#dj flesh angel

[dj-flesh-angel]

:3

[aerinaga]

can you please write a fic about paige based on this post please please please 🤗

angel in heat.

paige bueckers x reader

warnings: smut (thigh riding, makeout sesh)

note: i wrote this during art class. i miss you guys, i’m sorry for being ia. been busy 🫶🏻

you were out with your girls for the day. paige had dropped you off at your friends house, telling you to text her if you needed to be picked up.

you had went out with your friends, bar hopping around the city. you and your friends danced on the dance floor, jammed to the songs played by the dj, drank til you dropped. it was nearly 1am, texting paige to pick you up.

while waiting for her, you saw a wlw couple near you. they were making out by the sides of the bar, no one minding them since the place was busy. you watched them and felt like you needed what they were doing. you felt like you were being teased.

forgetting your thoughts, you saw your girlfriends car stop in front of the club you were at. you immediately rushed to the car, getting in your “passenger princess” labeled seat.

“hey wifeyyy” you slur out in your drunken state.

she chuckles at you, finding how cute you are when you’re tipsy.

“hi baby, you ready to go home?”

you nod at her, not feeling the need to speak.

as the both of you were driving home, you felt her hand creep up on your thigh. your stomach churned at the feeling, the butterflies and sex thoughts were coming up to your system. your breath hitched from what she was doing, resisting yourself from moaning.

regardless, paige felt you stiffen up at what she did. and she knew it turned you on.

you entered your shared apartment with paige, immediately sitting yourself down on the sofa from exhaustion. paige approached you with a glass of water and medicine, to avoid you from getting a hangover the next morning.

while you were drinking water, paige asked you “oh that turned you on, didn’t it?”

you nearly choked on your water, putting the glass down on your table.

“which one?” you asked.

“when i had my hand up your thigh, baby.”

you slowly nodded at her. you looked like a mess, but to paige? you looked like a princess begging for something with doe eyes.

she sat down on the same couch as you, signaling you to sit on her lap.

“come here baby. take your underwear off before sitting on my lap, hm?”

you sat on her lap in your flowy dress, with no underwear on. you were aroused, almost dripping in fact, at the sight of her.

you wasted no time wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into a heated kiss. your drunken state made you even hornier, and the fact that your girlfriend had such a hot outfit on made it even worse.

her hands gripped at your waist, then to your hips, then putting her hands under your dress to squeeze the flesh on your ass. and boy, it felt so damn good.

you started to slowly grind on her thigh, the feeling of it being slippery from how wet you felt. paige slowly kissed down on your neck, sucking on it lightly. your hands clawed at her pink dyed hair, gripping it like it was a stress reliever.

you fastened your pace, paige was holding you down her thigh to make it even faster. she flexed her thigh for you to feel more friction, as she wanted you to feel pleasure.

at this point, you were a moaning mess. the basketball players hair was messy, your lipgloss was smudged around, your dress was hiked up to your waist. it was blissful.

“i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum.” you repeatedly tell her.

“cum for me baby, i wanna feel you.”

[controlmyfeet]

i still feel everything when you are near - matty healy

matty healy x ex!reader

angst

warnings: exes, alcohol consumption, insecurities, jealousy (kinda?), pining, kissing, crying (lmk if there’s more i need to add!)

a/n: not sure about this. i think the last time i tried to write fanfiction i was 13, so feedback is appreciated but pls be nice lol. also, english is not my first language!

3570 words

it still hurts. 

i didn't think it would hurt as much after 6 months, but seeing him in the flesh makes me realize it does. i thought i was already used to it, thought i was actually doing a good job moving on, if we ignore my slump in the first 3 weeks after the breakup, where i would just leave the house for work and groceries (that i would overbuy because i forgot i'd just cook for myself), i think i was doing pretty okay.

i should've guessed he would be in the city. he can't stay in one place for too long; if he has a few days free in between shows, he's going to look for a studio to work in. usually in london, los angeles, or here. most of the time, he ends up here.

but i never know where he is anymore.

i deleted twitter from my phone after 2 months. maybe because of the questions, perhaps because i didn't care, or maybe i was tired of reading all the tabloids and fearing they were true. maybe i care too much. whatever, right? it just means i haven't seen him in a while, even in pictures.

i'm sitting by the dark wooden bar counter when i first spot him. he's standing with charli and george in the vip section near the dj booth, surrounded by people as always. my friends noticed that he's here too, but they haven't said anything, which i'm grateful for. i'd rather pretend it doesn't affect me.

he looks different, though. his arms are bigger, and his hair is longer; soft curls fall over big brown eyes that crinkle whenever george says something funny. he still has that boyish smile.

lulu and bea went dancing and i said i'd join them in a minute. we go to this club every time we're in the city, but tonight it is more crowded than usual. my secluded spot at the bar being the only place i won't be pushed around. still, i feel bad. it's my best friend's birthday, and we came to new york together to celebrate, but instead, i'm drowning my sorrows with cosmos. 

"you won't even say hi now?" i hear matty's voice from behind me and turn around, startled. he stands tall and confident as always, but his eyes no longer hold the same energy. here, up close, i can see that his eyebags look more prominent, and his stubble has grown slightly. he looks tired. i don't think i look any better.

"hi," i say, looking into his brown orbs, phlegmatic, as if the butterflies in my stomach aren't going batshit crazy right now "i didn't see you, sorry."

he grins cheekily, "it's alright, darling."

i don't really know what to say. he should hate me, honestly. it wouldn't be surprising considering how we left things, with all the yelling, name calling. with all the broken picture frames. it started with another rumor while he was on tour, another leaked picture. he was so dismissive and vague about it that i just couldn't find it in myself to trust him, and he could only complain about how childish all of it was.

i guess he doesn't, though. they have free drinks inside the vip section. i remember it from when we came here together. he doesn't need to come all the way to the bar for a drink.

"it-it's good to see you," i stutter, apprehensive now. fearing that maybe he really does hate me, and just walked over to tell me how much so. i mean, i would hate him, too, if i could. but no matter how hard i try, i can't. and believe me, i've tried.

matty is standing so close that the loud music sounds muffled now, and the warm, dim light of the bar reflecting on his silky skin makes me want to melt into his arms. so i try to keep my eyes focused on my feet.

he seems to notice that i'm struggling as i fidget with my empty glass.

"can i get you another one?" he asks amicably. my eyes shift from my feet to the glass in my hands and back to his eyes.

"sure," i reply shyly.

he asks a bartender polishing wine glasses next to us for another cosmopolitan. behind the man, shelves from the same material as the counter hold a collection of glass bottles of different colors with labels sporting french and italian names. matty sits on the barstool beside mine. "so…what are you doing here in new york? i thought you hated the city this time of the year." 

and it's true, i hate new york during the summer. the concrete buildings seem to make the temperature much higher, and tourists crowd every corner. it feels claustrophobic. the subway also smells extra bad during these months. but i loved being here with him, no matter the season. i loved being anywhere with him.

"well, yeah. but it's lulu's birthday, and she wanted to celebrate it here, so here we are. the three of us." 

"bea is here too?"

"she is, yeah."

him talking about my friends is familiar. many sunday evenings were spent on his couch sharing a bottle of red with my newest candle burning on the side. at the same time, i'd tell him about the most recent gossip in my friend group, and he would listen.

the barman places the new drink before me and takes the empty glass. i thank him and take a sip of the pink liquid. it's sweet and sour, and the vodka calms my nerves a little bit. he's staring at my lips. so i lick them clean.

he shifts, and suddenly, i feel his calloused fingertips brush against my elbow resting comfortably over the counter. much more tender than last time; my skin burns where he touches it.

"how's your writing going?" he asks, looking into my eyes now.

i tell him i'm still at the magazine, it's going alright. not a lot has changed since we broke up. but it's less exciting, more monotonous. i leave that part out. and he asks me about my own stuff, poems and essays hidden in my drafts.

it's just awkward small talk. so awkward. like we're just acquaintances. friends of friends being left alone, being civil to each other.

it's also a conversation we've had before. documents on my computer that weren't fitting enough for the editors or that i just wrote on a whim. he used to tell me to publish them either way, to leave the magazine and find people who actually appreciate my work, or to start my own thing. but it would be useless; they're not good enough.

"well, i don't know, it's been a while since i've written anything out of work." i take another sip, just to calm down a little. "haven't felt very inspired lately." 

oh my god, shut up– i can't say this to my ex. it's embarrassing, pitiful.

"it happens." he takes my hand and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. i still shiver "you're really talented, love. you should be proud of yourself. i am."

even his praise hurts now; i miss hearing it daily. it's a stab in my chest, salt on the wound. so i just bite my lip and nod. afraid that if i say something, a choked sob will come out. 

there's longing in his eyes, and he gets a look like he wants to say more. but his gaze flickers behind me for a moment, and he drops my hand and gives my left shoulder a squeeze, showing me a soft smile. 

"i'll leave you be, then. it was nice seeing you, love."

there's a voice in the back of my head begging me to make him stay, but i know i can't do that, not when i recall why it ended the way it did. still, i want to reach for his hand and pull him back to me, just for a few minutes at least. but someone grips my shoulders.

"there you are!" lulu says excitedly, already a few drinks ahead of me. her dark blonde hair messy and her skin glimmering with sweat from all the dancing. bea follows right behind her. "c'mon, let's do some shots, you need to power up for all the dancing you owe me."

"alright." i force a giggle and down my drink as bea asks the bartender for three tequila shots.

a few minutes and many shots later, the three of us are on the dance floor, swaying wildly to the loud, thumping bass of whatever music the dj's playing. just being around my girls makes me feel less anxious, and the flashing lights, plus all the alcohol already flowing through my body are making my mind a bit hazy, which helps me let loose a little. 

as i move, i can feel the beat of the music inside my chest, sweaty bodies pushing against me without a care. i even forget about matty for a minute. i don't think about how his hands used to feel on me when we danced together, not at all.

we dance for maybe 30 minutes. until lulu finds one of her many ex-flings, and, as they catch up, bea asks me to go to the bathroom with her. taking my hand, she leads me out of the crowded area and towards the door labeled "ladies' room". 

the contrast from the mostly dark club to the bathroom's white walls makes my eyes squint. it's colder in here, quieter. i can hear the stifled bass from the music and high heels clicking against the floor tiles.

as i wait for bea, i brace myself on the sink in front of me and look into the mirror. everything is happening too fast. talking to matty, downing shots, and being dragged to the dance floor immediately. my head is pounding. i didn't have the time to process what is going on tonight. 

my ears are ringing, and it feels like all the alcohol has suddenly lost all its effect. instantly sobering up, i grab a paper towel and dab it on my arms and face to try to get rid of the sweat. turning on the sink, i wet my hands and place them on the back of my neck to cool down and try to help with the dizziness. i hear the toilet flush, and bea comes out of the cubicle, running her hands through her wavy black hair. i reach into my purse and pull out my lipgloss, coating my lips evenly while looking at myself in the mirror.

