It's actually really frightening to see officially sanctioned genocide denial rise up in Western countries in real time. Like, I remember 20 years ago hearing about how it was illegal in Turkey to point out that the Armenian Genocide happened, and how I thought that that was fucking evil and oppressive. Now here we are, with a campaign in Gaza that experts have called 'a textbook case of genocide', for which the UN Human Rights counsel has determined there are "reasonable grounds" to call it genocide, and the US Congress is trying to make it illegal to criticize Israel. We have Hollywood agencies refusing to represent anyone who points out that a genocide is currently taking place. And it's just the same shit from a fresh asshole as we got from the Turkish government over what happened in Armenia in the 1920s, like "Oh yes, there were killings, but...calling it genocide? Ohhhh, you must be very hateful to our poor little nation to think that our people are capable of that 😢 😭!" Fuck off.
One moment I'm considering myself sane and cured by the Matty Healy obsession™️ and a moment later I'm absent-mindedly switching up the CDs in my car before bringing it to the mechanic based on what I think mechanic!matty would like more so I can appear cooler to him.
Attended a first aid course today and almost fucked up my cpr because I was thinking about this. Lives won’t be saved because of my hyper fixation with Matty Healy.
Notes: Ancient fluffy-ish blurb from my google docs. Just a simple Sunday morning crumb.
TW: typos, curse words?, mention of pills?, me being repetitive and using song lyrics as endings and titles because I don't own one single ounce of creativity nor talent
‘Matty, can you grab my meds for me, please?’
You scrunch your nose at the sound of your groggy morning voice, cursing the pollen that’s been filling the newly warm spring air and, consequently, blocking your sinuses and keeping you awake all night.
Fucking allergies.
Your boyfriend just hums in response on the other side of the bed, eyes glued to his phone while he numbly scrolls away, barely registering that you’re talking to him. You turn your head to take a better look at him: sleepy eyes, messy ringlets, pouty lips, long sideburns and, dulcis in fundo, his slightly hairy chest peeking out from the duvet.
If your relationship was happening in a fairytale, despite gender stereotypes, right now you would be the evil ogre and him the princess in distress kept captive in your tower, guarded by dragons and whatnot. You don’t even need a mirror to confirm your theory, sleeping beauty by your side looking like a proper snack at eight in the morning while you feel like a truck just ran you over. Prince charming, in this case, must be the sun: the same soft rays that are burning your retinas seem to only caress him in a shower of light, gently tracing the slope of his nose and making his glossy curls glimmer.
You grunt, turning to lay on your tummy and firmly planting your face on your pillow, praying for it to swallow you and keep you there, in the valley of soft feathers and comforters or wherever pillows come from.
The fact that you're thinking about fantasy worlds for the second time in a row since you’ve woken up it’s a clear indicator of how bad of a few hours of sleep you got and how you have a whole lot of creative dreaming to catch up on. You need meds.
Matty’s weak attention span has already faded when you try to gently nudge his leg with your feet, startling him. He turns to finally look at you, putting his phone on the nightstand.
‘Are you trying to suffocate yourself?’ The smirk he’s so obviously sporting makes you want to slap him right across the face. You raise your head just slightly to try and set him on fire with your glance, but the result is poor: Matty full on laugh at the sight of your tired eyes, failing at your attempt to appear threatening. You let your head fall back on the pillow in defeat, mumbling about how bad of a boyfriend he is.
‘Aw baby, don’t be mad at me, it’s not my fault you’re just adorable with that red nose of yours. Did you escape from Santa Claus’ barn? ’
That was the ultimate dick move. Realising you’re not in the mood for jokes he tries to apologise, scooting towards your side of the bed to envelope you, but you keep your distance, sliding blindly to the edge of the mattress, as far away from him as possible.
Until you feel nothing underneath you.
You land on the floor with a thud almost as loud as to grant you a knock on the door from your angry neighbours, but the sound of your failure is soon replaced by the grunts of your boyfriend who’s apparently trying really hard to stop himself from laughing at you.
