#blood sugar control fruits
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dietsandmore · 9 months ago
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The best and worst fruits for PCOS with insights from Dt Shreya Katyal
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Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) is a common hormonal disorder that affects individuals assigned to females at birth, causing irregular periods, cysts on the ovaries, and various other symptoms. While a healthy diet is crucial for managing PCOS, not all fruits are created equal when it comes to this condition. We turn to the expertise of Dietician Shreya Katyal, a leading Dietitian In Delhi, for insights on fruits to avoid with PCOS.
Dt Shreya Katyal, known for her expertise in nutrition and Online Diet Consultation at Diets & More, the Best Dietitian In Delhi, emphasizes the importance of a balanced diet for individuals with PCOS. Fruits are generally a nutritious part of any diet, but some may have an impact on blood sugar levels and insulin resistance, two key factors associated with PCOS.
Bananas: Bananas are a common fruit enjoyed by many, but they are relatively high in carbohydrates and can cause a spike in blood sugar levels. Individuals with PCOS often have insulin resistance, and consuming high-carb fruits like bananas may contribute to further imbalances.
Grapes: Grapes, especially when consumed in large quantities, can be problematic for those with PCOS. They contain natural sugars that can affect blood sugar levels, potentially leading to insulin spikes. Opting for berries with lower sugar content is a wiser choice.
Mangoes: Mangoes are delicious, but they are also high in natural sugars. People with PCOS should be mindful of their sugar intake, and choosing lower-sugar fruits like berries or kiwi can be a more suitable option.
Pineapple: Pineapple is another fruit that individuals with PCOS may want to consume in moderation. It has a higher glycemic index compared to some other fruits, meaning it can cause a faster spike in blood sugar levels.
Watermelon: While watermelon is a hydrating and refreshing fruit, it is also relatively high in sugar. Moderation is key, and individuals with PCOS may consider other fruits with lower sugar content.
Furthermore, Dt Shreya Katyal emphasizes the significance of incorporating fiber-rich fruits into the diet of individuals with PCOS. Fiber plays a crucial role in regulating blood sugar levels and promoting overall digestive health. While some fruits may need to be limited, others can be embraced for their positive impact on insulin sensitivity.
Berries: Dt Shreya Katyal recommends including berries such as strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries in the diet of individuals with PCOS. These fruits are not only rich in antioxidants but also lower in sugar compared to some other options. Their fiber content helps slow down the absorption of sugars, supporting better blood sugar control.
Apples: Apples are a great choice for individuals with PCOS. High in fiber, vitamins, and antioxidants, apples provide a satisfying sweetness without causing rapid spikes in blood sugar levels. Including apples in various forms, such as slices or whole, can be a wholesome addition to a PCOS-friendly diet.
Avocado: While not a traditional fruit, avocado is a nutrient-dense option that can be beneficial for those with PCOS. Packed with healthy fats and fiber, avocados contribute to satiety and may help in managing weight, a crucial aspect for individuals with PCOS.
Kiwi: Kiwi is a refreshing fruit that is relatively low in sugar and high in vitamin C. It adds a burst of flavor to meals and snacks while providing essential nutrients without causing significant spikes in blood sugar.
Pears: Pears are another fiber-rich fruit that individuals with PCOS can include in their diet. The combination of soluble and insoluble fiber in pears aids in digestion and helps regulate blood sugar levels.
Dt Shreya Katyal emphasizes that the key lies in creating a well-rounded and individualized diet plan that meets the specific needs of each person with PCOS. Additionally, incorporating a variety of nutrient-dense foods, including vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains, is essential for overall health and hormonal balance.
In conclusion, while some fruits may need to be moderated or avoided by individuals with PCOS, there are plenty of delicious and nutritious options available. Dt Shreya Katyal's expertise provides valuable insights into making informed choices that support better management of PCOS symptoms. Through a combination of mindful eating, regular physical activity, and personalized nutritional guidance, individuals with PCOS can take positive steps toward improving their overall well-being.
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lifechangingtips · 4 months ago
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How to Get More Fiber Into Your Diet
Incorporating More Fiber into Your Daily Meals: A Comprehensive Guide If you’re looking to give your health a boost, one of the best places to start is by ramping up your fiber intake. You see, fiber is a bit of a superstar when it comes to our health. It aids digestion, helps control blood sugar levels, lowers cholesterol, and even helps you feel fuller for longer, which can be a big help if…
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wasif-health-tipps · 4 months ago
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Mastering Blood Sugar Control: Strategies for a Healthier Life
Maintaining stable blood sugar levels is crucial for overall health and well-being. Fluctuations in blood glucose can lead to a range of health issues, from fatigue and irritability to more severe conditions like diabetes. Here’s a comprehensive guide to mastering blood sugar control through diet, exercise, and lifestyle changes.Understanding Blood SugarBlood sugar, or blood glucose, is the amount of glucose present in the blood. It’s a primary energy source for the body, but maintaining it within a healthy range is essential. Blood sugar levels are influenced by the food we eat, how we exercise, and various physiological factors.1. Balanced DietA balanced diet is the cornerstone of effective blood sugar management. Focus on these dietary principles:Choose Low Glycemic Index Foods: Foods with a low glycemic index (GI) release glucose slowly into the bloodstream, helping to maintain stable blood sugar levels. Examples include whole grains, legumes, and most vegetables.Incorporate Fiber: Fiber slows the absorption of sugar, which helps in controlling blood glucose levels. Opt for fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and legumes.Control Portion Sizes: Eating large portions can lead to spikes in blood sugar. Use smaller plates and be mindful of serving sizes.Limit Sugary Foods and Drinks: Reduce the intake of foods and beverages high in added sugars, like sodas, candy, and baked goods.2. Regular ExercisePhysical activity is vital for blood sugar control. Here’s how exercise helps:Improves Insulin Sensitivity: Regular exercise makes cells more responsive to insulin, which helps in managing blood sugar levels.Aids in Weight Management: Maintaining a healthy weight through exercise can improve blood glucose control and reduce the risk of developing type 2 diabetes.Enhances Overall Health: Exercise supports cardiovascular health, reduces stress, and boosts mood.Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise per week, such as brisk walking, swimming, or cycling.3. Consistent Meal TimingEating meals at regular intervals helps in stabilizing blood sugar levels.Don't Skip Meals: Skipping meals can lead to blood sugar drops or spikes. Aim to eat every 3-4 hours.Balanced Meals: Each meal should include a mix of carbohydrates, proteins, and fats to provide a steady source of energy.4. Stress ManagementChronic stress can affect blood sugar levels. Incorporate stress-reducing techniques into your routine:Practice Relaxation Techniques: Techniques such as meditation, deep breathing, and yoga can help manage stress.Get Adequate Sleep: Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep per night to support overall health and blood sugar regulation.5. Monitor Blood Sugar LevelsRegular monitoring helps you understand how different foods and activities affect your blood sugar levels.Use a Glucometer: Track your blood sugar levels as recommended by your healthcare provider.Keep a Log: Record your blood sugar readings along with information about your diet, exercise, and any symptoms you experience.6. Seek Professional GuidanceConsult with a healthcare provider or a registered dietitian to create a personalized blood sugar management plan. They can provide tailored advice based on your specific health needs.ConclusionEffective blood sugar control is achievable through a combination of a balanced diet, regular exercise, consistent meal timing, stress management, and diligent monitoring. By adopting these practices, you can maintain stable blood sugar levels and support your overall health. Remember, individual needs may vary, so working with a healthcare professional is essential for developing a plan that works best for you. Blood Sugar Control: Strategies for a Healthier Life
#Maintaining stable blood sugar levels is crucial for overall health and well-being. Fluctuations in blood glucose can lead to a range of hea#from fatigue and irritability to more severe conditions like diabetes. Here’s a comprehensive guide to mastering blood sugar control throug#exercise#and lifestyle changes.Understanding Blood SugarBlood sugar#or blood glucose#is the amount of glucose present in the blood. It’s a primary energy source for the body#but maintaining it within a healthy range is essential. Blood sugar levels are influenced by the food we eat#how we exercise#and various physiological factors.1. Balanced DietA balanced diet is the cornerstone of effective blood sugar management. Focus on these di#helping to maintain stable blood sugar levels. Examples include whole grains#legumes#and most vegetables.Incorporate Fiber: Fiber slows the absorption of sugar#which helps in controlling blood glucose levels. Opt for fruits#vegetables#whole grains#and legumes.Control Portion Sizes: Eating large portions can lead to spikes in blood sugar. Use smaller plates and be mindful of serving si#like sodas#candy#and baked goods.2. Regular ExercisePhysical activity is vital for blood sugar control. Here’s how exercise helps:Improves Insulin Sensitivi#which helps in managing blood sugar levels.Aids in Weight Management: Maintaining a healthy weight through exercise can improve blood gluco#reduces stress#and boosts mood.Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise per week#such as brisk walking#swimming#or cycling.3. Consistent Meal TimingEating meals at regular intervals helps in stabilizing blood sugar levels.Don't Skip Meals: Skipping me#proteins#and fats to provide a steady source of energy.4. Stress ManagementChronic stress can affect blood sugar levels. Incorporate stress-reducing#deep breathing#and yoga can help manage stress.Get Adequate Sleep: Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep per night to support overall health and blood sugar#and any symptoms you experience.6. Seek Professional GuidanceConsult with a healthcare provider or a registered dietitian to create a perso
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healthhygine · 7 months ago
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Weight Loss and Control of Blood Sugar Spike
Losing weight and managing blood sugar spikes can feel like a daunting challenge, but you're not alone. There are simple, natural ways you can take control right from the comfort of your own home.
Start by incorporating more fiber-rich foods into your diet, like fruits, vegetables, and whole grains. Fiber helps regulate blood sugar levels and keeps you feeling fuller for longer, reducing the temptation to overeat.
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Next, stay hydrated by drinking plenty of water throughout the day. Water helps flush out toxins and can even help curb cravings.
Regular exercise is key to both weight loss and blood sugar control. You don't need fancy equipment or a gym membership; a brisk walk or a few sets of bodyweight exercises at home can make a big difference.
Don't forget the power of relaxation and stress management. High stress levels can lead to overeating and blood sugar spikes, so take time to unwind with activities like meditation, deep breathing, or simply enjoying a good book.
Lastly, be patient and kind to yourself. Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is sustainable weight loss or blood sugar control. Celebrate your progress, no matter how small, and remember that every positive choice you make is a step in the right direction towards a healthier, happier you
THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING RIGHT ANSWER
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT PLEASE VISIT
OFFICIALLY WEBSITE
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wellhealthhub · 1 year ago
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Unlock The Power of Which Are High-Fiber Foods: A Comprehensive Guide
Discover the benefits of high-fiber foods and learn how to incorporate them into your diet. This comprehensive guide provides valuable information and a list of top sources to help you improve your well-being with the power of high-fiber foods. Table of Content Introduction to High-Fiber Foods Understanding Fiber What is Fiber? Types of Fiber: Soluble and Insoluble Health Benefits of…
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roomstudent · 1 year ago
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Unveiling the Secrets to Shedding Pounds with the Mediterranean Diet
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If you've been searching for a healthy, sustainable diet plan to help you lose weight, you may have stumbled across the Mediterranean diet. This centuries-old diet plan is rooted in Mediterranean culture and laden with fresh fruits and vegetables, olive oil, lean proteins, and whole grains. And best of all, research indicates it can help you shed unwanted pounds and keep them off.
What Is the Mediterranean Diet?
The Mediterranean diet is based on the traditional foods people in countries like Greece, Spain, and Italy consumed in the mid-20th century. This way of eating is rich in fruits, vegetables, legumes, nuts, olive oil, and other ingredients common to the Mediterranean region. It's also low in processed meats, red meat, butter, and sweets. People who live on the Mediterranean coastline tend to stay active and have lower rates of cardiovascular disease and obesity than those who don't.
The Mediterranean diet emphasizes natural, minimally refined ingredients. This can be particularly beneficial for those who are looking to lose weight. Unlike other diet plans, you won't have to give up delicious flavors or eliminate entire food groups. Instead, you can enjoy your favorite dishes while reducing calories and losing weight.
What Are the Benefits of the Mediterranean Diet?
The Mediterranean diet can be beneficial for those looking to shed pounds. Research indicates that the diet can help you lose weight, reduce your risk of chronic disease, and reduce inflammation. The Mediterranean diet can also benefit those looking to maintain their health. Studies have linked the diet to improved blood sugar control, blood pressure, and cholesterol levels.
In addition to its weight loss and health benefits, the Mediterranean diet is also a heart-healthy, plant-based eating style designed to be sustainable. It encourages you to replace unhealthy processed foods with unrefined, nutrient-dense ingredients. You can also enjoy generous servings of herbs, spices, fish, and lean proteins. The emphasis on fresh, whole food makes the Mediterranean diet attractive for long-term weight loss success.
What Are the Tips for Shedding Pounds with the Mediterranean Diet?
If you're ready to start shedding pounds with the Mediterranean diet, here are some things you can do:
Focus on portion control. Portion sizes matter regarding weight loss, so limit your food at each meal. Start with small portions and work your way up if you need to.
Incorporate physical activity. Exercise is essential for long-term weight loss success. If you haven't been active in a while, gradually increase your workouts' intensity and frequency. Remember: any activity is better than none.
Embrace Mediterranean flavors. The Mediterranean diet emphasizes fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, herbs, and spices. Explore the various flavors of the Mediterranean through recipes like ratatouille, couscous, and zucchini with hummus. You can also explore Mediterranean cuisine, such as Greek, Italian, and Middle Eastern flavors.
