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erosiism · 5 months ago

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𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐘 | yan!priest x male!reader | nsfw

WARNINGS: extremely dubious consent, graphic and explicit smut. please do not read if you are not comfortable, or if you are triggered. In no way is this disgusting yandere behavior meant to be romanticised. This excerpt is taken from my fic on wattpad, twisted faith.

PAIRING: yandere!priest x male reader

SCENARIO: after one too many attempts of rebelling against him, the priest (anton) decides to punish you.

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

You knew. You knew the minute you were brought to Anton's home — you knew the minute you were washed and fed by several maids, and was brought right before the priest.

A sickening part of you knew.

You had always wondered when. When Anton's obvious desire for you would finally break, when the final straw would be until Anton would take you

And now you stood right before him, washed—your hair still a little damp—robed, trembling.

Shit. It was about to happen. It was about to happen. It was—

You didn't know what to do. You were utterly terrified, utterly helpless.

"To first cleanse your sins," Father Anton said quietly—his hands resting on your back, tracing circles, "you must purify the body." The motion was smooth, gentle, supposed to be comforting, but instead all you felt was an unwanted heat traveling up your spine, along with deep seated dread. Thick, sludgy dread.

This was part of the plan, you thought, swallowing. This is part of my plan.

Someone had already warned you, had they not? That with the priest, he was looking for something else with you. Something deeper. Something akin to lust, akin to desire.

"Yes, Father Anton..." you whispered. You wanted to close your eyes, but you feared the consequences that came with it. Instead, your own trembling (e/c) eyes were forced to stare at pools of liquid diamond—the color that belonged to the priest's eyes.

"You want this, don't you?" Anton purred, "you want this. You admitted it yourself. You needed purifying. And now I shall give it to you. Everything. I will purify your heart, your soul, your body..."

First, your shoulder. You found breaths shallow and quiet when Anton used one finger to slowly undo your clothes, starting from a simple slip of the shoulder, until your collar bone was exposed.

Exposed, for the priest to see.

You no longer felt like it was you. Your mind was growing hazy, your body was responding to Anton's touch in such a way that you were horrified by it. You could feel his own unwanted arousal slowly burning your insides, and before you knew it, you were pressed down onto the cool sheets of the bed, stripped of your clothes—Adam and Eve once roamed the Garden of Eden in their naked form freely, you recalled, before the serpent made them sin.

Was this what Anton meant? To return to the roots of mankind, before sin had existed?

It wasn't long before the priest started to undress himself, and you nearly wanted to kill yourself there and then when you saw just how—just how huge Anton was—because fuck, how the hell were you supposed to fit him inside?

You watched as Anton dipped his fingers in sweetly scented oil—perhaps even the liquid from a while back, in the confessions room—and coated it liberally on his own cock. The oil was costly, but perhaps, to Anton, there was no better purpose than to anoint one of heaven's own.

Fuck, you started to breathe heavily, feeling Anton's hands slowly grasping at your hips, his touch bruising, and lining his arousal up—you could feel it. Every inch of him.

Deep breaths. In and out...

"Ugh—" you let out a soft sound that was quickly muffled when you pressed your face down onto the pillow, ears burning with shame.

There was no greater pain and pleasure than this.

Anton pushed forward ruthlessly into your body. Anton did not stretch you out or give you advance warning. If the initial intrusion was painful, it was meant to be, as part of your penance.

"Cleansing," Anton purred, his voice sending shudders running down your spine, "punishment. This, my dear Y/n, is divine punishment."

Fuck, you teared up as you gripped the sheets, yes. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was an atonement of your sins, your crimes towards your own humanity. Perhaps you deserved this for spitting such cruel, careless words at your sister, for showing his weaknesses so blindly to your friend...

"Anton," you gasped out, the delicate flesh of your insides was battered and pried open by Anton's enormous girth, "I—I..."

Anton pressed into the hilt and then stopped, giving you time to adjust, and enjoying the trembling shudders of the bruised and violated muscles clenching around him.

"Give it all to me, turn everything over to the Lord and let me purge the sin from your flesh. Let me morph you; Y/n; let me purify you.”

"Slower," you begged him, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. You felt so utterly helpless—so pained, yet there was that deceitful pleasure crawling up in your insides, telling you this was what you wanted. This was what you asked for.

In a way, it was. In a viscerally twisted and distorted way...yes. You had planned this, did you not? You had orchestrated this plan to seduce the priest for your own survival, and you would fall down into the abyss with it.

There was no foreplay. Nothing. Nothing that could have told or prepared you of the pain that had shot up in your stomach—nothing that could have told you that you would be throbbing with pleasure, aching with sin. Your body felt filthy instead of pure, and the tears staining your face felt like they were burning. Anton kissed it all away—but that did nothing but to send feverish heat and silent hatred worming into your insides.

"Oh, Y/n," Anton cooed, his fingers trailing every inch of your skin, exploring every curve, every flat, "you were made for me. Made to be a vessel for me. You saved me, Y/n...you saved me."

Anton felt God would forgive the sin of his omission—after all, he was the closest being to godhood, and you were so beautiful and precious and pure. God's creation and the wonders of nature—from your mesmerising eyes, from how the arch of your back highlighted the delicate curve of your spine.

You made a strangled sound, biting back your moan that was about to slip past your lips. The pace remained brutal; relentless, and when you tried to grip on the sheets for some sort of stability to the madness, it failed.

"Confessing," Anton whispered, "is something you were never good at. But perhaps this gives you clarity. Perhaps this will help."

With suddenness, Anton stopped— instead, he pulled out, leaving your walls empty and clenching around for something. Just anything. Anton pressed one finger to the opening, almost like he was teasing you. Teasing you with inviting warmth, but not giving it to you. The priest was the one who reduced you to such a state, so how dare he? After stripping you of your innocence, claiming he would purify you…

You had never hated someone so much before. You hated him.

"C-Confess?" You managed to choke out, voice hoarse, "y-you want me to..."

Anton pressed the finger in deeper. More. You wanted more. It was not enough.

"Confess, yes." Anton tilted his head, his other hand pressed against your shoulder, the touch firm and gentle. It was strange how he seemed to treat you like you were so precious, like you were made of glass, but then his actions would contradict and you would feel the lower part of your body searing with deep, hot pain.

Blood. You could feel it trickle down your leg.

Anton waited until your breathless pants slowed and then spoke, "You may begin."

Your voice was thick with tears as you spoke, "Bless me father, for I have sinned."

The priest's hips began a slow and steady pace, pressing in deeply and then pulling out until the head of his cock caught on the thinly stretched rim. It kissed it slowly, slowly pushing until half way inside. You let out a strangled gasp, sobbing.

"Continue."

Oh, but how? You found it hard to find words scattered here and there, when your brain was a mush and you didn't even feel like you were you anymore. You weren’t yourself anymore—you weren’t innocent. Anton had ripped away any last remnants of sanity and purity that you had, claiming it for his own, marking you as a sinner.

Y/n...Y/n...who were you even, now? The feeling of derealization pierced your chest.

Anton's cock looked impossibly large as he pressed it against your gaping hole. It looked like it could split you open. You trembled from the stretch — you wanted more, in a horrible sense, and the only way you could get that was to atone. To confess all your sins to the greatest sinner in the world.

Your stunning (e/c) eyes went wet with tears, but it only made your submission sweeter and it only made the priest's cock throb harder as your body worked to accommodate him; flesh clinging and gripping deliciously as he pushed deeper with each second, but never quite hitting the end.

It was a tease, a long drawn punishment.

Anton's hot gaze dropped so he could watch your belly bulge each time he entered you fully. The evidence of his physical penetration into you— his innocent, innocent savior—only made the dark feelings in his stomach swirl, twist, knot.

"I'm sorry," you found yourself begging, "I'm sorry, Father Anton—I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have—"

I shouldn't have existed.

"I shouldn't have went outside the church walls," You sobbed, "I shouldn't have met anyone else, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't even say that." Anton's voice was serene yet so damned. "What else?"

"I shouldn't have murdered the man." You babbled on like your mind was shattered; broken beyond repair.

"I shouldn't have talked to her—"

You felt another sharp pain crawl up your spine when Anton rammed inside you. The priest's hands went to cover your mouth, stifling your moans that threatened to slip out.

"Ah, no," Anton whispered, his voice sultry and deep, "we can't have you making such noises, can we?"

