#bbf!matty

[shinycollarboneapologist]

a tale of brief encounters (and the one time it actually isn't so brief)

(part 2 to clandestined, or the one where matty tries to call elle’s bluff)

word count: 8.6k

content: MINORS DNI! mentions of alcohol and drinking, matty is a jealous baby, mutual pining, george cockblocks, smut, fingering in front of a mirror, and matty uses the term “good girl” a lot, also slight age gap (3 years). (i also have not read through this yet, so please do not hesitate to tell me if something is wrong or weird thank u)

with the turn of the season comes the inevitability of elle’s trek home from the hectic haze of school and work and the return to some sense of normalcy. it’s inundated with the promise of rest and relaxation, a chance to stretch her legs and finally start cracking on that growing pile of “to be read” books or change up her style, get cracking on those internship applications. it also comes with the promise of returning to george’s couch, a tradition dating back to when she initially committed to a university and moved out of their shared childhood home. It was the promise that both would have a month or so of uninterrupted brother-sister bonding time (it also gave her the opportunity to work and make money without having to pay rent). 

the season changes and so does she, trading in her sweaters for shorts and sundresses; its unnaturally hot for this time of year and the sun is fully shining instead of peaking through the clouds. it’s early in the morning when she gets the call from george that he’s outside with a borrowed van. stomach flipping, elle tells him that she’ll be down in a moment. there’s that underlying promise that there would be someone with him. it was tradition after all for george and matty to come to get her. she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about him once these past few weeks. but her unrelenting anticipation is soon replaced by disappointment at the sight of a lone george waiting outside the building. it’s short-lived, though, as she finds herself quickly distracted by loading up the van with some of her essentials. she’s hardly lifting a finger because in true george fashion he’s lugging most of the heavier items, a bit begrudgingly but he’s doing it anyway.

the ride back to his is smooth. there’s not many people on the road due to the time of day, and he even makes it a point to stop and get the both of them some fast food breakfast and coffee along the way. george asks about the internship and elle answers, raving about the london office and all of the coworkers she has yet to meet and how one of her roommates was also awarded a position there so the duo plans on commuting together. elle asks about the guys, carefully skirting around the topic of his own roommate. and after he talks about ross and hann, she doesn't bring up matty, a bit too scared to ask where he is or how he’s been. his absence is felt in the car all the way home and elle finds herself having to push away dangerous thoughts of him more often than she would admit to. 

the apartment is empty when they arrive, much to elle’s dismay. a smile replaces her frown, though, as not to seem too dejected. even if there was no kiss, no longing, no desire, she still would miss him and his antics and the big welcome home that he’s always given her. the day passes by as she makes herself at home in the small two bedroom apartment, claiming a shelf in the bathroom and setting up a stake on the pull out couch. it almost feels empty without matty messing around and hiding her stuff as she tries to organize herself. she can’t help but feel dejected in a way, chest feeling heavy as she tucks herself onto the couch after the long day. 

sleep comes easy, but doesn’t stay that way. it’s late when elle hears a clanging by the door, the jingling of keys and giggles coming from outside in the hall. not this. it takes a second for the door to open and the culprits to be revealed. 

matty’s wrapped around another girl, lips feverishly pressing to her own and hands roaming her body. its dark, but the small amount of light coming in from the door is enough to illuminate the way he’s pressing himself against her. she’s gasping, her own hands clutching onto him and pulling him close. there’s stifled whispers falling from his lips, elle can hear the hush in his tone, and his friend’s incessant giggling. the door to the hallway shuts and he begins to move her inside, closer to where elle is trying so viciously to not be seen. bile rises to her throat. 

“oh, hey there, ellie belly,” he hums. 

ellie belly. the nickname weighs heavy on her brain, he hasn’t called her that in ages. and surely, she had thought something would change following the kiss and the things he muttered into her ear and the way his hands gripped her waist. but evidently, it’s still the same. at least it is for him. 

she rolls over, wanting the couch to just fold back up and crush her with it, but not before his eyes meet her’s and he sends her a wink in the dark that turns her stomach. 

“who was that?” the dark haired girl breathes out, as he begins to back her into his room. 

“no one important, s’just my roommate’s sister,” the door is shut and that’s when the tears come. 

—---------------

elle is pretty good at avoiding matty for a few days. 

she pushes herself to stay longer at the office, take the longer train ride home and the more scenic walk up to the apartment building. and it’s easy to do so. he’s rarely home when she is, and even when he is around there’s not many interactions between the two of them that aren’t mediated by george. 

“you going out tonight?” george asks, walking up to the bathroom that she had been hogging for what he saw as hours. his face comes to view in the mirror as he pokes his head into the open door. 

elle smiles at him, nodding as she lowers the music playing from her phone, an old throwback song, “yeah a couple of the interns wanted to celebrate the completion of our first week at the office.” 

he returns the smile and steps into the room, leaning against the threshold of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, “hope it doesn’t end up as a repeat of your eighteenth birthday. you remember that?” 

eyes narrowing, she puts the curling iron down and turns to get a full look at him, scoff falling from her lips, “it will not!”

“that’ll teach you to go shot for shot with me and matty,” he’s full on grinning now, “spent most of your night in this bathroom here if i’m correct.”

his words bring elle back to the flavored vodka and redbull induced night, can still taste the bitterness on her tongue and the copious amounts of sports drinks she had consumed to not spend her night in the hospital. it all started when matty made a comment on the “girly” drink she had in her hand, challenging her to take a sip of his much more “macho” mixed drink. it wasn’t half bad, surprisingly, and he promised the girl that he would buy her as many as she wanted so long as she finished them all. an opportunist at heart, elle accepted but soon found herself clutching her stomach and being led out of the dingy london club by george and matty, her friends and the rest of the guys trailing behind the three of them. the night got foggy from that point on and the first thing she can vaguely remember is waking up in george’s bed with a cool rag on her forehead and a pounding headache. 

“enough from you. it was all matty’s fault anyway,” elle chides, turning back to the mirror to continue fixing her hair. 

“oh yeah, because he force fed you all those drinks,” george tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“alright, get out before i burn you with this,” elle waves the iron at him. he only holds his hands up in mock surrender. 

“do you need a ride? i think matty’s heading out tonight, was gonna dd for him. can always drop you off as well,” george asks as he exits, leaving elle to ponder the thought. 

“where’s he going?” she tries not to seem too enthralled by the question, instead trying to busy herself with the hot curling iron and a stubborn strand of hair, “i’m not gonna ask you to taxi me around if he’s going somewhere and i’m out of the way.” 

she hears george utter the name of a club. it’s familiar, has her pausing the music to hear him again as he repeats it. the curling iron slips from her hand and there's a slight burning sensation bubbling up on the skin on the top of her foot. 

“fuck!” 

when the realization of matty being at the same club finally sinks in, the hot metal doesn’t seem so painful. she reaches down quickly and grabs the tool, placing it back on the counter. 

“elle, are you alright?” george asks, poking his head back into the bathroom. 

“yeah. i’m fine,” she mutters, more so trying to convince herself than anything, “guess i’ll take you up on that offer, then.” she gives him a half-smile. he nods apprehensively, but doesn’t push the issue. and elle is grateful for that. when he dips out of the room once more, she lets out a long, exasperated sigh. 

she was fucked.

matty returns moments before they’re set to leave; the first time elle has seen him solo and not entangled with one of his friends. his presence cuts into her bravado with a knife, tugging on the threads of her confidence and pulling against them until they’re taught enough to snap. she finds herself messing with her outfit more, playing with the straps of her dress and fiddling with the hem. he notices, because he always does, and offers her a sly smirk, lips curled around his teeth. if things were different, it would have hit her right in the gut, eliciting a burning sensation. and while it did that now, elle was conflicted with a sense of wanting to shy away from it all. 

in a turn of events, matty lets elle take the passenger seat claiming the back of the van is “too decrepit for sweet ellie belly.” she cringes at the nickname, rolling her eyes as she slips into the passenger side. his eyes are hot on her neck, burning holes into her skin. she can feel them lighting little fires, a stark comparison to how cold he had been to her the week prior. 

the ride is quick, her thoughts muted by george and matty’s antics. her stomach churns when george asks if matty plans on bringing home a friend tonight. the older boy only laughs, his eyes catch elle’s before he slips out of the van, offering a sly smirk and a stomach-fluttering wink. elle is nauseated and thankful that he’s ran ahead to meet up with his friends at the door. 

“call me if you need anything, yeah?” george smiles from the driver’s seat. elle nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before she follows matty’s suit and slips out of the car. loud music permeates the air of chatter around the entrance which is saturated by the bodies of those waiting to get in or enjoying a smoke. there’s no sight of matty, though, and elle is thankful for that. she just wants him to stay out of her hair and out of sight for as long as possible. 

“elle!” 

elle pivots on the balls of her feet, spinning around to see charli and sophie. she wraps her arms around her friends as they squeal and cheer their hellos, despite the annoyed glances from those around them.

“is that george in the car?” charli quips while they pull away. she raises on her tippy toes to attempt to see in the van that’s slowly pulling away, tugging her lowcut top down a bit and fluffing up her hair, “go ask him if he wants to come have a drink. s’on me.” 

“don’t be weird, char.” elle groans, dragging her friends towards the entrance after turning to wave george off. 

the club is packed, littered with bodies from wall to wall. and despite the lack of room to move let alone breathe, elle is happy. it leaves little to no anticipation that she would be forced to interact with matty. the girls are quick to distract her from it all, buying her drink after drink and shot after shot. the music is vibrating through her body, mixing with the alcohol she’s quickly consumed to create a sense of euphoria. she needed this. 

“that guy over there has not stopped staring at you since we came in,” sophie smirks, handing elle another drink. her head nods over the girl’s shoulder and elle twists around to follow her gaze. 

sure enough, a guy; about six foot with a mop of golden curls and tattoos littering his slender arms, has his lip tucked between his teeth. his aloof demeanor matches the off-set smirk thats on his face. elle won’t deny he’s attractive, she has a type clearly.  a small, bashful smile pulls at her lips. she offers him a wave, which he returns. elle is quick to turn around, giddy as she faces sophie once more. 

“he’s coming over.”

“no he’s not, shut up,” elle’s cheeks feel warm, stomach twisting in delight.

sophie nods, wide eyed, “elle, he’s uh right behind-”

“hey,” his voice is deep, sending a shiver down elle’s spine as he finds his place carefully next to her.

“hi,” she returns the gesture. if the lights in the club were not so dim, she was sure he would see the rising flush from her neck. 

“what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he quirks, nodding his head at her.

“am i not allowed to be here?” she tilts her head to the side, looking up at him with doed eyes.

“never said that. think running into you made my night significantly better, actually,” his arm worms its way around her waist and elle’s smile only deepens. she curls her lips around the straw of her drink, sucking down the bitter liquid while keeping her eyes locked on his.  

his name is alex. he’s a musician in a local band, lead singer and guitar player. he grew up ten-minutes from where elle’s family moved and he was actually in her maths class. 

she has a type. 

her attention is only pulled from his momentarily. and in that moment she’s kicking herself for even looking away.

across the bar, matty is stood nursing a drink. he looks like he’s paying half a mind to it as his head bops to the beat. their eyes lock for only a moment. his attention is pulled down to the arm around her waist and the guy slung around her neck. alex’s lips are hot on her skin, albeit a bit messy. a soft gasp falls from her parted lips, consumed by the thickened air around them. her eyes fall shut as his teeth drag over the sensitive skin just under her ear. 

when her eyes open, matty’s gone. 

“well well well. what do we have here?”

even in her alcohol induced euphoria, elle would recognize the timbre of that voice anywhere. the way his lilted pronunciation rolls off his tongue, hangs in the air like smoke and vanishes away before she can hang on too tight. his presence usually elicits flutters in her stomach, a pounding in her chest and a bright smile. this time, however, the disdain burns heavy on her tongue. he’s got a thing for being places he shouldn’t be at the times where its least opportune. the hand on her waist tightens, drawing her in closer to the stranger’s grasp. she wants so badly to remember the guys name, it sits untouched on the tip of her tongue because the only name she can remember is-

“matty,” elle huffs, “what are you doing here?” 

“just wanted to see how little ellie belly was doing,” he reaches up and ruffles her hair. it draws a chuckle from the man wrapped around her (andrew? jamie?). elle feels her shoulders slump, stomach twisting instead of fluttering. matty doesn’t relent, “though, it looks like she’s doing alright for herself.” 

“do you know this guy?” scott! his name is scott, asks from next to her. 

“unfortunately,” elle mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. 

matty snorts with a roll of his eyes, “i’m matty. and you are standing way too close to the precious cargo.” his hand is outstretched, staring directly at the arm wrapped conveniently around elle’s waist. she feels small under his gaze. and even smaller as the man stood next to her reaches out his unoccupied hand.

“alex,” their hands collide in an uncomfortable sound, “and i’ll stand right here until she decides to tell me off. which i hope she doesn’t, by the way.” 

matty’s tongue rolls against his teeth. it clicks against the roof of his mouth as an emotion elle has yet to pinpoint washes over his face. he covers it up quickly with a half-lipped smile, looking between the two of them, “next round on me?” 

he does buy the next round, with alex soon following with another and there was a third bought by matty and a fourth by alex. with each slam of an empty pint glass and smirk thrown in her direction, elle feels like she’s shrinking. small enough to weasel away from the testosterone induced challenges that have been plaguing her ears for the past thirty minutes or so, but alex’s hand sitting firmly around her waist and matty’s darkened stare are enough to keep her in place. 