"i'm going to the back for a bit," i tell bea as she approaches the sink next to me.

"you okay? do you need water?" she asks, concerned

"yea- yes, i just need to breathe a little."

"okay, text me if you need anything." i just nod and leave the bathroom. she knows me, knows i need to be alone.

pushing through crowded bodies, i head to the club's back door, leading to a narrow alleyway where the employees usually store extra liquor bottles. it also doubles as a smoking area, so i shouldn't be surprised when i see him as soon as i open the door. tattooed arms flexing as he lights a cigarette, probably not his first one of the night, and i turn back to try to leave before he sees me.

"leaving so soon?" i turn around again and already feel my cheeks heating up. embarrassed, like a kid caught eating dessert before dinner. "you can stay."

"it's okay, i'll go somewhere else," i wave him off mindlessly. he came here to enjoy his cig on his own, right? he doesn't need his ex-girlfriend plaguing his chill alone time "i don't want to bother you, i just need some air."

"please stay." it's not the first time he says this, but this time i do. 

with pink-tinged cheeks and heels clicking loudly, i slowly walk down the three small steps in front of the door and move to stand across him with my back resting against the club's brick wall. the warm summer air hits my skin, and i can hear the rustle of the traffic. "you could never bother me." i pretend i didn't hear him.

"i thought you were quitting," i motion to the burning cigarette between his fingers. the moonlight illuminated the alleyway, making the smoke around him look like some kind of silver aura. he smiles at me.

"i'm trying," he says, taking a drag and blowing it out by the side of his mouth, and i laugh.

"it sure looks like it," i reply, still smiling. i'm not as nervous as i expected i would be in this situation; maybe the alcohol hasn't worn off as much as i thought.

he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "well, you know me".

my eyes follow his every movement, long, calloused fingers holding the rolled paper limply and bringing it up to his red, pouty lips. i start to fidget with the end of my skirt, trying to distract myself by looking at how my fingers twist the fabric. busying myself, so i don't remember how those same lips used to feel against my own or on the curve between my neck and shoulder. 

i look up again when i hear matty step on his cigarette– putting it out– and he starts to walk in my direction. my breath hitches. we are face to face now, noses almost touching. closer than we were at the bar. i can see every freckle on his face when he's this close. i can see the chapped corner of his mouth and the grey that's starting to show up on his now tousled hair.

"why did you leave?" he's straight to the point. his voice comes out low, almost a whisper. at our position, there's no need to be louder than that. there's no hatred in his tone; still, he's not smiling. a flash of hurt appears on his face for a moment. "didn't i make you happy?"

"of course you did, matty." i build the courage to look into his eyes, honey pouring out of them. "we've already talked about this."

he lifts his right hand to rest it on the wall beside my head while letting out a scoff. "but i don't get it," his tone is a little bit louder now. he's not aggressive, but he's not whispering anymore. "what happened?"

"it was for the best." i've stopped whispering too. i place my hands on my forehead. as if to avert the impending headache that will follow this conversation. i don't really know what happened either or when it started happening. i feel sweat droplets running down my hairline, not sure if it's from the summer heat, our closeness, or my disquietude. 

"for the best of who?" he questions, lifting an eyebrow, "i don't feel any better!"

"we were fighting all the time, you know this!" there's a lump in my throat, and i can already feel the pressure between my eyes, working hard so the tears don't fall. i lower my voice again. "it was only a matter of time until one of us left, i just left first."

his gaze softens– probably after seeing my flooding waterline– and it's a while before he talks again, as if he's gathering his thoughts. thinking before he speaks for once, "i could never leave you" it's a low, gravely whisper, and i probably wouldn't have heard it if we weren't this close. "i wish you'd stayed." 

it's a blow to my chest. like a gunshot, blood running down my ribcage. and for a second, i don't think i can breathe.

"i wish you'd done a lot of things, matty." my vision is blurry now, and i feel a single tear roll down my right cheek. i wish he would answer my calls when he stayed late at the studio. i wish he would listen to me when i said i felt neglected. i wish he would give me more security when i felt jealous of the girls partying with him and the boys while i was on the other side of the pond. i wish i stayed. when i can't sleep because i suddenly realize that my bed is too cold, too empty. when i wake up, and there are no kisses on my bare shoulder. when i have to climb over my kitchen counter to reach the can of pasta sauce on the top shelf. when i'm so anxious, and there's no one to hold me… "sometimes i wish i stayed too." 

slowly, his hands cup my jaw. long fingers run lightly across my skin and wipe the lonely tear on my face. the hairs on my neck straighten up, and my heart stirs, beating a little faster. he carefully traces his right thumb over my lower lip, giving me time to reject and push him away. and then, his soft lips lock on mine. no warning. i feel his stubble rub against my chin and let out a sigh. there's a flutter on my lower stomach, burning. i should have pushed him away. instead, my fingers trail up his neck, nails brushing against his skin, and finally into his hair as he coaxes his hot tongue into my mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, of course. i can also taste the rum and lime from the mojito he had earlier. one of his hands travels down and he pulls me by the waist, bodies touching fully now. matty groans into my liquored mouth and i preen; it's good to know i still have that effect on him. that i can still make him let out those pretty sounds with just a kiss. it might be selfish, but we both are. because i bet he's proud too, that every touch of his still sends shivers down my spine. i pull out for air first, lungs already starting to burn. my fingers are still buried in his curls as he rests his forehead on mine, both breathing heavily.

"i need you, love," he whispers against my kiss-swollen lips, voice cracking. there's a smudge of lipgloss on the side of his mouth. it was no use reapplying it.

"matty, i can't," my voice comes out weak, just like how i feel.

"why not? you got somebody?" matty frowns, starting to sound a bit agitated.

i shake my head lightly "i don't."

"what is it?"  

"i already told you" it's my turn to cup his face now, scuff prickling against my palms. "we already had this fight before, you get annoyed because i can't trust you, and i start yelling because you don't take me seriously!"

"of course i take you seriously!" he defends, already becoming increasingly exasperated. i just shake my head; there's no use going through this all over again. it hurt enough the first time. however, i still close my eyes, knowing that if i keep looking at him, the chances of me believing him are higher.

"i'm not built for this, matty," for being away from him, for time zones and phone calls, for pretty girls throwing themselves all over him "i'm not strong enough."

"look at me, baby." his hands moved from my waist up to cup my face again, thumb brushing lightly over my cheekbones. "please," i open my eyes.

"do you love me?" he asks. i realize his eyes are glossed over now "because i love you. so fucking much."

it will be easier if i say no, break his heart all at once. give him a reason to give up. it takes me a while, but i nod.

"yeah?" there's a glimmer of hope on his wet iris.

"i do, but-"

"then we'll figure it out" it's not that simple; just figuring it out is not enough. we hurt each other.

"we'll just end up in the same place, matty," i explain firmly. at this point, tears stream both of our faces. his chest heaves, and i try to contain another sob. he turns his face slightly to press his lips to my palm, just for a second. 

"stay with me, please." our noses touch, and i can no longer distinguish his tears from mine. "i'll do better, i swear."

"it's not going to work."

"just for tonight at least, please," it comes out ragged, and he grazes his lips on mine, leaving a gentle but salty peck. "just for a little bit."

this shouldn't be happening. it's a mess, all of it. no matter how hard or how many times we try, even if we start all over again, we'll just end up in the same place. i know how i am and how he is. our love is tainted, a ticking bomb. so no matter how much i love him, how much i want him, i know we'll just go back to those screaming matches and broken pictures.

but if we keep doing this again and again, maybe then we won't have to say goodbye. at least i won't have to spend an entire lifetime missing him. so maybe just one night won't hurt, right? i've done it a million times. staying for just a little bit won't hurt…i think.

okay, just for a little bit.

[lottiecrabie]

to dust and bones. part one – matty healy

they cross paths at a bar. he’s out for blood, and hers beat tantazingly beneath her flesh. (or the worst people you know are in the worst situationship in existence)

warnings: 18+, power games, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, choking, dom!matty, bratting, general toxicity, mentions of drug use, oc

part one of two

6521 words

Alana shoots back the bitter tequila, licking hot sauce off her sweaty hands. Her face scrunches in pain, head shaking. Her sinuses clear; her thoughts leak out of her head. There’s ear-splitting music ringing around her— some god awful EDM shit she’s drunk enough to dance to. 

Crowded bodies push against her. She sways to the beat, hips rolling to some seductive rhythm drumming in the deepest parts of her heart. Her skin-tight black dress rises up her legs, revealing inches of tantalizing skin. 

Alana feels rugged hands graze the outside of her thighs. She smirks to herself, leaning back against the hard wall of body behind her. Fingers climb up instinctively to her waist, spreading across her stomach, tugging her into him until they’re flushed together, indistinguishable from the other. 

Black curls tickle at her cheek. He’s familiar against her; the muscles and dips of him unfortunately memorized in a corner of her brain she hasn’t managed to blitz out even with all the coke. 

Matty Healy. Dark angel leaning over her, nosing her perfumed neck. 

“Buy a girl a drink first,” Alana whispers. Thankfully he’s close— too close to breathe properly, to make sense of her scattered thoughts— and he manages to hear over the DJ’s techno beats. 

“Why would I?” Matty bites back, breath blowing against her ear. Alana forces down a shiver. “I can have her without.” 

She whips to face him, a furious dash between her eyebrows. Rage climbs up her spine, taking over her head, and it’s only the second most familiar emotion she feels with Matty Healy. What an insufferable asshole, looking at her all smug when he sees the anger spreading through her veins. 