"Just—just..." You felt the tears roll down your cheek, felt the way your chest heaved and your hips ached — all this felt too much; too overstimulated.

You released; arching your back and feeling your fingers grip on the sheets with reckless abandon. Your thoughts were pounding in your head and so was the slow, subsiding heat: what have I done? You thought with misery, with fuzziness and dazed eyes, what have I done?

Anton smiled and leaned forward.

"You have been purified."

The second time, it was because you had disobeyed him. You ran away — at least, you attempted to. But it had been foolish, and now you had to face the consequences of your actions. You willed your trembling form to straighten, choking down a sob.

“I’m sorry.”

"That's what I thought." Anton smiled in amusement. "Here I was praising you, darling," Anton tipped your chin up and you swallowed, fear started to flood within you. "But it seems that once again my trust in you has been misplaced."

"I'm sorry," you started to say—to beg—"don't put me back there. Don't!"

Fear rotted between your teeth and gave you that toothache feeling: the slow thudding of realization, the slow ache of cavities worming into your insides, staining your mouth. The sweetness had been too much. Too painful.

"I won't."

"...Then..."

What will you do?

"It's been long since you were purified."

Inwardly you shattered once again.

"Slow down," you gasped, feeling Anton's cock enter in, unrelenting, brutal, merciless—you dug your fingers into the expanse of his back, taking it down, causing a soft sigh to elicit from Anton. "Please," your voice took on a begging note. "Please."

Anton paused for a while. His fingers cupped your cheek, and his eyes were almost dazed with pleasure.. But they still held a certain maddening clarity that you were afraid of.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Anton tilted his head. You felt the cock inside you press further still, your walls squeezing it, your body welcoming it, with pleasure spilling in your gut. Unwanted pleasure. "You wanted this, darling. And so I give it to you."

How long had it been? The tears were running down your face but your body betrayed yourself. For there was your own answering arousal between your legs, the way your hips lifted and responded to Anton's fast, full thrusts, the way moans slipped off your mouth like nothing. You wiggled your body a little, squirming, trying to find a better position—but another ram into you, another buckle of your hips and a sharp cry—stopped you from being able to do so.

"Slower," you repeated once again— begging him, before Anton shoved his fingers down your throat, causing the yoo choke on your words. Saliva coated the priests's fingers but he did not seem to care. Kisses were planted on your bare form—the shoulders, the nose, the lips—Anton seemed satisfied, actually. More than that. Darkness was twisting in his eyes. Anton loved it—loved ravaging your, loved having sex with you. He pulled those fingers out and your mouth felt empty.

"You're doing such a good job," his voice was so gentle, so sweet—you could have cried. Yes, there was the constant pleasure in your body that Anton managed to induce—the kind of pleasure that made you yearn for more, the kind of pleasure that made you moan into the kisses that Anton provided, obscene and all, but oh, it betrayed your mind. "Continue on. You have barely managed to take me yet."

I'm disgusting, you wept, oh, someone save me. I'm so disgusted with myself.

"I can't," you panted, your fists gripping the sheets. "Anton...I really can't."

The only answer was a push that pressed you flush against the bed. Anton's fingers wrapped around your jaw slowly and turned your face to the side, peppering kisses on it. It was a soothing gesture—Anton was marvelous at what he did. He would torture you mentally, sexually, but treat you like porcelain physically, treating you with such tenderness and gentleness at times that you werebdazed by it. And it worked now.

"Good job, darling." Anton cooed, almost relishing in the soft moans that you were desperately trying to keep down your throat. You felt tears roll down your cheeks slowly, you felt the pain down there, swollen and overstimulated. You knew the sheets were stained with your earlier releases, and now would be what, the third? Fourth? Fifth? Anton was brutal in his pace.

How far had you fallen, already?

Behind Anton you could make out through your teary vision, a small cross. And now that cross taunted you. Watched you ws your purity was slipping away from you.

Tears rolled down your cheek, and you felt yourself slipping into darkness.

To feel anything would make you deranged.

After Anton had…purified you — you had scrubbed endlessly at your skin, hoping to remove any memory of him. But with that purification, also came a change of treatment. Anton grew gentler, kinder, and you grew more tired, more willing to be deceived.

Simply put, you didn’t know how to place your rage anymore: there was the rage that was simply rotten, incurable love—there was the rage which were all the tainted truths and desires—and then there was the rage that was like a unanswered prayer, rattling in your mind, ricocheting off the walls.

You had learnt a long time ago that your body betrayed your mind. That your mind betrayed your heart. You feared that you had grown to love Anton, in some sickening, undeniable way: but was that not inevitable? A human will crave fire, though deadly, in the light of cold. And in this case Anton had stripped you of everything you ever had, and now you were craving warmth.

And Anton. He was that very warmth. You wanted his embrace — you wanted it so desperately, the feeling of being loved, cared for, tender and sweet. After all, Anton had never hurt you before, did he? Everything earlier had been some sick farce, some disgusting aversion to all things good. But it was alright. You had learned your lesson.

You needed only Anton, and yet Anton seemed to withhold from sex, like he was dragging it on. You wanted it carnally, biblically. You could feel the sins and evil swarming under the layer of your skin. You wanted it. You wanted to be made pure again, you wanted that sin purged from your flesh. You wanted it eviscerated. You wanted it to be painful, almost.

But as luck had it, Your purification this time was not one of pain. Anton was always tender with you —but the purifications were always painful, rightfully so, as penance.

The sheets were soft and silky, as luxurious as you remembered. It was the same bed that you had laid in during your first time. Oh, how rebellious you had been. How unwilling. But now you are older, wiser. You knew to behave—you knew this was for your greater good.

You have made life miserable for yourself. Why did you bother trying to resist? It had taken coaxing—and you had been so delightfully and wonderfully patient with you. Anton had already been so sweet even when you had been feisty and sharp-tongued, but the priest treated you with honeyed, saccharine sweetness. See, Anton seemed to tell him. See, you should have obeyed me earlier. This way, no one would have died. You could have carved out your own ending.

And now Anton bit at your lip until you could only groan. Supple, strong hands removed whatever clothes you had on— you were kissed until you were lightheaded and breathless, until the only thought that remained was the priest. Anton, Anton, Anton—until those thoughts flooded your mind, strong and vicious.

The priest’s hands were warm as they trailed down your bare skin. You wanted to lean into the warmth: you wanted to tattoo it on your flesh, you wanted it imprinted, made permanent. You could have said that these desires were ignominious, even, humiliating, hideous. But you were no longer blind by the evil that had blinded you. This was good. This was good for you. You had utter faith in Anton.

Your feelings once had been raw and ambivalent. And now they carried on within you, strong, unwavering, comforting.

Anton pressed onto your chest, tapping at where your heart was. “This, Y/n,” Anton’s voice was heavy and commanding. “This belongs to me.”

You took a hitching breath, swallowing.

Anton moved to kiss your neck. “Only I can purge your sinful urges. And only I, my darling, can consecrate you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, “yes, I do.”

Anton smiled. His gaze was heavy, like his words: shadowed, dark, dangerous. It was clouded with haziness, and his arousal was pressed against your thighs, his arms spreading your legs apart. You whimpered, but offered no protest. Your muscles shook from the stretch, but you remained obedient. Sweet, darling lamb. Yes. You would be a sweet, darling, obedient, loving lamb.

“You have been so good lately,” Anton purred, “and there are no more lies. You have changed—I was right, wasn’t I? Around you there was only a plethora of distractions. And now it’s just…” He pressed his forehead against yours. “You and I. You have morphed, Y/n, you have become perfect.”

Hell was a man’s own creation, so was heaven. And you were a piece of heaven that had been carved out for himself. You were his, fully his — you were no longer anyone else’s. His, his, his.

Anton pressed his fingers against the wetness of your hole, slowly slipping into it. You gave a startled pant: where was it? Where was the pain you were expecting? This was no penance, this was—

“See,” Anton said softly, pressing further until you gave another strangled sound, breathier this time, when his fingers brushed against your prostate. “See, Y/n? Your sins have been absolved. By submitting yourself to me, there is no pain. No penance.”

“Please,” you panted—the fingers were not enough. Where were you? You were still so impure, so dirtied— you wanted it.The pained ecstasy. The purification. The Anointment. “Why won’t…why won’t you give it to me?”

Anton tilted his head, smiling. “I thought you wanted this. I remember you begging me last time: to be gentler, to be tender. What’s wrong, Y/n?”