“is one of them about to pee on you? or is the meat-fest pointless?” sophie huffs, though she’s already downed another drink bought by matty. 

“this is getting ridiculous. i just want to get out of here,” elle sighs. 

it doesn’t matter how loudly either of the girls talk. the two men are paying them no mind. instead,both of their chests are puffed outwards and elle can tell from the way matty is standing that he’s trying to appear taller than he is, though he and alex stand around the same height. its paired with their obnoxiously timed sly digs in between the casual conversation about alex and matty’s one shared common interest: being musicians in a local band. 

manicured fingers reach up to tug on the sleeve of alex’s shirt. there’s no budge. no movement aside from the arm that was once around her waist slipping a bit. brown eyes dart down, and a smirk rises on matty’s lips. elle feels sick. he looks pretty pleased with himself. she needs to work harder, remind the man that was so wrapped up in her moments ago that she was still standing there. so, she tugs again. 

alex shifts to face her this time, dazed smile on his lips. 

“do you wanna get out of here?” elle all but begs into his ear; she just wants to be put out of her misery of watching the mirrored images bicker. 

“oh…oh…yeah,” he nods. thankful, elle lets their fingers intertwine.

“we’re gonna head out. see you, matty. thanks for the drinks,” she nods her head in matty’s direction. 

his expression is unreadable, like he’s mulling over something in his head. as annoyed as she is, elle would kill to be able to crack open his brain to see what exactly was going on in there. the wheels were definitely turning, whether good, bad or indifferent. as badly as she wanted to get out of there, she more so would spend the next few hours picking his brain. yet, alex serves as a viable distraction. a means to break her from the matty-induced spell. 

alex extends his hand out to shake matty’s once more. the brunette looks down at the outstretched hand, then back at the way elle has so comfortably enclosed herself around alex’s arm. he meets her eyes, eyebrows arched in an “are you sure about this?” expression. 

“why are you looking-” 

“dunno if you want to take her too far, mate. she might blow chunks on those nice new trainers you got there,” matty seethes. 

elle stiffens, hoping that the otherwise loud roar of the conversations around them and the overwhelming bass of the music would drown out the sound of matty’s voice. his words hang around in the thickened air, though, long enough for alex to slowly lower his hand. 

“matty-”

“mate, what are you talking about?” alex chuckles uneasily. 

“meant what i said. was her birthday. at this very club, she got so shit-faced couldn’t even walk straight. yacked right in that corner that she was probably about to take you to,” matty continues, vindictive bites laced within the syllables that fall from his mouth. elle so badly wants to catch them all, bury it all deep below the surface. this has never happened before. he’s never done this. 

“matty, stop,” she pleas. her requests fall as quickly as alex lets her hand drop. 

alex, all six-foot, messy auburn-hair, guitar playing lead-vocalist of him, laughs beside her. 

“think that’s the same night you belted out shakira the whole way to the cab? right, elle?” matty’s looking at her, expecting an answer. but how can she answer when her tongue feels heavy against the roof of her mouth? when the words she wants to utter are jumbled and foreign? how can she answer when the one person that’s always made her feel like the only person in the room is treating her no better than the lime he discarded on the bar?

he doesn’t wait any longer for a response. instead he continues, “it was a fucking mess, dude. the bouncers had to cone it off. my brand new trainers were stained.” 

elle’s chest feels tight, throat constricting as she tries to gasp for air. she would much rather deal with matty’s incessant stare, the darkened gaze and the brooding attitude than have him obliterate any chance with blonde-haired alex right in front of her. when the two of them laugh in cohesion, she feels a knife puncturing at her heart, eyes glazing over. 

she’s worming her way away from the group before she can hear anymore of what matty so graciously has to say. the tears come before she can make it all the way outside, ignoring the concerned stares from strangers.

 the cobblestone lined wall provides little relief to her heated body, heart hammering hard against her rib cage. she’s gasping for air, choked sobs drowning out the bass from inside. never in her life did she believe that of all people matthew fucking healy would be the one to take the piss out of her. it was bad enough that he’d pretty much pretended like she didn’t exist the entire first week of her arrival, ignored her texts. was this how he felt all along? was their friendship instilled in convenience of her stroking his ego when she complimented the band?

her shaking hands cover her face as the sobs rack through her body. she’s pathetic, feeling no bigger than the ants that crawl on the sidewalk. she envies them, despises them even. they at least get to crawl away from their problems and are able to get squished under the shoes of those that don’t care about them. meanwhile, she’s helplessly tangled up in the one problem she has. 

matty.

“elle?! where the fuck are you?” his voice collides with her ears oppressively. her stomach twists, “why- why did you leave?”

he’s out of breath; shoulders rising and falling quickly.

she puffs out a laugh, wiping at the tears that have collected under her eyes. 

“why did i leave? are you that fucking dense, matty?” 

he gulps, adams apple bobbing. 

“can you go get sophie and charli for me? i want to go home.”

“thought you were catching a ride with me and george,” matty takes a step towards her. its tentative, like he was mulling the action over in his head before he did it. so, he can think. he just picks and chooses when to do so. 

“don’t want to be anywhere near you, actually.” 

she watches as he winces and rubs over his heart, “sheesh. that one hurt, sweets. wait, are you crying?” matty’s face softens but she turns her face away. 

“elle.”

“leave me alone, matty,” she mutters. its pathetic the way her heart raps against her ribs harder as his hand comes in contact with her shoulder. the tiny little fires under her skin burn brighter and faster than ever before. 

“why are you crying?” he presses, tone unwavering.

“I’m not,” her voice betrays her as a sob escapes between her parted lips. 

he scoffs, “then what’s all this?” 

“i just don’t understand what i did to make you hate me so much,” elle sniffles, rubbing at her eyes. 

“what are you talking about?”

she inhales slowly, “you, fuck, you made me look like a fucking idiot. Fucking telling him all those embarrassing stories, won’t even look me in the eye at the apartment, avoiding me like the damn plague. matty, if you hate me, just fucking say it.” 

he’s quiet. 

he’s quiet and she’s fucked it. again. 

“if you regret kissing me just say it. i can take it. m’a big girl.”

matty stares at elle. long enough that she can feel his eyes burning holes into the side of her face. her head spins again, resonating within her brain is the sound of silence. its loud, overpowering her racing thoughts. she wants him to say something, anything. matty could recite the abc’s to her and she would be content. 

“say something.”

he flicks the butt of his finished cigarette to the ground. if it were any other person, she would have scolded them for littering, chastise them until they picked it up. but matty did it in a way that had her heart racing. his eyes coast over her when she finally looks at him again. her own eyes plea with him. elle needs him to say something, wants to hear the words that will finally put the nail in the coffin. if he rejects her maybe all those years of pining and going after guys that look and act like him will be in the past. maybe she can move on from the love sick crush she’s been harboring for so long. maybe. 

“eleanor daniel, are you dense?” 

“what?”

matty’s frame looms over her, pressing her body up against the wall as if he needed her to stabilize him, “i asked if you were dense.” 

she’s never seen him look at her that way before. 

“i don’t know what you’re getting on about, matty,” elle gulps. she can feel her heart beating in her throat; a rhythmic thumping that she’s positive he can hear from how close he is to her. his hand comes to rest at the base of her neck, thumb stroking over the heated skin, “just wish you would stop being so mean to me.”

“i don’t hate you. i want you, elle,” he exhales, “so fucking badly that it’s killing me knowing i can’t have you.” 

its her turn to be struck into silence, chest rising and falling slowly under the weight of his palm. her tongue juts out to flick over her bottom lip, blinking slowly. 

“you what?”

“you’ve been plaguing my thoughts since the last time i’ve seen you. but it can’t happen again,” matty murmurs, voice falling just above a whisper, “it shouldn’t have even happened the first time. you were crossed, didn’t want that to be the first time i kissed you.”

“you’ve been thinking about kissing me?” 

“do you only speak in questions?”

“only when it comes to you.” 

they stand in a comforting silence, though its tensed by the way his hand slides down from her neck to the curve of her waist. its slow, sensual and leaves a trail of goosebumps on her exposed skin. he leans in close to her and elle is almost convinced that he’s about to seal the space between them by pressing his lips against her own. the very lips she’s thought about at least ten times a day in the weeks following their last kiss. he doesn’t, though. instead he leans to her ear, hushed whispers against the shell of her ear. 

“i want to kiss you again, elle. but we can’t.”

she shudders, eyes fluttering closed as he presses a kiss just below her earlobe, “says who?”

“the laws of physics. george.” his voice is muffled as it reverberates against her skin, hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. 

“george doesn’t have to know,” she refutes, nails dragging along his skin. he shivers underneath her hold. 

 its quiet again, aside from the cars that drive past and the occasional melodies escaping from the constant opening and shutting door of the club. 

“are you drunk right now?” matty asks, eyes pouring into elle’s as he lifts his gaze. his eyes are dilated, chocolate brown irises almost non-existent in the wake of his enlarged pupils. 

she shakes her head, but he pinches at her side.

“n-no. are you?”

“no.” 

his lips find hers before she can even find the courage to ask him to do so. its softer than their first kiss, slower and exuding a sense of comfort from their longing. he tastes of the bitter whiskey he had been sipping on the whole evening, yet it was uniquely matty. a taste elle was sure she would never get off the tip of her tongue. his hands wander over her body, falling from her waist to the curve of her ass through her jeans. they settle there, squeezing at swell. her mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes the initiative to slide his tongue between her lips. 

elle moans, and that’s when matty’s movements come to a screeching halt. he pulls back hastily though she’s frozen in time, lips still pursed and chin still tilted towards him. 

“we can’t do this again,” he hushes, moving his hands from over her jeans to rest at her waist once more.

“matty-” she exhales. she wants to ask him how he can kiss her like that and then decide on his own accord that whatever that just was is to never happen again but he’s quick to cut her off with a bruising kiss. it’s hard. the way his lips collide with her own and the force behind him as he pushes her back up against the cool cobblestone of the wall. the bricks dig into her back, yet elle pays them no mind as she lets herself get lost in the kiss. her hands move from the back of his neck up to the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling at the unruly curls that habituate there. he groans against her lips, gripping at the bare skin of her side. elle’s almost certain that there will be moon shaped marks left tomorrow but she has half a mind to care. 

the marks would prove to her that this was real.

–

its late. its late and the impending sound of her alarm is enough to make elle question her own sanity as to why she’s staring at the cracks in the ceiling instead of sleeping peacefully. she rolls over and reaches for the phone that’s plugged in beside the makeshift bed, eyes squinting as she tries to make sense of the bright screen. 2:04. groaning, she tosses the device aside. instead of peacefully falling among the pillows, it clatters to the floor, the noise disturbing the otherwise serene apartment. getting up to grab it would ruin the promise of sleep, yet she was feeling rather thirsty and with the kitchen only a few strides away maybe it made sense to lazily remove herself from the warm blankets. she’s pulling herself up with a sigh, fetching the phone from the floor and gently placing it on the arm of the couch, and makes her way to the kitchen. her steps are lithe and careful, not wanting to ruin the sound sleep of the two other occupants. 

her back is to the threshold, hands nimbly searching the familiar scuffed cabinets for a glass. she retrieves one, hips swaying to an unsung melody that ricochets through her head along with thoughts about matty and the events of the past few nights. the longing and the waiting and the kiss, how could she forget about the kiss? there’s still a phantom memory of it that lingers along her lips, almost as if he wanted her to remember. did he want her to remember? or was the “this can’t happen again” that he uttered true? and if that were true why did he look at her like that before? why did his body encapsulate her up against the wall? why did he breathe down her neck to elicit goosebumps? why did he avoid her at dinner? why does he barely hold a conversation? why-

“can’t sleep?” 

elle jumps, soft shriek falling from her lips. she snaps her head around, eyes locking in on the culprit in the dimly lit room. matty, of course. he looks like a vision; sleep stained eyes, hair awry on the top of his head and hips adorned with low hung pajama pants. her heart races and she’s not too sure if its from the man stood before her or the way he invaded her thoughts. he always invades her thoughts. 

“hasn’t anyone ever told you its rude to sneak up on people, matthew?” she chides, setting the glassware down on the counter beside her.

“hasn’t anyone told you that its rude to leave people hanging, eleanor?” he counters, arms coming to cross over his chest. 

“you’re the one who said that it couldn’t happen again. i was just seeing to that,” she utters and takes a step towards him. 

he scoffs and with a roll of his eyes he follows her lead, stepping forward as well. his eyes trace down to her hips, lingering on the curve there. elle usually cowers under his stare, but this time she feels a sense of bravado wash over her. he’s not as intimidating as he thinks he is. 

“i’m not drunk,” she urges, arms tentatively reaching out towards him. elle half expects matty to shove her away, “or high for that matter.”

but with another step forward, he’s got her backed into the counter, “neither am i.”

elle swallows thickly, her throat feeling constrained under his darkened gaze. he looks starved, depleted of whatever she was offering and she wanted to give it to him, regardless of the implications at hand.

“so kiss me.” her voice is barely audible over the sound of their labored breaths. 

“what was that? couldn’t hear you, sweets.” his hand rises to rest at the base of her neck, almost possessively. it matches the heat in his glance and elicits a wave of fire beneath her skin. 