Cheeks red, head swimming with the alcohol and the drugs and the deafening music, Alana tries to come up with some scathing reply. She wants to leave him burning, skin red and raw where she lashed at him. Wants to dig her nails into him, tear his beating heart from two fragile ribs. 

“Fuck you,” is what she manages, of course, because the world is a blurry daze around her, and her brain is working slower than her tongue. 

Matty smiles saccharine sweet at her. It feels awfully condescending on the cutting traits of his face. “But you have, princess.” 

“You’re—” He cocks his head, encouraging her with gleeful eyes. Alana breathes through her nose. “—not worth my time. Go do your horny act somewhere else.” 

She flips on her heels, marching determinedly to the crowded bar. Matty is hot on her trails, of course, leaning into her to tease, “Horny act? I barely even touched you.” 

“The most you will.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Alana pushes her way through the swarming crowd, digging her elbows in unfortunate places to get an in. People turn to her with a snarling face, but most seem to back down at the sight of her. Perhaps they recognize her, with flushed cheeks and cleavage dipping low. Perhaps they recognize the man towering behind her, following her godly parting of the sea of bodies like the privileged kid he’s always been. 

She finally manages to get to the bar, hands slamming the counter victoriously. A pretty bartender bounces to her, upping her chin in question. “What can I get you?” 

Alana opens her mouth. Instead, Matty cuts in, “Dirty vodka martini for her and a gin tonic for me.” The bartender nods, getting to work. 

Alana’s head flips to him, daggering him with a murderous glare. “I can order for myself.” 

Matty scoffs. “You practically begged me to buy you a drink.” 

She stumbles over the words in sheer offense, shrill as she gasps, “Begged— Oh, you fucking asshole.” 

Two drinks slam over the counter. “Put it on my tab,” Matty says, kidnapping her martini and making his way out of the crowd. Alana follows him bitterly, already planning to rack up his bill now that he’s so stupidly offered it to her. She’ll buy rounds for the whole club just to ruin him. 

He leads them to the VIP lounge, nodding at the bouncer as he moves to let them in. What a douchey move, she thinks, climbing up the staggering stairs, holding the skirt of her rising dress. 

The lounge is drenched in red light. Black leather couches and satin cushions scatter the place. Gray cigar smoke lingers above their heads. Some softer RnB plays, and Alana’s ears find momentary relief. She bites her lip to contain a pleased moan. 

Two dancers, impossibly tall and svelte in white lingerie dresses, move against two poles on a small stage. They’re languid and confident, swaying to a temperature rising rhythm, effortlessly seductive. 

Matty sits in front of the dancers, legs spreading as he makes himself too comfortable. He rests the two drinks on a black table in front of him, looking up at the girls with a cheeky, provocative grin. 

Inexplicable fire twists up in her guts. Alana drops beside Matty, practically sticking to his side, one leg crossing over the other to faintly kick his shin, which he takes in chuckling stride.

Her arm reaches over him to grab her martini. She places it between her lips, glass knocking her teeth gracelessly. He considers her, eyes following the land of skin she's uncovered through her new pose. 

“Aren’t you gonna say thank you?” He teases as she finishes a new mouthful of her cocktail. 

Alana offers him a deadpan look. “No.” 

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his gin tonic, leaning an arm over the back of the couch. “Brat,” he shakes his head. 

The lightning is low, casting red shadows over his face, but she can still see his dark gaze, hungry for flesh and those pathetic whines she can never hold back when he’s knuckles deep inside of her, penetrating through her skin. She draws a finger around the rim of the glass. 

She hates it most when Matty gets that way, intense and greedy and so fucking clear. His stare is predatory, watching her every little move to pounce on. The game feels instantly more dangerous. Anxiety spikes; some fight or flight response she never chooses right. 

Matty downs half of his drink, conspicuous Adam’s apple bobbing. She watches it religiously, remembering the purple stains she scattered around it just a few days ago. 

“Don’t drink so fast. We just got here,” she says warningly. She knows why he’s speeding this up. 

Matty lowers his glass just enough to offer a burning stare, hotter than she can handle in this stuffy room. 

I’m gonna fuck you is written bright and clear in his eyes. 

He finishes his gin tonic in another long sip, licking the last drop from his red lips. Heat spreads through her abdomen, clenching it guiltily. She flexes her hands around the stem. 

Slamming the glass back on the table, Matty adventures two fingers over her naked leg. It tickles, raising the hair of her skin as she shivers openly. His palm swallows the meat of her thigh, the tempting skin she so freely offered him. His hand is cold, glacial against the fire licking up her limbs. 

“Drink up,” Matty whispers, a devilish smile catching his cheek. She shakes her head, words completely lost to her. 

“I’m not thirsty.” Alana’s heart smashes against her ribs. Uncontrollable thing, careless thing. It always throws her into the worst situations, leaving her sober head to clean up its mess.

“No?” Matty pouts, climbing his hand to the hem of her dress. “You look a little flushed.” 

“It’s the light.” She stares up at the red fluorescents to prove her point, like he couldn’t see the mood lighting reigning over the room. 

“I think you’re scared,” Matty says. He’s never been one to stretch his words, coat them in syrup to swallow easier. 

She racks her throat. “Why would I be scared?” Although she promised herself not to give him an inch more, Alana gulps some of her martini to shake off the nerves (not fear, just some pesky anxiety from the lingering drugs). Matty smiles at the action triumphantly. 

“Because you left me naked and tied up to my bed last time.” He leans into her, whispering playfully into her cheek. “Because you didn’t let me come, and now you’re afraid of what I’ll do to you.” 

More backless bravado than sense, she grins cheekily. “It was funny. It’s not my fault you can’t take a little joke.” 

Fingers dipping under her dress. Alana bites her lip, hiding the breathy moan that wishes to slip her lips. It’s useless; he sees right through. “Oh, I’ll make you laugh.” He bites at her jaw, not enough to sting, but enough to know he’s serious. She scrunches her nose, tilting her head into him. 

Matty leans away, grabbing the martini from her hand. He places it between her lips. Instinctively, Alana opens them, and he tips the glass into her mouth. “Good girl,” he teases as she drinks. Her eyes snap to his dangerously, some unmasked threat that she’d spit it in his face if it wouldn’t ruin some really good vodka. “So feisty,” Matty tsks, amused. 

He takes the glass away. She licks at the rim, catching some droplets as it falls down the cone. Matty swirls the leftover martini, staring down shamelessly at her wet lips. 

“I could fuck anyone here,” he whispers. Clarity strikes through the flames, shaking away some of that daze. She frowns at him, taking a self-conscious peek at the pair of girls still twirling around their pole. Of course, Matty catches her moment of weakness, grasping it greedily as she scowls. “Yes, especially them. Have them bent over the other for me, cunts opened for my cock. Couldn’t you just see them, screaming in my sheets, rutting against each other?” 

“You overestimate your skills,” Alana bites, though it’s mostly from anger at the unwelcomed images he’s forced inside her brain. “You couldn’t handle them.” 

He arches an eyebrow. “Like I can’t handle you?”

She purses your lips, face crisping. She wishes it was true. That he didn’t have enough hands and tongue and cock to work with all of her, with the mess of hair she throws back carelessly as she rides him, with the nails digging into his back mercilessly, with the hips he grasps between heavy hands as he bruises her skin. That the rage and the hatred and the head-twirling passion she throws at him wouldn’t be caught, wouldn’t be swallowed to spit back tenfold. That he wouldn’t know what to do with all of her. 

But he does. Goddamit, he does like no one else ever has. 

Alana refuses to dignify him with an answer. Still, Matty doesn’t need one, dipping the leftover martini in her mouth. His breath is hot against her ear, sticking on her sweaty skin. 

“I could fuck anyone here,” he repeats, probably to martel home some complex she’s not interested in diving into. “But I want you.” 

She’d bite back something cheeky and snobbish, something near of course you do or who doesn’t or some other grand words to deflect. Right now, she’s too busy obediently swallowing what he’s giving her, but she’s sure he reads them anyway in the burn of her stare. 

As if to plead the last of his case, he raises his cold hand to the final stretch, meeting the black lace of her panties. Alana moans, alcohol dripping down her chin from the startled jump, something else dripping where his fingers meet the apex of her thighs. 

“Let me fuck you,” Matty breathes, biting her jaw, this time to sting, to tear apart. 

Finished with her drink, he slams the glass beside his, turning back to her quickly, afraid to miss even the smallest of shivers. “Begging already?” Alana pants, out of breath. 

His free thumb wipes the alcohol off her chin, bringing it back to her lips, forcing them open. She sucks his finger into her mouth. He presses against her tongue, heavy and undeniable. Drool sticks to it as she releases it, red lipstick staining the knuckle. 

His other hand, much more occupied, teases a delicious rhythm over her wet panties. She leans further into the cushions, manually stopping herself from dropping her legs open for this whole lounge to see. 

“Don’t give me ideas,” Matty warns. “You know how I enjoy you begging. All those pretty sounds you make, whiney and pathetic.”

His spitful hand racks through the sweaty mess of her hair, tugging at the roots. Her head bends, throat barred. He grunts at the sight.

Matty can’t stop himself any longer. He crashes his lips to hers, licking into her open mouth. It’s a messy thing, more teeth and spit than anything romantic, hands still buried in her hair. He tugs it harshly, swallowing the pitiful moans she releases. 

Alana clings to his shoulders, afraid she’d drown in the satin if it wasn’t for his buoyant body slithering around her. She curses his jacket, bulletproof vest to the claw marks she’d litter on his skin. Black nail polish tainted red by the end of the night— but he’s safe for now. 

Matty bites her lower lip, dragging it from her. She shudders in his arms, head swooping ecstasy climbing up her thoughtless brain. It must be the martini downed too fast. (It’s him. It’s always him.)

His hand releases her hair, finding the slope of her neck instead, digging into the skin. His thumb presses meanly at her jaw. Alana wonders if it’ll bruise. 

He pushes her further into the sofa, practically swallowing her whole under his lanky limbs. She can’t make sense of the edges of him. He’s everywhere, invading her flesh, slipping under her very skin, to the beating parts of her she wishes to banish him from. Hot pleasure drips down her veins. 