You could not even place it in words. Breathless moans left as your throat when Anton pressed deeper still: you swallowed, before you shook his head. “I…don’t…know,” was all you managed to choke out, “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” Anton murmured. “Very well,” he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. “you are loose, Y/n—you are so loose. Were you thinking about me? Were you waiting anxiously for this? Did you want this?”

“Yes, Anton,” you managed out in between your breaths, quick and dirty. “Yes.”

Anton pulled his fingers out abruptly, and you were left trembling. Your eyes were watery, almost: your back arched, your fingers fisted around the sheets. You almost caught your breath before you felt the same feeling again: the feeling you wanted, of origination and sin and purification—You could feel the delicate flesh battered and pried open again. You gave a soft moan—Anton pressed to the hilt, and thrusted. You started to scream—but it was of pained ecstasy.

It was nowhere as painful as the first time. This time was more mellow. Anton’s touch was bruising against your hips, leaving behind imprints of blue and black. The thrust pinched everything from you, all your breaths and your thoughts and all that horrifying, twisted doubt—all those reservations.

Anton continued. That same feeling plunged all the way up to your gut—it crushed your prostate entirely. You felt yourself start to release guttural, muffled sounds: you tried to swallow back your sobs, unable to discern between the wretched desire and pleasure that kept pulling, yanking at you—and the pain. Anton was still certainly gentler than last time. And this time round, Anton had prepared you.

You screamed, your hands flying out to claw at Anton’s back. You could feel yourself nearing your first orgasm; so painful, so soon, and tears flowed freely down your fever red cheeks. Your hole stretched painfully around the girth of Anton’s cock—Anton continued this pace, but oh—he was so gentle with you.. It was almost like the priest was praising you.

Good job, Anton seemed to be telling you, with the kisses peppered on your face, with the gentle, supple tugs of your hair whenever you started to wobble—good job.

“You are doing so beautifully,” Anton cooed, “so, so well.”

You could barely think through the hazy pleasure. Anton set up a rhythm like this, Anton sliding out just right to see you clinging almost whorishly to his cock—then pressing, pushing, spreading you open with a force that made your throat raw from the obscene sounds you made. Anton’s voice was calm and soothing, low, almost menacing, a juxtaposition to the violence below. But it wasn’t his fault. Anton had wanted to be gentle, you had refused. You wanted the pain, it was your punishment. You would claw Anton’s back, Anton’s lips would capture your own with each cry you wanted to release. His kiss was always breathtaking—literally, in a sense that all coherent thoughts and all your breaths were ripped away from you; and then Anton would chew on your bottom lip, biting it, allowing a stream of crimson to bleed out.

“Anton,” you moaned out feverishly, “Anton.”

The priest continued to fuck you with a blind frenzy, eyes dark and hooded and the grip on your hips so tight—so that you wouldn’t dare to even crawl away. So that you wouldn’t even dream of it. So that you would remain pilant and soft and warm and obedient.

“I’m sorry,” you started to say, your words punctuated by sobs, “I’m sorry I was so…”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Punish me all you like. I deserved all of it. I deserved every single bit of it. Every inch. Everything. Everything Anton did—was it not what you were practically begging for? Anton had given you so many chances, but you had failed him each and every time.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” His voice was calm and soothing, not matching the violence below. “You have repented. And that, Y/n, is the most important.”

Anton pushed again—and this time the sound you made was almost inhuman: when you finally, finally—felt the warmth flooding into you, when you finally felt your insides being filled, your sin being washed away. And you were filled so completely, so much of it that some spilled from your hole, that you felt like you were choking on it. You released at the same time—the electrifying heat spread all the way to the tips of your fingers, enveloping you whole, leaving you dazed and weightless from the ecstasy of it.

Anton kissed your tears away, and his face was one of pride when he touched your forehead gently.

“Good job,” Anton whispered, his voice lilting and insidious. “Good job, Y/n.”

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sturnioz · 6 months ago

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‘CRUSH’ — MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pairing. drummer!matthew sturniolo x reader genre. band au, smut, fluff

word count. 10.1k

❝let me take you backstage. just you and me, yeah?❞

content warnings. explicit content, alcohol usage, mentions of weed, unprotected sex, backstage sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praising, creampie,

authors note. fake bands are mentioned in this. if there is a band with the same name out there, im sorry lol

Despite his love for blending in with the crowd and remaining mysterious and unseen, Matt is anything but unnoticeable. The singular stripe of red dye in his black hair, the black eyeliner that smudges at the corners of his eyes, the tattoos that decorate his arms, and the oversized graphic clothing that drowns his frame… he stands out.

Matt—admittedly—sticks out like a sore thumb.

It isn’t exactly his fault. (It is, but he won’t admit it).

Matt loves tattooing his skin with crazy and memorable designs, wearing clothes far larger than his usual size, and stomping around in heavy boots. Matt also loves filling his waterline with black eyeliner and accessorising with silver jewellery.

Painting his nails is another favourite of his too, though he usually goes for a chipped, all-black look.

It also doesn’t help that Matt is in a band alongside his brothers and childhood best friend. While the band isn’t huge, they perform almost every weekend at a popular bar in their hometown, attracting a crowd over 100 people that try their best to cram themselves in just to see them whenever they manage to book a gig.

So, maybe it is his fault.

But he never expected the level of attention it would bring him—eyes ogling from every direction, hushed whispers whenever he enters a room, and a constant stream of compliments filling his DMs on social media as well as being said directly to his face.

Matt secretly loves the attention, but he has never been the one to make a move when girls throw themselves at him, hinting for a quick hook-up or even a relationship. He just wasn't interested enough—no one has ever truly captured his attention.

That is until he saw you at one of the band’s gigs.

You were sitting in a booth with a friend, sipping a Coke through a straw and taking in your seemingly unfamiliar surroundings. Matt was instantly captivated by your presence, wanting nothing more than to gather the courage to walk over and strike a conversation—to learn more about you.

“Starin’ makes you look creepy.”

Matt’s bandmate and childhood best friend, Nate, remarks, hardly even glancing Matt’s way. His attention is instead confused on his own reflection in the mirror backdrop behind the bar, standing on his tiptoes to see better over the rows of liquor bottles, trying to restyle his newly dyed hair, the sweat on his forehead causing his bangs to stick.

Nate continues, “Go talk to her. Work that so-called ‘Matt Magic’ I hear Chris yappin’ about.”

“Trust me, it’s real.” Chris declares, suddenly appearing and throwing himself down into the seat beside Matt.

He slams a tray of multicoloured shots onto the bar counter, spilling half the contents and leaving the bartender cursing under his breath as he wipes up the mess, glaring at Chris who just grins cheekily, avoiding confrontation.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes, alright?” Chris continues. “It works like magic—makes the ladies drop to their knees in an instant.”

Nate’s brow raises in amusement, “In the many years I’ve known Matt, I’ve never seen him hook-up or flirt with anyone…” Nate pauses, a teasing grin sliding onto his lips. “Got some problems goin’ on down there or what?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Matt grumbles, swatting away Nate’s hand as he tries to reach out and pat his cheek.

Nate cackles, shaking his head as he grabs one of the shots that Chris eagerly hands out to the group. He then calls out to Nick, who emerges from backstage, adjusting the leather jacket on his shoulders as he settles down beside Chris.

Chris hums as he tugs the collar of Nick’s shirt down, “Nice marks, kid. Who was it this time?”

“None of your fucking business.” Nick answers with a hiss, running his fingers through his blonde hair.

“You’re always in mine,” Chris shoots back, causing Nick to gape at him. “Don’t give me that look, kid. You’re always yappin’ in my ear about the sisters.”

“Oh, Thing 1 and Thing 2,” Nick grins at the mention of the twin sisters that Chris frequently hooks-up with. “Who was the one that was here last time?”

“Zoe,” Chris answers, but the blank look on Nick’s face causes Chris to sigh in annoyance before clarifying, “Thing 1.”

“I thought Thing 1 was Chloe?” Nate chimes in, pulling a confused face.

Chris is quick to jump to Zoe’s defence, arguing that she’s number one, but Matt tunes out the rest of the conversation, rolling his eyes as he picks up the shot glass and downs it quickly before bringing his beer bottle up to his lips.

He then turns his neck slightly to look over at you once again, spotting you this time smiling at your friend and clinking your simple glass of Coke to her colourful cocktail.