“i said kiss-” 

before elle can finish her request, matty’s lips crash into hers. they fill in the void that was once left behind, molding and pulling. there’s sparks reverberating through her skin, clawing through her bloodstream. this kiss feels different. for what it lacks in the awkward learning of what makes the other tick, it’s garnered the all expansive exploration of putting those pieces together.  its all teeth and tongue crashing into one another. his teeth dig into her bottom lip, tugging at the tender flesh. a surprised gasp falls from her occupied lips, granting matty the access he needs to slip his tongue into her mouth. elle presses herself up against him in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer. 

the counter digs into her back as matty’s hands roam all over her body through the thin t-shirt she’s adorned with. she needs more, craves more to dull the ache that’s overtaking her from within. as if he’s read her mind, matty’s knee pushes it’s way between her legs and presses deliciously into her heated center. with a swivel of her hips, she’s overtaken by a radiation of pleasure. it’s a small wave washing over her, but its enough to satiate the climbing impatience that’s growing inside of her. she feels his leg prop up more, an invitation for her to buck and grind against his knee as much as she likes. and she does. over and over, building a rhythm that has her aching for more. 

“can feel you soaking my knee through these sorry excuse for shorts, darling.” he groans against her lips. 

all she can do is whine, digging her hips a little deeper. maybe if she shifted up a little more-

“i’ll give you what you need, sweet girl. just be patient.” 

she’s been patient for weeks on end, having to pretend that the desire bubbling deep within her was nothing more than a farce. it takes everything in her not to whine, though she’s pretty positive he would like it more if she did, as he pulls away. 

“get on the counter,” he utters. there’s a commanding tone though his voice is nothing more than a whisper. elle stands there, stunned into silence and paralyzed with want. her breaths are baited, eyes tracing over his face for a few times. everything seems to set in at that moment: what she was doing, who she was doing it with, the proximity of her brother, the nagging feeling in her chest and the desire pooling in her core. she feels like she could melt into the floorboards, be washed away with the rain. the feeling of his lips linger on her own, she still feels the traces of him in her hair. 

“did i stutter? or do you need me to do that for you, too?” 

her mouth opens but nothing comes out in time. 

their tryst is up as the sound of a door being swung open pulls them from the heated embrace. matty steps away, quickly and for the first time in all the years that she’s known him, elle can see a trace of fear on his face. he's breathing heavily and situating himself a few paces away from her heated body. elle is positive her own reaction mirrors his as george pokes his head into the kitchen. 

“all right?” he yawns, “so fucking dark in here. we pay the electric bill for a reason.” his large hand reaches around to flip the light on, leaving all three of them to blink blearily. 

elle grabs the once abandoned cup from the counter, chugging down the rest of the water. it all feels too much: matty consuming her with his heated stare, wearing the remnants of her arousal on his knee while george is a few centimeters away drinking orange juice from the carton. the silence is unbearable, eating her alive bit by bit until she’s nothing more than a mess of herself- fragmented and torn to pieces. 

“as fun as this has been, i have to piss. goodnight again,” george presses a sticky kiss to elle’s forehead and is off, venturing into the dark of the living room. 

elle doesn’t exhale until she hears the door to the bathroom shut. 

“see you in my dreams, ellie belly,” matty hums while offering her a whimsical smirk before he stalks off as well. 

this is sick. sick and twisted and if elle was the tiniest bit religious, she would be on her knees right now begging for forgiveness. she should be sleeping, blissfully surrendering to the lulls of peace. but instead, she’s thinking about animalistic groans, the pressure between her legs and a mop of curly hair. the kitchen is cold and lonely without the heat of his body pressed against her. there’s a phantom of his knee lingering between her legs. she could cry, which seems to be the only thing matty’s been good at making her do recently. 

a door shuts in the distance, and with it closes the small opening she had. the floor looks like a promising place to crumble up and wallow. 

but it’s late and the red numbers on the microwave only burn an unwanted reminder into her brain that she has to be up in a few hours. as she rounds the corner between the kitchen and the living area that she was residing in, her eyes fall to the slightly ajar nature of matty’s door. she gulps. it’s never been left open before, especially not this late at night. because he usually has a girl over, her conscious reminds her. she could be such a bitch sometimes. elle chews on the inside of her lip. what if he just forgot to close it? what if he’s not in there? what if he really meant it couldn’t happen again? 

she toys with the idea of just going back to sleep, though she knows that sleep won’t come easy and the promise of being able to get off with matty is more enticing than the comfort those pillows would offer her. maybe he would let her grind up against his knee again, or dip his head between her thighs and use that sinful mouth on her until she was shaking.

her legs carry her through the door before she can construe another miscalculated scenario in her mind. chest rising and falling as she pushes the door shut behind her, hand gripping onto the handle like her life depended on it. she had half a mind to twist the door open again and slip out, hoping he didn’t notice her. she could play it off like she thought it was the bathroom. she could pretend that she was confused or sleep walking or-

“thought i would be able to call your bluff,” he grins wryly once the door is shut. elle spins around to stare up at him, breath caught in her throat. he’s lost the shirt he was wearing before, plaid pajama pants hanging low on his waist. her eyes dare to travel from his waist, but she doesn’t know if she has the strength to keep off of him if she does.

they’re at a stand-off; squared away and facing each other. elle’s mind is spinning out fantasies about what it would be like to be one of the girls that gets to spend the night tucked away behind these four walls. and by the way he’s staring at her, she feels as if she’s been caught. she wouldn’t put it past him to be able to read her mind.

“just wanted to bring you water,” she blushes, offering him a sheepish smile.

“you don’t have any water in your hand, elle.” matty comments from his stance in front of his dresser, arms crossing over his chest and head tilting to the side. 

she feels exposed, shying away from his gaze and turning around to face the now closed door once more in an attempt to make a run for it. maybe this was a mistake, a bad idea shrouded by the thoughts of matty and his devilish grin. 

“oh. silly me, must have forgotten it i-”

“you didn’t come to bring me water, did you? you came here to finish what we started, hm?” he’s pressed up behind her. his lips are on her neck, pulling a breathy sigh of his name from her mouth, “use your words, elle.” 

she could fold right there. his tongue pokes out and licks a trail up to her ear, “i’m waiting, sweet girl.” 

but how could she think let alone speak with the way he’s touching her and kissing her and making a mess of her brain. her thoughts feel scrambled and mushed together. she melts into his stance, mewling lowly. every nerve ending in her body feels as if its aflame. there’s no way to extinguish it alone, at least not with the way he’s dragging his fingers around her thigh and sucking deep welts onto the exposed skin of her neck. 

“please i’m so-” his fingers trail up her thigh, pushing the lame excuse of shorts to the side. skilled fingers find her clit, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive bud. she whines, head falling back into his shoulder. its the relief she needed, craved even. but she needs more, wants more.

“wet. you’re so fucking wet for me, dirty girl,” his teeth pull at her earlobe as he finishes her stuttered thought, “is this what you wanted? hm?”

“yes, want- fuck, want,” his pace on her clit increases, head feeling heavy. 

she moans lowly, reaching down to grip at his wrist. he lets her, watching her blissfully as she puppeteers his hand against her cunt. 

“feels good, doesn’t it?” matty grins. all elle can do is sigh out a whine, squeezing her eyes shut. her nails dig into his wrist, “i know, pretty girl, i know. need you to be quiet for me. can you do that?”

she nods, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“being so good for me,” matty’s lips drag down her neck, teeth scraping over the bruised area from before. an unabashed moan falls from her lips. he’s quick to turn her head towards him though, sealing his lips to hers in a heated kiss. the last thing they both need is an intrusion from the other house guest.

he swaps his fingers for his thumb, using the leverage to slip a finger inside of her. she clenches around him, the action going straight to his untouched dick that’s hidden within the confines of his pajama pants. elle feels it pressing up against the swell of her ass.

“matty,” she mewls against his lips. its hard to think with the way his finger dips in and out of her, almost in time with the motions of his thumb on her clit. she’s writhing against him, legs feeling as if they could give out any moment.

his long finger slides in and out with ease, toying and teasing at her silky cunt. she nips at his bottom lip, tugging the plush flesh in between her teeth. a low moan rumbles up from his chest, and elle’s convinced its the prettiest sound she’s ever heard. the sound is imprinted in the depths of her brain, something she knows she’ll think about for the rest of her life.

“think you can handle another?” he puffs out, slowly pulling his lips back from her to search her face for approval. 

she nods quickly, mouth falling agape as he adds another finger. his fingers work in and out of her at a blinding pace. his own mouth falls open as he mirrors her face, watching her only a moment before he’s pressing his lips back to hers to capture all of the broken moans that slip into the air. 

elle’s facade is crumbling, quickly. a familiar yet distant burn brewing in the depths of her stomach, a rubber band that's almost ready to snap. matty adds a third finger. elle hisses at the blissful stretch, eyes rolling back into her skull. she’s done for.

“you’re still such a needy thing, aren’t you?” his teeth drag along her neck, trailing a line straight to her jaw. he presses heated kisses along her jawline. his fingers hook up inside of her. and that’s when he finds it. 

if elle was in heaven before this had to have been the vip club. a choked sob lingers in the air, cunt clenching around his fingers. 

“right there,” she chants the syllables over and over like an oath, the words floating out in the heated space between them. and who is matty to deprive her when she looks so pretty begging like that? his fingers dip in and out, finding the exact spot each time. her knees wobble, hand gripping onto his shoulder for support.

“gonna fucking dream about the way you’re clenching on my fingers like this. letting me fuck you like a good girl,” he moans into her ear. its almost too much between his fingers deep inside of her, the sinful whispers in her ear and the sound of her arousal filling the room. she’s close, the rubberband stretching thin as she’s about to snap.

“you close?” he asks. she nods languidly and he hums out his approval, “you wanna cum?” 

elle nods again, almost scared to let herself speak. she’s so close, can practically taste the promise of the sweet release. another moan of his name falls from her lips, she feels him shudder from behind her. eyes squeezed shut, in total euphoria. 

“open your eyes, elle,” he husks into her ear, “want you to watch yourself as you cum.” 

elle’s eyes open slowly, locking with the eyes of her reflection in the mirror. she’s never seen herself like this before; cheeks flushed, eyes wild, lips swollen. she looks as fucked out as she feels. its the image of matty behind her, his own lips parted and hushing the filthiest sayings into her ear that has her clenching tightly around his fingers and choking out an almost too-loud moan of his name. he shushes her, working her through her release with a soothing kiss to her lips whilst he slows down the onslaught of his fingers. his unoccupied arms wraps around her quivering body, holding her upright as she gets rocked by wave after wave. 

“so good, sweets. you did so good for me,” he coos, kissing at her cheek. matty slips his fingers out from her, leaving elle to whine at the loss of fullness. he laughs. elle half expects him to wipe his fingers on the strewn towel on the back of his door. that’s what every other guy has done before, at least. 

he doesn’t though. instead he pops the digits into his mouth, sucking off her liquid arousal from his fingers. she stares at him, wide-eyed as he moans around his own fingers. matty’s eyes pour into her own. she finds it hard to catch her breath.

“taste even sweeter than i imagined,” he smirks at her dumbfounded expression, “oh, sorry. should i have offered you one? s’kinda greedy of me that i took all three for myself.”

“oh. uh.. no. no thanks,” elle blinks blearily, swallowing thickly, “i’m uh… i’m gonna go uh.. clean up and head to bed. thanks for that.” 

“not a problem. anytime you want another mind-numbing orgasm, you know where to find me,” he grins cockily.

elle’s cheeks sting but she can’t fight back the smile that’s curling on her lips, “sure thing.”

she smooths the hem of her shorts down, blinking a few more times as she hastily walks towards the door. there’s no way in hell that that just happened. it was something ripped straight from her thoughts, a mirrored image of the way she’s been thinking about him for weeks. her chest rises and falls quickly, hand reaching for the door knob. she needs to lay down immediately.

“oh and elle?,” he calls just as her hand comes in contact with the cool metal of the handle.

she tilts her head towards him, “hmm?”

“i meant it when i say i’ll dream of you,” he offers with a smirk and pink tinted cheeks. 

and in that moment, elle know she’s going to dream of him too. 

[abiiors]

truth or dare 🌙 // george daniel x reader

a/n: this is based on a few requests and also loosely a sequel to first time and midnight, car lights. so the ages are 18 and 20! i tried to make this as realistic as possible so it's not perhaps the hottest thing ever but it's weirdly sweet haha

cw: brother's best friend, loss of virginity, smut in general, fingering. they talk :)) so much :)), the use of "good girl", female reader

wc: 6.3k

the room is buzzing with energy. loud and boisterous sounds of people having fun and whooping along to a silly game of truth or dare. matty already has his tongue down someone’s throat—as a “dare” of course. you cringe internally. 

it’s one thing to sit and play a game of truth or dare with your brother’s friends and potentially spill embarrassing secrets, it’s another to sit there and watch your brother practically dry hump some girl you’ve never seen before. 

and then there’s andrew who keeps looking at you like he wants them to do the same. 

you stifle the urge to retch. 

“alright, alright,” ross puts his hands up, “we get it, let’s move on.”

matty and the girl pull away amidst boyish whoops and giggles. the girl hides her mouth behind her hand, coy and flirty, and matty, ever the little shit, throws her a wink. 

“okay, okay, right. good luck to whoever who has to sleep near matty’s bedroom tonight,” one of the people jokes and another roar of laughter goes up. great, yeah, fucking hilarious. because once again, that would be you. 