Matty licks into her lazily. He tastes like gin, which he knows she hates. He does it on purpose, buying drinks she’d never put to her lips just to spit it in her mouth. Alana can’t stand the taste of it. She doesn’t know why she craves the taste of him, faintly smokey from some expensive cigarette. 

He thumbs at her clit vaguely, more as a smothered promise of what he could do than any real attempt at skill. Still, it’s enough to make dangerous fire course through her veins. She clenches around nothing, groaning. 

“Are you gonna fuck me in front of everyone?” Alana rasps, biting and mean like he’s not playing her like his favorite puppet. 

Matty hums indulgently. He presses his index into her clothed entrance, wet and sticky for him. “Do you want me to? Let them know how good you are for me even with all that talk? All those sounds you make just for me?” He nips at her jaw, climbing up to her ear. “We can give them a show.” 

Alana’s heart slams against her ribs, begging to be let out and fall to his booted feet. She breathes heavily, head falling as he continues some slow circle on her clit, never enough to wipe from her head the outrageous knowledge that it’s Matty Healy blowing the flames. 

“Bathroom,” Alana gasps, eyes scrunched close. 

Matty laughs lowly, shaking his head in the side of her neck. “Coward.” 

Still, he sits up, dragging her body with his. Her brain knocks against her skull as she comes back, taking a deep breath of air. Reality feels very far away from the tip of her fingers. She’s drowning in him, in the smell of his cologne and that awful taste of gin clinging to his lips. 

The walk to the bathroom feels like a dreamscape maze, more colorful mood lightning and stepping over leather shoes than any tangible thing. 

The room is dark and clinical. The floor is black marble, sleek and easy to step on, heels clicking as she adventures further into the bathroom. The light is low. Alana has to squint to make sense of Matty locking the door behind them. He turns back to her, lion stride as he loosens his tie. 

He’s gonna eat her alive. 

Matty crowds her space, pushing her against the sink’s countertop as he noses her cheek. Alana’s thighs hit the cold marble, shivering at the contrasting temperature. The tip of his fingers find her skin again, climbing up the goosebumps, driving under the hem. 

Alana’s own hands bury in the mess of hair at the nape of his neck. Black nails dig into the unruly locks, tugging vaguely. She breathes with him, the only surrounding melody in this musicless room. What a strange feeling to be so thoroughly abandoned by distractions. 

Tired of wasting time, Matty grabs her thighs, throwing her carelessly on the marble countertop. Her legs spread wide, welcoming him in the middle of her, black heels kicking beside his knees. Hands rise to her waist, trailing greedily over her skintight dress. “Fuck, you’re hot.” 

Alana grins. Compliments are always the worst moves, climbing up to her head and loosening whatever miraculous hold he had on it. She leans away against the gray tiles of the wall, cheeky and devilish, fingers slipping from his mane to the muscles of his shoulders. “Say that again.” 

Matty tries to dip for a kiss instead, but she dodges easily, turning her head into her shoulder. He groans at her childish antics, digging his nails into her ribs. “You’re fucking annoying.” 

“‘S not what I asked.” 

Matty buries his face in her offered neck, leaving wet kisses as he scales up her jaw, up her cheeks. Alana giggles, wrinkling her nose, shifting in her seat. “You’re beautiful,” Matty finally whispers in her ear, gently biting the lobe. She hums, nodding at him. Roughly, he warns, “And if you keep playing these games, I’ll leave your ass so red you won’t be able to sit for days.” 

The threat should make a spike of anxiety hit her. Instead, languid fire pools at her stomach. She moans, closing her eyes, pushing her hips further into his. The angle is a little awkward, just slightly too high to really get anything working. She manages to roll her pleading hips on his belt buckle. 

“Greedy thing,” Matty tsks. “So fucking impatient.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re all talk.” 

Matty scoffs. “You’ve got a death wish.”

Alana flutters her eyelashes at him, pouting. “I thought you could handle me.” 

He groans, hands burrowing back into her skirt. Calloused fingers grab at her hips, digging into the black lace of her panties. He drags it out slowly, smirking down at her as Alana scoops herself up to help him. A brief ceasefire, just because he knows all the parts of her to press into. 

She giggles in his open mouth, finding him again, embarrassingly giddy. Thrill beats in her veins, cunt throbbing for him, for the good part of this relentless chess match. He kisses her indulgently, shitty grin undeniable against her lips. Alana doesn’t even have it in her to care. 

In the corner of her eyes, she sees Matty shove the lacy thing in his pocket. She releases his lips like he’s burned her, scowling petulantly. “You have to give those back. I’m running out of underwear.” Every time they fall back into this poisonous push and pull, Alana loses a pair of her favorite lingerie, forgotten in the endless pockets and sheets of Matty Healy. She’d consider going commando just to spite him if he wouldn’t like it so much, love knowing he’s gotten under her skin, made her change some known habit. 

Of course, Matty shakes his head with a teasing grin. “No.” 

“At least buy me new ones.”

He cocks his head, considering her. “Are you gonna try them on for me?”

Alana rolls her eyes, just a little bit turned on at the idea of it. “You’re such a boy.” 

Cockily, he racks her to the edge of the countertop, finally pressing her against his hard cock. Alana gasps at the sinful feel, eyes rolling back for completely different reasons. He grinds into her, the rough material of his trousers rolling against the most sensitive part of her. A traitorous whine leaves her lips; she bites it shut just a little too late. 

Matty whispers smugly, “I’m a man.”

What a fucking douchebag. Alana can’t handle this back and forth he coaxes out of her, always swaying between burning anger and choking desire like the world’s most on-beat metronome. 

She gracefully lets him have this one. Doesn’t even come up with a jab or a glare in bitter answer. Of course, that might be because he’s sailing up her thighs, thumb pressing into her clit as jaw-dropping relief climbs up her spine. Her head falls against the backsplash, lips parted, rolling her hips against his fingers as he circles lazily at her. 

He’s fucking perfect. She wants to cut his fingers clean off, curse them for ever making her feel this way. Peeking her eyes open, Alana swears he knows this, gathering a pool of her arousal to smear it over her bundle of nerves. She gasps in the quiet air, uselessly kicking her feet. 

“You’re so wet for me,” Matty says in wonder, eyes locked to the way she grinds for him, dripping on the black marble. 

“First time making a girl wet?” Alana tries to brat, but it comes out weak between two moans. 

He smirks condescendingly at her, tracing her swollen lips with the tip of his free hand, coating her chin with tacky lipgloss. “We both know the answer to that.” 

Without warning, he thrusts two fingers into her. It’s embarrassing how quickly her cunt welcomes him home, insides rearranging to make room for him dutifully. Her face scrunches, crying against his jaw. 

“Fuck, Matty.” 

“Yeah?” He arches an eyebrow, curling his hand to draw a feverish wave of ecstasy out of her. 

She grips his shoulders, pushing the jacket off of them, trying to sink her claws into anything. He’s relentless between her legs, thrusting and circling and working magic. Pressure builds inside her abdomen. She's mewling in his neck, panting in his ear. 

Matty stares down at her in hunger. He’s got her right where he wants her, Alana knows this. But why does he keep watching her like he’s about to rip into her throat? Smug and dangerous and voracious? 

An inexplicable strike of nerves hit her. His fingers dip into her faster, swiping at her clit. The cold sink and his warm body and the feel of his rough fingers inside of her are too much. Pathetic moans spill from her lips, overflowing out of her. She wrinkles her face closed, then forces it open again. Just to keep an eye on him, on his flexed arm as he wrecks her from the inside. Bliss threatens the edges of her. She tastes it on her tongue 

Alana cries, “Are you gonna make me come?” It’s pathetic to ask. She’d demand it in normal circumstances, holding onto his arm, a ruinous hand over his own guiding him into her sopping cunt. 

But— She left him hard and sticky last time, screaming after her as she touched up her lipstick. And now he’s looking down at her like he’s got her exactly where he wants, brain melting out of her ears, begging for him.

He leans into her with a trickster smile, licking his teeth. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Never.”

He pumps harder inside of her, adding a third finger. The world blurs around Alana. She screams, digging her nails under his white shirt. Right—

Matty thrusts out of her as quickly as he entered. A guttural cry rips from her throat, head banging on the wall from the stolen orgasm. Soaked fingers fall limply on her thigh, drying the slick on her skin. He grins, smacking her cheek with a sweet kiss. 

“You fucking asshole,” Alana bites, out of breath, fury swirling around her dazed head. 

“What?” He finds her lips next, catching them with a biting kiss. “Were you close?” 

“I’ll kill you.” 

“I’d like to watch you try.” 

Matty pushes the cups of her dress down, revealing her tits, flushed and peaked for him. He twirls two fingers around her nipple, greedily watching as another wave of pleasure hits her, as the uncontrollable rage smothers for ecstasy. 

Alana is half-pissed to lose that sharp sense of anger, something to strike through the blur of him, to hold onto. Pissed that he can melt away all her hatred, make her putty in his expert hands. 

He dives for her breasts, biting and licking and sucking on them like a starved man. Muted pain stretches over her chest. Alana racks a hand through his sweaty curls, gasping. 

“Are you gonna ask nicely?” Matty whispers, starting that torturously cycle on her clit again. “I like when you ask all sweet and desperate.” Alana shakes her head, sloppily kissing at his jaw as he teases a finger over her entrance again. “Come on,” he chuckles lowly. “Beg for it.” 

“Screw you,” Alana bites, legs spreading wider for him in complete contradiction. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to.” 

Matty dips a finger inside of her, pumping slowly, unbothered by her rushing him. Her hands are everywhere on him— the mane of his black hair, the cut of his jaw, the buttons of his shirt, undone by her sloppy hands, the muscle of his working arm, the belt at his hips. Pressing and clawing and tugging at him, pleading with a silent hand to work faster. 

He’s uninterested in listening, especially when her mouth still refuses to grant him the sweet nothings she always moans for him. His pace is steady and consistent, entirely not enough. She smacks the counter uselessly. 

“You’re the worst,” Alana whines, head flopping around her neck. Tension builds meticulously slow inside of her. She throbs around his finger, wishing for more, but he continues to deny her.  

“I just want you to be good for me,” Matty breathes, holding her head up with a heavy hand. 

“Just fuck me, Matty.” 