Matt can’t help but continue sneaking glances your way. He is, undoubtedly, interested in you. This is unfamiliar territory for him—he’s never felt this drawn to someone before.

He’s not scared or nervous, and he really would walk on over to you to begin a conversation if it wasn’t for the fact you weren’t alone. Your friend was glued to your side… and he hated it.

Matt inwardly curses, wishing he could just get rid of your friend and have you all to himself for the night, but you two seem inseparable. He takes another swig of his beer, his mind racing with ideas. There has to be a way to separate you from your friend, even if it was just for a moment.

He can’t let this opportunity slip away, he’s going to have to find a way to get you alone. Or he’s going to have to wait for the right moment.

“I think he’s staring at me,” Talia whispers across the booth to you. She straightens her posture and runs her fingers through her hair, fixing any stray strands as she takes a quick glance at her reflection in her phone screen. “How do I look? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“You look fine,” You reassure with a nod, sipping your Coke through the straw. Your eyebrows knit together in curiosity as you watch Talia fuss over her appearance, pulling the neckline of her dress lower to show more cleavage. “But who’s staring at you?”

“The tattooed guy with the red strand in his hair, sitting at the bar behind y—The fuck? Don’t turn around!” You ignore Talia’s feeble attempts to redirect your attention as you spin around, easily spotting the man sitting at the bar surrounded by other similar-looking people.

You snort at the sight, but can’t help but notice his attention doesn’t seem to be on your friend. Slowly turning back to face Talia, you see her shoulders sag in defeat.

“He was staring. He looked away as soon as you turned around.”

“I believe you,” You tell her, getting comfortable in your seat as you observe the way she takes quick glances behind you, holding her head high with confidence. “Who is he, anyways?”

“You’re kidding,” Talia baffles, her eyes going wide. She takes offence when you shake your head. “It’s Matt. The guy that’s on my Instagram feed. His band is playing tonight—he’s the reason why we’re here!”

You frown at that, “I thought you wanted to hang out?”

“I do!” Talia quickly says, but you’re less than impressed. She exhales deeply, “Listen… Matt is the drummer in the band that performed earlier, and I haven’t been able to have much free time to see them play. On top of that, we haven’t hung out in a while and this is the only weekend we seem to be available — so I’m basically hitting two birds with one stone here, can you really blame me?”

“Guess not.” You sigh, even though you’re still not impressed with what’s going on.

You felt a little bit used and lied to, especially when she burst through your dorm room earlier and rambled excitedly about how she’s looking forward to spending some time with you tonight.

Your mood turns sour when it dawns on you that you'll most likely be heading back to your dorm room alone tonight, knowing that she will probably blow you off to go blow off some other guy—literally.

You wish you were the type of person to be selfish — to tell her that you’re not happy with her possibly leaving you to go hook-up with some guy, and demand her to stay with you all night to catch up and go home together with a takeout bag full of junk food, and watch a shitty old movie on your small laptop screen.

But you’ve never been that way.

You have never been selfish.

“I need to go pee,” Talia announces, her face twisting in discomfort as she pushes her empty cocktail glass across the table and awkwardly shuffles out of the booth. She picks up her handbag and rummages through quickly, pulling out her purse and shoving it in your hands. “Go get us another drink, and no more Cokes for you either.”

You don’t even get the chance to say anything as Talia waddles away in a rush towards the bathrooms and you push yourself out of the booth with a huff, clutching her purse in your grasp as you weave through the crowd of people blocking your path to the bar, seemingly busy with their conversations to even make room.

The grip on Talia’s purse tightens as you finally reach the counter, watching the bartender lean in to chat up some customer with a flirtatious smile.

You debate on going back to the booth and waiting for Talia so she can work her charm to get you both more drinks. But you decide against it, instead hoisting yourself up onto a vacant barstool, so focussed on the bartender and his cheesy pickup lines that you’re completely unaware of who is sitting next to you.

Matt struggles to contain himself when he feels your shoulder brush against his as you sit down beside him at the bar. He steals a quick glance your way, his heart racing, but you’re focussed intently on the bartender, seemingly oblivious to Matt’s presence.

Matt knows Brent, the bartender, all too well—he’s notorious for getting distracted as he flirts with customers, leaving others waiting, so you won’t be getting served any time soon.

This could be Matt’s chance to finally talk to you, to have the conversation he’s been yearning for since he first laid eyes on you. But the words catch in his throat, and he finds himself unable to face you directly, especially with his bandmates mocking him from the corner of his eye.

Chris makes obnoxious kissing noises, causing Matt to snap his head in that direction, but Chris doesn’t back down from his teasing as he grins and nudges his shoulder.

“C’mon, kid. Show us that ‘Matt Magic’,” The wiggle of Chris’s eyebrows makes Matt want to fight, his knuckles turning white from the grip he has around his beer bottle. Chris quickly throws his hands up in defence. “Just want you to have some fun, man.”

“As much as it pains me to admit it—like it actually hurts me—Chris is right,” Nick chimes in, his eyes flitting between Matt and yourself, who is still wrapped up in your own head to hear the conversation that’s going on. It surprises him. “You’re surrounded by very beautiful women who clearly show interest in you, and you don’t give a fuck. At all.”

“Maybe Matt does have some problems goin’ on down there…” Nate drawls as his eyes dip down to Matt’s jeans, tilting his head to the side teasingly. Matt rolls his eyes at Nate’s comment and reaches out to kick him, but Nick intervenes by pushing Nate to the side while Chris grins, amused by the situation.

“Look,” Nick sighs. “As much as I would love for you to get out there, it’s all on your terms. Don’t let these fucks peer pressure you into doing shit.”

Matt doesn’t feel pressured, not one bit.

But all he wants right now is for his brothers and friend to give him some space so he can be alone with you. It would be the perfect opportunity, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the others making grand gestures behind his back or worse, interrupting the conversation.

As if reading his mind, Nick grips the back of Chris and Nate’s shirts, hauling them away from the bar, though they don’t stay too far—still within reach of their drinks and shots.

It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.

Matt takes a deep breath, gently tugging on the earring dangling from his ear as he finally turns in his seat to face you… just in time for the bartender to finish his flirting.

Fuck.

“Sorry about that,” The bartender apologises to you with a faint chuckle as he stands in front of you, running his fingers through his dark hair and adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before resting his hands on his hips.

It gives you a full view of his all black sleeveless shirt that’s tucked into a pair of dark jeans, and you can’t help but notice the white name tag that stands out against the outfit, identifying him as Brent.

Brent gives you a charming smile, “What can I get for you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to remember the name of the cocktail Talia had ordered earlier. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you scan the drinks menu above the bar, pointing to the cheapest options and you’re about to speak up until a voice suddenly interrupts you.

“Can I have a beer, a cosmopolitan, and a Coke?”

You whip your head to the side in annoyance, ready to give the rude customer a piece of your mind for cutting in. But the insults die on your lips as you realise who exactly it is.

It’s the tattooed arm and the flash of red in his hair that lets you know who it is—the guy that Talia has been non-stop talking about, and has been so fascinated with the past couple of months, and even the main topic of tonight's conversations.

Your eyebrows raise in slight shock. You’re beginning to see the appeal… Matt is really pretty.

With Matt seated so close—shoulder to shoulder—you have the opportunity to really take in every detail of his appearance. Though you’ve basically heard Talia rave about him, you’ve never seen him up close and personal before.

The smudged eyeliner and subtle black eyeshadow around his blue eyes give him a slightly intimidating look, but there’s a certain allure to it that makes you sink back into your seat, captivated.

You can’t help but notice the tattoos decorating his arm, the flash of vibrant red in his hair, and the small hole on the side of his nostril that makes you wonder if that’s where a nose piercing once was. The redness around the area suggests he or someone else may have attempted to pierce it recently — perhaps even today.

“That’s what you’re both drinkin’, yeah?” Matt’s question snaps you out of your captivated staring, and he shifts in his seat as he turns to face you fully, the chains on his all-black outfit jingling with his movements.

As he drums his fingernails against the bar as he waits for your answer, you notice the black chipped nail polish, some definitely more chipped than others, but the look suits his edgy appearance perfectly.

“Yes—yeah, I think so…” You answer quickly, realising you’ve been quiet for far too long. But then you pause, your face twisting in confusion as you glance between him and the drinks being made. “How did you know that?”