“next up!” andrew picks up the bottle, wiggling it at the crowd of people and building up excitement. 

it spins and spins and spins in dizzying circles and for a moment you wonder if it will ever stop or slow down. it’s a silly thought. of course, the bottle slows dows, going past you once before losing some more momentum, then past you again and you breathe a sigh of relief. not you…

until somehow, the bottle gets second wind, spinning way past what it should have been able to, its nozzle coming closer and closer and closer before it stops right on you. 

when the next cheer goes up, it sounds like it’s coming from under water. 

you look aroud at the faces of the people gathered. the growing sense of dread climbs up your spine, manifests in visible goosebumps that you resist rubbing away. fuck this, fuck your brother and fuck his friends. 

matty is utterly useless when you glance at him for any kind of help. all he does is grin mischievously, clearly relishing the idea of you being at the center of attention. next to him, george sits with an unreadable expression. but you know looking at him is not a good idea…

looking at him only makes you think about the kiss and how you have not spoken since…

andrew, who had spun the bottle, wears a sly smile, his eyes still fixed on you. you know him well enough to understand that he's been angling for this moment. the rest of your brother's friends exchange knowing glances, anticipating some juicy revelation or an embarrassing dare;.

ross, trying to keep the game moving, speaks up, "alright, truth or dare?"

you briefly consider choosing dare, thinking you might be able to dodge a potentially embarrassing truth. but you know these guys—they're relentless when it comes to dares, especially when it's your turn. besides, you don't give a shit if you appear cowardly in front of them.

taking a deep breath, you muster some courage. "truth."

a couple boos ring out. matty makes an exaggerated “pfft” and goes back to his makeout. george just stares at you with a raised eyebrow. 

but there’s one person in the room whose attention doesn’t waver. andrew still has that persistent look in his eyes, clearly brainstorming something devious.

“your most interesting sex story. go,” he grins, staring at you with the utmost interest. 

you roll your eyes and groan audibly. “really, andrew? couldn’t think of something original?”

“yes, really,” he counters, sounding like a fucking knobhead. “and i wanna know. the rules are the rules.”

you look around the room, trying not to panic. everyone has gone from looking bored at you picking truth to back to looking at you with wide eyes. and no amount of trying stops the heat from creeping up your neck. 

“i don’t–it’s not interesting,” you stammer out. trying to make up something on the spot. “they’ve been pretty basic. just regular stuff.”

you hope it’s enough for them to lose interest again, to call you boring and vanilla and move on to the next person. but fuck andrew and fuck his lecherous curiosity. 

“what’s ‘pretty basic’?” he pokes a tongue in his cheek, eating up the subsequent oooohs with a big smile. 

you look around the room, first at matty only to find that he and the girl are already halfway out the door, heading up to his room (gag). then you look at the next best person. 

george. stoic george with his arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring at andrew as if he could kill him with his stare alone. 

“your usual stuff, andrew…” you grit out, staring at a spot behind him. you should have just stopped this, should have told him that truth entails one question and one question only and it’s none of his business but you’ve always let matty’s friends strong arm you. 

“so describe it, little healy—”

“don’t call her that.” 

to your surprise, it’s george who speaks up before you do. his entire body vibrates with tension, jaw clenched and arms taut. 

“move on, andrew,” his voice has an edge of warning. “she clearly doesn’t want to discuss it.”

you stare at him in awe, about to nod as a silent thank you when george stares directly at you. “besides, why do you want to know something so boring and vanilla?”

the people snicker and you feel your face drop. his tone is not cruel, it’s just matter of fact which somehow hurts more. a faint buzzing fills your ears, increasing by the second. 

this is too much. you need peace and quiet and the comfort of your own room, not this stupid party with all these idiots. you should have never agreed to it. 

the bottle spins again, you do not wait to see who it lands on. instead, you do the cowardly thing of running up to your bedroom.

“the last time i checked, the game was called truth or dare,” george drawls behind you just as you’re about to open the door to your bedroom. 

you barely even wait for him, rolling your eyes to yourself and opening the door in a huff. he’s just like the rest of them—an idiot. an idiot you were stupid enough to kiss and have a crush on. 

of course, george doesn’t back away too easily. 

pushing his way into your room behind you, he closes the door, acting as if this is his space. deja vu hits you like a tonne of bricks. 

“it’s none of their business,” you retort. 

“shoulda picked dare then…”

“and what? make out with andrew? you and i both know that’s what he was hoping for.”

the serious expression on his face crumbles for a moment, replaced by an annoying little smirk. 

“character development, little healy,” he teases, once again crossing his arms in front of him and leaning against the door. 

you don’t know how you always end up like this—george in your room without anyone’s knowledge, looking like the boy of your dreams while you fume at him for one thing or the other. 

“shut up,” you mumble petulantly. 

george doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead choosing to look around him nonchalantly. all you can replay in your head is the kiss, and his stupid little smile after. and then the fact that he seemed to vanish into thin air for two weeks.

you can't help but feel a mixture of irritation and curiosity. he's always been a puzzle to you—maddeningly frustrating yet undeniably intriguing and despite your attempts to resist his charm, there's a part of you that can't help but be drawn to him.

you decide to break the tense silence that has settled between you two. "what are you even doing here, george?" you demand, your voice laced with annoyance.

frustratingly enough, he chooses to answer it with a question of his own. 

“why is sex such a touchy topic?” george toys with his bracelet, “you’re only 18. most people your age haven’t done it yet.”

“you’re joking, right?” you laugh, unable to hide your incredulity. “and what does it matter to you if i have or haven’t done it.”

“it doesn’t,” he shrugs, “not to me. but clearly it matters to you… wouldn’t have been so defensive otherwise.”

“i wasn’t defensive—”

“shup up, george,” he says in a high pitched voice, a crude imitation of you presumably. and it is nothing what you sound like. yet he continues. “i have seen photos, george, i have seen videos!” then he shakes his head, one irresistible lock of hair falling in his face. “isn’t that what you said last time? about the weed?”

“it bothers you, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” he continues when you refuse to speak. “why not ask someone. you’re a pretty girl. any boy your age would say yes.”

“so you do it then,” you challenge. it’s only when the sentence has fully slipped out, beyond your control, that you realise what you just said. it’s only then that your heart starts hammering in your chest.

your back is pressed against the wall of your room. faint music and chatter slips in through the cracks of the door and yet you swear you can hear the loud beat of your heat echoing all around the room. george stills in place. 

“i’m asking you; since you think i have such a problem with being a virgin,” you continue. no point backing out now, no point pretending you didn’t offer to let him fuck you. for the first time. “it’s long overdue anyway. i don’t want candles and flowers and a picnic under the stars. i just want to get it over with.”

“don’t say things you don’t mean, little healy.” his voice has gone hoarse as if it strains him to speak normally. you watch as he swallows roughly, the hollow of his throat becomes prominent for a brief moment and you wonder what it would feel like to get a taste of his skin. 

“who says i didn’t mean it,” you push yourself off the wall, taking one daring step closer. george stays where he is, still looking at you intently, still watching. his lips part as he tries to subtly take in a shaky breath. 

“your brother—”

“doesn’t care,” you finish for him. “someone else has his attention tonight.”

“this is so wrong…”

“why?” 

george scrutinises you, rolling his tongue in his mouth. you follow the line of it, wondering how it would feel in your mouth—its weight and its texture. how it would feel on your body, to be touched like that for the first time. 

“why is it wrong, george? i am old enough. i want this, i am consenting to it.” george stands straighter as you stop right in front of him. 

to an untrained eye, he looks casual and cool as always, effortlessly carrying all 6’4 inches of him, effortlessly beautiful and irresistible. but the vein standing taut on his arm says otherwise. he’s anything but cool and casual. if anything, he’s as charged as a live wire. 

“unless you don’t… unless that’s not something…”

“stop.”

it’s your turn to freeze and gawk up at him wordlessly. george closes the gap between you, stepping towards you until you’re back in your original place; against the wall with his hand resting next to your head. his mouth is so close as he leans down—pink and full and just…filthy. 

“you have no idea… you don’t–fuck. okay.” he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. his face is a mask of something. almost something you recognise. but it passes just as quickly as it appears. 

“you have never done this before, any of it, have you? you couldn’t even look people in the eye while saying it, bushing and flustered like a schoolgirl.”

“i have!” you burst out, indignant and angry now. “i have done…things. i have kissed and made out with people, i have…people have seen me without a top on.”

george laughs roughly at that and swallows again. the hollow of his throat appears again, right there, tauntingly close. all you have to do is get on your tip toes and you’ll be kissing it. but then there’s the way his other arm snakes around your waist. 

you are pressed flush against the wall with barely an inch between the two of you. and even though he still hasn’t touched you, if anyone walked in on you in this position…

“so you haven’t done shit. tell me something…have you ever been touched like you touch yourself? have you ever had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced? someone ever go down on you? make you see stars and blackout?”

the questions come out like rapid fire; each one making your blood run faster and your heart pound all over your body. heat courses through you. it’s undeniable that you want him to do all those things to you, want him to be the first. 

by the time he’s finished, his mouth is parted. his pupils are so dilated that his eyes might as well be black and you can feel the warmth of his breaths on your face. so you decide to take matters into your own hands, say fuck it and pull him down, crashing your mouth onto his. 

both his hands are on your waist instantly, holding you tightly as his mouth moves against yours. it’s rough and hot, full of want. his body is pressed against yours, his hard chest and the bulge in his jeans against the softness of your body. this is so much different than the first kiss. it’s all hardness and intensity and hot searing kisses. 

you’re vaguely aware of jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his middle, vaguely aware of george moving across the room and placing you on the bed. 

george barely breaks the kiss when he takes his top off, warm skin pressed against yours. your head spins. 

this is happening. this is happening with george. with GEORGE. 

there’s a part of you that wants to run around the room and hyperventilate. another part of you—the much bigger one—decides to be bold again, copying his moments as you take your top off too, silently thanking the patron gods of teenage sex that you chose to wear a good bra. 

“you really…” he pants, struggling to catch his breath for a second. “you really want this? with me?”

your hair sticks to his jaw a you pull back slightly, just enough to be able to speak. 

“i do, i—” a rough swallow, “i want you.”

“okay then,” he leans forward again, then stops, trying to fight off the massive smile making its way onto his face. you didn’t think there would be something to find endearing in the middle of a one night stand. yet here you are, fighting a big goofy smile of your own.

“show me what you do,” george sits at the end of your bed, watching you with hooded eyes. his chest glistens with sweat—so does yours, you imagine—making his tattoos stand out in the warm light of your bedroom. “when you touch yourself, how do you do it.”

heat creeps up your cheeks at the prospect of being entirely naked and vulnerable in front of him. shyness floods your body making you avert your gaze and bite your lip nervously. not that you don’t trust him enough, but you don’t want to be ogled at so blatantly. 

“uh–um, i don’t–that’s…” it’s frustrating that you can’t even get a proper sentence out, stuttering and stammering like a fucking child but george clocks it instantly. 

“what is it?” this time his voice is gentle, curious. “is it too much? do you want to stop—”

“no! no, i just…” you keep your eyes averted building the courage to tell him exactly what you want. there’s no denying the fact that george makes you nervous; he always has but you have to remind yourself what he said—practically drilled into you—at the beginning. 

you are in control of everything. all of it. 

“i don’t want to be stared at, that–that’s too much.”

his features soften as realisation dawns on him. you wonder if you’ve put him off—sex should go both ways, after all. what’s the point if only one of you enjoys yourself? 

“right then…” silently, george moves from the foot of the bed to right next to you. 

the movement makes the bed dip and your breath quivers in anticipation the closer he comes. is he going to put a stop to it? break it to you gently that he’s not interested anymore. maybe you should have sucked it up and done what he told you to do, he’s the one with more experience after all…

“what are you…”

he settles himself right next to you, legs spread open just wide enough for—

“come here,” he instructs and pats the space in front of him. “how about you show me some other way. guide my hand, if that’s okay.”

for a moment, the idea stuns you. of course you knew what sex entailed but it’s just…it’s so much happening all at once. so much that requires being vulnerable. 

but you trust george. so you nod and do as he’s told you. 

you close your eyes once you settle yourself between his legs, fully immersing yourself in the feeling of him all around you—his cologne and cigarettes and the hint of sweat that’s somehow the most perfect combination ever. your hand is so much smaller on top of his, guiding him down starting just at your navel. his other hand is on your breasts, kneading and rolling your nipples between his fingers expertly. 

george doesn’t need you to guide him, judging by the gasps and moans that he draws out of you, you know he can make you feel good either way. but this is more for you than him, more so you would feel in control, and that adds to the thrill of it all the more. 

“does this feel good, sweetheart? is this okay?” his voice is all around you, skittering over your bones and sending a shiver down your spine. all you can do is nod and whimper. all you want to do is guide his hand further down. 

george lets you. 

the callouses on the pad of his fingers leave electric tingles in their wake as they brush your pelvis. a gasp echoes around the room, sharp and sudden. 

“that’s it,” he coaxes, “show me how you like it.”

his fingers graze the inside of your thighs and right above the waistband of your underwear, leaving goosebumps wherever they trail. 

“take these off me?” you breathe out into the stillness of your room. he takes no time in obliging—hooking a finger in them and lifting your hips off the bed to slide the delicate fabric down your thighs and past your knees until they’re discarded somewhere on the floor with the rest of your clothes. this is it, you, here, fully naked and at his mercy. 

“better?” he asks.

you nod, leaning your head back onto his collarbone. george nips at your skin, making you giggle and loosening some of the tension filling your body. his fingers hover over your clit, waiting for you to show him what you want. 

“fuck, george,” you breathe as soon as you feel his touch—it’s just the right pressure, the right pace as he circles your clit. your hand falls slack, back arching off his chest lightly as you bite your lips to stifle a loud moan. 

this is nothing like you’ve felt before, nothing like your own hands make you feel. this is like tiny fireworks right under your skin. 