Trying to speed it along, Alana pounces on his belt buckle, frantically trying to undo it with trembling fingers. It’s a messy affair; he pries them away easily. His jaw clenches, clearly unhappy with her. He exhales through his nose. The air grows electric. Alana’s pussy shamefully clenches around him.

Matty is a fucking sight. She desperately wishes it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t perfectly sculpted to fit around her stained palms. A fallen angel crashed to Earth just to lick the vodka and red off her lips. 

“Can’t you ever listen?” His hand moves again, slithering around the front of her throat. He presses meanly at the sides, blood rushing away from her head. Alana’s lips part, but only quiet spills from them. “That’s all that ever shuts you up, isn’t it?” 

Alana laughs gleefully at his anger, managing a choked, “Not even,” just to spite him. He digs into her arteries, surely leaving a constellation of bruises for her to cover up. 

“Fine, princess,” Matty grunts. “We’ll do it your way.” 

In a second, he’s got three fingers back inside of her, fast and hard, curling just right. It’s miraculous how he manages to be everywhere inside and outside of her, how he drowns her in the feel of him. 

Her head disconnects from her neck. She gasps for air, purring in their shared breaths. Euphoria coils around her belly, hot and sticky and so, so close. Sweet oblivion. She barely remembers their names, barely remembers what—

“Fucking hell, Matty,” Alana screams, slapping his shoulder with no force, missing his gone fingers. “Just— Just let me come.” 

“Brats don’t deserve orgasms. I thought you learned your lesson.” 

Matty takes a clinical step away from her. Breathing harshly, she tries to reattach herself to the firm reality that exists around her and not this dreamed-up land the cliff of a shattering climax brings her to. 

He’s so proper, still dressed while her dress bunches useless around her waist. So put together as she drools and drips and pants for him, unhinged and unmade. How fucking embarrassing. 

She’d lash at him in retaliation, bring him down to her dirty level, make him feel crass inside. She has the urge to on the tip of her tongue, feels the burn all the way to her throat. 

But what would Matty give her in return? Not what she wants. Not what she craves. 

God, Alana hates when she has to fucking listen. 

“Matty,” she sings, finding the lapels of his shirt and tugging him back into her. She flutters her eyelashes innocently at him, licking her lips. “I’m sorry.” He snorts at her. It’s another bruise to heal tomorrow. “Please, I mean it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She grabs his cheek with one hand, kissing the other one religiously. “Fuck me. Please, please, Matty, fuck me. I need you.” 

With her free hand, she coaxes him back between her legs, spreading his long fingers over her sopping hole. “It’s all for you. It’s always just for you.” She licks his jaw, biting his earlobe. “You’re the only one who can make me feel this way.” 

Alana presses his fingers into her entrance. They enter her together, a delicious stretch that has her sighing in relief. It’s crowded and nasty and, oh, my fucking god, she’s fingering herself with fucking Matty Healy. 

He seems to be thinking the same whirlwind of thoughts, locked gaze on the spectacle of them between her thighs, working together for perhaps the first time ever. 

Alana puppeteers him, pumping their joined fingers together. She’s quick to drive herself to the edge, already so restless and aware and turned on, constantly teetering the cliff he refuses to give her. She knows her best spots anyway, knows how to get herself off quick and easy. 

“Are you gonna come for me?” Matty asks, still reveling in the sight of them. Alana nods eagerly. “Are you sure?” 

He rips their fingers out of her again. Alana smothers a sob, pain tingling the tips of her. She wants it so badly. 

Matty sucks her wet fingers clean, twirling his tongue around her metal ring. “Come on, Alana. Don’t you trust me?” She shakes her head childishly.

She thinks she might go insane. How fitting, completely going off her rockers because of Matty fucking Healy. Her entire body is in a frenzy, feverish and electrified, buzzing with stolen orgasms. He could blow on a bitten nipple and she’s half convinced she’d come on the spot. 

But he’s not going to, is he? Alana pouts pitifully to herself, cursing the chess games she plays and then has to suffer from. She knows she put herself in this situation, pushed him too far and now has to watch as he whips back tenfold like a tense elastic. 

All she can do is follow along, pleading and praying and begging for a release he’s just not giving her. 

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” Matty coos. 

“Please. Please, I can’t—” Alana shakes her head. “I’m so close. Please, let me come.” 

He racks two hands through the tangled mess of her hair. “You’re so pretty when you beg. If only they could hear you. If only they knew how fucking pathetic you are for me.” 

Alana cries, nodding just to please him, “I am. I am.” She throbs around nothing. “Fuck me, please.” 

Matty pouts at her. “See, it’s not so hard.” 

He pushes her from her perch on the countertop, catching her as her legs tremble beneath her weight. He leaves her no time to adjust to gravity again, turning her hips around and bending her over the sink. 

She gasps at the cold feel of the marble on her tits. His hand presses strongly between her shoulder blades. Alana manages to throw a look back his way, mesmerized by the way he undoes his buckle with one hand, by the strings of curls falling over his forehead, by his swollen, red lips parting as he pants. 

By his cock as he pushes his trousers just down enough to reveal it, hard and leaking, swerving just right. 

Alana bites her lip, eyes rolling at the sheer idea of it. 

“‘Gonna fucking ruin you,” he mutters more to himself than her. 

Of course, she can’t stop herself from breathing back, “Haven’t managed to yet.” 

He tsks, spanking her naked ass. It rings deliciously down her leg. “Can’t ever stop bratting.” She giggles giddily, shaking her head. 

Matty grabs himself by the base, guiding himself between her thighs. His tip rubs at her dripping entrance, still teasing her when she’s near ready to explode from the lack of him. 

“Matty…” Alana warns. 

He chuckles. “God, you’re impatient.” He thrusts into her, bottoming out. 

A scream rips out of her throat. Alana slams her hand against the counter. How fucking right he fits, curving just perfectly inside of her. She bites her tongue, bliss loosening all her tense muscles. 

No matter how fucking shit this thing with him is, this, him inside of her, will always be holy. 

Matty grabs her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, and pounds into her. He has a wild, brutal rhythm going on, sliding in and out of her before she can register any of them, until all she knows is to moan, pleases and so goods and mores falling off her lips before she can think them. 

His skin slaps against her, the rough leather of his belt hitting her ass with each stroke. Mostly, he’s silent for once, too. Pretty, mean words robbed from his throat as he grunts and whines openly. How victorious it makes Alana feel, drowning in the sounds of him like he’s not invading every inch of her. Like she’s won. 

Her tongue burns. Ecstasy weeps down her spine. She clenches around him, again and again. “Matty—” She warns, out of breath. She’s learned her lesson. “Matty, I’m—” 

“I know, baby.” He whispers hotly, driving into her faster. “What a good girl. Are you gonna say please?” 

“Please,” she yells, face scrunching, cunt throbbing as she—

Her walls close around nothing. Alana chokes at the lack of him, too sudden and too quick for her to register until it’s too late. Matty robbed her of an astronomical orgasm again. 

She lays there pitiful, pillaged of all fight. Her cheeks feel wet and scratchy and— oh, God, she’s actually crying. 

“Oh, baby,” Matty coos, taking her arms and dragging her into the warmth of his body. Her head rolls on his shoulder, letting him play her like his favorite ragdoll. He wipes at her tears. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

“It’s too much.” 

“You can handle it.” He grabs a handful of her tits, using his other hand to guide her vision to the bathroom mirror. “Look at you,” he whispers. “Look how fucking beautiful you look.” 

Alana’s hair is a nest, pretty layers tangled around her face. Her face is flushed; eyeliner dripping down her eyes, lipstick smearing her chin, cheeks red from leftover blush and those pathetic tears. Her chest is blotched scarlet, freckles of growing bruises littering her skin. She’s a mess. 

Yet, Matty looks at her with devotion. I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful. 

He works slowly into her. His hips grind against her ass, deliciously reverbing in her cunt. Just this is enough to send burning ecstasy down her limbs. It’s this heady mix of pure pleasure and the striking fear that he won’t let her have it that reigns over her head.

Matty makes heavy eye contact in the reflection of the mirror. Pupils dark and penetrating, watching her every hitched breath with fascination. He wants her so much, it chokes her. 

His strokes grow faster. Alana whimpers, gripping his arm, terrified of the orgasm building inside of her. She’s run out of words to beg with. All there’s left is pleading eyes, still wet with tears. 

Matty sees the message loud and clear. “Shhh,” he whispers. “Trust me. You have to trust me.” 

Alana shakes her head. Trusting him is an impossible task, bigger and grander than he’s ever demanded of her. She can’t. She can’t let herself. 

He snaps inside of her, cruel and relentless, building her back to that epic cliff. He noses the side of her neck, moaning over and over, “Just trust me. Come on, baby. You have to trust me.” He licks her cheek, shushing in her ear. "Just trust me. Just trust me."

She thinks it’s the meanest he’s ever been with her. Demanding her to trust him at her most vulnerable when it’s him— and it’s her— and she can’t— and she has to. 

He's irredeemably cruel. Doesn't he know that he's asking the world of her? How can he ask her to just trust him?

Still, that incessant burning edge. Pression building in her stomach. He presses over her belly, cooing, “Pretty girl.”

She wants it so bad. She wants him so bad. He'll give it to her. She just has to believe that he'll—

Her face scrunch and—

Wiping waves of oblivion. Her head falls into his shoulder, jaw growing slack. Hot, white pleasure strikes the deepest parts of her. Her fingertips buzz, oxygen just a little sweeter, just a little lighter. 

Her brain loses all coherent thoughts. She’s a mess of burning fire, licking up her limbs, screaming uselessly Matty, Matty, Matty. It’s all her heart can chant, crashing down a cliff. She smashes to the ground, gracelessly and furiously. Doesn’t stick any kind of landing; just pure, unfiltered ecstasy. 

This is why Alana falls into him all the time. Why she keeps this ridiculous tango, choking and poisonous. For the momentary relief of not existing, of just being a body in his skillful hands. She purrs, relieved of any burden, relieved of him, even.

Matty follows quickly after her, spilling inside of her with the sweetest moans she’s ever heard. She laughs happily, gravity still very far from her. 

He lingers inside of her, dropping his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily against her naked skin. 

“Fuck, Alana.” 

“Fuck, Matty.” He chuckles, rubbing his forehead lazily against her. Alana peeks one eye open, nervously watching the ruins of them after their catastrophic pass through each other. “We’re a mess,” she laughs.