Add healthy fats. Healthy fats play an essential role in the Mediterranean diet. Opt for olive oil, canola oil, and other monounsaturated fats rather than saturated fats in processed foods.
Focus on plant-based proteins. Incorporate plant-based proteins such as beans, lentils, and tofu into your meals. These proteins can help fill you up and promote feelings of fullness, which can help you shed pounds.
Don't Fear Fats. Healthy fats are an essential part of eating the Mediterranean way. Healthy fats, including olive oil, can help keep you full for longer and give your dishes a delicious flavor.
What Are the Secrets of Losing Weight on the Mediterranean Diet?
The Mediterranean diet isn't just about weight loss—it's about eating in a way that promotes overall health and longevity. But if you are looking to shed pounds with the Mediterranean diet, there are a few things you can do:
Focus on nutrient-dense foods. Choose nutrient-rich whole foods, including lean proteins, fresh fruits and vegetables, and healthy fats.
Portion control. Keep your portion sizes small so that you are not overeating.
Eat mindfully. Don't drown your meals in sauces, oils, and fats. Instead, measure out sensible portions of these healthy ingredients and enjoy them in moderation.
Eliminate refined carbohydrates. Processed, refined carbohydrates such as white bread and pasta can add extra pounds. Instead, opt for whole grain varieties and other complex carbohydrates, including those found in legumes, nuts, and whole grains.
Stay active. Exercise regularly to support your weight loss efforts and maintain your overall health.
Find sustainable solutions. Make dietary changes that are sustainable and won't leave you feeling deprived.
Enjoy stress-free meals. Try to enjoy meals without distraction and stress. This will help foster mindfulness and appreciation for food.
The Mediterranean diet can help you lose weight and promote health and longevity. By focusing on portion control, incorporating physical activity, eating wholesome foods and healthy fats, and enjoying stress-free meals, you can reap the rewards of this centuries-old diet plan. So, embrace the Mediterranean lifestyle for weight loss, health, and nutrition, and start shedding pounds today!
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spectrumorb · 2 years ago
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Control High Blood Sugar: 7 Fruits With Low Glycemic Index To Keep Diabetes Under Control | Health News
Control High Blood Sugar: 7 Fruits With Low Glycemic Index To Keep Diabetes Under Control | Health News
High blood sugar, or diabetes, occurs when the body is resistant to insulin or does not produce enough insulin, and the most common form of diabetes in adults is type 2 diabetes. According to the World Health Organization, diabetes is the leading cause of blindness, kidney failure, heart attack, stroke and lower limb amputation. Controlling blood sugar is very important, failure can have serious…
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theambitiouswoman · 11 days ago
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Benefits of apple cider vinegar 🍏✨
• Skin toner: Clears & balances
• pH balance: Supports vaginal health in a diluted bath
• Face masks: Adds glow & fights acne
• Hair rinse: Boosts shine & reduces dandruff
• Salad dressing: Adds flavor & aids digestion
• Cleaning: Natural disinfectant
• Fruit & veggie wash: Removes dirt & pesticides
• Immune boost: Rich in antioxidants & antimicrobial
• Digestive aid: Supports gut health when taken diluted
• Appetite control: May help curb cravings
• Blood sugar balance: Helps regulate levels
• Sore throat relief: Mix with warm water to soothe
• Foot soak: Softens skin & fights odor
• Sunburn relief: Calms redness when diluted
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healthylifeenjoy · 1 month ago
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Gluco Shield Pro Supplements Health Product
used Gluco Shield Pro supplements for two months and found them to be a beneficial addition to my overall health regimen. This product is designed to support healthy blood sugar levels and promote overall well-being. In this review, I will share my personal experiences and insights into Gluco Shield Pro, including its benefits, ingredients, and usage.
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Benefits of Gluco Shield Pro Gluco Shield Pro offers several potential benefits for individuals seeking to maintain healthy blood sugar levels. Firstly, the product contains a unique blend of natural ingredients that have been traditionally used to support metabolic health. These ingredients work synergistically to help regulate blood sugar levels and prevent spikes and crashes.
Secondly, Gluco Shield Pro may also contribute to improved energy levels and reduced fatigue. When blood sugar levels are balanced, the body can efficiently utilize glucose for energy production, leading to sustained mental and physical performance.
Ingredients Gluco Shield Pro is formulated with a carefully selected combination of natural ingredients, including:
Gymnema sylvestre: This herb has been traditionally used in Ayurvedic medicine to manage blood sugar levels. Gymnema sylvestre contains compounds that may help reduce sugar cravings and improve glucose absorption.
Bitter melon: Bitter melon is a tropical fruit with hypoglycemic properties. It contains substances that can help stimulate insulin production and increase glucose uptake by cells.
Cinnamon: Cinnamon is a spice with potential blood sugar-balancing effects. Studies have shown that cinnamon may improve insulin sensitivity and reduce fasting blood sugar levels.
Chromium: Chromium is a trace mineral that plays a role in glucose metabolism. It helps regulate blood sugar levels by enhancing insulin's effectiveness.
Usage Gluco Shield Pro comes in convenient capsule form. As per the manufacturer's recommendations, I took two capsules daily with meals. The capsules were easy to swallow and did not cause any digestive discomfort.
My Experience I have been using Gluco Shield Pro for the past two months and have noticed a positive impact on my overall health. My energy levels have increased significantly, and I no longer experience the same afternoon slumps as before. I also feel more mentally focused and alert.
While I cannot claim that Gluco Shield Pro has cured any underlying health conditions, I have observed a noticeable improvement in my blood sugar control. My occasional blood sugar readings have been within the normal range, and I have experienced fewer fluctuations.
Conclusion Overall, I am satisfied with my experience using Gluco Shield Pro. The product has provided me with several benefits, including improved energy levels, enhanced mental clarity, and potential support for healthy blood sugar management. If you are looking for a natural supplement to support your overall well-being, I would recommend giving Gluco Shield Pro a try.
Disclaimer It is important to note that individual results may vary. Gluco Shield Pro is not a substitute for medical advice or treatment. If you have any concerns about your health or blood sugar levels, it is crucial to consult with a healthcare professional.
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evilminji · 1 year ago
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A Moral Dilemma! Question!
Let's say there is a trucker. An average man. Kind enough, did okay in school, loves his wife and misses her like you wouldn't believe every time he has to go. Misses his little girl even more. HATES he's missing the early years of her life. First day to school, getting her up and brushing her hair into pigtails, making pancakes like his Pa used to make. The works.
But the economy is shit. Him and his wife have to work. Make ends meet. They're DESPERATE to get out of Gotham. Move somewhere boring. Safe.
But... well, places like that cost money. Kids cost money. And he did OKAY in school. Not a lot of jobs out there for "Okay" guys from Gotham.
His cousin finds him a route though. A solid job. Really pulled through when push came to shove and things were looking bad. Like he might have to take up that offer to Goon. Now he's a trucker.
And his route? Well the half way point is Amity Park. He stops to stay the night every time. Never really STAYS, has heard they got themselves a Cape and such, but? It is what it is. He's from Gotham. He minds his business. Parks on the outskirts of town to avoid getting hit.
Doesn't realize, he's getting SOAKED in Ectoplasm every time he's in town.
And this trucker? Not the healthiest man. He wishes he could be. But life on the road is not exactly conducive to fresh fruit and leafy greens. He eats more grease and sugar then his doctor would EVER recommend. In fact, has specifically warned him not too.
But some days you just need a warm meal. You miss your kid, your wife, your bed. And you know it'll be days before you can see any of them. But at least there is pancakes.
You can pretend you're eating with your family. Or at least, let the coffee be warm enough for the two of you. God, but the poor man is tired.
And as he gets close to Gotham?
Breaking News!
The Joker. AGAIN. The trucker cringes, horror filling him. What poor soul has that mad man hurt NOW? When will it end? Him and his wife are so close to getting the hell out. Thinking Kansas. His wife has been joking about pie baking competit-
No.
Oh God No.
There, on the screen, tears streaming down her beautiful face? Is the love of his life. His best friend. His EVERYTHING. And in her arms, trying so, so hard to be quiet. To muffle her terror born sobs... is his little girl. One pigtail torn from its srunchie, blood on her tiny face.
The trucker knows how this story ends.
Batman will try. He ALWAYS tries. And sometimes... sometimes that's enough. But he knows the odds here. His family are in front. Stars of this sick show. The trucker can't breathe. His heart is pounding, too hard for a man of his health.
He's not young. Should be on blood pressure meds he simply cant afford. Is panicked by a terror few should ever suffer. And? What runs in his family, strikes true. It feels so far away, the pain in his chest. He... No, he can't.
He can't.
His family.
He can't die. Leave them. They're in danger! They can't die like this. So close to freedom. Happiness. They... the..y.. ca..n..t...
.
.
THEY WON'T. HE REFUSES.
~~~
So! Here in comes the QUESTION! As you sit, watching this terrified child call for her father, ripped from her begging mothers arms, you see a green opaque man full body tackle the Joker.
You watch his eyes visible glow and change color, fight a visible STRUGGLE, like jeckle and Hyde, for control of his body. Between the monster known as Joker and what seems to be? The little girl's newly Meta father.
The Father wins.
You watch the Bat arrive with the police. Thank the man and say he can release Joker into custody. See the EXACT moment the Meta realizes something. Turns to look at his daughter, then his wife. Looks back at the commissioner.
Says "No".
Is he right to do this? To Possess the Joker, as a life sentence, to insure the safety of others? He is perfectly will to sit that life in a jail cell. Knows he will never be allowed to roam free again. But! The Joker is contained.
Is this Right? Or merely emotionally satisfying?
Discuss :3
@hypewinter @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @nerdpoe
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eating disorder harm reduction
no one ever compiled this so that it what we are doing today. for people with eds and people whose loved ones do. please note: i’m not a doctor. this is a compilation of things from books and ed resource sites.
for people whose loved ones have an eating disorder:
try to make sure they know these things.
try not to force them to eat, they might feel uncomfortable eating in front of people. also, risk of refeeding syndrome.
if their life is in danger and you are seeking help for them, consult the person beforehand to make sure they will be safe and give them a heads-up so that they aren’t startled (especially if they’re neurodivergent! giving them notice will aid control!)
offer them ways of controlling things aside from food - practice consent, include them in conversations, don’t talk about them behind their back, compliment their makeup or hair.
be patient. the person may be irritable from lack of sleep, feelings of depression, worthlessness, etc., or malnutrition.
keep in mind that you can’t tell if someone has an eating disorder by looking at them. people of all weights do - only 17% of anorexics are underweight - and also, men and non binary people can also have eds.
general:
drink lots of water, especially if you’re drinking lots of caffeine.
drink some electrolytes at least once a week - gatorade, electrolyte tablets, coconut water, doesn’t matter, just get it into your system.
if you are getting dizzy or flushed and can feel your heart beating, quick carbs will raise your blood sugar - sweets, bread, fruit, juice, non diet soda, whatever. keep snacks around pls.
your brain uses 400-500 calories daily. eat more than this.
take your supplements!
you still need protein, have an egg or something.
don’t take adderal or insulin unless you are actually diabetic or neurodivergent, because you are raising the price by buying them and denying access to those who need it.
throw a towel over the mirror. it’s not worth it if it’ll cause you anxiety.
try to limit disordered behaviours like body checking, purging, and weigh ins.
practice good dental hygiene.
put your scale somewhere where you have to actively look for it to weigh yourself.
avoid social media and for your sake don’t go on pro ed tiktok or tumblr or twitter or insta.
get a buddy who also struggles with the same thing if possible to support each other.
get regular medical check ups (if you can afford it)
practice things within your control - makeup, hair, clothing, etc.
push your rules - eat 5 minutes before your time, or 50 calories over your limit.
for people with restrictive disorders (e.g. anorexia):
do weight and resistance training at least twice a week to prevent musculoskeletal conditions such as osteoporosis.
don’t drink on an empty stomach.
try to put gaps between fasting periods.
don’t fast for more than 72 hours.
wear lots of layers to keep warm.
eat an extra 100-200 calories on your period if you menstruate.
have a metabolism day.
take care of your hair.
as horrifying as this is to many people, please go to the hospital if you’re experiencing heart problems or if you’re passing out for more than 30 seconds.
for people with purging disorders (e.g. bulimia):
if you would like to purge, wait 15 minutes first.
after purging: drink lots of water - the emptiness you feel is dehydration. don’t brush your teeth but rinse your mouth out, preferably with an alkaline mouthwash or baking soda mixed into water. do something you want to do, like reading a book or watching a show. don’t smoke. don’t have anything acidic. eat a banana or some chocolate or a rice cake to keep your blood sugar levels in check.
if you vomit blood or your vomit looks like coffee grounds, this is a sign of internal bleeding. you could be drowning in your own blood from a hole in your esophagus, essentially. go to the hospital or call 911/999/the emergency number in your area.
stay safe everyone. i hope this helps. also, i do not use these tags - i have them blocked - but i am using them so that people on these tags will find this because they need it most.
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coffeandgum · 8 days ago
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right now, I am about to make you quit eating junk food forever.
(tw kinda meanspo)
youtube
youtube
After watching these videos, can still eat this trash disguised as food? do you still dare?
if you do, then don't wonder why you feel like trash all day, binge and gain weight..
like come on, stop being an idiot. have you ever wondered why you just cant stop reaching out for these specific foods? why your cravings just don’t seem to go away no matter how much you try? why it feels like you’re being controlled?
well here’s the answer: you are literally being controlled, and you fell into the trap that most people fall into.
these foods are designed to alter the way your brain works, as shown in the first video. you cant even think right anymore! they will turn you into a mindless robot that works for these companies and helps them gain more money. you are a slave to them, it's pathetic.