“shit, that–that feels so good.”

george hums behind you, keeping up with the pace you set. his fingers dip between your folds, teasing and inching towards your opening—keeping you on edge. the sheets are bunched between your fingers, sweaty back pressed to his chest. george nibbles at your neck, right over your pulse point as his fingers play with your nipples; stimulating, sending jolts through your whole body. 

“so wet,” he breathes, peppering kisses down your shoulder. his finger circles your entrance, rough and thicker than your own, better than you’re used to. “so perfect for me.”

it’s enough for you to cry out—whine really. because you want him, need to feel him. but he’s taking his own sweet time. 

“what was that for, huh? needy little thing,” he taunts, “what do you want?”

between the words and his gruff voice, all thoughts fly out of your head for a second. he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet and your head is already starting to feel like mush. 

“you, please,” you all but beg, “want your fingers in me, please george…”

“think you’re ready to take it?”

nodding nervously, you spread your legs wider. your hand reaches back, caressing the nape of neck, scratching it in slow sensual circles. hearing him groan is enough to calm your nerves. sure, the effect you have on him is minuscule compared to what he’s doing to you, but it’s a small victory regardless. 

george falters for a brief moment, head thrown back as you feel the spike in his heartbeat. it makes your own skip a beat. but he recovers quickly, teasing your folds a bit more, finger circling your entrance.

“tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?” 

your stomach churns from a mix of anxiety and excitement—this is happening, this is really happening. george tuts when you nod on auto-pilot. 

“need you to say it, love. use your words.”

“y–yes, yes, i will.”

“good girl,” he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. 

before you even have the time to react to that, he slides a finger in, just the tip first. he goes slow, takes just enough time to gague your reaction.

it’s a strange sensation—a good sensation. his finger is noticeably thicker than yours, and longer, the pad of it scratches against your insides, making you gasp. george stops once he’s all in. 

“good?”

“fuck–yes!” 

all you need to do is give him that little nudge before he pulling the finger out again, and thrusting it in, this time faster, rougher. your insides feel like liquid, melting further and further with each graze of his callouses, with each thrust, and oh the rhythm…

you knew he would know how to set a pace but somehow he gets it right on the first try, going just slow enough to give your body time to adjust but fast enough for a familiar knot to build in your stomach. his thumb presses against your clit each time. 

“oh my god–oh god…” you can’t remember the last time you’ve chanted it so thoroughly, reciting it like a prayer and chasing your high. 

“need to add another finger, sweetheart. need to stretch you out, that okay?”

his voice makes you jolt. it’s all around you, deep and scratchy and almost a growl—teeming with lust. of course it is, you can feel his hard on pressed against the small of your back, can feel the way his heart is thumping in his chest. you can hear his audible swallows and groans each time you dig your nails into his thighs, every time you grind against him when the pleasure becomes too much. 

“mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, “yes… need more…”

it’s frankly a surprise that you still have the ability to speak because every single part of your body feels like it’s melting, blood zapping through your body, pushing your heart into overdrive.

this time when george thrusts in, it’s with two fingers. you cry out at the sudden stretch, the burn that accompanies it. george falters when you jolt forward.

“shit–shit did i hurt you?”

hurt?? 

“no, i—” it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, and to take the whiney edge off your voice. “that felt good… better than before. keep going, please, just—”

george doesn’t let you finish, pushing his fingers inside you again. the hilt of his palm crashes against your clit, rougher than before and your body trembles from all of it.

“such a perfect girl, taking me so well.” his words add to the heady intoxication. 

your head spins, completely blanking out on anything else. all that matters right now is george and his hands and his voice. his lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your sweet spot and peppering kissing and this time the buzzing that fills your ears is nothing like before. 

now as your legs shake and spasm, you know you’re close. 

“gonna cum, george, fuck…keep going…” it’s a whine, you don’t know where it just came from but now is not the time to care about that. 

his fingers keep moving in and out, plunging into you, drawing out wet and obscene sounds until you feel them hooking inside you, without warning. when george parts his fingers inside you, stretching you more, it’s enough to push you over the edge. 

with a cry, you slump against him, gushing onto his hand, incapable of doing anything else as waves of pleasure crash onto you, blinding you almost. this has never happened before… never. not with your own hand, or the tiny white bullet in your drawer. something about his body makes your blood sing.

facing george after that feels like a daunting task. he did just witness you completely falling apart on his hand and who knows what kinds of sounds you made in the heat of the moment…

a flush creeps up your face when george turns you around.

“fuck…” he breathes, panting, his heavy breaths mixing with yours. “that was so hot, fuck!”

for a second you don’t know what to say so you sit there, trying not to nervously bite on your lip, averting his eyes. because that was just the foreplay… the main part is yet to come. 

“did you enjoy that?” he asks tentatively. another second ticks by before you feel a hand under your chin, tilting it up. 

“sweetheart…” george begins. his eyes are soft—blown out and hooded with lust, sure, but somewhere in there, there’s a tenderness you haven’t seen before. “do you want to stop? it’s alright, if that’s all you want to do tonight. i promise…”

you contemplate it. you want him, you want his closeness and you want his body and if sex feels anything like what you just felt then you absolutely can’t wait for it.

“i want to keep going,” you reply. 

this time, george leans forward, hand still on your chin, holding it in place as he goes in for a kiss. something soft and sweet. a stolen moment of leisure amidst all the burning passion and hormone filled lust. 

“are you in your head?” he asks after a minute. 

you know the answer is yes. it shouldn’t be this difficult, he has done nothing to make you feel uncomfortable. on the contrary, you have never felt so safe with another boy. 

“i think so…yeah. i just, i don’t know how to stop overthinking it.”

he contemplates it for a long time, at least it feels like a long time. you’re aware of the wetness between your legs, of the little fire in your stomach that still hasn’t gone out. you’re aware of how hard he is and yet how he hasn’t even talked about himself yet. 

“can i touch you?” 

it’s an unsure question; your voice sounds small to your ears but there’s an undertone of curiosity. his eyes widen. 

george nods, moving to take off his brief. when he’s done, george settles on his knees, now fully naked. 

your breath catches in your throat. it’s not like you haven’t seen a dick before. you’ve watched porn. the first guy who made out with you and got to third base had you feel him over his jeans. and although it was more unsettling than it was fascinating, it was a new experience. 

but watching george is a mesmerising thing. he’s not shy about his body, if anything, his bold confidence makes him hotter than any other boy you’ve ever known. 

“please.” he breathes in deeply, trying to stay still as your hand inches between his thighs. 

he’s big, at least to you he is, thick and hard. george groans loudly when you trace his length with a finger, running it along his red tip that already leaks with precum. the sound is throaty, almost a growl. so this is what a man looks like when he’s fighting to stay in control. 

his eyes are closed, a string of curses falling from his lips as you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, moving it tentatively—slow strokes from the base to his tip and back again. his body shudders, the hollow of his throat moves. 

“i’m gonna cum if you keep doing that, love.” his voice is a throaty whisper, his nails dig into the flesh of his thighs even as he so clearly struggles not to thrust his hips into your hand. 

it’s the small, impulsive movement that fills you up with some confidence. a tiny thrill of pride shoots through you, thoroughly pleased at the way his body responds to your touch. some of the tension in your body dissipates. 

“well, isn’t that the goal here? to make you cum?” 

george clicks his tongue, “not before you. tonight is about you. my pleasure is just a byproduct.”

george moves before you have the time to respond, grabbing his jeans from the foot of the bed to look for his wallet. and there, inside, as expected is a small, silver square. 

“you ready for it?” 

“yes,” you say and this time, there’s not a hint of doubt in it. “yes i am.”

george tears the foil with his teeth, spitting it out to one side and taking the condom out. you watch unabashedly as he rolls onto his dick. his fingers work deftly—practiced, sure movements; small things that make you aware once again of how inexperienced you are. 

but that’s about to change. 

his mouth is back on yours, hand back between your legs, drawing rough eight figures on your clit. you barely even registers as george lays you down on your back. all you can focus on are his fingers dipping in and out of you once again, quick and expert thrusts that have you on the edge again in no time. 

“lift your hips for me, love. just like that.” his voice is soft, his eyes are softer. there’s a tenderness to his face that you’ve never seen before; a stillness that’s gentle and comforting. 

poised on top of you, you can feel his tip brushing against your entrance. nerves flood your body as you do what he’s asked.

“george…” it surprises you how shaky your voice sounds. for all your bravado before, your mouth feels dry. “please just…go slow, please.”

he pauses for a moment and you marvel at his self-control once again. he could so easily just chase his orgasm somewhere else, fuck someone else at the party. yet here he is, pausing every two minutes to make sure you’re alright and enjoying yourself. 

he cups your face, gently running a thumb along your lower lip. 

“i will. as slow as you want.”

his hand is back between your legs, teasing and brushing against your clit, melting your moans into small bursts of ecstasy. his fingers keep moving, building up pleasure again, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until a second orgasm hits you. 

as you writhe under george, trying to ride out your high by grinding against his hand, he kisses you again, tongue licking the inside of your mouth, teeth clashing against teeth. 

“tell me if you want me to stop,” he pants. his voice is strained. you imagine he’s being pushed to his limits. 

“yes, just–just do it, i am ready.”

lining himself against your entrance, george pushes in. the first few seconds are completely normal. he moves slowly, sticking to your limits and pressing small kisses on your face. the stretch you feel is fine, exactly how it was when you were riding his fingers. a moans slips out, full of lust. and that’s when the burn starts. 

tears well up on your bottom lashline the more he pushes in. you feel too full, more than you ever have, too stretched out. 

“are you in?” your voice quivers and george pauses. 

“not yet, sweetheart. but almost.”

another nod from you and he moves again, the burn intensifies, turning your moans of pleasure into whimpers of pain until george bottoms out and stills in place. 

“you okay? does it hurt?” his voice is hushed, words coming out rapidly as he tries to make sure everything is alright. despite everything, the concern in his voice melts your heart. 

“hurts a little. can you just–just stay still for a bit?”

he nods again. george lowers his forehead, resting it onto yours. the moments stands suspended in time. by the time, the burn subsides, you’re kissing again—slow and sweet, fingers intertwined.

“okay,” you nod into the crook of his neck, “okay you can move.”

the stinging is back when he starts moving back and forth. he’s going as slow as possible, you know it, yet it takes you body a bit longer to adjust, for sparks of pleasure to come through between the pain. 

when you open your eyes, you find him already looking at you, a soft pink flush visible on his cheeks. to your surprise george averts his eyes quickly. 

“i–uh,” he stammers a little, “i’m–um, i’m not gonna last long.” the last part is whispered, like a shameful confession. “you’re really tight and–fuck! fuck, baby it feels so good…”

“george,” you interrupt before he has the chance to keep going. he thrusts in again just then, a bit harder than before. this time, the pleasure is much stronger than the pain. all thoughts fly out the window momentarily, but you cradle his face in your hands. brush your fingers on his cheek. 

“you’re already making me feel so good. shit, george, don’t apologise. just–you can go a bit harder if you want.” another gasp gets struck in your throat, another little broken moan. 

george moves faster, hips bucking, slamming into yours lightly. the friction, the stretch, all of it is better than you could have ever imagined. you couldn’t care less how long he lasts. it’s your body that makes him go crazy, you that’s currently making him losing it. that thought alone is enough to send bolts of lightning all throughout your body. 

feeling a little bold, you do the thing you’ve only watched girls in porn do. you wrap your legs around his waist and it’s like something clicks in place. suddenly he’s sliding in much deeper than he was before, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your mind go blank and your jaw go slack. 

“fuck fuck fuck,” george curses. his pace increases. whatever control he had on himself has finally snapped, whatever leash he had kept on himself, finally gone. 

maybe your eyes roll back in pleasure, maybe your legs tighten around his waist, the only thing you remember is clenching around him, telling him over and over again how good it feels. 

“so good for me, baby, so perfect,” he coos, hand snaking down between your joined bodies. he finds your clit again, swollen and wet and so sensative, it’s like a thunderstorm just under the surface of your skin.

“gonna cum, sweetheart,” george grunts out. “cum with me, can you do that? hmm?”

you nod, or you think you do. all you remember is grinding on his pelvis and mewling when he flicks your clit. it’s the sound that gets to him, that pushes him over the edge. when his orgasm hits, you feel him twitch inside you. somewhere in the haze, a third orgasm washes over you. 

you watch him mesmerised, desperately trying to keep your eyes open, to memorise the look of pure bliss on his face as he fucks into you, riding out his orgasm, letting you ride out yours. his thrusts slow down, eventually coming to a stop. 

george doesn’t pull out instantly, instead, he collapses on top of you, breathing hard, panting into your neck. your sweaty bodies stick to each other, still locked in together. 

it takes him a minute to gather himself. a minute until he can say, “gonna pull out okay? it might hurt.”

it does a little but the tingles in your body take over and all you feel is a slight sting. 

“that was—” you start and stop again, completely at a loss for words. 

“yeah?” he laughs a little, lying next to you and pulling you into his chest. 

he’s warm and a bit sticky but this is nice, you think, the way his body envelopes yours entirely. 

“was i good?”

he hums. “you were perfect.”

the butterflies in your stomach intensify. perfect. it’s nice to hear that word. especially nice to hear it from him.

"you might be a bit sore tomorrow," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "but don't worry, sweetheart. i'll stay and take care of you."

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet

add yourself to the taglist

[alarrytale]

The 1975 and Louis also have very different audiences. 1975 is about 60% female fans and 40% males and they're older than Louis' fans. Matty doesn't have lots of the 13-15 group who are the most impressionable. Louis does have many fans in this age group so he needs to be more careful about the coping strategies he models. Saying he has "too much Yorkshire pride for therapy" was also silly as therapy is a much healthier way of dealing with issues than drinking/smoking.