It’s always strangely like this when they’re done. Light and breezy. Easy. 

Matty smirks, kissing her shoulder. “Mostly you.” 

She slaps him, laughing an offended gasp. “Shut up!” 

He thrusts out of her. Cum leaks down her thighs, which only makes her vaguely blush. Matty tucks himself back in his trousers, buckling his belt. He works at his half-unbuttoned shirt next, then his forgotten jacket kicked at their feet. Alana watches him solemnly. 

When he’s done with himself, he turns her back to him. With gentle fingers, rough at the tips but oh so careful with her, he lowers the skirt of her dress, raising the cups over her bare breasts again. It���s weird to have him like this. Sort of sweet. 

He kisses her nose, then smiles ruefully. “See ya.” 

Alana frowns as he steps away from her. “What? That’s it?” 

He looks back at her, tightening his tie. He arches a bored eyebrow. “What? Did you want to suck my dick clean?” 

Alana’s lips part in affront. Fucking Matty Healy. Asking her to trust him just to slap her in the face. She can't believe she considered him any kind of sweet. Considered them anything but an unwatchable forest fire spreading in front of their very eyes.

“Only to bite it off,” she spits, fists clenching in anger. 

He smirks. “Kinky.” He opens the door, stepping through. It slams behind him. 

It’s dark and cold in the bathroom. Alana crosses her arms, craving a drink and a cigarette. God, she’s a fucking mess.

[touchbased]

in the mood to test out some (mostly) new muses so please like this for a starter from any of those listed below! i know little to nothing about them, so hoping to develop/flesh them out a lil :)

angel chau. mid thirties. pansexual. comic book creator disillusioned with the current state of the world and media. manny jacinto.

channing lennox. late twenties. bisexual. indie film actress and occasional disney princess impersonator. erin moriarty.

eleanor “ellie” hayward. early twenties. bisexual. professional surfer and island tour guide. free spirited to a fault. chloe rose robertson.

ezra aldeman. late thirties. heterosexual. final boy who survived a massacre of his family; now lives aimlessly off his inheritance. adam brody.

faith delange. mid thirties. bisexual. owner of a dying bed and breakfast that she can’t let go of. dianna agron.

lauren fisher. early thirties. bisexual. rising music producer and occasional dj who constantly judges others and the world. aurora perrineau.

naomi washington. mid twenties. lesbian. broadway star and overall insecure disaster. jaz sinclair.

peter levinson. early thirties. heterosexual. aspiring comedian (snl style) that often gets himself into stupid situations for the bit. sean teale.

seamus “sean” boland. late twenties. bisexual. crime thriller novelist struggling to continue his legacy and a bit of a himbo. paul mescal.

wyatt goodman. late twenties. bisexual. investigative reporter with a god complex and a lack of a sense of humor. harris dickinson.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 1

Propaganda

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks):

7ft tall sulver-haired thembo of a fallen angel. was the literal sword of god until they killed him! reasons slightly unclear but probably sure to forbidden queer love! super caring for their friends. has one friend they have known for hundreds of years who they HATE but are bound to by the red string of fate. their sword is a part of them, they can sheathe it into a tattoo. they start out indistinct at the edges but as they have continued on through the campaign they have become more and more distinct. they became a flaming engine of justice to kill their friends shitheaded older brother who was following him. they have learned enough necromancy to allow other fallen angels to die, even though they typically cannot. they fly giant birds in to battle.

7ft tall beefcake wielding a sword as tall as they are. vengeful sweetheart

Imagine now: a fallen angel with beautiful gray hair and very big muscles. Now imagine them with a 9 ft sword. Now imagine them as a helmsperson of a pirate ship in a flowy deep-v pirate shirt. Now imagine they're dumb as a fucking rock. And finally, imagine that they killed god. Here, you have made Gable Skyjacks: sexiest podcast character of all time.

7ft tall nonbinary/genderfluid thembo fallen angel sky pirate who wields a buster sword. silvergrey hair with black/gold streaks as they regain feathers/memories of before their fall. back is covered in tattoos that hide the scars of their shredded off wings. killed God. toxic exes with lucifer. they are the keeper of several giant war birds who occasionally crave human flesh. they enjoy getting rowdy/smoking rope with their boys. they collect rocks that they think are neat. When anyone admits they are attracted to them, Gable trips over their words and absolutely swaglessly ends up sounding stupider and sexier by the end of the conversation; the will they/won't they and teasing they dish out to these (un?)lucky few is palpable. Sometimes the buster sword is on fire. They are immortal, they are cringe, they are trying to atone because they believe they are the reason the world is ruined.

Hector Hu (Friends at the Table: Bluff City):

A priest. A radio DJ. A conspiracy theorist (but many of the conspiracies are probably true). A spy. Regardless, they're charismatic as fuck. Black and Filipino and looks like an older Toro y Moi. Omega love, y'all. Ω🫶

[cosmica-galaxy]

Ok so I'm sick because I tried to find Shy Angel(my lost Hen) in the cold night, and this gave an idea, how would vet and the alliance ocs react to the human having a pet Hen and the human would throw hands if anything happened to them...

Camron would understand. They all can understand getting attached to something or a creature that they can get close to. The chicken is also a pretty good source of food for you, th-the eggs he means...not the...whole animal. So not only would you worry about your pet, but you would also lose a good source of organic food! He'll help you look for them! DJ would understand, as many creature and units tend to jive with one another. They don't even have to be made of flesh and organic bits either. The speakerspiders are an example of a unit that the faction adores and looks out for. He can also understand that the human also eats the eggs the hen produces, so that's also a reason to look for them. He'll give you a helping hand! Vee is not surprised that the human cares for the hen that they look out for. You had it the moment you arrived at the camera base so long ago, that it had to be important to you in some way. Plus, there's a mutual benefit of you protecting the chicken and it giving you protein-rich eggs in return. So it would be of a high concern for you to find your lost pet. Vee will search video feeds to see where the chicken is. Veteran is also partially worried for the chicken. The moment the human arrived with their pet, he had to understand and provide a living arrangement for it. The human didn't want to part with it, not that he was going to force them, but it was just such a curve ball. As long as the human cared for it and cleaned up after it, then it wouldn't be a problem. Plus, it helped the human keep up a nice diet with the eggs it produced. So it was worth looking for it just for that. He'll get a few camera units to look around and see where the little hen wondered off to.

[eldritch-spouse]

damn I didn't realise I was appealing to the sapiosexuals but you're welcome!! also hello Pinnie 👋

DJ Riddlez (kill me) is here to stay like a parasite feasting on your flesh! New riddle, this time for Obie, Zizz, Bregory, Rinx and Shags:

I have keys, but no locks and space, and no rooms. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. What am I?

[I think you meant "Keys but no locks, space but no rooms"? The sapiosexuals are starving this time, gomen.]

Obie: (The glutton eats several bags of doritos as he ponders on it, you can see the gears turn in his head. Finally, a finger is raised.) " A headache! "

Zizz: (He stares at you for a couple of long, silent moments, debating if you're crazy.) " You poor thing, come here, you haven't been sleeping enough clearly. "

Bregory: (The monster looks like he's about to cry, repeating the riddle to himself several times fruitlessly.) " Angel, you're scaring me. "

Rinx: (He somehow entirely ignores the point of the riddle) " Well, where do you even find a home like that? How expensive is it? Do you think I can afford it? Of course I can, put it in my wishlist, Nena! "

Shags: (It takes a long time, during which you eventually move on for the rest of the day. At night, you're startled awake by Shags mere inches from your face, ink dripping on you.) " K e y b o a r d . That was hardly fair, mind you. "

[ancientfrozenglaciershark]

hello! i have an ask game for you if you like doing these! when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your mutuals !! :)

- from your fellow mutual

hi friend! :)

im gonna try to spread my agenda here so…

I wish i knew how it would feel to be free- john denver cover

opposite tables- john denver

american child- john denver

the eagle and the hawk- john denver

rhymes and reasons- john denver

windsong- john denver

thats the way its gonna be - the mitchell trio (john denver pre-solo career)

please please please give these a listen if you havent already! i PROMISE you will love them!! if you are thinking ‘i dont like country music’ dont worry, none of these are country! he seriously defines genre, this man. his humanitarian and environmental messages are prominent in his art and im so glad that he chose to and was able to be impactful with his music. he is such an inspiration. he also has the voice of an angel!

non-john denver though (sorry this is way more than 5) would be:

pound of flesh- radical face (my favorite artist since i discovered music, long ago, and i would say i discovered what music truly is when i first heard him)

this empty northern hemisphere- gregory alan isakov

go! - public service broadcasting (PLEASE LISTEN IF YOU HAVENT YOU WONT REGRET IT. this artist is just awesome)

pale beneath the tan(squeeze)- the front bottoms

bluegrass in the backwoods- kenny baker (bluegrass is so good!!!!!)

nobody- mika zibanejad (i had to include him! he’s my favorite hockey player and is also a DJ and makes some music)

anyone who sees this, consider yourself tagged!

[angelfllesh]

⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚JUPITER RISING⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚ ˚★

★ wednesday, december 6, 2023 ⭒ 10pm-4am

★ bossa nova civic club ⭒ 1271 myrtle ave, brooklyn, NY

★ FREE ENTRY ALL NIGHT LONG

happy birthday to meeee !! this year to celebrate my birthday and the sexiest season of all (sagittarius), i am throwing my first nightlife party at the heart and soul of NYC techno: BOSSA NOVA CIVIC CLUB.

alongside some of the fiercest DJs in the scene, i will be having my DJ debut. expect a delicious blend of hot techno, DnB, footwork, & more ! come live out your y2k futurism fantasy and RAVE WITH ME !

musical selections and soul reflections brought to you by:

☆ LISSOMS

☆ CIRINGE

☆ SOO INTOIT

☆ ANTI-GIRLFRIEND (ANGEL FLESH b2b MAR CLARK)

theme: y2k futurism

visuals: mar clark

flyer by: angel flesh (jupiter genesis)

[flesh-jordinmg]

Welcome to GlamRock! Or shall I say Welcome Back FJ Rockstarr fffs 😘 In 2024 and moving forward its all about connecting, reconnecting with the House of the Rising Sons, Daughters of HIM 🤴👑👸💚🖤❤️🧡 Erase Your Fears!