I’ve been powerless to food my entire life. in the past, almost every single day ended up in a binge. I felt stuck, hopeless, and it seemed like no matter what i did, nothing would change, because I fell back into my old habits as soon as I decided to get rid of them. so I would get depressed, binge on trash like ice cream, chocolate bars, pizza, and believe me, i would take in 5000+ calories a day, not even joking. then, i feel like trash, i decide to start again, fail, go back to the trash, and the cycle goes on. i didn't know what was wrong with me.
but I broke the cycle, and you can too.
I’ve been trash free for more than half a year and I have never felt better, physically and mentally. my diet consists of clean food only, and i dont miss the ultra processed bullshit, not one bit. i would rather die than have it enter my body ever again. and to sum it up:
I’ve lost more than 12kg while eating the same amounts, even more, but of course I take in VERY less calories.
My mental health issues disappeared, I’m not even joking. last year I was diagnosed with adhd, ocd and anxiety disorder. even my psychiatrist is impressed because I was in such a bad place at that time, and I managed to heal on my own, just by fixing my habits and diet.
I don’t remember the last time i binged. and when i did, it wasn’t even a “huge” binge, i ate a maximum of 2000cal (my maintenance calories), because i was binging on fruits and veggies, so i wasn’t even gaining even on my worst days.
It has never been easier to say no to food. I have control because i am aware of what I want inside my body.
my body is more toned and my blood tests show significant improvement. my skin, hair and nails are healthier and better looking.
I rarely crave unhealthy foods. i said rarely because sometimes during my period i get some cravings, but they dont feel as strong as before. and if i craved anything at all, it would be something like a fruit. i literally prefer fruits over any dessert because they taste better to me. it feels like my taste buds are rejecting the processed foods and added sugar. like my taste buds are so used to real sweetness like fruit, that when i eat something like a chocolate bar, its always a disappointment, because it doesnt taste as good as i imagined it to be! its almost crazy.
there’s no secret. just quit throwing trash in your body. feed it what it actually needs. pairing good nutrition with consistent workout is the best thing you can do to yourself. it will literally heal you inside out and you will fix your broken brain, that has been ruined by the junk you’ve been eating.
clean your food, clean your body. it's time to be aware!
if you have any questions or need advice, feel free to ask, id be happy to help. <3
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bilgiarena · 1 year ago
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Healthy - Platin
Introduction to healthy snacks and their importance in a balanced diet Healthy snacks play a crucial role in maintaining a balanced diet and promoting overall health. These snacks are typically nutrient-dense and provide essential vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants that support optimal bodily functions. They are also low in added sugars, unhealthy fats, and artificial ingredients, making them a healthier alternative to processed snacks. By incorporating healthy snacks into our daily diet, we can ensure that our bodies receive the necessary nutrients to thrive. Benefits of including healthy snacks in daily diet Including healthy snacks in our daily diet offers numerous benefits. Firstly, they provide a steady source of energy throughout the day, preventing dips in blood sugar levels and helping to maintain focus and productivity. Additionally, healthy snacks can improve nutrient intake, as they often contain essential vitamins, minerals, and fiber that may be lacking in other meals. Snacking on nutritious foods can also help curb cravings for unhealthy options, reducing the likelihood of overeating or making poor food choices. Role of healthy snacks in weight management and overall health Healthy snacks can play a significant role in weight management and overall health. When chosen wisely, they can help control hunger and prevent overeating during main meals. Snacks that are high in fiber and protein can increase feelings of fullness and promote satiety, reducing the desire to consume excessive calories. Additionally, incorporating healthy snacks into a balanced diet can support weight loss efforts by providing essential nutrients while keeping calorie intake in check. Moreover, healthy snacks are often associated with the Mediterranean diet, keto diet which has been widely recognized for its numerous health benefits. This diet emphasizes fruits, vegetables, whole grains, lean proteins, and healthy fats, such as those found in nuts and seeds. Studies have shown that following a Mediterranean diet can help prevent heart disease, improve brain health, and reduce the risk of chronic diseases. By choosing healthy snacks that align with the principles of the Mediterranean diet, individuals can further enhance their overall health and well-being.
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waxingrunes · 11 months ago
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I understand if you’re too busy to answer this or don’t want to, but i was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling us some of your non-explicit headcanons or just some traits you think wolfstar have in general? Your explicit ones are sososo hot but today I'm feeling low and need some comforting. Yiur blog is just a safe space for me but I totally understand if not! I love your work <3 all my love x
There are so many nondescript hc’s I have that this has the potential to turn into a formal essay with cited sources, so I’ll go for more of a generalised dump of info I have for each in a hope that it lifts some of your fog Anon. Maybe bullet pointed because it’ll be easier to read than my usual untidy form of communication. Hope you feel lighter soon.
Sirius
• will lick a yoghurt pot if there’s no clean spoons. There’s the option to go for fruit instead, but he wants the yoghurt and by god he will get his yoghurt
• is a fucking terrible driver, gives Remus and any passenger white knuckles due to speed issues and not using a lower gear when taking corners
• is however, in complete control when on a motorcycle; very hot, very controlled and will take his passenger’s safety very seriously
• professionally trained in ballroom and ballet, the latter which he is sometimes mocked in jest for, even by Remus, until he one time caught him stretching elegantly on the floor one morning with his upper body laid flat between long, toned, wide spread legs, ‘morning moony’, a healthy blush on his cheeks
• private crier, doesn’t cry easily
• goes quiet when angry as an initial defence but it doesn’t take long for him to start dropping breadcrumbs of sarcastic comments; can also be snobby and bratty, perhaps sometimes will get nasty and direct (bringing up things he shouldn’t to score points in the heat of the moment)
• suffers immeasurable guilt (helped by the point above) but is always masking a weighted feeling of guilt no matter what he’s doing, so much so it’s manifested into quite a serious anxiety problem in the wrong crowds
• he fidgets a lot, not in a chaotic way, just always has to have his fingers busy with something
• likes the smell of gasoline
• once had to talk himself down from throwing a child in a dustbin
• loves the colour red; blood red and cherry red to be precise but secretly loves dark blue even more because it’s what looks most handsome on Remus despite him not wearing it often
• sighs a lot
• pretended he couldn’t speak English to get away with jumping a queue
• hates the smell and taste of liquorice (unless heavily strawberry/cherry/raspberry flavoured)
• on one particular messy night out he got so impatient waiting at the bar, he reached over and grabbed a discarded bottle of alcohol the server had left open and swigged it
• digs his nails into his skin when anxious and is often reminded to relax the tension in his joints
• stargazes often
• once linked his pinky finger with Remus and asked him to pinky promise not to tell anyone what he was about to tell him, since which a tradition of trust was born where Remus will offer his pinky or the last two fingers for Sirius to hold or squeeze when he’s feeling unsure in public, or in any situation where verbal reassurance isn’t appropriate
• gets a weird thrill at the sound of cork popping from a bottle
Remus
• collects beer mats and keeps them in a drawer, thinks about making them into a display
• got tired of kids playing ball against the wall of his place (after repeat offences and him asking very nicely for them to stop) one day so went out, retrieved the ball and threw it so hard against of the cars it set the alarm off
• owner of said car came running out the house and Remus blamed it on the children. Never had the same issue again
• has a wildly sweet tooth and will always drop one or two packets of sugar into any warm beverage
• stares into space and gets involuntarily caught on someone’s face one too many times which makes them uncomfortable from the ‘Death Stare’ phenomenon when in reality, he’s lost in lala land
• can cook, is actually a proficient cook, but will not cook for anyone but Sirius, James or Lily
• will crack his knuckles, wrists and neck absentmindedly, all of which makes his company squirm because it’s often very loud and ‘pop-py’ but Sirius fucking loves it
• stays very calm during an argument but can shout louder than most and when he does, ears ring from the silence that follows
• prefers tea over coffee
• will eat liquorice any time he wants to piss Sirius off
• cries more than Sirius, but still a private crier
• always has to be the old boot in Monopoly
• loves words that are vowel heavy or double voweled because those are the ones where the scraps of Sirius’ lost French accent surface the most
• has a gentle touch, is aware of his size and nature of his lycanthropy, therefore always somewhat reserved
• loves socks, has a collection of ‘dad socks’
• has the messiest writing out of all the Marauders but loves handwritten things, owns three very different fountain pens for very different purposes
• is polite, but as he’s aged doesn’t tend to ‘fake smile’ a lot, feeling no need to fill uncomfortable silences for the sake of others
• has a chair he favours and often dozes off in it. Most of the time waking up to Sirius on top of him
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impala-dreamer · 1 month ago
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His Sweetest Dream
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A Supernatural Story
Benny Lafitte x Reader
1,130 Words
Bittersweet Longing, Romance, Vampire Angst ~ Requested by @deanwinchesterswitch
Cozy Drabbles ‘24 Masterlist
Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works
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The cafe was closed and the tables were clean. Wooden chairs were turned over and perched on the worn laminate tops. The napkins were replenished and the ketchup bottles were full and ready for the next day.
All was quiet. 
Except for flirtatious laughter coming from the kitchen.
“You did not say that!”
Benny lingered on her smile, on her beautiful lips, her bright, lively eyes. He grinned and threw his hands up. “I swear. That was the only way I could get his drunk ass outta here.” 
Y/N tossed her head back as she laughed at his tale and Benny tried to tear his eyes away from the delicate line of her throat and the supple skin covering her artery. 
He cleared his throat and turned away, busying himself at the sink again. 
“I miss the best stuff!” Calming herself, Y/N wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, clearing away a joyful tear. “I should work the late shift more often.” 
Benny wished for nothing more than to have her around every second, but it was too dangerous to dream. 
“Well, you gotta sleep sometime,” he said without looking back. There was only so much he could take and his willpower was dwindling. 
Over the past few months, Y/N had wormed her way into the cafe and his heart. She was kind and smart; beautiful in a relaxed sort of way that he’d never seen before. When she spoke, he was wrapped up in every word; when she smiled, he saw heaven. So many times he’d almost slipped and wrapped his arms tight around her, drawn her close, kissed those perfect lips. It had taken so much self control to keep her at arm’s length, but it was for the best. If he touched her, if she returned the kiss, it would be all over. He’d have to have her in every way, and for a vampire, that was till death. 
Sometimes he let himself dream of sweeping her off of her feet, showing her the darkness that lingered just beneath the surface of all things around her. He imagined her surprise and ultimate curiosity, the subtle excitement, the allure of being with him. She never ran in those dreams, she never flinched at his deadly kiss. 
She made a beautiful vampire. 
They lived happily together until the world burned. 
Benny shook himself to clear the dreams away. It could never happen. He refused to expose another soul to the curse that was his life. 
Y/N hissed behind him and he felt her pain. 
“Shit!” 
Spinning around, he saw her waving her finger in the air, batting her arm like a broken wing. 
He was at her side in an instant. “What happened? Are you alright?” His big hands hovered over her, afraid to land but more than worried for her safety. 
Y/N laughed at herself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just burned myself on this damned caramel.” 
A deep breath calmed his fear but staring into her eyes made him shiver inside. She smiled and he saw the blood rise to the surface of her skin, illuminating it all for his preternatural eyes. She was perfect. 
He was staring and she shied away. “I’m OK, really.” 
Benny pulled himself back to reality. “Just be more careful, cher.” 
For a moment, he thought he saw a spark of love in her gaze, a bit of hope. She smiled, reached for another apple, and jabbed a wooden stake through the core. 
Benny flinched. 
“Why are you doing this again?” he asked, rubbing at his chest.
“Because it’s almost Halloween and people like them.” Y/N dipped the base of the red macintosh into the bubbling sugar. “What, you never had a candy apple as a kid?” 
He laughed sadly. “No, ‘fraid not.” 
She swirled the fruit, coating it in the caramel. “It’s delicious,” she told him, with a hint of flirtatious smile on her lips. “Tart and sweet… sticky, crunchy… just perfect.” 
Benny felt his desire grow, his hunger for her swell. “You do make it sound amazing.” 
Y/N set the apple down on a large wax paper lined sheet pan and looked back over her shoulder. “You’re real cute, you know that?” 
His hands trembled, his heart ached. “Well…” 
Turning fully to face him, Y/N put her hands on her hips. “Here’s a little tip: you’re supposed to compliment me back now.” 
The look was back in her eyes, that tempting glow was bright on her skin. He felt the pull and leaned in. 
“Sorry,” he whispered. “You’ve got me all distracted.” 
Closer now, she held her breath and looked up into his blue eyes. “Me?”
He hummed affirmatively and lifted his hand to her cheek. A bit of caramel was stuck by her lip and he wiped it away with his thumb. Y/N shuddered at his cool touch and held his gaze. Her lips parted enticingly and she reached with her tongue to drag his finger into her mouth. 
Benny trembled with desire as she sucked the sugar from his thumb, humming around it and swallowing slowly. 
He broke down and gave in, pulling his finger free and crushing his lips into hers. She accepted with a desperate moan and wrapped her delicate hand around the back of his neck, holding him closer. 
He licked into her mouth, savored the heat of her, the taste, the life pumping through her body. He could hear her heartbeat quicken; smell the arousal release between her thighs. 
“Benny…” 
His name on her lips was like a drug he never wanted to stop taking. He kissed her again and spun, pressing her back against the counter. She moved with him, breathed into him, lavished him in her mortal heat. 
When her hand pressed against his chest, he growled deeply. As it slipped down between their bodies, he panicked and backed away. Every bit of him was burning with hunger. He clenched his fists, clamped his jaw shut, turned his eyes from her face. 
“Benny? What- what happened?” 