Yep!

Louis' very public downtalking therapy for himself is toxic masculinity. It's such a damaging attitude. I don't really think he feels that way though. That part i think is more image than not. Still as damaging though if people follow his example. His bbf Stan is a therapist and he got Fizzy into therapy and offered to go with her. Lottie has also spoken about the benefits about it. I also happen to think that Louis does talk about his issues. He's a person who wears his heart on his sleeve. I think he used to tell his mom everything. Now i think he unloads on Harry. Harry can't help with everything and i do wish Louis would talk to someone professional and impartial. Maybe he does and we just don't know about it for image reasons. We can hope.

[incorrect-pulleyverse]

Fanshaw: So did you kiss him?

Thaniel: No, the moment wasn’t right.

Thaniel: Look, Mori could be my future husband and I want our first kiss to be amazing.

Fanshaw: Awh, Thaniel that’s so sweet. You chickened out like a little bitch.

[nadjakurz]

REKORD-Kunstkaufhalle @ Acud Macht Neu, Berlin (2.-4. Oktober 2020)

Shoppen, Shoppen, Shoppen! Ein 4-tägiges Ausstellungshappening mit über 70 KünstlerInnen, gemeinsam organisiert mit Liesa Fritzsche, Friederike Sigler & Matti Schulz

mit dabei waren: ADK, Antifa e.V., Lisa Maria Baier, BBF, Benzin, Melo Börner, Elizabeth Charnock, Cuntroaches, Destinys Chlid, Die letzten Ecken, Die Pest, Marie Donike & Johannes Specks, Nicolás Dupont, Claude Eigan, Alexander Endrullat, Ex White, Rainer Finke, Flaccid Knob, Lucie Freynhagen, Anni Fritzsche, Fuzzzgun, Ringo Gill, Gorbatshow, Bhima Griem, Gabriela Guarnizo, Jinran Ha, Konrad Hanke, Tobi Keck, Jake Kent, Klösse, Max Kowalewski, Magnus Krüger, Kryptkeeper, Nadja Kurz, Camille Lacroix, Petra Lange-Berndt, Lassie, Alizee Lenox, Moritz Liebig, Lova, Sarah Lüttchen, Simon Mann, Mangel Rec., Maske, Matthias Materne, Metzger, Wilhelm Mundt, Omen, Murat Önen, ÖPNV, Piss, Matthias Recht, Ricaletto, Johanna Rüggen, Raiko Sanchez, Marten Schech, Florian Schmidt, Olivia Schneider, Martina Schöne-Radunski, Ulrike Steinke, Stinkhole, Schreier Johann, Josefine Schulz, Willy Schulz, Max Schulze, Chris Shongo, Short & Pregnant, The Govenor himself, Ruth Unger, Urin, Laura Vargas, VCUNORDNUNGS AMT., Marcel Walldorf, Weazl, Mikka Wellner, (...) u.v.m.

[godamnarmsrace]

Mandate

Whoops I did it again - Pt.2 of my Cain Dingle and Robert Sugden BFF series.

Thanks @bluewinseverytime for the speedy beta.

“What are you doing tonight?” Aaron asked, before shoving a piece of toast in his mouth, as he watched his husband down the rest of his coffee.

“Nothing probably, why?” Robert said, taking his empty cup to the sink. He stole a piece of Aaron’s toast as he passed and stood to lean against the sink smiling, as his husband scowled at him over its loss.

“Boys night out with Adam. You can come if you want?” Aaron said, raising his eyebrow in question.

“Nah, it’s okay. You go do your thing,” Robert replied moving across the kitchen to Aaron and leaning in for a kiss.

                                                         ***

Adam and Aaron were in the Woolpack, trying to decide if they could work up the energy to actually go into town or if they’d just keep it simple with darts and a few pints, when Cain appeared at their table.

“Where’s Sugden?” his uncle asked, sounding angry, but then that was pretty much his default setting.

“At home watching the new Star Wars movie or something equally lame,” Adam interjected, before Aaron could open his mouth. He felt like he should defend Robert’s life choices, but the truth of the matter was, he probably was sitting at home clutching a bowl of popcorn and talking to the television.  His husband is a massive nerd. Hot as fuck, but a nerd to his core.

Cain let out a grunt of acknowledgement and turned to leave, “Okay, I’m off.”

“You’re not sticking around?” Aaron asked, trying to work out if his uncle was acting weirder than normal.

“Got stuff to do,” Cain said leaving before Aaron could ask any more questions.

Adam laughed, “Was that strange?  It felt like he was being even more vague and shifty than normal.”

Aaron didn’t know what to say so he just shook his head, staring at the door his uncle had just exited. There had been quite a bit of unusual behaviour from his uncle lately.

“You don’t think Robert’s done something to piss him off do you?” Adam asked still laughing, the concern for his brother-in-law was touching really.

                                                           ***

Robert was emptying a bag of microwave popcorn in a bowl when someone started pounding on the front door of the Mill. Aaron kept forgetting his keys lately and although Robert had threatened to tie them around Aaron’s neck, complete with a bow, he also kind of thought it was adorable.  He might even be able to barter some kisses from his husband to let him in the house. Smiling he opened the door and said, “Did you forget to… Cain, hi!”

Aaron’s uncle was the last person in the world Robert expected to see on his doorstep. What the hell was he doing here?

“Can I come in?” Cain asked looking around the room behind Robert.

“Umm I guess,” Robert replied, resisting the urge to shut the door in his face.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Cain barked at him, giving Robert a look that clearly said he thought Robert was an idiot.

“Asking? I don’t know? What is the right answer here?” Robert said pinching the bridge of his nose, totally confused.

“I brought lager,” Cain said, shouldering his way past Robert and into the flat. Shoving the beer against Robert’s chest, forcing him to grab a hold of the bottles to prevent them from crashing to the ground.

“Okay,” Robert said slowly, moving over to the couch and putting the beer down on the coffee table. Not sure what to do next. He watched as Cain made himself comfortable on the couch, that had taken Robert and Liv two hours to pick out.

“Have you started the movie yet?” Cain asked, putting his dirty work boots on the designer coffee table. It made a tick start under Robert’s right eye.

“What?” he asked distractedly. “Umm, no I was just making some popcorn.”

Robert frowns at Cain and the way he’s just here, in Robert’s space. “So, um you’re staying then?” he questions, wondering if Cain would murder him if he asked what was going on?

Cain plumped one of the cushions placing it behind his head, “Yeah, where’s the popcorn you mentioned?”

“I’ll get it,” Robert said, relieved to have something to do with his hands. Why did he always feel like he should pinch himself or put up his fists, whenever Cain approached him of his own volition.

                                                            ***

Robert knew he’d have to watch this movie again later when Cain wasn’t around, because he kept getting distracted by the fact Cain was here watching a movie with him. What was this? The first sign of the apocalypse?

“We should watch Total Recall next time, not the remake the original, you got that one?” Cain suggested, when the credits started rolling, before getting to his feet.

Robert nodded gob-smacked that Cain even knew that there had been a remake.

“Okay, next Friday? You can get the beer,” Cain ordered, making his way to the door. He stopped and looked back at Robert like he wanted to say something, but grimaced and turned back to the door clearly changing his mind.

Robert watched from his spot on the couch at a loss to know what the hell had just happened, as Cain opened the front door only to find Aaron standing there with his fist raised poised to knock. Huh, so he did forget his keys after all.

                                                           ***

“Did you have a date with my uncle?” Aaron asked standing at the window watching as his uncle walked up their driveway.

Aaron turned to look at Robert, a smile on his face, eager for his husband’s response.

“I- think so,” Robert replied, sounding anything but sure.

Aaron couldn’t help it, he started laughing, the whole thing was too unreal. It was hilarious that Robert had finally made a friend and it happened to be his monosyllabic uncle, who had more issues than the two of them combined. “Are you gonna see him again?”

Robert pulled a face, one Aaron couldn’t quite interpret. “Next Friday apparently,” he said, somehow managing to sound both sullen and confused. “Stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”

Aaron waved a hand in front of his face, trying to catch his breath but it was hard. The situation, coupled with Robert’s sheer disbelief that this was his life now, had Aaron bending over and clutching his knees trying to force some air back into his lungs. “It’s a little funny,” he couldn’t stop himself from replying when he could speak again.

[tobikeck]

The Monster Is You

This was a 32-artists-group show at berlin’s artist run show venue >Golfplatz<.

The event was being held on the night of hallowe’en 31st of october 2019. It discovered the monstrous projection of each artist self-represented in a folk-traditional vegetable object. Doublicating the artists’ selves to the room, and also split them into two binary dark and bright minds.

The displayed exhibition was accompanied by a gabber-techno set of DJing and Performance Shows, celebrating the 90s rave series THUNDERDOME and their monster faces in the neighbouring area of the large showroom.

The remains of the pumpkin heads were eaten by the show’s hosts afterwards and it was very good.

feat.

visual artists:

christoph bayer, melo boerner, alexander endrullat, lars fischer, mona freudenreich, manuel frolik, eva funk, sergej funke, jinran ha, konrad hanke, karolina jabłońska, tobi keck, jake kent, martyna kielesińska, ulli klose, tomasz kręcicki, philine kuhn, nadja kurz, laura dee milnes, wilhelm mundt, sonja ofen, claire panthère, ivana pavlíčková, cyryl polaczek, alexander policek, theresa rothe, raiko sánchez, marten schech, millie schwier, matti schulz, willy schulz

music and performance artists: bbf (666thunder666show) von hinten (gabber daddy) de klochsen (gabber) eazy (thunder hop) arletka (exclusive Gabber Set)

[shinycollarboneapologist]

an opportunist

(part 1 to clandestined or the one where matty piques your interest.)

content: mentions of drugs and alcohol, no smut but heavy petting, matty’s insufferable, matty is also george’s best friend, slight age gap (3 years), and bending of irl timelines

a/n: special thanks to @hereyeswerefilledwiththestars for inspo and for letting me rattle my silly little ideas to you. 

matty healy is nothing if not insufferable.

his very presence evokes a roll from your eyes and scoff from your lips nine times out of ten. he’s got an ego that often takes up all the air in the room. he’s always jumping down your throat, always has to be the one that wins every argument (you always give him a fight, though, never one to back down too easily), and always has to have the last word.

matty healy is insufferable. but he’s also your older brother, george’s best friend.

it started when you were thirteen. george had accumulated a new friend group and a new after-school hobby of playing the drums so loud you thought your ears were going to bleed. with george came matty by association, the boy a few years your senior and george’s best friend. he had curly hair and lanky limbs, and he always smelled a bit like weed when he would kiss you sweetly on the cheek and hug you hello. and when george tells your mum he’s joining a band and has to trek over to the healy residence five days a week, she tells him that he can go anywhere he wants so long as you go with him because realistically how much trouble can a group of teenage boys get into when there’s a thirteen-year-old thrown into the mix. in truth, the answer is a lot, but you were sworn to secrecy with a few crisp bills and the promise that when not if they make it big they’ll have a chapter dedicated to you in the tell-all book. it’s enough to keep your lips sealed, plus you get a place to go after school to kill time and get homework done. though george is begrudgingly dragging you along, matty never once batted an eyelash. he embraced your presence, welcomed your ideas, and made you feel special (all before joining in as the other guys held you down and shoved worms in your face until you cried and begged to go home). but you felt special, nonetheless.

matty healy is insufferable and your older brother’s best friend. but he’s also the long-term object of your desires.

while george slowly grew out of his distaste for your presence at band rehearsals and gigs and grew into the adoring and protective older brother you have now, matty planted his seeds in your brain. he was george’s friend first, but with that came the extension of him being another older brother figure to you. he was a good listener (when he wanted to be) and gave sound unbiased advice. when he spoke to you, he kept eye contact and made you feel like he was really listening (even if he wasn’t he was good at keeping up the charade). and when you would mindlessly ramble about some stupid boy in your science class or how much you hated the switch from lime to green apple skittles, he was good at making you feel like your opinion mattered- even if he would take the piss out of it all when you left. he made you blush when he complimented your hair or your outfit. and when the other guys would make fun of your heated cheeks and bashful gaze, matty wouldn’t join in. instead he would tell them to fuck off, and would flash you a cheeky smile. he was equal parts annoying and fascinating.

he’s always been the one, you’ve known that much since you were sixteen. you admit that to your roommates one night after a few glasses of wine and a conversation about lost loves. and though they tease you about it until your cheeks burn and you’re hiding your face in your hands. they tell you to go for it, to just bite the bullet and confess already. but that’s a loaded request. he’s matty, probably only seeing you as a direct extension of his best friend and you’re you, said direct extension that hasn’t been around recently due to the stress of work and classes. you haven’t realistically been in his presence since last christmas, you presume, minus all of the gigs you attended and george’s birthday party. it’s silly really. the way he still has you blushing and giddy all these years later. you chalk it up to the wine, though. especially when you’re scrolling through your socials later and see a few posts of matty belligerent on george’s story and it turns your stomach a bit. but people often mistake butterflies for moths, right?

you keep telling yourself that over and over as the brisk wind whips around you while you weave in and out of cars and you’re pulling your jacket tighter around your chest. the occasional horn blares at you, but you satiate it with a flip of your finger. you have places to go, people to see, drinks to consume and you’re running late. they have to be at least getting on stage for their set now, meaning you’ve missed the ceremonial pre-gig toke and you know you’re going to get the stink eye from all of them for it. the four of them, especially matty, are big on their traditions, citing some karmic return if they’re not completed. you just hope it all goes well so the blame doesn’t fall onto your shoulders, as it playfully often does.

when you approach the club, the line is already wrapped around the block. so much so that you can barely make out the dark facade of the building. you’re groaning. time is ticking away and four oversized toddlers are going to rip you a new one if you’re not in there and fast. through some bribing and squeezing and lying and smiling, you make it toward the middle of the line; the door is visible and you can vaguely see the bouncer checking id’s. you’re thanking a bunch of religious deities at this point.

