (Blueberries, Raspberries, Mushrooms, Butcher’s Fig) into round balls. The bites are then cooled overnight and put into bags made from Sweet Potato Vine (which is also edible), which can be carried about the event.

Shrimp and Potash Gazpacho- served by the cup or by the gallon (Imperial sized), this is a chilled soup for the seafood lovers. The base of the soup is the tangy and sour Miniature Potash Peach along with Cucumbers, Golden Peppers, and Wild Onions. And then anything seafood can be added to it! Most common is sweet Jumbo Shrimp, Pastel Scallops, and feisty Blue Swimmer Crab.