Sadness flooded her voice and he hated himself more than he ever had. He should have never slipped up, never brought the fantasy to life. It was too dangerous, too real. 
He rushed to the door and gave it a push, pausing before stepping through. 
“Do me a favor and lock up?” he whispered, struggling to keep the anguish out of his voice.  
Y/N took a shaky breath. Rejection tightened around her heart and he felt it like a crushing blow. 
“Yeah. No problem.” 
He was alone again in the cold night. Always alone. But it was better than hurting her. That was one thing he would never do. Not Y/N. His sweetest dream. 
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lottiecrabie · 2 years ago
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pray for my soul. part three – matty healy
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even after all your prayers, you feel matty's presence linger in all parts of your life. in church, in class, in the knock on your window...
warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, choking, roleplay, religious imagery, blasphemy, pfms typical desecration
part three of five
13683 words
You’ve been clenching your fingers too much, hands clutched together as you pray or smother a wave of smoldering emotions. Your heart ring digs into your middle finger; the blood cuts off, pain spreading up your knuckles. You’d find it divine if it didn’t leave some ugly, red rash. 
It makes your mother crazy at the sight, gasping as she spots the scarlet. She grabs your wrist, tugging you across the house. “Mom,” you whine, stumbling along. “It’s nothing.” Of course, she scoffs, pinching the bitten raw fingers and the chipped white nails to prove her point.  
Opening the bathroom door, she shoves your hand under the sink. Scalding hot water pours out. You flinch at the sensation. She’s unbothered, squeezing hyssop soap, scrubbing your hands under the burning heat. 
“You have to keep your hands clean,” your mother says, squirting some more soap. 
If she really knew how soiled they’d been… Dipping in impure places, reaching for sinful desires, memorizing the feel of scattered scars… White soap on reddened, raw skin, but still you know she’ll never make them clean. 
“Dirty girl,” she continues, shaking her head, scratching at the stubborn nail polish. “Don’t you know how to take care of your skin?” 
Your eyes water, but you don’t make a peep. Lingering in the doorframe, the somber presence of your father towers across the bathroom. “I think it’s fine, honey,” he says, but she doesn’t hear, scraping away. 
“I don’t know where this side of her comes from,” your mother mumbles to herself. Water pours and pours, drowning out your pained moans. “Certainly not me.” 
Your father frowns, scoffing. “Well, not me either.” You throw him a pleading look, but he seems just as overrun. 
“I’ve raised a clean girl.” Your mother scrubs your palm, muttering more than anything coherent. “Not this, not this…” 
But she did. She can scrub all she wants, but she can’t wash away the stain of him. You’ve been touched, rotting under the skin. She can cut it off and you’d still remember the feel of Matty Healy. 
Scorching flames lick up your arms. Your hands burn, barely bones anymore. You clench them, frowning at the sight of them. How funny that water doesn’t cool. That soap doesn’t clean. That your mother tries to control you, and all she does is teach you that fire doesn’t kill. 
Your youth leader, Betty, offers you the bag of gummy bears, shimmying it in front of your face in appeal. You blush, more from the special attention than shyness, and dig for a red one. You bite the head off first, letting the colored sugar melt on your tongue for a few seconds. Still, as you swallow it, you can’t help but feel that pit of guilt grow inside your belly. You know your mother doesn’t want you eating candy. 
Betty smiles benevolently at you, like she could read the thoughts on your forehead. You hate that. If people are capable of digging inside your brain— Gosh, the filthy things they could see. 
Do you have that same guilty, hungry look when looking at Matty Healy? Can everyone see? 
Betty winks, popping a gummy bear inside her mouth. “I won’t tell,” she says. 
She’s a good person, capable of teetering that line between devotion and relatability. She looks out for you in Youth Group, asking questions when you grow quiet and fade into the background. She calls you little mouse and you pretend to find it funny. 
“Thanks,” you whisper. Your mouth is coated in sugar. The taste won’t leave your tongue; it nevers does. 
Later, with everyone high off fruit punch and chocolate, when the younger kids are playing with an old PlayStation in the basement, Betty looks at the five teenagers left and says with a trickster smile, “Today, I want to talk about sex.” 
A chortle reverberates through the group. Your stomach drops, some unquenchable void spreading through your muscles. Oh, shit. 
Betty grins, laughing too. She even encourages some more chuckle, drawing them out with her hands. Glancing to the sides, you manage to fake some small, nervous giggle. “I know, I know,” she says playfully. “It’s hard not to laugh. It’s this big, taboo thing no one can mention, right?” Betty doesn’t wait for an answer, but the group settles down nonetheless, paying attention. 
You look around. Are they intrigued? How much do they think about sex? Do they know the burning feel of pleasure, waving through tense muscles with relieving fingers? Have they— Have they seen someone’s face break into ecstasy, rough hand passing on a hard, leaking cock, swollen lips whispering the filthiest promises, cum spilling—
You shake your head to chase the thoughts away. You can’t seem to escape it these days, passing that fateful day at the confessional to the fine comb. Heavy breaths, tingling hands, throbbing cunt; it takes everything in you not to tease a finger over your growing need, starting small like he taught you. 
“But it’s important to talk about it. At your age, the world gets confusing,” Betty starts, suddenly serious. “There’s all these temptations, and these hormones, and it’s normal to think about it. To want.” 
Your heart smashes against your ribs. You’re afraid everyone can hear. Yes, you practically want to scream. I want. I want.
“But,” Betty continues, and once again she offers this warm grin, spreading over her face like she is trying to coax people into this sense of safety, “It’s important not to act on them. Peter 2:11. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. The war is human, but abstaining is the godly thing to do. As tempting as it might be, there will never be anything as satisfying as following God’s path.” 
But has Betty felt the burning lips of Matty Healy stealing secrets from her mouth, coaxing an insatiable appetite out of her tongue? Has she felt his callused fingers on her breast, pinching a sensitive nipple? Did he ask her to get on her knees, panting in the hot air? See if she manages to say no. 
Betty doesn't know how much temptation can satisfy. You cross your arms, falling back on your chair. It’s clear now that no one here has grazed the fingertips of damnation. 
“Timothy 2:22. Flee also youthful lusts; but pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. The Lord tries us all in different ways, but listening to his preachings and surrounding yourself with fellow followers is the only way to go. I promise that whatever desire you think you want will never make you feel anything other than dirty and guilty, whereas abstinence, although maybe harder and less tempting, will leave you proud and realized.” 
Dirty. Guilty. Forsaken. Disgusting. Stained. Rotten. It spins in your head. You’re merely the idea of a girl; inside, you’re nothing but darkness, coursing fire smothered under the ashes. 
Maybe she’s right. 
Of course, Betty is right. But there’s this constant ache between your thighs, begging, pleading. Would the depths of hell at least take you out of your misery? You’d drown in its murky waters, surely, lost to the voice of God and His merciful hand. 
But at least you wouldn’t burn anymore. 
“Does someone have a question? This is a safe place: feel free to be honest.”
Samantha, a detestable try-hard with pursed lips and a haughty nose, raises her hand. Betty nods towards her. “I don’t have a question, but I would just remind everyone of Corinthians 6:19. You surely know that your body is a temple where the Holy Spirit lives. The Spirit is in you and is a gift from God. You are no longer your own. It’s important not only to abstain from impure relations with other people, but also yourself.”
You hold back a roll of your eyes.
“Great point, Samantha,” Betty says, and of course Samantha practically beams from her corner of the sofa. “You must treat yourself and your God with respect.” 
Your nails dig into your upper arms, faintly scowling. No one here has ever touched themselves. They don’t know. 
They just don’t fucking know. 
Matty is in your history class. He scribbles in black sharpie on his desk — three spots to the left and two back from you. You feel his presence, some sort of magnetic pull you can’t explain. 
Indulgently, you wander a guilty eye over to him. He’s beautiful, face pulled down, slight frown as he concentrates on some desecrating piece of art. One single curl falls on his forehead. You wonder if it tickles him. You remember the feel of the loose, dark mess between your hungry fingers. Your stomach clenches; you’re starved. 
You look at him and he doesn’t look back. His lack of heavy stares feel purposeful, thick in the tense space between you. You’re a ghost to him, a stranger. Sometimes, you daydream of standing up and doing something outlandish. Dance, flip off a teacher, slap his desk, get completely naked. Just to get his attention. Just to make him acknowledge that you’re there. 
It’s silly. It’s wrong, even. You’ve sworn to stay away from Matty Healy in all your evening prayers since that fateful day in church. You mean it—echoes of needy groans and wet skin and she’s coming, she’s right there—most of the time. 
You’ve been touched by the mark of Satan. You fester from the inside, rotting around your bones. You can feel it. 
You turn back to the teacher, penning down the new dates on the blackboard in your pink notebook. You bite the end of your stylo when you’re done, crossing your legs, kicking one just to feel that faint, tantalizing rippling up your thighs. 
It’s part of you. You can’t unroot it without killing everything else. 
A pink, fluffy towel wraps around your body. You sit at your vanity, brushing your wet hair, staring in the mirror. The girl stares back at you. 
You frown a little, arm dropping down. Cocking your head, you pass a hand over your right cheek, watching it grow red under your fingers. You press at your collarbone next; handprints of bright white on your skin, then nothing at all. 
You stand from the bench; not a chair, your mother says it ruins a posture. Facing your mirror, you drop the towel. 
There’s a naked body in front of you. Inches of silky skin. Red-toed feet wiggling in the carpet. Legs licking up to hips. A stomach, clenching and unclenching. Peaked breasts. You take your hand— and it is your hand— and spread it over your belly. 
You climb up to your breasts, cupping them. You descend them back down your ribs, dancing on the bone. Your waist expands to your hips. You press into them, into the curve of your ass. 
Finally, you cover the apex of your thighs. The hair tickles your palm; the heel of your hand presses into your clit. You try to ignore the strike of pleasure, although you can’t stop yourself from biting your lip. 
With a single finger, you dip into your pussy. Not even to be impure with yourself. Just to feel the warm entrance, growing faintly wet under your grazing touch. 
It’s my body, you tell yourself. You take your finger out, sucking on it. It’s my body.  
You find Matty Healy smoking behind the bleachers. There’s a football practice faintly happening beyond it, balls being kicked around on the fluorescent green grass. You ignore the coach’s metric whistle and the resounding cheers from lovestruck girls. You approach him carefully, hands shyly tucked behind your back. 
You forget what to say. You forget the mere existence of bisyllabic words standing in front of him, a lazy cigarette between his ringed fingers. “Hi,” is the only thing you manage. Matty jumps in surprise, raising his eyes from his dirty sneakers and settling them on you for the very first time in weeks. 
Dark brown, nearly black things. They don’t warm at the sight of you. You didn’t even know they could be so frigid, meant to cut apart— or at the very least bleed. All your nerve endings are aware of him. You gulp, blinking away his knifing glare. 
Finally, he blows a cloud of smoke out of his mouth. “Hey.” Monosyllabic too. At least you feel a little less silly. “What are you doing here?”
What are you doing here? You don’t even know, spotting his dirty frame in the corner of your eyes and feeling your feet moving before you could think anything else. You’re there now, with barely your wits about you, and you can’t help that sinking feeling that you’re about to be eaten alive. 
Why would you ever think you’d be anything but prey to Matty’s biting teeth? 
“I wanted to talk,” you say, because that feels the most safe. 
Still, Matty scoffs, taking a new drag of his cigarette. You wonder if your meat catches between his teeth. If he picks your flesh out of the gaps when he’s done tearing through you. 
“Don’t talk for too long. I could bring you down to hell with me, isn’t that right? Ruin you?” Bitter words spat in your face. Your eyebrows rise. 
For the first time, you’re hit with the fact that Matty Healy might actually be hurt. By you. That he’s a boy, a confused teenager kissing a girl, and not some horned serpent luring you to your doom. It demystifies him. Drenches him in normalcy. 
You clutch your cross, softening your stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 
“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “Big bad atheist is forsaking you. Bo-ring.” It’s mean. Cruel and careless. Still, it’s easy to see through him. 
You take the lashing out, smirking at the hit. It’s obvious to you now how open he is, how clear the emotions read across his forehead. How could you have ever wondered what he was thinking? It’s right there, to pick and cherish, to hold between your palms. 
It would mix with the stain of you. Your dirty hands would be indistinguishable from his dirty thoughts. Two spirits catching at the edges, blending into some messy art, wrong and off-putting and yet undeniably beautiful. 
You want to hold him. 
You’re afraid he’d pass through the crack of your fingers like water. Gone before you could bend and sip an indulgent mouthful. Gone before you could let the taste linger in your mouth. Gone before you could swallow him and stick him in your throat. 
Would he leave? You cock your head, considering him. Where would he go?
You feel the ground shift beneath your very feet. The Earth must spin dusty seconds slower. Oxygen must be lighter, dangling your head just slightly over your neck. That’s right, you must be entirely headless. 
“Matty,” you sing with your own saccharine smile, taking a slithering step towards him. 
His jaw ticks, watching you carefully. You stop barely a few breaths away from him, staring him straight in the eyes, unflappable. How good to look at him without shame, without manually blinking between the seconds. 
“You’re not ruining me.” You smile some more, teasing and playful and perhaps just a little bit seductive, if you can manage that at all. Leaning into him some more, you whisper conspiratorially, “I can do that myself.” 
Matty looks away, shaking his head. You spot some faint blush spreading across his cheeks. You bite back a giggle, something overjoyed and overpowered striking through you at the very sight. 
Your hand, ring-free but still sporting that splash of damning scarlet, reaches out for his. You trail two fingers over his, grazing the metal of his index. His eyes snap to the spectacle, engrossed by just the tips of you. You smile victoriously, kidnapping his cigarette. 