“sorry, we’re at capacity and the show’s about to start.” the bouncer rips you from your self-reflective glee. your eyes widen immediately, a plethora of pleas babbling out of you.

“no, no, no. you don’t understand, my brother’s in the band and he’s gonna be so fucking pissed at me. i need to get in there,” you plead, eyes big. you’re trying to connect with the bouncer at some level at this point, eyes scanning for a name tag, something, anything. “c’mon,” you try, “daniel, you get it right?”

his eyes soften, giving you a once over.

“yeah i get it,” here it is, your golden opportunity, “now go get in line with the other sisters, wives, girlfriends, and boyfriends over there,” he nods his head over to the line of people behind you who were also denied entry. you groan, defeated.

the one night you want to go out and you’re stuck warding off frostbite in a skirt that’s too short, a jacket that’s hardly even warm enough, and the stupid, uncomfortable-heeled boots that your roommate let you borrow. calling george would be a moot point by now, but you try it anyway. as predicted, his phone goes straight to voicemail. you try a few more times, but each time it follows the same route. you wallow for a few minutes, trying to ward off the frustrated tears that have already started to sting at the corners of your eyes.

“no, dude. i don’t know where she is. yeah, i’ll keep looking, calm your balls,” a familiar voice is pinging through the air and before you can even turn your head, there’s an even more familiar mop of curly hair in front of you.

“found you. where’s my reward?” matty grins, pulling you into a tight bear hug. if it was any other time, you probably would have shoved him off and pinched his arm. but he’s warm and smells good and you’re still freezing. “we thought you bailed on us!” he confesses, and you can tell there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“me? never. the train was late, the knob at the door won’t let me in, and it’s cold. and i’m pretty sure i almost got hit by a car coming walking over here,” you groan. he pulls away and you almost want to cry as he takes the warmth with him.

“no wonder you’re cold. look at you!,” matty chides, “really, look at you.” his voice falters as he mumbles the echo of his words prior.

he gets a once over at you. his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual, darkening a bit at the sight in front of him. you suck in a breath, feeling your cheeks burn and your skin prick with goosebumps. matty’s eyes trace you again and in a self-conscious fit, you wrap your arms around yourself. there’s a familiar feeling bubbling in your stomach, those god-damned moths won’t let you have a break.

“let’s get you inside, yeah?”

you nod in return, fingers intertwining with his as he leads you to the front of the line again. you flash the bouncer a smile and he only rolls his eyes in return.

it’s crowded inside. the crowd is at least twenty people deep on the floor, and that’s not including the people wrapped around the bar or those on the balcony. matty’s grip on you tightens and he weaves you both in and out of the small huddles of people to get to the makeshift backstage area.

“precious cargo acquired,” he calls out to the guys, pushing through the dark curtain that separates the band from the gig’s patrons. there’s an eruptive cheer as your figure pushes through after matty’s. “thought she was gonna freeze to death out there.”

george is the first to envelop you in a hug. you hit his shoulder as he pulls back, furrowing your brows at him.

“hey, what’s that for?” he shrieks and you narrow your eyes at him.

“learn to answer your phone, dickhead. almost got hypothermia out there,” you grumble. he retaliates by mimicking your voice, turning up his nose.

“she would’ve frozen to death without me mate. m’her prince in shining armor. or whatever that’s supposed to be,” matty calls over and george just rolls his eyes. your cheeks feel hot, much like they did when you were sixteen and staring up at matty with wide eyes after he said he liked your eclectic music taste.

“s’knight in shining armor,” adam quips. matty just waves him off with an utterance of tomato-tomato as he lights up a cigarette.

“are you guys still playing my favorite song?” you chirp.

“nah, matty scratched it from the setlist,” ross sighs.

your eyes go wide, “what?”

matty, preoccupied with his cigarette, only shrugs. “doesn’t fit the vibe anymore.”

“and what vibe is that? emo sad boy virgin pop?” you huff.

his eyes meet yours, softening as he seems to rethink what he was about to say. there’s a twitch of a smile at his lips. he runs his tongue out over the plush flesh. the intrusive thoughts take over your brain and you’re trying to tell yourself that it would not be a good idea to tell him that you’re jealous of his tongue.

“watch it,” he’s snide, tone alluring as smoke fans over the room.

you blink a few times, exhaling slowly as you regain your composure, “or what?”

“i’ll make you go sit outside in the cold again.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“you’re right, i wouldn’t.” his eyes travel over you. he lingers a bit at your hips and you swear you can see the wheels turning in his head. you go to comment, but adam’s already rounding all of the boys up to get them on stage. his head tilts at the proximity between the two of you (which isn’t much as matty’s made his way to be a few inches in front of you now), noticing the way matty’s looking at you. he hits him on the shoulder, giving him a look and jerking his head towards the curtain. matty’s hand brushes your waist as he passes behind you. it’s there for a fragment of a second, but the repercussions weigh heavy in your brain. there’s a phantom of his hand remaining on your heated skin, heart thumping hard in your chest. and as they walk away, you can hear the harsh whispers between the two men, but you can’t make out what they’re saying.

matty ends up playing your favorite song. and it’s the only think you talk about the whole cab ride back to his and george’s apartment. the others try their hardest to switch the conversation but as soon as you see an opportunity, you’re circling back to the fact that they played your favorite song. you’re an opportunist at heart, living for the way they groan.

the five of you are sitting around on matty and george’s balcony. you’re curled up on the beat-up couch, knees pulled to your chest. you’ve changed, thankfully, into some old sweats you left here at one point. and it all feels normal and a bit nostalgic, an air of their early days. the guys are asking about your classes at uni, and how your roommates are treating you. and when you answer, you find yourself catching matty’s eyes lingering on you for a little longer than normal.

he watches you intently as you bring the bottle of cheap wine up to your lips, taking a long sip. he thinks a lot about what your lips would taste like, probably a mix of the wine and the cherry chapstick he had seen you use earlier. matty’s head feels heavy and he’s chalking it up to the wine and the weed from earlier and not from the lingering thoughts of you swimming around in his brain.

he’s bringing up a cigarette to his lips, expert fingers flicking the lighter as he inhales. matty catches your eyes on him that time, half-listening to what ross is rambling off to you. he grins at you from across the table, loving the way you’re rolling your eyes at him and returning your full attention to ross. there’s a fire burning within him, an antagonizing thought screaming that all your attention should be on him and him only. he loathes fighting for your attention, even more so now that you just look at him that way. it’s just pointless banter. that’s what he hushed back to adam as they walked to the stage. adam was being ridiculous in his accusations that matty was pushing the flirting with you thing a little too far. if you didn’t seem to mind, then why should he? it wasn’t like the both of you were going to do anything about it.

the night is settling down. adam and ross had both abandoned the remaining three of you to head home; they had an early morning tomorrow with some radio interview and they all had to be on their a-game.

matty’s got his hand in the snack mix bag, grumbling to himself.

“who ate all the pretzels?”

you laugh to yourself, hand coming to cover your lips. he’s quick to hear it though, eyes narrowing, “you’re just like george, i swear to god.”

“hey! what’s so bad about being like me?” george huffs in mock offense.

“i’ve got a list.” you and matty drawl at the same time, heads already snapping to gasp at each other.

george only laughs, stretching his arms above his head. “think i’m gonna call it a night. need my beauty sleep. matt, you’ll lock up right?”

matty nods.

“goodnight,” george hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head, “pillows and blankets are already on the couch for you.”

a warm smile finds its way to your face, thanking george.  

you can’t find the will to get up as george exits the balcony, limbs feeling like liquid and head still swirling with the weed-induced daze.

matty pulls another cigarette out from the pack. you raise an eyebrow at him.

“i’m quitting, i swear,” he scoffs.

you only laugh and lean your head back, “i didn’t even say anything. you’ve just got a guilty conscious.”

“don’t need to say anything, it’s in your eyes,” he comments, “you want one? feel like i’ve been rude in not offering one to you all night.”

you nod, pensively. he holds the pack out and you take a cigarette for yourself before you place it between your lips. george would freak out if he saw you like this right now despite the fact he had done far worse at your age. before you can even ask for a light, matty’s already bringing the open flame up to the end of the cigarette. you blink a few times. his eyes are trained on yours, tongue poking from between his lips. it feels like ages go by. the intensity of his stare is consuming you, goosebumps littering your limbs.

“you’re supposed to inhale, love,” he remarks.

you shake your head, flustered and embarrassed, “no… yeah... i know. yeah.”

you inhale as he brings the ember up to the end again. matty’s intense gaze falls to your lips. the plump skin is curling around the cigarette, puckering as you exhale and his mouth goes dry. this is wrong, so wrong. and although there’s a part of him that just wants to pack up for the night, he knows there’s a stronger part of him that just wants to be close to you and feel your skin prickle with goosebumps again.

matty’s lips are cherry red, indicative of the way he keeps licking over and biting at them. his pupils are dilated; dark black bleeding into chocolate brown irises. his hair is awry as his fingers kept running through it. and in a fleeting thought, you wonder just what it would feel like to run your fingers through it and pull at the curls- not enough to hurt just enough to elicit some kind of a reaction. the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, which he notices, and you feel your molten limbs get pulled toward him. the blanket that adorns his body is soft. he wraps you up in it, properly tucking you into his side as he pulls the frayed hem taught around you. you’re close enough to feel him breathing now, close enough to watch his adam’s apple bob up and down. he’s lost in thought as you stare down his side profile.

“the guys treating you alright up there?” matty asks. it’s not a far-off question seeing as you’ve told him nearly everything about any male interests when you were younger.

“I’m bored-,” you hum, voice listless. the carefully curated consonants hang in the air before dispersing like the smoke that’s exhaling from matty’s lips.

“well fuck you, too, then,” matty snorts as he cuts you off, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “didn’t want to babysit tonight, anyway.”

you shake your head, and you can almost feel your thoughts rattling around as you do so.

“i wasn’t done talking,” you glower at him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. you watch as he shifts under your gaze. maybe he was just peeved with you, or maybe you catch the hint of a flush rising from his neck.

“go on then. we haven’t played therapist in a while, what’s on your mind?” his focus is back on the second joint he’s now begun rolling. you watch his fingers carefully, throat tightening. you’re not sure if it’s the after-effects of the weed or the absolute filth in your mind that’s causing this reaction, but it’s caught matty’s attention. he grins at you, “i said-”

“i-i heard you,” you scowl.

he purses his lips at you, shaking his head, “don’t frown, sweets, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“like you?”

“oi!”

“you already compared this to babysitting so i’m allowed to make all of the old man jokes i want.”

he holds his unoccupied hand up in mock surrender, “touche.”

“now, let me finish before you interrupt me yet again,” you narrow your eyes at him, playfully this time, “i’m bored with guys, i think. s’not one guy that’s caught my interest and i’ve been away at school for months. they’re all so boring, or they say dumb things and i just, ugh, i haven’t been properly kissed in ages.” you’re playing it up for dramatic effect now, honestly, and it seems to have the desired effect because he stills for a minute.

this piques his interest enough that he’s abandoning the joint that once preoccupied him to glance at you, eyebrows knitting together, “is that so?” he guffaws, smirking softly. “i think your problem, little miss, is that you,” he pauses to lick the edge of the rolling paper. it’s meticulous and calculated and your thighs squeeze together under the blanket. he knows what he’s doing, knows the dangerous game he’s playing, “you waste your time on boys. you need a man.”

“you’re a man, right?” you ask.

“uh, yeah? what are you on about?” he laughs. he’s still not paying attention to you, eyes focused on the joint in front of him while your whole brain, whole being even, is screaming out for him.

“so, why don’t you do it?” you’re leaning in close to matty, his eyes shut as he feels your breath against his neck. the scent of your perfume is intoxicating. it's so sweet; reminds him of you and your lilted laugh, something that’s never changed.

“what?” he sputters, blinking incredulously.