The corner of Matt’s lip curves upwards in amusement, and he shrugs his shoulders. “I guessed.”

“Here you go, gorgeous,” Brent interrupts as he slides the cocktail and Coke glass in your direction with precise aim, managing to not spill a drop. He then settles the beer bottle down in front of Matt next. “That will be—”

“Wait, can I get another one of those?” You cut him off as you point to the pink-coloured concoction in front of you, and Brent sends a wink your way as he turns on his heel to prepare the drink.

You give him a small smile as a thank you and you turn back to look at Matt who’s already looking at you with his eyebrow raised, and you suddenly feel the need to explain yourself.

“It’s for me.”

Matt nods slowly, “Had enough of the Cokes?”

“No, not exactly… She told me earlier not to get another one,” You say as you glance down at the full glass of Coke in front of you with pursed lips. “But I’ll still take this, you know, just in case I don’t like the cocktail.”

Matt smiles at that, and he reaches for the beer bottle with one hand while the other dips inside his pocket as soon as Brent returns with your newly made drink. He gives you the price and your eyes almost bulge out at the numbers, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you tell him you’ll pay by card.

You’re already mentally preparing yourself for Talia’s reaction when she finds out about the cost. It makes you grimace just thinking about the consequences as you dig through her purse to find her card, but the sound of a machine beeping brings you out of your search, and you lift your head to see Matt with his arm outstretched, his own bank card in hand and pressed down on the card reader.

Did he just…?

Your mouth repeatedly opens and closes in shock, unable to fully process what just happened even though it was the most simplest thing.

Brent’s giving Matt an amused look, his tongue prodding at his cheek to hide the obvious smirk on his face as he shoves the card reader back beneath the bar, and he flutters his fingers at you for a quick goodbye as he serves another customer — you briefly overhear him compliment their hair, but you pay him no attention as you’re meeting eyes with Matt who seems nonchalant about paying for all of your pricey drinks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You protest quietly. “I had the money, I—”

“I wanted to,” Matt cuts you off, bringing his beer to his lip and taking a sip all while keeping his eyes on you. “I haven’t seen you around this bar before, so think of it as a welcome gift… from me to you.”

“That’s… sweet. Thank you,” You show him your gratitude, warmth spreading in your chest at his unexpected gesture.

Matt nods his head and reaches over to gently clink his beer bottle against one of your cocktail glasses before taking a sip. You decide to follow suit, bringing the reddish-pink cocktail drunk to your lips.

But the second the liquid touches your tongue, your face twists in an unexpected reaction to the flavour, the taste catching you by surprise which causes the involuntary expression that flashes across your features.

Matt watches your reaction intently, an amused glint in his eye as he takes another sip of his beer while you place the cocktail back down on the bar to quickly grab your glass of Coke, washing down the taste with something you’re a lot more familiar with.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s different,” You admit with an awkward laugh. You feel slightly embarrassed at pulling the most unattractive face and not enjoying a drink that he bought out of his money. “But it’s still a gift, so I’ll drink it.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that,” Matt shakes his head, the amusement still sparkling in his eyes as he reaches for his card. “Let me buy you another—”

“No!” You immediately interject, not wanting him to spend any more of his money on the expensive drinks. Matt seems a little surprised at your sudden burst, and he reels his hand back to his lap. You cringe at your tone before adding. “I will drink it.”

“Yeah?” He hums, his eyes flitting down to the cocktail on the bar before meeting your gaze again. He tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you sure about that?”

Your heart thumps at the intensity of his stare, a look you’re unfamiliar with. You nod, doing your best to sound confident as you mutter, “Very.”

“Was there a queue at the bar or something? You took so long,” Talia frowns as soon as you arrive back at your shared booth with both cocktails in hand.

Your tongue pokes out in concentration, careful to not spill anything as you hand one over to Talia who takes it in her grasp.

“Thanks, babe. But did you not use my card? I didn’t get the notification on my phone that my card was being used—did you get us a cosmopolitan?! Do you realise how fucking expensive these are here?!”

“Relax, I didn’t buy these,” You tell her as you slide into the booth, sliding Talia her purse. She stares at you, confusion written across her face, so you clarify; “Courtesy of your favourite drummer boy.”

“Matt bought me a drink?” The look that plasters across Talia’s face is priceless, and you bite back the urge to add on how he bought your drink too. But you let her live in her moment as you nod your head, watching as she takes the information in with wide, excited eyes. “Holy shit. He totally likes me—I fucking knew it. Did he say anything?”

“About what?” You ask, your brows pulling together and Talia points at herself. “Oh, no, not really. He was just talking about alcohol, you know… considering we were both at the bar.”

Talia sighs dreamily, “My type of guy.”

“Yeah, he seems interesting.” You find yourself agreeing, pressing your lips firmly together as you glance over your shoulder in a somewhat hopeful manner that you’ll see Matt still at the bar, sipping his beer or maybe even watching you from afar. But when you don’t see him, you feel an unexpected pang of disappointment.

It’s strange — you’ve never spoken to Matt before today, and your interaction was brief. Yet there’s something about him that has piqued your curiosity, leaving you wanting to know more.

You struggle to explain this newfound fascination. It’s completely out of character for you to be so preoccupied with a near-stranger, especially one that is your best friend’s crush. Normally, you would shrug something like this off and focus on the evening with Talia.

But now, there’s a heaviness in your chest, a restless energy that has you craving another encounter with Matt.

Was it the intensity of his gaze that captivated you? The confident, almost flirtatious yet mysterious way he carried himself? Or was it simply the unexpected gesture of buying you a drink — a gesture that, for whatever reason, has left a lasting impression.

You’ve never been like this before.

So why now? Why all of a sudden?

“What are you thinking about?” Talia’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts and you turn your head back in her direction. You quickly shrug your shoulders and shake your head to silently tell her that it was nothing, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not thinking—”

“You were staring at the bar,” Talia points out before she decides to follow your gaze, her lips pursing in deep thought as she scans the surroundings. She suddenly smiles, “Are you staring at Brent? The bartender?”

“I said I’m—”

“You should go for it. I heard he gives really good head and honestly—no offence—you need it. He could definitely loosen you up and give you a good time.”

You deadpan, “Are you saying that because it’s the truth, or is it because you’ll feel bad that I’d have to walk home alone while you’re getting laid?”

“Both.” Talia sends you a sly wink, and she clinks her cocktail glass to yours before taking a sip.

You exhale softly with a roll of your eyes, reaching for your own cocktail until your hand stops halfway when you realise you’ve lost the Coke you had left at the bar — it’s likely been snatched up by another customer that got excited over a free drink.

You really don’t like the flavour of his cocktail, and you find yourself wishing you had something to wash it down with. It pains you.

You consider being a bit dramatic, holding your nose to avoid tasting it, or digging through your purse for some gum that you know is pooling at the bottom somewhere. But you decide to just suck it up and drink it without making a fuss.

After all, it was a gift.

Just as you’re about to bring the glass to your lips, another is suddenly placed in front of you — a fresh, bubbly Coke with ice and a red straw that faces towards you..

Talia’s the first to respond to this stranger, her hand flying to cover her mouth to stifle her reaction as she chokes on her drink, her eyes strained and watery. You check on her to make sure that she’s okay before you glance up, slightly taken aback when you see Matt.

“You forgot your drink at the bar,” He tells you in a low tone. His eyes flick down to the cocktail in your hands, and his eyebrow raises slightly. “Are you sure you’re goin' to drink it?”

“I was going to.” Your reply in a whisper. But before you can say anything else, Matt is taking the cocktail from your hands and replacing it with the fresh Coke he’s brought over.

He holds the stem of the cocktail glass between his fingers, eyeing the brightly coloured drink for a moment before sliding it over to Talia, who is still uncharacteristically speechless. She quickly regains her composure, grasping the drink and pulling it close to her chest, as if it’s the most meaningful thing anyone has ever done for her.

“Enjoy this one instead,” Matt murmurs to you, and just as he begins to turn away, you find yourself calling out his name.

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve done so — perhaps it’s a reluctance to let him go so quickly, a desire to indulge the growing fascination you’ve developed for him. Or maybe it’s because you can see the gears turning in Talia’s head as she tries to figure out how to start a conversation with him—to flirt with him.

You’re a good friend to Talia, you always have been.

You always put her first.