With a vague gesture of your hand, you say in a botched raspy tone, “You know, we're all really alone in life, and religion can't save you, and God is a huge dick.” You end your grandiose declaration with a drag of cigarette, blowing the smoke out in his face. You smile proudly as he laughs at your antics. 
The gray disperses around you, finally revealing him. He’s grinning warmly down at you. “Is that supposed to be me?” 
“Nah. Just generally a big bad atheist.” You make sure to coat his words with cheeky taunting which he rolls his eyes at. 
“You’re not funny.” 
“You laughed.” 
Stuck, Matty quickly changes subject, leaning back on the metal structure to peer at you from above. He crosses his arms. “I’m surprised you didn’t cough.” 
You shrug, staring down at the burning cigarette between your fingers. “Maybe it’s not my first cig.” 
When you look back at him, his eyes have grown dark, burning again with that fire that’s become indistinguishable from him. How good to see it again. You feel it seeping under your white sweater, tickling your ribs. You want him there, tearing the bones from you. 
Matty cocks his head. “Is it?” Again, you just raise your shoulders with an air of mystery. He smirks, something dangerous to the edges. Here’s not the boy, but the animal, flashing his teeth like he could sink them in your throat. “What would your God say about that?” 
You hum, refusing to look away from his tense stare. There’s much less teasing when you say, “Probably something disapproving. But then, we all have our vices.” It’s not your fault. Your breath’s caught in your throat. Your head spins, warning bells you delightfully ignore in a back corner of your brain. 
To distract the slight tremble in your hand, you bring the cigarette back to your pouty lips. You take a drag, but it goes badly down your throat, and you cough in the elbow of your other arm. Your cheeks blaze. You peer at him tentatively to find him smirking at you, condescending and smug, clearly having found the answer you so craftily avoided before. 
You scowl, mostly in warning, but that does not stop him from opening his mouth. “Gotta suck it like a straw,” he taunts. His smirk grows wider, more like a grin, “Or a c—” 
“Okay,” you blush further. Images of his— and you on your knees, finally obeying his request, praying real real hard for— You twirl the cigarette in your fingers, feeling the red spread across your face. You mumble, “Don’t be crass.” 
“I thought you liked that.” Must he be so cocky, so detestable. Must he make every cell of yours aware of him, every inch begging for his skin, must he raise your temperature to a feverish degree? Matty seems to read right through you. Perhaps he, too, sees the emotion written across your forehead. “Yes, if I recall correctly, you really, really love when I’m crass. Almost made you com—” 
Your eyes snap to his, daggering him with a glare you don’t mean. You have to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, chase that sinfully good reverb to your wet pussy. Triumphant, Matty leans into your ear, breath grazing the sensitive skin as he whispers, “I didn’t even scratch a tenth of the things I want to do to you.” His hand lingers over yours.
In an instant, he’s snapping away from you, stolen cigarette between his fingers. Matty takes an easy drag, pouring the gray cloud over your face in retaliation. A shit-eating grin reigns over his lips.
He’s beautiful. Your insides melt like syrup. He’d try to grab your hips and he’d soak through, sugar sticking on his palms. 
“Save it,” you say finally, taking one step away. You smile. “I like a surprise.” 
He snorts. “I thought I was disgusting.” 
“No,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes like he was very silly, “I said I was.” Giving him a purposeful onceover, you smirk. “Or at least I could be.” 
You rub the ringless knuckle with two fingers, still feeling the memory of a ghost on your skin. Kneeling at the end of your bed, you pick at your nails. You think of what to say, of prayers to mouth in the evening. You’ve been sinning, you know this. Forming an hubris, leaning into desires, smoking— smoking with a boy who smirks and pours gray clouds out of his lips and looks you up and down like he could swallow you whole. A boy who’s Matty Healy, a proud sinner, a reckless atheist. 
Still, you kneel at your bed and you find most of your head empty. Your bedroom door is cracked, letting a shine of light pass through. Your father walks; you hear the monotonous steps, loud and heavy and regular. Instinctively, you close your eyes, muttering nothing to yourself. 
“Goodnight, sweetie,” your father says, peeking his head through. You open your eyes in false surprise. 
“Oh, goodnight, Dad.” 
“Sleep well,” he says, and you nod curtly. You’ll dream of filthy things. Scandalous mirages. You’ll imagine skin and hips and breasts; fingers and lips and cock. Licking and biting and devouring. He can’t stop you. 
You grin, bright and wide. “Thanks. You too.” 
Your father keeps the door ajar as he leaves. The hallway light is still on. Your mother is downstairs, busying herself with the dishes. You hear the soothing sound of the running water, a faint hum of a song. 
Beside you, someone knocks at your window. You frown, twisting around, coming face to face with Matty Healy’s scrunched body as he peers through the glass, a smirk on his lips. Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet, heart beating in your chest, looking around like your father would pop through the door at any moment. 
Grabbing the handles, you slam the window up. Matty grins lazily at you, unworried in the face of your clear stress. “What are you doing here?” You whisper-yell to him. 
“Wanted to say hey,” he shrugs easily. 
You blink at him. “At ten PM?”
“You know, it’s still pretty early for us deviants.” He pointedly peers past the window frame, coming back to you with an arched eyebrow. “Can I come in?” 
You bite your lip, flipping back to your half-opened door, to the floating sound of your mother’s song. You should say no. Nothing good can come out of seeing Matty Healy, especially at this hour. 
But a low hum of thrill rings in your belly. Your heart slams in your chest, singing, alive for the first time in too long. You’re electrified, hyperaware. You’re never catching sleep now. 
Fuck it, you think, because you can swear in the sanctity of your own mind. You tiptoe to the door, slowly shutting it. You’re diligent, twisting the doorknob to make sure not a single sound travels back to the kitchen. When your mission is done, you turn back to Matty, a proud, victorious smile on your lips. He grins back easily, already standing in your room, dirty sneakers on your carpet. 
“Hey,” Matty says. 
“Hi,” you answer, hands twisting behind your back. It is impossibly teenage-like. You almost feel like a caricature of yourself. 
“So this is your room?” He continues, speaking softly as to not alert your parents. You half-believe your mother really could magically sense the presence of a teenage atheist boy in her house. Some sharpened instinct for sin. 
“It would appear so.” 
Matty walks in your room, faintly tentative in his steps. He looks around, taking in your vanity holding scattered bottles of perfume and lotion, your gold full-length mirror, the glued flowers to your walls, the fluffy carpet dirtied by his sneakers. The twin bed with pink sheets. The bible on the nightstand. The crucifix watching over you. You flush, looking away embarrassed. 
“Cute,” Matty says. It feels almost derogatory. Cute, like a little girl, someone you coo at and pat the head of fondly. Someone that’s empty brained, not smart enough to follow his wild wordvomit, the boundless theories haunting his mind. You scowl. He seems to see through you, chuckling easily. “I like it,” he insists. 
“No, you don’t.” 
“Well,” he grins. “It’s a little pink for me.” 
“Shut up.” You shake your head, huffing a laugh. 
Matty takes off his shoes, sitting down on your bed. He scoops himself up, resting his back against the wall. A spike of nerves strikes your stomach, but it spreads nicely through your limbs. Between your thighs most of all, clenching around nothing. 
A boy in your bed. How strange. 
“What were you doing?” 
“Praying,” you answer in habit. 
He arches an eyebrow, grabbing your bible. He flips through the pages, half-curious and half-sneering. A small defensive thing beats in your heart. You frown at him. “What were you praying about?” 
“Just—” Now you’re caught off-guard. There’s much valid answers spinning in your head. Peace, health, family. But there’s an insatiable need in you to knock him off his pretentious pedestal. Shake him to his core, just so he knows the ripples passing through your soul whenever he decides to smash into your world. “Sex.”
This definitely shakes him. His hands freeze around the bible, eyes snapping back to you. There’s no shock, per say, but something darker. It calls to you, climbing up your spine. “Oh?” 
You smile. You barely register the step you take towards the bed. “Yes. I’ve been really bad, getting all mixed-up in my impure thoughts. I just had to pray the lust away.”  
Matty inhales slowly, watching you like he could eat through your flesh. You see his chest rise in quick successions. A devilish smirk teases at your lips. “Does it work?” His voice is surprisingly even. 
You sigh. “Does it ever work?” 
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. God, he’s so easy. “Why don’t you show me?” 
A playful look through your eyelashes. “Yes, Father.” His breath hitches in his throat. Matty grips the bible like a lifebuoy, and, oh, isn’t that just deliciously ironic?
You fall to your knees under his mesmerized stare, elbows resting at the end of your bed, fingers interlocking together. Spine comically straight, eyes innocently closed, you’re a caricature of a devotee. 
You hum, licking your lips. “Lord, I’m sorry I thought about that boy again.” You relish in the breath of air choking from his lips, half a gasp and half a groan. Your eyelids tingle, begging to take a peek at his reaction, but you know your little act requires your eyes closed.
With a fake frown of guilt, you continue, “I shouldn’t have thought of him bending me over my desk in the middle of history class. I shouldn’t have thought of everyone watching us as he flipped my skirt up.” Definitely a groan, low and gravelly from his sinful lips. “Should definitely not have thought of him fucking me in front of all these students— and the teacher, of course— until I’m cockdrunk and drooling on my desk.” Another muffled sound. Rustling of jeans and sheets. You smirk, incapable of keeping the innocent schoolgirl act, devious as you say, “Lord, I’m so sorry I considered touching myself in class thinking of—”
Matty caresses your hair, following the curve of your jaw, gripping your chin between his fingers. You snap your eyes open, breath stolen from your throat. He towers over you, godly, knees siding your elbows. It’s suddenly not funny at all. 
“I forgive you.” 
And then, all of a sudden, you know what it’s like to be clean. Your soul frees of the soil; of the dirt and grime and mud tacking your bones. Your fingertips buzz, carpet-burnt knees forgetting the pain. 
Your head nuzzles in his hand, grinning. Matty’s thumb grazes your lower lip. Instinctively, your mouth slips open, practically inviting him in. 
His thumb dips inside, pressing meanly on your tongue. You suck on his finger, staring up at him through your eyelashes. His ring tastes like metal in your mouth. Something in you loves it; craves the aftertaste of blood. 
Matty breathes heavily, lips parting. Dark eyes discombobulating you. Your head feels slack on your neck. He slips away from your mouth. Drool coats his skin. It dries on your cheek, thumb rubbing it tenderly, hand spreading on your jaw. 
Your eyes are locked with his, almost mesmerized by the dark pupils. You want to drown in the murky waters. That must be where hell lies, alive and rustling. 
Where you want to dive, lose yourself in the intangible. 
Matty smirks down at you. Like he knows. Like he reads the thoughts on your forehead. Little mouse practically screaming your filthy thoughts. 
“You’re quiet,” he says almost matter-of-factly, like an observation he just realized. The smirk betrays him, broadcasting the gleeful cruelty in the words. I’ve shut you up is unsaid, but much felt. 
You resent it. You want to scream, to be heard, to crash into his ribs and burst the bone. Of course, it’s when your thoughts roar the loudest that your tongue curdles, useless in your mouth. Words escape from you, mind spinning with wantwantwantwantwant without needed direction. You’re a mess of a girl, more a tactless binding of contradictions than anything real— yarn and clusters and knots tying staggering opposites under skin. 
But you want, and isn’t it just great to allow yourself to? To desire, to hunger.
Words loose in your throat, you push yourself up from the ground with two hands spreading over his knees. He follows your biblical rise like an avid follower until you loom over him. He has to tip his chin to look you in the eyes. There is something inexplicably thrilling about it. Power surges up your spine. 
Your hands settle on his shoulders. Slowly; time is yours. Matty skips a breath. His fingers find the back of your thighs, a second nature, more a thoughtless impulse than any type of decision. His digging stare is still locked with yours. You wonder if he’s even realized he’s grazing your legs, dancing fingertips on the skin. 
Your eyes trail to his lips. Parted, gasping an irregular pattern, waiting for you. Red like he’s licked the blood off, trying to catch the last trace of you as he tears through your heart.
“I don’t want to be good,” you whisper, because he has to know. Because it has to be said. Because you don’t, and more importantly, you don’t have to. 
Matty smiles. His fingers hook behind your knees— whiplash from how present he suddenly is spreading from the still hot handprints. He tugs you into him, making you land squarely on his lap. You gasp as you settle, gripping his shoulders, digging in the cotton of his washed-out shirt. 
“I don’t want you to be good either,” he says, bending his head towards you conspiratorially, like telling you a secret. Your heart slams against your ribs, calling for him, for his lingering touch, burning even when he’s gone. I want you, I want you. 
You try to catch your breath, to grab onto your heart with two hands and tell it to settle down, but it’s not enough. He’s seeped under the cracks, loosened the knots. You’re embarrassingly wet, dripping for him even if he’s barely given you more than a brush. 
“It’s settled then,” you say with much bravado, traveling your begging hands to his nape, scooping your hips to sit closer to him. You smile playfully, leaning into him. “I’ll be very disgusting.” 
Matty cringes, letting go of your scraped knees. Fear grips you— you act on instinct, taking his wrist and puppeteering him to your waist, wrapping him around you, interlacing him before he can slip away from your fingers. “I want you,” you say, crystal clear. 
Matty considers you, perfectly controlled if it wasn’t for the betraying blush pinking his cheeks. Two fingers dip under the hem of your pajamas, thumb rubbing at your rib, pinky resting on your hip annoyingly still. It ripples in your body, toes curling like some prophetic foreteller. You throb around nothing, biting your lip. 