[dj-flesh-angel]

SO HAPY

[life-of-an-asexual]

tagged by @aroshitbcitstheshit

username song game / rules: but a song for every letter of your username

L - Lionhearted by Porter Robinson (ft. Urban Cone)

I - I am not a woman, I'm a god by Halsey

F - The Foundations of Decay by My Chemical Romance

E - Elevate by DJ Khalil ( ft. Denzel Curry, YBN Cordae, SwaVay, Trevor Rich)

O - The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace by the Amazing Devil

F - Flesh by Simon Curtis

A - Angeles by Jensen Ackles and Steven Carlson

N - New Blood by Zayde Wolf

A - Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier

S - So Much (For) Stardust by Fall Out Boy

E - Enemy by Imagine Dragons x J.I.D.

X - Shelter by The xx

U - Underground by Adam Lambert

A - Angel With a Shotgun by The Cab

L - Loveless by X Ambassadors

open to anyone who wants to play :D

-Mod Q

[alien-melissa]

up and coming NEW YORK Creative musicians

TylerとAlexが『𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭』というニューヨークを拠点に、いろんな人々に最近Hotな物について聞く企画。音楽、映画、本、よくチェックするSNSなど、 なんでも見たものや感じたことが共有されている企画。

ニューヨークのミュージシャン、モデル、作家、映画監督、写真家、ファッションデザイナー、、様々な人が参加していて、Charli XCXやSnailMail、Yaeji、などがこれまでに参加している。

リアルな人々の趣味趣向、変わった好みやディープな内容も多くて読んでいると知らない世界。新しい発見があっておもしろい、人種・年齢・性別・能力・価値観 300人以上に聞いても全く同じ人は誰もいない。

世の中に決まった「完璧」の形など無くて『自分らしい』という状態を肯定している。様々な国から様々な夢や目的を持って人が集まるニューヨークらしい企画のような気がする。

そんな多彩で素敵な人々をよく知る『Perfectly Imperfect 』は主催でアーティストやDJを集めてパーティーを開催したり、Spotifyのプレイリスト『NYC BEAT』でニューヨークで今熱い音楽を共有している。

そのシーンを良く知るニューヨーク在住のフォトグラファーのMattWeinberger、様々なクリエイティブなシーンをカメラを通して切り取り、アイデア、美学、文化をつくる人々に出会うPerperMagazineの連載特集FRESH PRESSED」でも写真を通して現場のアンダーグラウンドシーンやライブ音楽の熱量を感じ取ることができる。

Matt Weinberger@mweinbergerr←

PEPERMAGAZINE FLESH PRESSED←

そんなフレッシュで熱いニューヨークシーンを発信するperfectly imperfect やMatt Weinberger を通して知った音楽を特集していきたい。

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

★NEW YORK

Gretchen LawrenceとCoumba Sambaによるgirls pop music とパフォーマンスプロジェクト 。　　

ニューヨークを拠点に活動する「NEW YORK」、嘘みたいに検索しにくく、情報を集めるのが難しいことがさらに私の興味を唆る。ヒップホップ、ポップス、エレクトリックなサウンド、サンプリングされた心地良いループとクリック音と共に語りのような口調で放つ衝動的な歌詞で街に吐き出す音楽。

公式のホームページではライブの写真が記録されているのだが、観客に囲まれる中でのフロアライブやボクシングリングでのライブなど、自由なパフォーマンスが魅力

★MGNG Crrrta

FarheenとGingerによる実験的ポップデュオ、それぞれ独自のプロジェクトを追求していたが2021年にMGNA Crrrtaとして始動する。　

Crystal Castles、Ke$ha、BritneySpears、Charli XCX、LadyGaga、Grimesなどの影響を強く受けており、音楽からも10年代のポップソングのギラつきを感じる！

あの頃のギラギラが蘇る。

★Frost Children

ニューヨーク在住のAngelとLuluの兄弟で結成されているエレクトリックポップデュオ。抜群のスタイルとファッションセンスとファッション業界でも音楽業界でも注目を集める2人！彼らの予測不可能で爽快な音楽が大好き！

インターネットをベースに伝染するアクティクティブなダンスポップはハイパーポップシーンやクラブシーンでも注目を集めている存在。

ライブパフォーマンスは今までステージにミキサーとマイクだけでもエネルギッシュなパフォーマンスをしていたが、最近では生バンドでより熱量が爆発していてパンクなFrostChildrenも観ることができる.....最高すぎる

ライブでもDJでも2人の姿は兄弟だけが持つ暗黙の繋がりを感じることができる。

今年の初めにAngelだけファッション関係の仕事で来日していたのだけど、いつか2人で来日してくれることを願ってる。

★The Dare

Turtlenecked という名義で数年音楽活動をやりつつDJとしても活躍しているHarrison Smithが新しく始動した ”The Dare“、このプロジェクトでは2010年代初期のブログ時代のIndie sleaze、生意気で開放的なムードの音楽を現代に取す音楽プロジェクトだという。

「生意気で楽しくてセクシーでパンク」

あの時代の生意気さ無敵さ(？) ニューヨークの刺激的��ナイトライフをキャッチーに表現している。

★Club Eat

ニューヨークを拠点に活動するRenGとChickenによるプロジェクトClubEat、ニューヨークのクラブから生まれた2人組、甘いシンセ、メランコリックなベース ライン、、中毒性のある音楽。

個人的にはClubEatのRenGのビジュアルが好きで、なんだか懐かしい(？)ファッション、、ワイドなフレームのサングラスにゴールドチェーンネックレス、、ピチピチのミニスカートやネオン色の服のチョイスが、、絶妙すぎる。　

★Fcukers

スリーピースバンドのFCUKERS。デビュー曲リリース前にBaby‘s All Rightで観客を熱狂させていて、初期のダフトパンクやフレンチハウス、90年代のハウスから影響があるという。メンバーはそれぞれニューヨークで音楽活動している3人！生音のハウスミュージック、音源で聴く彼らの音楽はもちろん最高だけどライブで体感してみたいバンド。

[sarahtheconjurer]

@ghosttmachine tagged me in a get to know you meme thing (tyyy!!)! So. Here i am posting for oncce lez goooo

Last song:

Technical answer is post traumatic blues by corey taylor, bc ive been using the spotify dj thing and it keeps giving me metal that i o ly kinda like. The funner answer was rhe barbie movie ost since me and my friends literally just got back from it n my friend mariana had me play it in the car. Not rlly my thing was catchy (barbie movie was good btw! Posts abt it being like. Not the deepest critique of social issues and the like are correct but it was a fun time w a lot of heart + rlly great production value + honestly. Very funny. And i watched it w two of my best friends so :})

Currently reading:

For books:

When the Angels Left the Old Country

I haven't touched it in a hot sec, but its a queer, historical fantasy ya book based in jewish folklorex about an angel and a demon that leave europe, after a girl goes missing from the village they've set up shop in. It's very light and whimsical which is not my usual fare, but I'm enjoying it! Its very heartfelt and the two main leads have very good chemistry. And its always cool to see angel/demon lore outside the usual christian sphere.

For manga: steel ball run (part 7 of jojos bizarre adventure) its. A story about a cross continental horse race to find the body parts of jesus. Which is the most coherent way i can put it. Im rereading it w two of my friends rn and im enjoying it! It isnt my favorite part, but its up there, and features some of the best stuff in the series. This is. Also a story featuring a pair of ride or die protagonists with a very strong dynamic and chemistry (honestly, best 'set' of protags in the series) and so much comes from their bond. Its at the point in the series where it started getting a monthly release and it shows, w some rlly gorgeous art. Gyro and Diego are highlights artwise because the former doesnt have a stand he just. Has these steel balls he spins and throws around, so you get very dynamic shots of him just. Chucking them that the author uses in super creative ways to lead the eye and compose panels and the latter. Can turn himself and other things into dinosaurs. Have you ever seen a dinosaur ride a horse? Its fucking sick. It also has some interesting themes of american imperialism and christianity, of all things, which i think are done, well in some respects, esp given the authors track record. IT ALSO HAS SOME OF THE WORST STUFF IN THE SERIES THAT MAKES ME WANT TO KILL HIM W HAMMERS.

Currently watching:

Nothing in particular, but ive got a p big to watch list (Trigun, mob psycho, etc) and i just watched the barbie movie, like i said.

Current obsession:

Guess. Take a guess.

Jfc jojos bizarre adventure is holding me at gunpoint. Its not good its not bad (besides when it is) it its own tier of media. I forgot how much 15 year old me was obsessed w it and so i foolishly rewatched it thinking id be. Normal. I was wrong. God. I've never seen anything like it! It's so clearly a passion project from someone who's very eccentric and so it goes from absurd and stupid and comedic to circling right back to being very human and poignant. Like, it's about love! And familial trauma! And prevailing in the face of great tragedy! And also killing the president because jesus told you so! It's got a myriad of flaws from technical writing issues to genuinely tasteless/bigoted content, so its not some untouchable media, but ive been enjoying it a lot.

Part 5 and 8 are my favorites for very different reasons.

Part 5, Golden Wind, is abt a bunch of weird mobsters on a roadtrip through italy to kill their boss. It has a very charming supporting cast who are a sort of found family of societal rejects, brought together by this guy named Bruno who acts as a leader + mentor + sort of dad? To them. They're all surprisingly fleshed out characters, esp for this early on in the series, and their group dynamic, combined w some of the best fights in the entire show, really sell this part. The main character and main villain are. Not good. Sans a few aspects. Tho. Like i forget giorno is there half the time. (Giorno is my beloved stale cracker of a character but hes MY stale cracke, tho)

Part 8, Jojolion, is uh. Hm. It follows this amnesiac dude who wakes up in the dirt, as he tries to piece together the person he was. It's set in an au version of the town from part 4, w some characters being spins on old ones. Its the most recent part, and it shows. Its a lot better structured, paced, and developed compared to earlier parts. The mystery running through it has a lot of fun twists and turns, the themes are coherent, and the pace is slow, but not meandering. The supporting cast is fun (the lead's romantic interest is an actually decent jojo woman and they have a very cute relationship, and the family the main character is sort of adopted into are all fucking insane) but the real draw for me was the main character. Josuke (the second. Theres another josuke from an alternate universe in part 4, anyway) is probably my favorite jojo. I could go on about him, but compared to the others, he feels the most real? Theres this very grounded sense of frustration abt him as he tries and fails to piece together who he is, while everyone around him seems to have somethimg they need from him, or an idea of who he SHOULD be. He isnt a hero, he isnt even all that noble, hes just trying to find himself and if anyone out there loves him. He's blunt, one track minded, and is doing the jojo equivalent of spamming x to skip through all the dialogue bc hes not here for anyones shit beside his own. Jojolion somehow captures the feeling of being a weird, displaced pseudo adult trying to piece yourself together, while everything Keeps Fucking Happening. I love it so much. But by god does the ending suck hoooooly shit oh my god dude jesus christ. Fucking. I hate tohru i hate tohru i hate tohru fjcjendnxzlzm. Anyway jobin sweep

OTHER OBSESSIONS INCLUDE OCS AND DND.