“you heard me,” you murmur. he can feel the ghost of your breath against his jaw now as you make your way toward his ear. “show me what it’s like to be kissed by a man,” you purr.

his resolve dissipates in a low groan of your name. he turns to look at you again, eyes tracing over your lips once, twice, thrice. but it’s taking too long for you. lunging forward, your lips press to his heatedly. and though the weed has lowered your inhibitions, it’s doing little to nothing to calm your nerves. maybe you read the signs all wrong. maybe this was a mistake. and oh, god, you’re still kissing him but he’s not kissing back. you pull away quickly, eyes wide and ready to begin your apology parade. this was not how this was supposed

the slew of apologies are ill-fated, though as he growls lowly and pulls you close to him. his hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he speaks, “you’re playing with fire, sweets. if you’re not careful, you’ll be burned.”

matty barely gives you a second to process what he’s doing before his lips are pressed to yours indignantly in a bruising kiss. it's slow at first, his lips working with yours as his hands fall from your cheeks to your waist. he’s pulling you even closer to him, your knees knocking against his thighs. you take the initiative and climb into his lap, straddling his waist and fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. matty’s hands wander from your waist to the hem of the t-shirt, nimble fingers traveling just underneath. you feel his cold fingers on your heated skin. they send a shiver down your spine, nerves ablaze with him.

your mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. he tastes of the remnants of his cigarettes and the wine he was drinking before, it’s dizzying. there’s a certain sense of pent-up desire behind his movements, a fever that you can’t quite put your finger on. you’re left only to whine against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair like you wanted to only minutes before. he’s kissing you like no one ever has before and you’re not sure anyone ever will.

matty pulls back just for a second, allowing you both to catch your breath. when your eyes flutter open, his darkened pupils meet yours. his lips are swollen, smudged with the rogue of your lipstick. you want to imprint this sight into your memory and tuck it away so that you’ll never forget how he looks in the moment. his lips are back on yours before you can comment on it. his movements are not as soft as before, not as calculated or contrived. you give in to the passion, let your desires drive you as your hips start to move against his. it’s his turn to gasp, and judging by the stiffening in his pants you can tell he’s a fan of it. he doesn’t pull away though, instead, he lets his hands grip your waist to control your movements. there’s some satiation from the friction, but it’s not enough. you want more, want him to completely ruin you.

his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, tugging as he pulls away. a whimper, deeply rooted in your chest, falls from your parted lips. there’s a smirk on his lips. you’re left panting on his lap. he leans up, cups your cheek and presses a softer kiss to your lips. your lips move against his slowly. and just as you’re about to part your lips for him once more, he’s pulling back.

an exasperated sigh leaves your mouth and he laughs at you, actually laughs, “you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

you’re breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. you try to find the words to rebuttal him, but they’re lost on you. the only thing you can think about is him, he’s completely encompassed your thoughts and your brain. matty’s lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down the sensitive skin. he nips gently and you moan, waiting for your reaction as he flicks his tongue out to soothe the area. he drags his hands languidly up your waist and you think that he’s going to lift your shirt and let you have it like you want. but, the notion is lost. he lifts you off his lap and kisses your nose.

“i’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” matty murmurs, “goodnight, sweets.”

he’s walking into the apartment before you can even formulate your own goodnight. the words feel lost on your tongue, thoughts feel lost in your brain.

you’re fucked. absolutely fucked and not in a good way.

[shinycollarboneapologist]

calling bbf matty after a date because the guy couldn’t get you off 😭🤲

u guys are so sick. (i love it)

but a great opportunity for sneaky phone sex with bbf matty. you're in your apartment, completely dissatisfied and you know theres one guy out there who can talk you into a mindnumbing, body shaking climax. he's already a little peeved that you even went out with someone that wasn't him, but you both have to keep up the charade and keep george (esp) none the wiser. when you call him, he picks up on the first ring, barely even letting the ringtone play out. and he's chuffed, asking you about the date and you're vague at first because you can't really think straight and you think he's just going to be in a piss-poor attitude the whole entire phone call. just as you're about to hang up, you blearily hear him ask a question, and when you don't answer he repeats it, firmer tone "i asked if he made you cum." and you're mind goes blank because that's a little invasive lol, but you're too turned on by just the sheer tone of his voice that you murmur out a meek "no" and he groans, "this is why i told you not to go out with those silly little boys, baby" (he's only like 2-4 years your senior tho, so it does garner an eye roll from you) and you're whimpering an apology, and probably already started touching yourself lbr. and when he hears a gasp from the other end its all over for you, because on top of calling you a baby, he's talking you through it, telling you all of the things he would do to you if he was there and in that knobheads spot. (because if he was, you would not have left until you've cum like three times) and you're barely just barely holding on when he tells you to stop and you just blink because what. but you hear an engine start and he puffs out "i'm on my way." and then he comes over and proves to you why you shouldn't be wasting your time with anyone else but him :D

[shinycollarboneapologist]

Okay but imagine if George literally walks in on bbf matty and reader fucking and that’s how he finds out (maybe it’s really tender loving sex so he knows it’s not a one time thing), I would actually feel FEAR!!!! Like George I love you but you intimidate me SO MUCH

Also now I’m deluding myself with thoughts!!! Like imagine the fallout that would happen with George and also with matty because in his infinite wisdom maybe he’s like no this is not what it looks like, this was a mistake/an accident which is THE WORST THING TO SAY and so you simply run to Charli as your safe space because she is indeed mother, goodbye 😭

the WAY THAT WOULD BE SO SCARY.

you and matty are way too into it to realize that george has come home, and he probably sees like remnants of you around the apartment like “omg? didn’t know they were coming over? lol where are you!” and then he hears it. a liquified giggle coming from matty’s room and he’s like… no… that’s impossible. but he hears it again and again and it’s more frequent and he feels like he’s going to vomit and pass out all at once. so he’s like flinging the door open and matty just stills on top of you as george starts screaming. like i’m not sure if he would get physical with matty besides like ripping him off of you or anything (he’s still his best friend and you’re there and all so he doesn’t want to be that out of line, i would respect him if he was though) and matty is scrambling while george is still yelling and now they’re both yelling and you’re just trying to cover yourself with the blanket while you grab your own clothes and that’s when you hear matty tell george “dude it was a mistake. a one time thing, s’my fault” and your heart SHATTERS. so you just look at matty all dejected and a sob comes from your lips and maybe that’s when george gets physical, nothing too serious just shoving matty like “could get over you two fucking but you being an asshole? that’s next level” because the last thing george wants to see is you hurt.

charli provides the much needed older sister comfort (not sure how to include her in the actual bbf fic but trust she will be making an appearance) she lets you cry and sob and break things. does a good job of shooing both george and matty away when they try to come over to see you. you guys bake brownies and do some online shopping and watch cheesy romance movies that make you sob more. and she seems like the only person in your life that isn’t mad at you (besides matty but you both aren’t talking) charli is indeed mother and when you’re asleep and matty comes by for a fifth time that day to try and talk to you, she gives him the tongue lashing of a life time. (he’s more afraid of her than he is george atm)

[shinycollarboneapologist]

The make up sex would be insane tho…. After all that angst and matty confessing his feelings like sure at the beginning he just wanted to bone her but after a while he fell so hard. The make up sex would be so passionate and loving from him because he never did that their first time together and if he’d known she was a virgin he would’ve taken more time, basically this is his (and her) do over. He’s just so tender and it’s so intimate and all he can get out is just “I love you” “you’re perfect” “never letting you go”

Also YES to matty being her first love omg, this silly little crush on big brother’s best friend becoming her first real love I’m such a sucker for that (she’s also seeming like she’s low key his first love a bit)

PLEASEEE. you're killing me actually.

when they're actually able to be in the same room as each other without crying <3 (also bold of you to assume that he hasn't let the occasional "i love you" slip out before and then when she gives him a look he's just backtracking and complimenting her boobs or something to disrtact her)

its so much tender than normal and he's holding her close and really using this as a do over because he never wants her to feel less than, and never wants him to be the reason that she feels that way because he loves her so deeply and cares so much for her. and they're whispering to each other and its not rushed and its jsut sweet and tender and :( (maybe matty cries when he cums idk/j)

NO BC HE LITERALLY IS. like he always will be, no matter how this ends (heheh) or what, like he's always going to be her first love, first real heartbreak :( (oh and she def is his)

[shinycollarboneapologist]

Oh now I’m thinking about the angst and guilt if it came out in a fight between reader and matty that he was her first after he’s mistreated her or something or when he lies to George and says it was all a one time mistake, like she crying and telling him it mattered to her and how he could he just say that and he just freezes up because he’s so shocked he had no idea he was her first and she storms off before he can say anything about how it was always special to him so she’s convinced she was just another notch in his bedpost cuz he’s kind of a huge slut even though at the time she felt like she was “different” (unbeknownst to her she WAS different to him, he wasn’t seeing anyone else while he was sneaking around with her)

PLEASE i am foaming at the mouth. kind of ties into the whole george previously being like "hey where are all of your overnight guests lol" and maybe reader is there when george says that and she;s like ... wait what if the nights im not there someone else IS. so she's always a little insecure in that aspect and then when he says that it didn't matter and it was a one time thing, everything kind of just boils over. and matty is shattered by the look on her face and the way she says it and the pain laced in her voice and his mouth is just opening and closing and opening and closing and she's trying so hard not to cry in front of him but it HURTS. and she feels used and mistreated and angry and sad and she's grieving the death of a best friend and a first love all at once. and george is still standing there and now he knows what transpired and he's caught between a rock and a hard place bc he can see how torn up matty is (And maybe after he shoves him around they can have a grown up conversation where matty tells him how much he loves the reader and how much she means to him and that he would never intentionally hurt her and everything was consensual and he loves her so much) and how this is killing the reader so badly (even though at first he does ultimately take her side after getting over the sheer fact that she was boning his bestie)

(have fun trying to dig urself out of this hole matty, bc if george doesn't murder you ... the reader might when she's done being sad ofc)

[shinycollarboneapologist]

Ok this is kind of super slutty but thinking about bbf!matty and him being super jealous that he wasn’t reader’s first time maybe it comes up in a conversation kinda like the one in pt. 1 where she says the guys at school are boring and her first time was bad , I just see him working himself up about it in his head like “I would’ve taken such good care of her, that guy was a pig, I have to show her how a real man would please her” etc. like jaw clenching and all that

OR conversely….

He IS reader’s first time and he either (1) doesn’t know because she wants to seem cool and experienced to him (hence her being a needy little thing) or (2) he does know and he takes it as a challenge to set the bar really high for her sexual encounters and he’s super caring (as much as a early 20’s boy can be, but he’s trying his best!)

ok but i love super slutty so im here for this. (all of this tbh)

what if i told u ... that there is a mix of all this coming your way?

so when writing the reader i lowkey always felt that she was a virgin but not virginal. like she's done other things but the whole p in v wasn't one of them. and its not for any particular reason, shes just busy and you don't really meet people on the street like "hey wanna be my first time <3" so its kind of on the back burner. but matty would be ... so so so caring. (he cares deeply for her even though he's a silly early 20's guy with a big ego and he often thinks with his dick a little too hard). and whether he knows or not, he's still shocked by the way she handles herself and does the things she does and the things she says to him ... (wrote the smut already and her mouth would make matty look like a saint.. js) but i agree that he would set the bar realllllyyyy high for thsoe sexual encounters (regardless if he was her first or not, he's got an ego and can't have her being with other people without thinking about him and how he would do things . alternatively, he would rather she doesn't get with other people, but that's just a personal preference of his own that he doesn't really want to delve into rn) and tying that up to your first bullet point, when they do manage to chit chat about her limited sexual encounters he feels a bit jealous but he laughs when she does because who wouldn't laugh when she tells him about how her boyfriend at 15 rubbed the top of her thigh for 15 minutes and then asked if she came. he's selfish, and also thinks she deserves the best despite him not always feeling like he is. so matty just has to prove his point and get her off right then and there.

[shinycollarboneapologist]

bbf matty and reader getting into a fight and george is like ?!?! bc they're both pissed at the same time now and he has no clue how to deal with them since he doesnt know the situation

OOOOOOOF. big oof.

first off, as much as matty and reader enjoy each other's company (among other things ...) i can see them fighting often. its mostly like petty little play fights here and there but sometimes, oof, it gets a bit .... heated. (mostly they just start fights because the makeup sex is great) but when its a serious topic, they go for hours and even days without talking to eachother and its ... a horrible time for everyone involved.

not gonna give away a plot point (yeah i made them already, what abt it?) but its a bad fight, one that's leaving you both miserable and irritated and there's no backing down at this point. george is confused as to why you're so short with him when he brings up matty and the band and asks if you're coming down for their gig the following weekend (you frequent their gigs, so its a bit unusual when you say no) and when he relays that information to matty, matty just rolls his eyes and scoffs an "of course" and george, bless his soul, is just like "why is everyone mad!" (lord pray for matty if george ever truly finds out the reason why you're so upset and skipping their gig...)

[shinycollarboneapologist]

bbf will be a fic. the google doc has already been made. 

[shinycollarboneapologist]

Matty having to defend himself to George by admitting it wasn’t like that and he actually REALLY likes loves reader and he’s just pleading with George to understand

I too love the drama that comes with a bbf dynamic

WAIT BC I JUST WROTE SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN RESPONSE TO UR OTHER ASK... our minds 🤭

more detail tho: probably a few weeks, almost a month after this all transpires. no one's heard from matty or reader in that time period, besides charli (love her so much) who's the reader's safe haven atp and maybe adam who goes to check in on matty every now and then. the band is off tour at this point, there's been lines drawn and adam and ross are just trying to be switzerland but there's some clear distaste for matty still remnant (the reader is so close to all of them and ofc they only got the side that george told, and also matty played himself out to be the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth) but he's still there friend y'know? and maybe george is trying to patch up the holes and he's trying to be the bigger person and he heads back to the apartment (he's been staying with charli and reader for a bit) and matty is just like ".. dude if you want to break my jaw again, can you at least hit the other side to even me out?" but he looks like shit and george just scoffs and then they get to talking. and the only people that knows matty better than he knows himself is reader and george and george is like "dude you look like shit" and matty's all like "yeah i feel like shit. i fucked it up bad, didn't i?" and george wants to be supportive bestie but he's also brooding big brother and he's telling matty about how she just started talking to george this week because she was mad at him for hitting matty. (real but he deserved it) and matty is just like :( i don't deserve her and george just agrees with him. but after they talk about feelings, george is still a little peeved (esp after matty comes clean about everything within reason ofc, george's still readers older brother and he's not about to like .. confess about railing her in the bathroom ok) but he can kind of see matty's pov from this angle and he obvi knows how reader feels and maybe im writing myself into a depression.