His other hand ghosts over your collarbone. The non-touch is still enough to race your poor heart, drunk on the presence of him. He watches your breath quicken, chest rising and falling, then flips to your eyes. “Do you really mean that?” He asks, unsettlingly serious. You nod, once again lost for words. His fingers skislope down the bone. 
He lands on the cross dangling from your neck, sitting perfectly straight on your chest, the crowning ornament of a paper girl. Your breath catches; the world stops. He arches an eyebrow at you, hooking into the gold chain. “Do you really mean that?” 
Turning points, life forking in two like the tongue of a snake. Possibilities on the tip of your teeth, so close you can taste it. 
“I want you—” Catching the chain, he tugs you to his lips, siren to your sailor. Your mouths lock, frenzied delight spinning around your neck, scrambling any remaining wit. Yes, you think, parting your lips, finally.  
You sigh into his mouth, from relief or pleasure or perhaps the vertiginous feeling of standing on the cliff of the unknown, unstable ground rippling under your feet. But Matty is solid under you— your hands rack through his curls, softer than you remember them, gripping the tangible, the steady. 
His hand at your side digs into your hip, drawing you square on his hard cock. You gasp, rolling your head, lingering in the first electroshocks of bliss biting into your limbs. Like jumping into cold waters on the hottest day of summer— shocked from the contrast, giddy from the refreshing cool. You grind into him again, a happy laugh spilling from you. 
Matty doesn’t waste opportunities. He finds your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your pulse. He climbs up to your jaw, biting then licking away the ache. You shiver, trapped between his arms.
The cross rests in the center of his palm still, pretty and cool. He could tear it apart if he wished. Tear you straight to the bone. Instead, he runs a thumb over the metal, over the bloody edges of you. You drip on him, wax candle melting from his flame, but you can trust he’ll lick it clean. 
You take him by the cheeks, drawing him back to your lips. You’re already panting. The room blurs around you; your hip exists because he touches it, because it’s him that does it. You roll them against his, reveling in the choked groans from deep in his throat. 
Matty lets go of the cross, finding your breast instead. He pushes down your camisole, revealing your peaked nipples. The back of your mind half-thinks of being self-conscious, but he pinches one, rubbing it, making you moan, and suddenly there’s no thoughts at all but his name. His mouth rips from yours. He bends down, licking a nipple with an expert tongue. A strike of pure ecstasy waves through you. Your fingers twist into his mane, encouraging him, furiously humping his lap. 
Matty can’t make his mind up— he vacillates between wanting to devour your tits, biting the underboob meanly, kissing it better; between watching your face as you whimper, frown digging in your eyebrows as you concentrate on not making much sound; between kissing you, tongue slipping through your lips; between wrinkling his face close, letting himself get washed in the euphoria. 
In the end, he twists you, laying you down on the bed, him over you. It’s a practiced maneuver— you want to scowl, but he settles deliciously between your thighs and now you’re too busy rolling your eyes into your skull. 
“Beautiful,” he says, short-winded, flicking between your face and your untidy body, pajamas barely covering any flushed skin. You redden, chin dipping shyly. 
Matty burrows underneath your tank top, uncovering your skin inch by inch as he slowly climbs up your waist. His calluses dance on your ribs, branding iron to your vestal body, something to linger when he’s gone. You breathe harshly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to stay very still. 
He passes the shirt beyond your head, hair falling through the neck. He throws it over the bed carelessly, like it didn’t exist now that you weren’t wearing it. 
It’s not like it was occupying its function as a shirt before, more a bunched belt around your waist than anything. Still, you feel self-conscious, uncovered like this in front of him. Topless. Naked. You have the impulse to cover your breasts, hide away from his baring stare. It tickles at the back of your mind. 
“I wanna hear you,” Matty whispers, ghosting up your stomach, eyes following his hand religiously. “You had so much to say before.” 
You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. It’s all impossibly real. You don’t know how to do any of this. 
Matty smiles reassuringly. “What do you want?” He spurs you on, thumb finding your nipple and circling it. You moan, arching into his palm. 
You don’t know what you want, you just do. Everything. Anything. As long as it’s sinful; as long as it’s worth the damnation. 
“Angel, what do you want?” He whispers in your ear, biting your lobe, unwilling to let it go. You try to contain a shiver, but your legs still part instinctively for him. He smiles at that, something crooked to it, something raw. 
“I’m not an angel,” you say petulantly. 
He’s hard between your sticky thighs. An atheist is kissing your neck where the chain meets the skin. You’re— You’re in your goddamn childhood bed, on the fluffy pink sheets you got for your ninth birthday for Christ’s sake. Nothing about you is innocent, or pure, or angelic. 
You’re poisonous, and dirty, and hungry.  
Of course, Matty doesn’t seem to agree. He pouts condescendingly at you, trailing the tip of his fingers—callused and hard worked and meant to burn, but oh so gentle on your belly — lower, near the waist of your pajama shorts. 
“Is that so?” He says, overly cocky and teasing, practically mocking the very words out of your mouth. Still, you nod. At that, he smiles wider, shadows catching his teeth. “Well, prove it.” 
His hand meets the band of your underwear. You stop your eyes from rolling inside your skull, from scrunching your face in pure delight. You want to see him. See him as he watches you, licking his lips, following every rising chest and huffing lips and trembling thighs. See him as he takes you in, as he stares like he wishes to memorize the very edges of you, like he wants to swallow you whole. 
God, you want to be consumed. 
Your nails dig into his shoulders. You push. “I’ve done my evening prayers,” you say with a moan. “Your turn.” Matty laughs, but he’s going down your body obligingly. 
His lips graze your skin with head-swooning attention. He kisses down your neck, pressing a demure peck on your cross, like handshaking the Lord. A blush reddens your cheeks. 
Your chest heaves, trying to quiet down your screaming heart, the overwhelming anticipation spreading through your body. Every particle of you is aware of him, of what’s coming, and you sense an incriminating flutter invading you. Your thighs close around his waist, softly grinding onto him, biting your lower lip. 
Matty kisses the top of your breasts, gently biting your nipples. He’s diligent on this part of your body, lingering there happily. You can’t seem to swallow down the striking pleasure, quietly whining as he sucks and licks and twists. 
Your mother must be downstairs still. Your father is only a few rooms over.  They could hear, or worse walk in, find you half naked with a boy between your thighs. What would they think? What would they say? What would they do? Scrub your skin off under the burning shower, scrape and scrape until you’re raw, as though you could ever forget the memory of his lips on you? A furrow dents your eyebrows harshly. You bite your lip, relishing in the pain spreading down your chin. 
You can be depraved as long as you’re punished for it. A taste of sin if it slashes down your throat. 
You’ve barely grown accustomed to him that he’s gone already, moving down your waist, ribs a xylophone to his tongue. A small line of hair scatters over your belly. He follows the path, lips floating over your skin. You flex under him, excited and nervous and impossibly hot. 
Matty kisses just above the hem of your pajamas, hand digging into your hip. He looks up at you and inexplicable pleasure grips you. He’s— He’s majestic. Better than some God; prettier, too. 
Dark eyes, red lips, frenzied hair. You rack through the mess of curls, tugging as encouragement. He’ll make doom worth something. A dust of a moment traded for eternity feels awfully fair when he’s looking at you like this. 
Matty’s fingers hook into the shorts. He pulls them down your legs, scratching the silky skin as he goes. Once again, the scrap of fabric is thoughtlessly discarded as soon as it slips out of your feet. 
You’re in your underwear. In front of Matty Healy. You take a few seconds to attempt to wrap your head around the fact, but it’s nearly impossible with his tough fingers climbing back up your shaking legs, approaching your thighs. 
Need throbs inside of you. You crave him. 
“Is this what you wanted?” He says, approaching the apex of your thighs. 
You moan, face clenching, toes curling in the idea of what is coming. Your body holds its breath, anticipation running down its veins. Something about this moment is inherent; your mind barely understands the implications, but your legs retain the memory of a pleasure you’ve never had. Remaining sins from Eve herself. This is millions of years in the making. 
“Love, is this what you want?” 
You huff, resting on your elbows to look at him. “No,” you bite. “I want more.”
Matty laughs, kissing your hip bone just above your underwear. You choke on a breath, shiver dancing up your spine. “Like this?” He whispers, cheeky and teasing because he knows it’s not. 
Your hips rise towards him, falling back uselessly. “No.”
He hums, finding the twin bone, giving it a sweet mirror kiss. You whine, head rolling in frustration. “How about this?” He’s so proud. 
“I want—” You sigh, words fleeing down your throat in a cruel game of hide and seek. The chasm of the unknown reels under your toes. You frown. “I want—” 
“Yes?” Matty bites your hip, smiling knowingly at you as he licks it clean. 
You stare at his dancing eyes, at that damn curl of his falling across his forehead like lightning, at his tongue, pink and soft and— “I want you to lick me.” You’re too proud to be embarrassed at the dirty words. The idea already calls to you, spinning deliciously in your head. Matty grins at you. You push his head, hand still firmly tucked in his hair, lining him up to your center. “Just—” You moan as his chin bumps your ignored clit, “ruin me.”
Matty doesn’t need to be told twice— thank God. He slips your underwear off your legs. You have no time to grow shy at being completely, entirely exposed because he’s pushing your thighs open the next second, licking your clit. 
Your hips jump. A cry slips your lips. You slap a hand over your mouth, heart racing. Again, you can barely finish wondering if your mother heard that Matty is sucking on your bud. Thankfully your palm catches the moans freefalling thoughtlessly from your mouth. You can’t seem to hold them back— it’s beyond reason, beyond you. It listens to the heated bliss soaring through your limbs and nothing else. 
You’re the apple and the snake and the first woman. You’re multitudes stretching under your skin. You’ve got a man between your thighs, eating you. The thought doesn’t seem real, although his tongue proves otherwise, languid and sure and flicking. 
You can tell he’s following the same rhythm he ordered in the dark box of the confessional, ironically close to a priest prescribing penance for mortal sins. Slow and gentle and teasing; meant to boil your blood, get you begging. 
As though you’re not dripping on the sheets for him. As though you’re not dizzy with want. As though you’re not holding back screams. 
Still, he licks and sucks at your clit, swiping and circling on the nerves. He cruelly ignores your entrance clenching around nothing, practically weeping for him. His nails dig into the meat of your thigh like he wants to, though. Like he has to stop himself from doing so. 
You’ve never had more than a lick of sacramental wine, but you feel drunk already. The bed is your island, spreading across the world. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead. You grind into him desperately, chasing that syrupy ecstasy coaxing through your veins. What is the point of blood? You’d rather live off the sweetness. 
You rack your fingers through Matty’s mane, brushing it back from his forehead as though he needed to see to best work. “Matty,” you say, high-pitched and desperate, “please.” 
“You just had to say, pet,” he whispers, coming out of your thighs out of breath, slick coating his chin. You flush, thinking of why. Devoted, he throws one of your legs over your shoulder, diving back for more. 
Thumb rubbing at your clit, he runs his tongue over your folds. “Fuck, Matty—” You bite into your lip, face scrunching to keep in the visceral words screaming in your mind. 
This is what people have been hiding, keeping firmly locked behind rings and hushed whispers, spelling it out so you wouldn’t put the letters together. Endless euphoria waving, razing, ravaging. You get it now. 
It’s too much power to give to a girl. Because that’s what you are, in the end. Just a girl. 
Matty laps at you, burning tongue finding the apex of all your desires and rubbing a frantic rhythm against it. He moves purposefully, knowingly, as though he already learnt all the secrets even you haven’t discovered. 
Your head rolls back. You bite your hand, tearing through the palm lines, crushing under your teeth whatever future a fortune teller would’ve read in the fated dents. The path bursts; you’re soaring through the sky— or perhaps freefalling. The two feel awfully the same, heaven and hell intertwined until you can’t distinguish which cardinal point you’re following.
Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. He groans against you, reverberating in your cunt. You clench around his tongue, hips flapping wildly. Pressure builds in your belly. Your limbs tense, electricity coursing through the lines. “Matty, I—”
Who are you to wreck God’s perfectly curated plan? Still, you tug at Matty’s curls, grinding into his face, heel digging into his back. Ecstasy wipes your mind clean.
“I know, angel,” Matty moans. He ducks back single-minded, licking into you with a frenzied passion. Quick and strong, thumb pressing on your clit meanly; he devours you. You feel feverish. You feel sick. 
You’re on fire. 
Let you burn down. Catch the sheets, the fuzzy carpet, the whole goddamn house. You’re tired of smothering fire, like a fickle flicker of flame wouldn’t bring it back in an instant. You want to blaze. You want to melt. 
Infinity smears your tongue. You are but a body, and it breaks apart. 
You bite your palm raw holding back a scream. Euphoria erupts under your skin. The yarn rips; you fall apart on his tongue, scattered sins bursting around the room. You tug at his hair cruelly, the last remaining hold on reality as your vision blurs. 
How good. That is all you think for a blink of a moment. How good. 
The debris settles around you. You lay in ruins, catching your breath, laughing softly. This is a fucking orgasm. 
All those talks of sin, of flesh, of ashes. Of apples and girls and flames. All those prayers you’ve done, fingers intertwined as you mouthed false promises. All the guilt you’ve carried with you. For existing, for wanting, for being a girl with a body. 
You should feel dirty. Matty Healy has just eaten you out until your brain leaked out of your ears. You should be disgusting. 
Instead, you feel oddly free. 
Matty peeks out of your legs, face wet and dripping with you. He wipes at it. You finally let go of your tyrannical hold on his hair, brushing away the strands as an apology. He frowns, asking worriedly, “Are you crying?” 