“Do you want to join us?” You offer with a friendly smile, and you gesture towards the empty seat opposite you—beside Talia. “You’re welcome to come sit with us and hang out, unless you have somewhere else to be?”

Matt is quiet for a moment, his eyes darting around the bar as if he’s searching for something, but then he nods and takes you up on your offer. Talia’s beaming ear to ear with excitement, shuffling to the side to make space for him on her side of the booth.

But to your surprise, Matt sits down beside you instead, his shoulder knocking heavily against yours as he settles into the small space. He apologises quickly, lifting a hand to gently rub the sore spot.

You find yourself glued to your seat, sandwiched between the wooden barrier on the right and Matt’s body pressed against your left. The heat radiating off him envelops you, but you try not to pay too much attention to it, especially when you see Talia eyeing the two of you with a slightly wrinkled nose and an upturned lip.

However, Talia’s expression soon shifts to a grin as she turns her attention to Matt, “Thank you for buying the drinks,” She gestures towards the cocktail in front of her. “I’ll get your next one.”

“I appreciate that,” Matt replies, dipping his head in gratitude.

He takes a quick sip of his beer, and you notice Talia watching him carefully, her eyebrows furrowing as she tilts her head, trying to read the label from her seat.

Matt seems to pick up on this, and he comically and slowly rotates the bottle in Talia’s direction. “It’s new — Brent got it delivered today.”

“Lost Boys? He got a drink named after one of your songs?” Talia teases playfully, and Matt simply nods in response. You fight the urge to snort at that fact, finding it a little amusing.

“You should try it,” Matt nudges you softly, offering you a taste of his beer. You are about to decline, to shake your head and say you’re fine with the Coke, but the smile that dances across his lips is enough to make you slowly change your mind. “I think you might like this better than the cocktail.”

You don’t question it further, and instead take the beer in your hands, taking a tentative sip. You’re a bit hesitant on the initial taste, rubbing your lips together firmly as Matt and Talia watch you, waiting for your honest opinion. you just take the beer in your hands for a sip and you’re hesitant on the taste that hits your tongue, rubbing your lips together firmly as the pair watch you, waiting for your honest opinion.

You swallow thickly, but are pleasantly surprised. “It’s actually really good.”

Matt hums, “Told you.”

“Let me try,” Talia chimes in, reaching out for the beer. You happily hand it over to her, but then you realise your mistake, turning to look at Matt with a slightly apologetic look on your face as it dawns on you that you’re sharing around his drink.

Matt’s already watching you when you look at him, and you go to apologise, but Talia’s already handing him back his beer with a satisfied expression.

“I like it too—it’s sweet.” She confirms.

“That can be the next round of drinks then, yeah?” Matt says, his eyes briefly darting down to Talia’s purse beside her.

Talia’s smile falters for a moment when she remembers that she was the one that offered to buy him his next drink. You can tell she’s thinking about the dent these drinks are going to put on her bank account, but she quickly musters up another smile and nods her head, excited at the thought of buying Matt something.

Before Talia can respond, you decide to come to her aid as your hand slips towards your own purse. “You don’t have to buy the next drink. We can go in halves—”

“Don’t offend me like that,” Talia cuts you off with a playful flip of her hair. “I have the money. I’ll get it.”

You wince at that, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Totally,” Talia smirks. She then turns to face Matt, who has been quietly sipping his beer. “Your set earlier was fucking amazing, by the way. The band is so—”

“DID SOMEBODY SAY SHOTS?!” An unfamiliar voice screeches at the top of their lungs as a tray of multicoloured shots is suddenly thrust onto the table in front of you all, causing some of the liquid to spill over. A quick hand reaches out to try and recover them despite half of the liquid pooling around the tray.

As your eyes trail up the arm of the person who brought over the shots, you’re surprised to see an identical-looking guy to Matt, but with a backwards cap on his curly head of brown hair. His cheeks are flushed—a clear sign that he’s had quite a bit to drink already.

Standing on one side of him is another identical-looking guy, but with blonde hair, and he’s cursing under his breath and scolding the backwards capped one for the mess he’s created.

The capped guy is trying (and failing) to scoop the spilled alcohol back into the cups using just his pinky finger. It’s a comical sight, with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in pure concentration.

“This is the second fuckin’ time this has happened,” Matt informs with a sigh, but the chuckle that escapes him shows he’s not as annoyed as he’s letting on. “Chris also spilled them earlier.”

The backwards capped guy, who you now discover is named Chris, snaps his head up in offence at Matt’s comment and stops his failed attempts at trying to scoop the alcohol back into the shot glasses.

“I tripped over your fuckin’ dumbass shoe actually,” Chris hisses through his teeth as he knocks his foot against Matt, who doesn’t seem fazed at the attack at all. “Anyway. Scoot up, let us in.”

“Are you joining us?” Talia’s eyes twinkle at the thought of her favourite band joining the booth, and you couldn’t help but feel happy for her, knowing that she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

However, you can’t help but feel a bit confused and slightly worried about where the others would fit, especially inside the cramped booth. It could fit four people at most, but you weren’t sure about the six. You’re already feeling a bit squished beside Matt and the wooden barrier.

“Of course we’re joining you, that’s the reason why we got shots.” The blonde-haired guy, who you found out is called Nick, scoffs as he makes a quick gesture to Talia to scoot up, creating just enough room for him and the other bandmate, Nate (who funnily enough has a name tag written across his chest), to squeeze in on her side of the booth.

“Excuse me, kid.” Chris grunts as he clamps a hand down on Matt’s shoulder to push himself up, placing his shoe on the smallest bit of booth space between Matt’s legs before climbing over you both, muttering how he doesn’t want to sit on the end.

Matt’s arm slides around your middle in an instant as he moves to the edge of the booth, pulling you along with him to let Chris sit at your other side, allowing Chris to be squashed between you and the wooden barrier instead. He weirdly seems okay with it, although he does wince when he feels your purse dig into his side, and you’re quick to move it with an apology, but he dismisses it with a wave and a kind smile.

Now you’re pressed right up against Matt, his arm bringing you even close to him. After a few moments, he lets you go, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your back as he gently pulls your shirt that had risen up back down, keeping you decent before his arm falls back into his own lap.

The brief touch sends goosebumps crawling up your skin, and you involuntarily shiver. You straighten your posture and tear your attention away from Matt’s wandering eyes, missing the small grin that tugs at the corners of his lips.

What you don’t miss is Talia staring at you, and as soon as you meet her gaze, her lips pull into a tight smile which you return back, grabbing your glass of Coke to distract yourself from what just happened.

“You. Nuh-uh—no way, kid. Put that down,” Nate points a finger at you and shakes his head with a tut. “We’re taking shots before we continue anythin’. You pick first.”

Reaching for one of the spilled shots that has the least amount of drink in it, you go for the easiest option. Nate’s mouth drops and his eyebrows knit together, as if you’ve just outwardly offended him, but he doesn’t say anything as he and the others quickly pick their own shots and clink their glasses together, eagerly downing the drinks.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the fruity taste that slides down your throat, but you can’t help but wince at the burn it leaves behind, similar to Nick, who starts to complain.

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick fake retches and rubs his throat, his other hand quickly reaching for his beer to wash down the taste. “What flavour was that—What did you fucking get?!”

“I dunno—a whole bunch of different shit,” Chris shrugs as he picks up Nick’s empty shot glass, taking a sniff. His eyebrows raise in surprise. “That’s passionfruit, kid. I had that too. We matched.”

“Oh, I hate it.” Nick gags again, bringing his beer bottle to his lips again to take a few hefty gulps, clearly trying to rid himself of the unpleasant taste.

“I think me and Matt had strawberry,” Talia announces, staring at the red stain on Matt’s chosen shot gloss. She grins, “We matched.”

Matt nods, then turns to you, “What did you have?”

“Raspberry,” Nate answers for you as he winks at you from across the booth, signifying you matched shots with him.

“Oh! So not only did I have a disgusting flavour, but I matched with Chris?” Nick scoffs, eyeballing every single one of you with irritancy. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“So, what brought you both here tonight?” Chris asks you and Talia after a few more drinks, courtesy of Talia who had promised to buy the next round.

Originally, the next drinks that were bought by Talia were supposed to be for just you, her and Matt. But with the others joining the table and their constant pleading, she ended up purchasing more than she had planned.