Im currently running a csm tabletop n curse of strahd game, and am in a ravenloft game. They're all very different but i love them all.

Ravenloft game is a sort of sequel to the curse of strahd game i was in a while bsck

I play pageturn (kenku paladin) and coda (changeling flavored as fallen angel, bard). Ones a 13 year old w a kill drive going through a double crisis of faith while somehow being the heart of the group and the others a shapeshifting corrupted celestial, whos trying to find themself. we are currently exploring the fomain the latter was imprisoned in and have found the eye of vecna and. I am. Excited and concerned for what our wonderful dm has cooked up.

Chainsaw Man game is a high stakes office drama following the worst group of devil hunters youve ever seen. Its more episodic and light than my other games which is a nice change of pace, and i rlly like the energy our group brings to the table. I am always horrified and surprised by whatever new government supplied human rights violation they commit next! Every character is uniquely sad, while still maintaining the token csm dark comedy abt them. We are currently revisiting a mystery allll the way back from our first session and im stoked for some stuff i have planned.

Sippy Crew (curse of strahd game) is drawing to a close and ahh i could make a whole post abt how much these guys mean to me. Its been a joy dming for this group of freaks and watching as they come together not into a found family, but a group of distinctly doomed, but fiercely loyal individuals. They've had two pc deaths, even more close calls, and have lost so much, but they're pushing through like dandelions in concrete. Its genuinely the most emotionally invested ive been in a ttrpg, and am so excited, to see their journey come to a close, and will miss them dearly.

Both jojo and ttrrpgs have been a way to reconnect with friends i dont usually talk to as much, and strengthen the bonds of the friends that i do, which is why theyve hit so hard, haha.

anwyaY this turned out way longer than it needed to be bUt.

@turtleslothart @500sunstone you. Do this.

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: Evil Dead Rise (2023)

Evil Dead Rise (2023)

Rated R for strong bloody horror violence and gore, and some language

Score: 4 out of 5

The Evil Dead series has what may be the single best track record for quality out of any Hollywood horror franchise. With the big slasher franchises of the ‘80s, Halloween, Friday the 13th, and A Nightmare on Elm Street, I can name at least three movies from each series that are downright wretched. The Universal monsters fell off in quality during World War II and only came back when they let Abbott and Costello do an officially sanctioned parody of them. Saw fell off starting with the fourth movie and never fully recovered, even if it still had some decent movies afterwards. Even Scream and Final Destination each have one bad or otherwise forgettable movie marring their otherwise perfect records. Evil Dead, though? The original trilogy is golden and has something to offer for everyone, whether you prefer the first movie’s campy but effective low-budget grit, the second movie’s slapstick horror-comedy approach, or Army of Darkness’ wisecracking medieval fantasy action. The spinoff TV series Ash vs. Evil Dead was three seasons’ worth of horror-comedy goodness that fleshed out the franchise’s lore. Even the remake was awesome, a gritty, ultraviolent bloodbath that took the first film’s more serious tone and put an actual budget and production values behind it, making for one of the most graphic horror movies to ever get a wide release in American theaters. This latest film delivers on the same, with a tone and levels of violence akin to the remake and most of its strengths as a pure, straightforward, whoop-your-ass horror movie with lots of muscle and little fat once it gets going. It may not be revolutionary, but Evil Dead Rise is still as good as it gets, and exactly what I hoped for given this series’ high bar.

Like its predecessors barring Army of Darkness, this is a self-contained story set within an isolated, closed-off location, in this case the top floor of a Los Angeles apartment complex instead of a cabin in the woods. Our protagonists this time are a family, led by the single mother and tattoo artist Ellie with three kids, the teenage DJ son Dan, the teenage activist daughter Bridget, and the adolescent daughter Kassie, as well as Ellie’s sister Beth. After an earthquake reveals an old vault beneath the apartment complex (which used to be a bank), Dan explores it and discovers the Naturom Demonto, an evil-looking book bound in human flesh, along with three records recorded by the renegade priest who had last had that book a hundred years ago. Dan takes the book and the records back home, plays the latter on his turntable, and turns this into a proper Evil Dead movie, with Ellie winding up the first one possessed by the demon it unleashes.

Much like how the remake built its human drama around Mia’s friends staging an intervention for her, so too does this film root its central dynamic in the relationships between its human characters, in this case crafting a dysfunctional yet believable family. Lily Sullivan as Beth and Alyssa Sutherland as Ellie are the film’s MVPs, making their characters flawed yet sympathetic figures whose perspectives are understandable but who both clearly made mistakes in managing their relationship. Beth, an audio technician for a rock band, is visiting Ellie because she just found out she’s pregnant, but is naturally hesitant to tell her sister, given that Ellie sees Beth as a glorified groupie and still harbors some resentment for the fact that Beth wasn’t there for Ellie when her husband left her. News of a pregnancy would do little more than confirm Ellie’s suspicions of Beth and her lifestyle. After all, Beth abandoned Ellie and failed to return her calls, and Ellie readily sees that Beth’s motive for visiting is self-serving even without Beth telling her exactly why she’s there. Ellie herself isn’t blameless in the breakdown of their relationship, though. She clearly has a chip on her shoulder, somebody who sees herself as the more responsible sibling even though Beth is the one with a successful career while she’s living in a run-down apartment struggling to raise three kids after her husband walked out on her.

All of that is heightened when Ellie gets possessed, as the demon, inheriting all of Ellie’s memories, uses them to taunt Beth and go completely mask-off on all the things that she wouldn’t directly say in life, calling Beth a whore and her own children leeches. Not only do we get the metaphor of a family tearing itself apart made literal, it’s here where Sutherland truly shines as not just a working-class single mother but also as the terrifying demonic parody thereof that she turns into, demonstrating what separates the Evil Dead series’ “Deadites” from many other zombies: their sense of personality. The series takes George A. Romero’s already scary idea, that of a ravenous monster that looks human, used to be human, and is able to turn others into similar monsters with just a bite or a scratch, and adds the twist of a demonic component that gives the monster that person’s intelligence and memories as well, which it then uses to torment the people who knew them in life before it devours their souls. While the more comedic direction that the “main” series films and the TV series went in is more iconic, the remake showed that there’s just as much room for a straightforward horror take on the idea of combining a zombie film with a demonic possession film, and this movie takes that idea and runs with it even if it still retains a measure of camp in some of the one-liners and gore gags.

Dan and Bridget’s relationship, too, takes center stage in the second act as they have two very different reactions to the evil book that Dan brought back to their apartment, with Morgan Davies as Dan and Gabrielle Echols as Bridget giving their characters plenty of life and personality. Bridget is suspicious from the word “go”, and when Ellie gets possessed, she blames Dan for unleashing a dark, evil force in their lives, with implications that they had a fraught relationship even before this. Even Kassie, the youngest among them, was good, with Nell Fisher taking a role that could’ve easily turned annoying and making her character feel believably scared without being completely helpless or whiny, getting in one of my favorite lines when, after Beth tries to calm her down and tell her that they’ll be okay, she responds by telling Beth that she’ll be a great mother because she knows how to lie to kids. The only weak link in the cast was the family’s neighbors, who show up briefly early on but all of whom clearly existed as cannon fodder for Ellie to slaughter in a single sequence in the second act, even though some of them felt like they’d wind up more important or at least get more scenes to shine before they were killed. With how little they’re in the film, you could almost feel the pandemic filming conditions, getting the sense that some of them (particularly Gabe and the shotgun-wielding Mr. Fonda) were originally written to have larger roles but they couldn’t find a way to have that many actors on set at once.

Another thing I felt that made up for it, though, was this film’s unflinching brutality. One of the other things that even the more lighthearted entries in this series are known for is their absolute geysers of blood and gore, the fact that most of the carnage is inflicted on zombies seemingly giving it a pass in the eyes of an MPAA that normally slaps this kind of shit with an NC-17 when it’s done to living humans. And here, we get it all. Stabbings, a cheese grater to the leg, somebody getting scalped, an eye bitten out, multiple decapitations, a wooden spear through the mouth, Deadites puking up everything from vomit to blood to bugs, the good old shotgun and chainsaw (this series’ old favorites) taking off limbs, a woodchipper, and some gnarly Deadite makeup, most notably the freakish, multi-limbed monster at the very end. This movie does not play around, and it is not for the squeamish. The only gore scene that didn’t really work for me was one Deadite transformation that was let down by some dodgy effects shots of fake-looking black blood coming out of somebody’s face; the rest, however, was some seriously nasty-looking, mostly practical stuff. That’s not to say it’s just a parade of violence with no tension, though. Director Lee Cronin employs all the classic Sam Raimi tricks that have become staples of this series as much as Raimi’s career in general, knowing when to keep the monsters in the shadows, lurking ominously behind our characters, or coldly mocking them. Ellie especially is a key source of the film’s less bloody but no less effective scares, especially with how she tries to manipulate Kassie into letting her back into their apartment, as are the scenes of characters succumbing to possession and hearing voices in their head taunting them. Once the film gets going – and you will know when it gets going – it never once lets up or gives you much room to breathe, instead maintaining a heightened level of terror and suspense throughout.

The Bottom Line

This was a welcome return to the big screen for a classic horror franchise, especially with how certain plot threads at the beginning and end leave the door open for a sequel that, going by the box office returns this past weekend, is likely inevitable at this point. Right now, the Evil Dead series is five-for-five in my book.