You pat at your cheeks, finding the telltale tears. “Oh,” you say, somehow surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” You wipe at them furiously, flushing under his baring stare. How embarrassing. 
He settles beside you, tucking your side onto him with a lazy hand on your waist. The contact is reassuring, somehow. You nestle into him closer. “Why?” He says, trailing a finger on your skin. 
“Just—” You blush harder, looking away abashed. “I don’t know.” 
“Did I…” His eyebrows furrow further. Your heart jumps. 
“No,” you say, wide-eyed. “You were great. It was—” You wrinkle your nose, suddenly ashamed to be talking about all this. Like he wasn’t buried between your thighs just a few seconds ago. “It was really good.” God, you just don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” you add, unsure. 
Matty laughs. “You’re welcome, love.” He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your flushed ear. “What is it, then?” 
“I guess—” You bite your lip, trying to find words for something instinctive, thoughtless. “I was just really happy. And free. Like I’d broken through something.” You shake your head. “I don’t know. It was my first time, obviously. It’s… new.” 
“Good new?” 
You smile at his tentative words clearly searching for validation. It makes you a little glad. That it’s not just another day for him, certain and cool and all knowing. That there’s doubts just like you, some pubescent anxiety. 
You nod. “Good new.” 
Although you mean it, something in you still spins with nervosity. It’s new; freeing and hot and fresh. But it’s also new; strange and different and unknown. Now your thoughts are filled with questions. If he liked it too. If you were too loud. If you weren’t enough. If you tasted bad. If you looked good. If you should have done more. If he expects more. If he likes you. 
If it’s it, then. If you’re forsaken. If there’s no going back now. If you should feel guiltier. If you should care less. 
There’s no wrong way to feel, yet it seems you can’t find the right one either. Your brain goes through gymnastics, finding a new worry to latch onto, volleying between contradictions. 
You are free. You are guilty. You don’t know how to reckon with either. 
Matty seems to sense the overthinking smoking out of your ears. His fingers graze down to your naked hip, drawing a slow pattern on the skin. “What?” He breathes in your ear. 
“Nothing,” you shake your head. 
That’s what you want to feel. Nothing. His calluses press on your skin. You feel your walls flutter, already awoken by his ghosting touch. 
You know a way to get there: mind wiped blissfully clean. With a purpose, you hook a hand behind his neck, tugging him back to your mouth. Matty sees you coming, lips parted in readiness, tongue slipping in hotly. 
You moan against him, already feeling yourself boiling under your skin. It’s an instinctive reaction. He’s barely licking into your mouth that you’re already in a frenzy, heart slamming against your ribs for more. 
You comb a hand through his unruly curls, scratching at his scalp. He shivers against you, letting go to breathe a relieved groan before finding your lips with renewed fervor. You like the power it gives you. You repeat the movement over and over, relishing in the smallest reactions you can coax out of him. Not a marble man; he crinkles just like you. 
He spreads his hand under your back, drawing you to your side, titling his head to kiss you better. His fingers dance on your spine, unshy and learning. You feel awfully naked, all of sudden. Laying in your childhood bed, bare other than the cross still dangling from your neck, now tangled somewhere in your hair far from sight. With a boy who’s very much dressed. 
Attempting to rectify the situation instead of having another spout of anxiety, you sneak your fingers under the hem of his shirt. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve somehow learnt the shape of him in the one time you indulgently held him— or perhaps it’s been all those dreams you’ve replayed over and over. 
Still, you’re excited to stop touching blindly and see. Climbing up his chest, you raise the band tee, feeble and immaterial in your greedy hands. Matty leaves your lips, shortwinded as he reaches behind him and tugs the shirt off. It falls in the sea rumbling beneath your bed, lulling you softly. 
He tries to bend back to kiss you again, but you halt him with a hand on his shoulder. Your stare rakes across his chest; skinny and lanky; faint, forgotten scars you know the feel of by heart; a delicious trail of hair feathering down his stomach; a tattoo kissing his skin. Your heart squeezes in your chest. He’s magnificent. Your lips burn, needing to touch him, to lick down his belly and feel him tense and flex for you. 
Your eyes snap back to his. He’s grown almost self-conscious, blushing under your gluttonous peer. You relish in the sight, licking your bloody teeth. You want him, through the flesh and bones. 
“You’re pretty,” you say finally. 
Matty shakes his head, chuckling. “You can’t call a man that.” 
You pout meanly at him. “Big bad atheist can’t be pretty?” 
With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Matty bends to your neck, kissing just under the jaw. His hair tickles your temple. You giggle cheerfully, letting him push you back into the bed. “Will you ever let me live it down?” He whispers, hot breath blowing on your electrified skin. You shiver, growing wetter just at that low tone of his. He knows this, smirking as he leaves a burning path down the curve. 
You hum, trying to gather some sort of wit. “Depends,” you say, but it already falls short, considering how out of breath you sound, practically purring. “Are you gonna start believing in God?” 
Matty snaps away from your neck, propping himself on his elbow as he watches you with affront. You can’t help laughing, wrinkling your nose as the sheer offense on his face. “I’ve got some great quotes underlined if you want,” you add playfully, pointedly looking at the bible resting on the bedside table. Quite precariously too, half of it hanging in mid-air from Matty’s careless throw. 
Matty gets on his knees, staring down at you unflinchingly. Like this, towering over your still laying body, he almost looks godly. “Yeah?” He says, grabbing the bible, cracking it open. “Should we read some right now?” 
You would usually love a chance to rip apart Matty’s skull. Find the unhealed wounds. Teach him words to plaster over. But he’s shirtless, and pretty— to hell what you can call a man, and you’re naked and wet. 
This is not the time for bible reading. You want his mouth busy with something else. 
Of course, Matty is already squinting at the pages. “Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.” His voice was made for music; it comes melodic out of his mouth, like a tempo, like a harmony, like a poem. He looks up from the pages, staring down at you with an arched eyebrow. 
You blush, suddenly hyperaware of your peaked breasts lying openly for him. “Of course you would fall on Song of Solomon on your first try,” you mutter. It’s like sin calls to him, some singing on his fingertips when he runs through the pages. 
He snorts. One hand leaves the weathered hardcover, instead grazing up your thigh. You can’t stop a shiver, feeling the hair rise where he touches. Instinctively, you spread them— just slightly, an unconscious reaction reverberating to your legs. Still, Matty smirks, proud and knowing. 
“You know, you might be onto something. This sounds like my kind of book.” And then, to prove his point, he recites, “Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” How dirty pious words sound from his profane mouth. How he twists the shape of them, warps their meaning. Matty, again, looks up to your reaction, shit-eating grin cracking his face. “I think we just got done with that.” 
You flush even harder. Your head spins with memories— not daydreams, not fantasies, not vestiges from your slumber, but memories, real and undeniable. His head between your thighs, licking into your cunt, starved and gluttonous. You throb uselessly, dripping on the sheets. “It’s not—” 
Matty’s climbing fingers find your cunt, and suddenly you have no words to say. You gnaw on your lip, whining through the shocking wave of bliss hitting you. He gathers your telltale wetness, as though to prove some sick knowledge that you’re enjoying this. That he’s tearing through your beliefs with nails and teeth. 
That you won’t ever look at those pages the same again, just like you can’t catch a peripheral peek of the confessional without straightening in your seat. 
An opportunist, Matty spreads the slick to your clit, rubbing the tender thing slowly. You moan, throwing your head back, dropping your thighs completely open for him. His calluses, rough and mean, are heavenly on your bundle of nerves. 
“Do you want more?” 
You’re not sure he means fingers or passages, but still, you open your eyes, whining, “Yes.” You raise your hips to his palm, falling back on the sheets with a pout. “Please.” 
Matty stops. You clench around nothing, unsatisfied. He flips through the pages, slick fingers drying on the bible’s hardcover. You want to look away— it’s filthy. But they’re so long, spindly and wide-knuckled, and you can’t stop staring. 
Matty finds a page, balancing the bible on his forearm as he finds your upper thighs again. “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other animal that the Lord God had made.”
You almost want to roll your eyes. How cliche. But Matty is teasing a finger against your wet entrance, and you’re rolling your eyes for a much different reason. 
Matty lingers in this moment, circling your clit with his thumb. He watches the spectacle, following his hands, your cunt, your breasts, your face religiously. 
Swallowing harshly, he continues, “He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’” 
You nod, encouraging him on. For further argument, you wrap your own hand around his wrist, grinding softly into his fingers. Matty licks his lips, distracted again. 
One finger enters you. Slow, to make sure you get used to the feel. Your face scrunches close to hold the cries in. Your cunt flutters with pleasure, begging for him, for more. He’s much longer than your own, but there’s barely any resistance. It’s still not enough to completely splinter you, unravel you to sweet nonexistence. 
Slithering around his wrist in a vice-like grip, you feel the need to tell him, “I want more. Please, Matty.” 
He thrusts in and out of you languidly, sopping sounds resonating in the quiet room. Your neck goes slack. He doesn’t seem to get the crux of the request, however, because he bends back to the book, “The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said ‘you shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’” 
You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not— But it’s too late for you, isn’t it? 
You’re famished. 
You press his hand into you, locking with his dark eyes. “More.”
Finally understanding, Matty dips a second finger into you. This time, the stretch is uncomfortable, wider than you’ve ever known. You frown at the new feel, trying to clench and unclench to get used to him. He’s patient, waiting, rubbing a delicious pattern on your bundle of nerves to loosen you up. 
“You’re so good for me,” he whispers, and your lips grow slack with a proud smile. 
When you finally feel ready, you grind into his palm. Matty thrusts his fingers, curling them just so. You’re losing your mind, organs pushing against your skin to make place for the invading ecstasy. It’s poisonous, eating through your veins, but you must bottle it up. Being quiet is the most sadistic torture you’ve ever know. 
“But the serpent said to the woman,” Matty’s rhythm falters as he focuses on the words again, “‘You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’” 
Your legs kick wildly on the sheets. Matty is unwavering, steady and consistent, fingers fucking into you. Your free hand, not knowing whether to grip the sheets or rack through your sweaty hair, finds his knee instead. Your nails dig into the jeans, like he deserved punishment for making you feel like this. Good and evil. 
“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food,” Matty’s breathing is hitched, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. Words come out rough from his lips, yet still just as poetic, just as holy, “and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise.” He smirks at his emphasized words. 
Like you don’t agree with a full heart and a full mind. Like you don’t crave to take a bite of him. 
Like you don’t want to consume him and be consumed by him. 
Like you’re not letting him defile you with the Lord’s words coating his tongue. Like you’re not needing that very tongue. 
Licking his teeth, Matty stares at you. Can he see the thoughts spinning through your mind? Can he see you? “She took all of its fruit and ate.” And you did.
God, you did. 
You can’t take it anymore. You reach for him, dragging him back to your pleading lips. Again, Matty throws the bible beyond the bed, uncaring for even holy texts. How easy for him. To make religion stop existing— something for the rest of the world, but not these sheets, not you. 
He lets go of your mouth, panting above you. Faster, not to chase some quicker end but to watch your face break apart for him, he thrusts in and out of you. It’s sinfully good. You claw at his bare shoulders, glad to have some skin to sink your nails in. 
You want to leave him permanently changed. Scarred. Because you will be. God, you will be. 
Moaning against his lips, heart beating to the rhythm he fingers into you, brain surely melting out of your ears, you hear a knock at your door. 
You gasp. Eyes comically wide, you freeze in the bed. Matty goes still inside of you. 
“Honey?” Your mother calls, sounding worried. 
Your eyes flip to Matty, sending him an alarm call. He looks pointedly to the door, nudging his chin towards you. You miraculously understand. Racking your throat, you say, “Yes?” It comes choked out of you, clearly out of breath, and you cringe at the fact. At least it’s an answer. 
“Are you okay?” She continues. “I heard a thud.” 
Your face wrinkles in annoyance. Matty sighs above you. That fucking bible. How comical that it’s this and not Matty’s literal tongue between your thighs that will bring your downfall. 
“I’m fine,” you say. “I just— knocked something over.” 
After a torturous moment of silence, time and destiny hanging in the air waiting for the final blow, your mother finally answers, “Okay.” 
God is real. Some higher above is watching over you if, for the first time in your life, your nosy mother chose to drop a line of questioning instead of following it to its fatal end. Your eyes find Matty, grinning in surprise. You have to stop yourself from giggling giddily. He smiles back, nosing your neck. 
He moves between your legs again, a slower rhythm, building back to what once was. Pleasant tingles spread up your belly. You frown, biting down a wait or a moan. Your mother can’t be gone yet. She pesters incessantly. Although, if you were to make a noise, she would definitely burst into the room, nose sniffing sin. 
You’re right. “Well, go to sleep soon. It’s late.” You dagger Matty with a stare, trying to send him a telepathic message. She’s there. She’s right there. 
But Matty just smirks against your jaw, curling his fingers perfectly. You arch your back, slapping a hand over your mouth. Fire courses through you, pleasant and all-consuming. 
“Uh-huh,” you manage, spit out between two smothered groans. 
“You need your beauty sleep,” she continues on, always one to martel a point home. “Remember those dreadful eyebags you had a week ago? We don’t want a repeat of that.” 
You were studying for a test, but that reply is too lengthy to come out of your trembling lips. Matty is now shamelessly thrusting into you. He’s risen to his elbow to properly see you struggle through monosyllabic words, like watching you tortured was a personal pleasure. 
Stress and pleasure coaxes through your body with this twisted excitement. Something sick in you likes the idea that your mother is right there, one door away. That if she found you in bed, getting fingered by a filthy boy who laughs in church, she’d faint on the spot. That you’re spitting in her face and she doesn’t even know it. 