You feel bad, especially knowing how pricey this bar is, and make a mental note to pay for half of the drinks bought at the end of the night — even though Talia keeps giving you side glances, letting you know that everything is fine.

This is her favourite band after all, and she would do anything to spend a few more minutes with them… or even just Matt.

“Just to catch up over some drinks,” You tell him, glancing over at the stage where a few of their set pieces are still laid out. “We came to listen to your band too.”

“Yeah?” Chris grins, leaning back into his seat, his legs spreading wide beneath the table. “Are you a fan of our music?”

“I’m a huge fan,” Talia gushes, and you allow her to take the lead in the conversation. She leans forward, elbows on the table, causing her cleavage to almost spill out of the top of her dress in a deliberate gesture.

You admire Talia’s confidence, even though you want to tell her that she doesn’t need to try so hard to get their attention — she’s gorgeous as is.

Talia continues, “I’ve pretty much seen every single one of your shows here.”

“Have you been to any of our shows?” Matt asks, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s talking to you, as everyone at the table is now staring and waiting for your reply. The corner of Matt’s lip curls upwards slightly as he tilts his head. “This your first time?”

“She’s never been,” Talia answers for you. “She doesn’t listen to this type of music. I practically had to force her out of her—”

“Is there something wrong with our music?” Nick asks you with mock offence, pressing his hand against his chest like you actually wounded him. Chris tuts with a shake of his head, making a joke about how much of a fake you are while Nate stays silent with a grin, watching everything unfold.

“No, nothing is wrong with your music,” You laugh softly. “I just really like the band ‘Solarz’.”

“You like Solarz?” Nick gapes at you, the mock offence look dropping from his face as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You nod your head to confirm, and he breathes out, “I think you might seriously be my favourite person ever.”

Nate and Chris laugh at that while Matt remains quiet with a small grin on his face, keeping his eyes locked. You start to feel a little stuffy and nervous, especially with how his body is pressed against yours.

“Solarz is incredible,” Talia chimes in above the laughter, and you smile at her, grateful for the times she’s cleared her schedule to go to their concerts with you. You really do owe her. “Matt, do you like Solarz too?”

“I think they’re great,” Matt nods, his answer short and to the point. Talia smiles, but before she can speak again, Matt turns to you and asks, “Is this really your first time watchin’ us?”

“Yeah,” You nod, glancing over at Talia, who seems a little dejected. You don’t want to see her upset or left out, so you gesture towards her, hoping to bring Matt’s attention to her. “But, like Talia said, she’s a huge fan of y—”

“I think you should let me show you what’s backstage…” Matt cuts you off, leaning forward to whisper to you, even though his words are heard by everyone in the booth.

He stares at you through the strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes, waiting for your answer. You struggle to respond, feeling all eyes on you.

Talia is clearly not impressed by Matt’s sudden invitation to you. Her mouth is hung open in shock, and her eyebrows are pulled together in a clear expression of displeasure. You can’t blame her, given how she’s been trying to flirt with Matt this whole time, only for him to disregard her advances and ask you instead if you want to see what’s backstage.

The phrase itself seems to hold a deeper meaning, based on the reactions of the others. Matt’s brothers and Nate all look quite shocked, some more smug than others, subtly nudging each other under the table. Chris even wiggles his eyebrows as he mouths the words ‘Matt Magic’ to Nick and Nate, the former gasping in response.

You feel conflicted as Matt’s hand slips into the gap between the table and your own, his palm facing upwards as he laces his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand is a contrast to the cold metal of his rings, and you find yourself curling your fingers around his in a gentle grip.

“What do you say?” Matt asks, his gaze unwavering as he looks at you. “Let me take you backstage. Just me and you, yeah? Come with me.”

You are aware of how stupid you must look right now, not speaking a word while the others are staring at you. You’re unsure of what to say, especially when a big part of you wants to decline for Talia’s sake — she’s the dedicated fan, and deserves this more than you do.

But another part of you is tempted by Matt’s invitation, drawn to him. The part wants nothing man that for you to grip his hand tighter and allow him to drag you wherever backstage.

You’ve always been unlucky with situations like these, always the one that’s left behind during hangouts at a bar while others had fun with boys or getting drunk — which, to be fair, is all on you. You never were the one to go home with some complete stranger or let yourself indulge in alcohol until you were able to function, it was never your thing.

You nod your head just as Talia calls out your name, and your head immediately snaps in her direction, meeting her wide eyes with your own.

“Talia, I—” You start to say, but the words catch in your throat as Matt is already sliding out of the booth, his fingers tightening around yours and pulling you along with him.

You barely have time to react, hurriedly grabbing your purse as you’re whisked away from the group. You send an apologetic smile Talia’s way, wishing you could explain yourself to her, but the noises of Nate and Chris’s hollering and whooping drowns out any chance you have.

You tighten your hand around Matt’s as he pulls you through the crowded bar, and you duck your head low to avoid the stares of strangers who watch you with him — wishing that they were in your position. It gives you a slight confidence boost, knowing that people are jealous of you, and you dwell on that feeling for a moment.

Soon, Matt is leading you down a vacant hallway, heading towards a red door that reads ‘BACKSTAGE. STAFF AND BAND ACCESS ONLY’ in bold lettering.

“Here we go…” Matt mumbles under his breath as he pushes open the door, allowing you to walk in first.

The backstage area is a sight to behold. Fancy string lights hang from the ceiling, their bulbs flickering as Matt flips a switch to turn them on, bathing the room in a warm glow. The colour scheme is a combination of red and black — the walls are painted a blood red, adorned with various posters of bands, while a plush black carpet covers the floor, littered with instruments and clothing.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to a pair of light blue panties thrown across the arm of a leather sofa, and Matt seems to follow your gaze.

“One of Chris’s girls was in here before the show; Zoe,” The name doesn’t ring any bells, but you nod anyway, watching as he unzips a backpack with Chris’s name on it and shoves the panties inside as he mumbles under his breath, “At least Nick fuckin’ cleans up after himself.”

“Cleans up?” You can’t help but ask, and Matt responds with a grin, gently kicking the backpack to the side, out of your curious gaze.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the various items scattered about — a few zip lock bags on the glass coffee table, some filled with pre-rolled joints and others with just the marijuana.

“Chris and Nate,” Matt whispers in your ear, causing you to jump slightly at his sudden closeness. They like takin’ a hit before goin’ onstage, calms their nerves.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “What about you?”

“Sometimes, but not tonight” Matt moves to stand directly in front of you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek, his rings gliding gently over your skin as he meets your gaze. “You know the reason why I brought you here, right?”

“Apparently not just to see what’s backstage,” You respond with a lighthearted laugh, though you can’t deny the nervousness bubbling within you. You swallow thickly, your palms sweaty and clammy. “I don’t—I don’t do this type of thing.”

Matt hums, “Do what?”

You feel a surge of embarrassment as the heat rises up your neck, and you can’t bring yourself to look Matt in the eyes, instead focussing on the horse necklace hanging around his neck. You wish the ground would swallow you whole this moment.

Suddenly, Matt gently grasps your chin, using his fingers and thumb to tilt your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze once again.

“Hey, if you’re uncomfortable, I can take you back out to the back right now,” Matt tells you, his tone sincere and honest. “Just say the word and we’ll leave — I’ll take you back to your friend and even call a cab for you to go home if you don’t want to stay.”

“That’s the thing…” You pause, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you grapple with your inner turmoil. “I do want to stay. You’re… you’re interesting.”

“Me? I’m interesting?” Matt can’t help but chuckle, a grin spreading across his face. “Sweetheart, it’s actually you that interested me. You caught my attention the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve never seen you around before, and yet you make me feel like I’m goin’ crazy. I just—” He stops, voice huskier as he stares at you. “I want you so bad. I want to play with you.”

“Play?”

“Will you let me play with you?” Matt asks you sweetly despite the dark look in his eyes. “I can make you feel good… wanna make that pretty pussy of yours ready for me.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod your head, “Okay.”

You gasp as Matt instantly turns you around, your back now pressed to his chest with his lips grazing across your shoulder, his teeth nipping at the skin as his hands slowly slide down the strap of your purse, letting it drop to the floor with a thump.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his tentative touch, trying your best to steady your breathing as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, his knuckles brushing your sides as he lifts the shirt up, bringing it over your head and letting it pool to the floor.