You won’t have a wink of sleep. You’ll sport the eyebags proudly. 
Smiling, your legs close around Matty’s hand, trapping him there. He’s so fucking smug and proud, bending down to suck at your nipples. You want to scream. You need to. He’s so— so perfect. If God is real, he made him for you. Built him out of your rib. 
“Yes,” you manage out difficultly, sticky and ill-fitting out of your mouth. 
“I put some spoons in the freezer to help with the puffiness. Of course, nothing is better than prevention.” You can practically hear your mother nod to herself, snobbish and all-knowing. “Good night’s sleep is the best makeup, that’s what I’ve always said.” 
Matty smiles up at you as he bites on your nipple. You roll your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Yes.” Your eyes dig into his dark stare. Yes, yes, yes, yes! is what you mean. 
“Well, I will leave you to it then.” Your mother finally declares. “Goodnight, sweetie. Sweet dreams.” 
Matty’s thumb swipes at your clit in a frenzy. “Night!” High-pitched, transforming into a cry you cruelly kill behind your palm. 
When you hear the steps diminishing in the hallway, you slap Matty’s shoulders. “Asshole,” you bite, but the insult loses all meaning when you’re laughing, rolling your hips into his hand. 
“D’you reckon she knows the ‘sweet dreams’ will be of me?” 
You up your nose. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.” 
Matty laughs, rolling the both of you. He lays on his back as you straddle him, fingers still firmly buried to the knuckles inside of you, hand practically sprouting from his jeans. It’s— It’s phallic, sort of. You blush at the new position, at the feel of his actual hard cock pressing into you, too.
To get you going, Matty’s free hands dig into your ass, puppeteering you to grind into his fingers. You roll your shoulders, shiver dancing down your spine. White heat coils in your belly. 
“Am I wrong?” 
And he’s not, of course. But you don’t want to just let him win. 
Hips rolling on his palm, clit deliciously hitting his wrist, you hold yourself up with two hands on his chest. “There’s a lot of profane men out there.” 
A displeased groan leaves his lips. He wipes his face clean of telltale emotions, cocking his head at your far too proud grin. “Is there?” He whispers dangerously, eyes twinkling. Your belly flexes, some sick thrill at the sight of him, of what he could do. 
To egg him on, you nod eagerly. “Tons. Enough to make my head spin.” 
Matty reaches up, hooking his fingers into the cross tangled in your messy hair. He frees it, letting it dangle between your collarbones, dancing to the sinful rhythm of your hips. He watches the show for a second, enthralled by the necklace, breasts bouncing as you— you ride him. 
Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking yourself into his fingers, chasing some new mind-wiping orgasm. Peering down at him through your eyelashes, with his swollen lips and his unruly halo and his dark eyes; some fallen angel orchestrating your dive. 
“D’you think about them a lot?” You can feel him set the trap, dropping pomegranate seeds for you to follow between each word.
“Oh, all the time,” you lie, smile loose and languid on your flushed face. 
Matty’s smirk cuts through his face. “And do they make you wet like this?” He lingers in a quiet moment to prove his point, the sopping sounds of your cunt ringing through the room, heavy breaths harmonizing. You have some leftover decency to blush. “Do they have you purring and dripping on their hands? Moaning so sweetly for them?” Your throat closes on itself, attacked by waves of dirty pleasure. You clench around him, shamelessly scorching for him. Robbed of words, you manage a nod. “Yes?” Matty repeats. Smaller, distracted by the resonating bliss throbbing inside of you, you nod again. 
His voice goes low, rough but implacable. Meant to be listened to, to be obeyed. “Well, that’s not very pious of you, is it?” 
A rush of euphoria. You shake your head fervently, still thrusting into him. “No, Father,” you whimper.  
He cocks his head. “What shall I do with an impure girl like you?” Your eyes close, letting a wave of rapture swim through you. How good he makes the words sound— not mean, not real. 
You hit your hand beside his face, bending over him. It hits a new spot inside of you, sweet moans falling through shamelessly. You grab his free hand, spreading it across your bare throat. 
Matty groans at that. His fingertips dance on your skin, repositioning correctly over your arteries. “You sure?” He pants. 
Again, you nod eagerly. “I want you to.” To unexist. To unmake. To unravel. To unlearn. 
Matty digs his fingers into your neck, pressing meanly. Headrush, pure and saccharine. Your lips part in bliss, eyes rolling in your skull, hips rolling into him. The world swims around you, soupy, lazy. The tips of you burn. You want his handprints on your collar like some branding iron. Want to be his, want to be known.
Matty lets go of you. The world snaps back to reality all at once. You've never been high either, but this must be awfully close to it. Everything is frenzied, electrified and crazed. Exhilaration strikes through you. You laugh at the contrast. You flutter around his fingers; he curls them into you, like an unsaid good girl, some physical sort of praise. 
“How many guys could do this to you?” His hand still ghosts around your neck. 
“Only you,” you say, revering. “It’s only ever you.” 
A flash of elated grin splashes across his face, but it’s wiped clean for a cruel pout. “Oh, poor little girl,” he tsks. “You lied to me?” 
“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand and trailing it up your lips. Staring down at him, unflinching, unwilling to blink, you suck him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers. He groans, head falling back tortured. 
“What shall I do with you?” He says roughly. It seems like a genuine question, like he doesn’t quite know. You giggle, laugh choked by his digits. You revel in the fact. To overwhelm Matty Healy himself. To be too much girl, too much hands and skin and hips. To wrap around him. 
Freeing him with a ‘pop’ sound, spit sticking between your tongue and his fingers, you bring them between your thighs, joining its hardworking twins. Wet and crowded, he rubs at your clit instinctively. 
“That’s not quite a punishment now, is it?” He smiles at that. Your free hand presses against his shoulder again, straightening your spine. He’s at a very focused spot between your legs, but you still feel him everywhere. On your stomach, your breasts, your neck. Under your very skin. Everywhere he’s touched, everywhere he’s merely grazed— hell, sometimes you almost believe he’s lodged himself under your lungs, breathing with you.
You shake your head. Feverish elation spreads through you. “Don’t want to be punished.” 
Matty softens at that, toffee eyes growing warm. You could sink into them. “No?” 
You don’t. And, better, you don’t even know why you should be. Why be punished for wanting? You might be a poor collection of sins stretching under a girl, but the names of them fade from your mind as quickly as his thumb swipes at you. Faceless monsters. Unfanged. Uncovered. 
You can have everything you want. You deserve to. 
Staring at him, you grin shamelessly. “Can you eat me again?” 
Matty has never seemed happier than to do anything. For a profoundly rebellious person, he smiles at your demand, boyish and eager to please. You expect him to roll you over, but he takes you by the thighs instead, pulling you over his face. 
You kneel above him, hovering awkwardly, unsure of where to rest. What if you break him? 
You tell him as much, to which he answers, “Well, what a way to die.” 
You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.” 
“Don’t worry, love,” Matty smirks, although you can’t really see it when your cunt is blocking the vision. “I’ll haunt you afterwards. Let you know which one of us is right.” Something in you secretly likes that. That he’d linger for you, seep into your routine. 
It hits you almost in surprise. That some part of you might actually like him. Beyond what he makes you feel, beyond the taboo, beyond the serpent smile. 
You don’t have time to meditate on that. He distracts you instantly, peering at you as he whispers, “My choice fruits.” He turns his head at that, kissing your thigh. 
You laugh, a small shiver grazing your spine at his tender lips. “Shut up,” you say, amused, still chuckling. 
Soft and chaste turn into open-mouthed kisses, wet from his tongue, which turn into a bite, sucking at your skin, licking it better afterwards. Your breathing quickens. Excitement drips down your ribs. (Although that might be your heart. You barely can feel it anymore, a small miracle considering how fast it’s racing.)
Your eyes roll back. Something catches your stare— it snaps to the crucifix hanging above your bed. Jesus Christ himself, nailed to his cross, nailed to the wall. Your savior, all-knowing, all-loving. He died for your sins, and this is how you thank him. You swallow thickly. “He’s watching us,” you whisper.  
Matty’s eyes rise to the cross. “Good,” he answers, careless, impossibly nonchalant. You’re glad for him. For ease. “Give him a show.” 
Matty’s hands pull you down to him. You fall on his mouth, moan ripped out of you as you collide with his burning tongue. It’s already working at you, singleminded, passionate. You’ve been teased for long enough— you know it’s a short matter of time before your end, especially with the fervor Matty licks into you. 
Legs spread around his face, he’s swallowing you whole. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, blunt claws leaving crescent moons on your skin as a starved groan graces his hungry lips. Your head rolls back, stomach flexing with need. 
Your hands rack through his hair, grabbing a fistful just to tug on it. Your hold is fierce; you soothe the burn away with a thumb, rubbing at his forehead as your fingers wreck ravage on his curls. 
Breathless, scattered moans fall from your lips. The strangled cries, stifled to the best of your abilities, make him buck against nothing. You would feel guilty at that, at taking and taking and giving him nothing in return. Unfortunately, your brain is working overdrive just to remember your own name.
You rock carelessly against his face. You’re unafraid of breaking his neck, chasing your promised release with acute precision. Your clit rolls against the tip of his nose, strikes of euphoria licking up your spine every time you find just the right angle. His tongue laps at your entrance, thrusting inside. 
This is heaven. You do not rest on some material cloud, do not grow feathered wings and shiny halo. You sit on a man’s face and you whine oh, my God. You make it sound sacred. 
God cannot blame you for your blasphemy; if he made this tongue, he understands. 
Your eyes flick to the crucifix. You could say sorry. You should say sorry. 
Instead, they fall back on Matty. Locked with his dark gaze, you rub against him, chanting his name. “I’m— I’m right there—” 
Gently, he bites on your clit. Slash of ecstasy tears through your stomach. It ripples down your limbs, biting through the flesh, leaving you bloody and scarred and, oh, fuck, you’re coming. 
Gripping his curls vengefully, slapping a hand over your mouth, you scream. Your head loosens from your neck, parts of you discombobulating and reattaching in under a second. You break on his tongue. The proverbs were right— it’s a poet’s greatest weapon. 
Once again, you float a moment into the sheer idea that you can. That you did.
Breathing heavily, you unmount him, laughing to yourself. He takes a gasp of air, but he’s just as languidly satisfied as you. Sticky chin shines with the moonlight. 
“That was—” You shake your head, lost for words, falling on the bed beside him. 
“You’re welcome,” he says smugly. You push his shoulder, shaking your head. 
Suddenly, you realize you haven’t— he hasn’t— It cuts through the daze. You blush, a little embarrassed, a little unsure, a little nervous. You rack your throat, frowning. “Do you want me to…” Your eyebrows rise meaningfully. 
“Oh,” Matty exhales. He blushes, too. “Um, no. I’m… taken care of.” 
You can’t control your eyes dipping to his jeans curiously. There it is— wet patch on the front, no trace of his hard cock. Your cheeks redden further, but something in you is unbelievably proud. 
You’ve made Matty Healy come in his pants. Can you add that to your list of accomplishments? 
You roll to your back, trying to hide the self-satisfied grin. You rest your head against his shoulder. “You know, in second grade, they told us the white marks on our fingernails were signs we had committed mortal sins.” You don’t know why you say it. It bubbles out of you, beyond your usual tyrannical filter. 
Matty sighs, racking a hand through the sweaty locks. “Jesus Christ.” 
“Yes, it was he.” He snorts at that. 
His shoulder pushes your head up. “Well, let’s see them, then. How many sins have you got?” 
You flaunt your nails, raising your arms over your heads. Matty narrows his eyes, inspecting the handful of white marks dusting your fingertips. He takes one hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, bringing it down for a closer analysis. The flutter spreading through your stomach is different than usual. 
You watch his side profile, suddenly desperate to memorize all angles of him. He throws you a playful glance, teasing, “How many of those are about me?”
You scoff, ripping your hand away as he laughs. “You’re a child.”
“No, no. I’m truly impressed.” He grins. “You got more than me.” He shows off his hands in turn. Blunt nails, cut too short, roughened by guitar strings, but practically spotless.
“Well, maybe I’ll be the one corrupting you.” 
Matty rolls over you, pressing a kiss on your lips. “I’ll take it with open arms,” he whispers, then leaves another one, just a little longer, a bit more wistful. Against your mouth, he says, “Forsake me, angel.” 
You shake your head, nose wrinkling. “That’s an oxymoron.” 
Matty rolls his eyes, nearing your lips again. “Stop talking.”
You gasp, cheerfully crying, “The roles really have reversed!”
But he seemed to mean it when he said stop talking, because he doesn’t bother with an answer. His mouth finds yours, hand holding onto your jaw as he draws secrets out of your wanton lips. It’s slow, devoid of the frenzied rush you’ve spent the night in. It leaves you floating, dazing, thoughts incoherently blurring away. 
“I should go,” Matty declares, breaking away from you. Your heart pinches. 
“Yeah,” you nod along, more to convince yourself than him. “I should get some sleep or my mom will freak about eyebags.”
Matty laughs, then surprises you with a kiss on your forehead. Of all the places his mouth has been, this is where you feel him burning the most. “Goodnight, angel.” 
He rolls out of bed, catching his discarded shirt and pulling it back on, slipping into his sneakers next. You're sad to see him like this; put-together, balanced. Throwing the window open, he sneaks out, leaving you with only one last heated look. 
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you think once he’s gone and the room still smells like him. Your thighs are sticky with your drying juices and sport— you look down at them to make sure and, yes— a purple hickey with the shape of his lips. You're naked, ravaged, undone. And he's walking the streets right now with the taste of you still on his tongue.
Your eyes fall on the crucifix still towering over your bed. There’s really no going back, is there?
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