Matt’s teeth snag at your earlobe and you crane your head to the side, allowing him to nip and suck at the area as much as he pleases, eliciting a satisfied hum from you. He pushes his hips forward, his bulge rutting against your lower back while his hands come down to rest at your hips.

You fight the urge to laugh when you feel his fingers drum a beat on your skin, a similar pattern to the one that was playing earlier when he was on stage performing, but the urge to laugh soon disappears when he bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, your knees almost buckling from shock if it wasn’t for the grip he tightened around you.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive,” Matt murmurs against your skin, his tongue flattening over the area he bit down on. “Are you sensitive in other places too?”

“Matt…” You whisper his name when you feel his blunt fingernails dig into your hips to turn you around, his nose brushing over your own before he leans in to push his lips to yours for the first time.

The kiss is soft at first—a few second lip lock that causes your body to tingle with nerves that soon slip away when you feel the intensity grow, and your hands slide around his shoulders while his come up to cup the sides of your neck, his head tilting to the side as his tongue parts your lips.

You grip the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him as close to you as possible, and Matt follows, his body flush against yours with his hands secure around your neck, taking control of the passionate and heated kiss.

It makes your head spin and lungs burn—desperate for air, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to part away from him so soon. His kiss is intoxicating.

Matt breaks away from the kiss as he pants, “Need you–need you to—” He cuts himself off only to reconnect your lips, unable to finish his sentence until he has to force himself back. “Fuck—I need you to lie down f’me.”

You immediately drop down to the carpet with no further questions, not daring to lay across the sofa after seeing the underwear one of Chris’s girls had left behind on the arm of it.

Matt drops down carefully to sit at your waist, his knees planted on either side of your hips. You watch as he takes off his oversized graphic shirt, messing up his hair even more than it already was as it’s tugged over his head.

You’re in complete awe at his body, your hands reaching out to trace the happy trail that leads down to his jeans, making your mouth water.

His horse chained necklace glides across your skin when he leans down to litter kisses across your body, paying extra attention to your breasts that he’s eager to rip free from your bra—he doesn’t even apologise once he tears the material.

Your head tips back with a gasp as his tongue rolls over your pebbled nipple before it’s sucked into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the sensitive bud which elicits a moan from you, unable to control the subtle twitches of your body.

“Pretty—fuckin’ pretty…” Matt praises, his tongue swirling around the opposite nipple as his fingers knead the plush skin of the other. “You’re so sensitive. So easy to play with.”

“Matt—”

“Shhh, sweetheart…” Matt shushes you as you moan a little too loudly, peering up at you through hooded lids as he pulls your jeans and panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere to the side as he pries open your thighs, his gaze flitting down to your glistening folds.

Your heart races as he stares at your pussy, feeling shy and too exposed. You debate on closing your legs so he couldn’t look anymore, or telling him to hurry up so you don’t feel hot under his gaze.

Matt moves down to lay between your legs, his mouth trailing kisses over the skin of your inner thighs. You almost lose yourself as his tongue presses between your folds, his nose rubbing against your throbbing clit that’s been begging for his attention.

“Matt…” You whisper out his name pathetically, your back arching off of the floor as his hands join, two fingers pushing through your entrance and curling, drawing out a long moan from you.

He’s sloppy with his tongue, licking you in all the right places that has your toes curling over his shoulders, and his fingers that fuck into you has you wailing. You’re loud now — too loud to the point Matt’s free hand moves up your body to press over your mouth, keeping your noises muffled by the palm of his hand.

Your cunt clenches around Matt’s fingers in desperation, and the vibrations of his satisfied hums sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss, unable to watch the mess of hair between your legs no more.

His fingers stroke your gummy walls, the cold metal of his rings (that he really should’ve taken off) sends shivers down your spine.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Matt compliments before his lips wrap around your clit, and you moan beneath his palm, your thighs shaking on either side of his head as he fingers you faster and harder — the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt making you want to curl up in embarrassment, but your orgasm is rapidly approaching and you want nothing more than to come undone around his fingers.

He repeatedly whispers praises and compliments as he continues his ministrations through your orgasm; his nose nudging your little bundle of nerves, leaving messy and sloppy kisses on your cunt, and his fingers curling to graze against the spot deep within which is enough to make you tear up, becoming far too sensitive.

You’re pushing him back with your foot, and Matt chuckles as he finally lets you go. He moves to kneel between your legs that have fallen from his shoulders, and he watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as you try to catch your breath.

“Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart.” Your heart warms at Matt’s praise, and you peel your eyes open just in time to see him bring his two fingers to his mouth, covered in your arousal. He keeps eye contact with you as he pushes the digits past his lips to suck them clear, and you find the sight unbelievably attractive.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop! before his hands drop down to the belt on his jeans, unbuckling with one hand and pulling it through the loops. He’s quick to get rid of the rest of his clothing, moving them out of the way with a hard shove so it wouldn’t cause any interruptions between you both.

Matt’s hand locks around your wrist to tug you upwards, forcing you to sit up, and your forehead almost knocks against his chest from the force.

His head dips low to kiss your lips softly before he orders you to turn around — to get on your hands and knees in front of him. You do as you’re told without question, flipping around onto your knees with your ass in the air and face resting against the plush carpet.

“Shiiit… wish you could see yourself from this angle.” Matt curses, his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass, giving the skin a few hefty slaps. He moves forward on his knees, and his fingers wrap around his cock to tap the head against your puffy folds, collecting your arousal with a low groan.

“Please, Matt… Please.” You manage to pathetically plead out, and Matt nods with a hum. His tongue licks across his bottom lip before tucking it between his teeth, watching as he pushes his thick tip into your cunt.

Your eyes widen at the stretch—the burn—fully understanding how big he is even without seeing it for yourself. He stops for a few seconds to let out a shaky exhale, his hands rubbing at your hips as he feels you tremble beneath him. It sounds like he’s mocking you, but you pay no attention as you wiggle your ass back onto him, begging for him to move.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Matt hisses through gritted teeth at the go ahead, and he moves his hand from your hips to your lower back, thrusting forward to push himself in deeper, bottoming out completely.

A choked gasp rips from the back of your throat, your nails scraping across the carpet in search of anything to grasp onto to keep yourself grounded as Matt’s hips press against your ass, his cock buried deep within the warm of your walls. He’s panting while you’re unable to make a noise, mouth stuck open wide as Matt pulls his hips back before rolling them forward, thrusting back into you.

His deep strokes have you struggling to speak, wanting to let him know how good it feels as he’s angling his hips, hitting a particular spot inside of you that has you squealing, almost sending you flying forwards if it wasn’t for his grip.

“Easy, girl. I got you,” Matt laughs between grunts, his hips slapping against your ass. “Am I makin’ you feel good?”

“S’good.” Your words slur, mind too blank to come up with a functioning sentence. He laughs again before finding a good rhythm to work with—a rhythm that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, moving too fast for you to register.

“I’m gonna cum in this tight cunt of yours—fill you up. Gonna fill you up with my cum, make a fuckin’ mess.” The way his tone sounds and how he rambles his words indicate how close he is to cumming, and you’re not far behind.

You wish you could move back against him. You wish you could do more than just bend over with your ass in the air and take what he gives you. You want to make him feel good too, but you struggle to find your strength and your mind is too clouded with lust and pleasure to even begin to move.

You’re stuck as a moaning mess for Matt to use — not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you can do is tighten your cunt around his cock in hopes it will do something to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel, and he gives you one big thrust before he stills, his cock pumping long spurts of cum deep within your pussy as he hits his climax.

The feeling alone sets you off into your last orgasm of the night, your body tingling at the warmth that spreads through you. He’s panting heavily behind you, slowly rolling his hips to ride it out, and he grins when he feels your body convulsing.

Matt takes his time pulling out of you, stroking your lower back tenderly. Once you’re free, your body flops down to the carpet, the air knocking out of your lungs from the harsh impact, leaving you gasping for air as you try to regulate your erratic breathing.

You grimace a little when you feel Matt’s cum drip out of your pussy, making a sticky mess between your thighs and the carpet below you, knowing you’ll definitely have to go home after this and shower.

Mustering up enough of your strength, you try to turn your head to peer over your shoulder to see if Matt is okay, but a gasp fleets past your lips and your body stills when you feel Matt’s hands run up the backs of your thighs and to your ass, kneading your asscheeks before pulling them apart.

He leans down, leaving a kiss on your leaking pussy from behind. “Thank you for lettin’ me play with you.”

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