Dickhead.
While you wait for him to come and rescue you, because of course he has to laugh in your face just for a moment longer, you start plotting your revenge. Maybe you should just grab one of his ankles and sweep him off his feet, but then again, who’s gonna pick you up with his dead weight upon you? The plan is unviable.
He crouches beside your limp body before you can even attempt to find a plan B, looking down at you with a faint smile until he decides that the time for pity has finally come. He circles your torso with his arms, raising you from the ground until you’re flush against him and your hands are gripping his neck. He then pats the sides of your thighs, inviting you to place them on his hips and you oblige, defeated, the pain in your back overpowering the need to ignore him. For now, at least.
Comfortable in his arms, you decide to nuzzle against his neck, ignoring the destination of this little walk until the cold marble of the kitchen counter bites the naked skin of your legs. He has strategically placed you between the kettle and the fridge, you notice, the perfect spot to smooch you in between the steps of preparing breakfast. He does this often, especially when in trouble and desperate for your forgiveness. The bastard knows how to make you soft.
You accept the first sweet kiss to your nose with a grunt, involuntarily starting to warm up to him. He then starts the little routine of his, walking between the two appliances an unnecessary amount of times, purposefully avoiding multitasking to kiss you over and over.
He fills up the kettle, smooch. He takes the butter out of the fridge, smooch. He reaches for two mugs in the cupboard above the steaming appliance, smooch. He goes back to retrieve the milk, smooch.
And then his absolute favourite: toast. He grins like a kid walking back to you with the slices of bread in his hands and you roll his eyes, but you let him have his moment.
‘May I?’
You barely nod, his arms reaching behind your back to place the slices inside the toaster, which is conveniently located behind your back. His torso leans over you in the action, one hand, now empty, coming to your waist while the other turns the lever to the highest setting, just to make sure he has time to get his way with you before having to return to chef duty.
He smirks before crushing his lips on yours, forceful and bold, his other hand coming around and gripping the thin material of your shirt over your ribcage. He tries to deepen the kiss, his tongue coming out to graze at your lower lip but you physically have to push him off you. Before Matty can even ask what’s wrong you break into a fit of coughs, and it’s like a lightbulb switches on over his head. He places his hands on the counter on either side of your legs and looks at you sweetly.
‘You out of breath already? Did the allergies get to you?’
You mumble in affirmation, your throat too sore to try and speak and curse him out for his lack of attention before. The toaster goes off, triggering Matty to finish his little routine, buttering the toast and tossing the teabags before placing the meal on the kitchen island.
‘Go eat, I’ll take your pills’
You oblige, watching your boyfriend’s boxer-cladded rear make his way to the master bedroom. You munch on breakfast while listening to the screeching sound of the bathroom drawers being opened and almost certainly getting messed up with Matty’s frantic research.
He returns a couple minutes later with a triumphant look on his face, swinging the blister pack in the air like a trophy.
‘Open up’
You stick your tongue out and he places the medicine on your tongue, letting it dissolve until the bitter taste fills up your mouth. You take the glass of water Matty slides over to you, raising the corners of your lips in an appreciative smile. He smiles right back and as best as he can, considering he’s stuffed his mouth like a squirrel to catch up with you on his toast.
‘Can we go back to bed after this? I don’t think I can manage my eyelids being open for much more’
He grins at this, swallowing hard and reaching for his tea to down it as fast as possible, the prospect of spending the cosy sunday morning under the duvet with you much more appealing than any other plan. So much so that he almost burns his tongue with the hot liquid, eager to answer you.
‘I’m all yours, darling’
And he is. A perfect Adonis draped on the pillows, still half naked, with burning hot skin that smells like sandalwood, all yours, trapped under the weight of your head on his bare chest. Your ear is pressed against his ribcage, listening to the rhythm of his heart, a deep, constant beat that sounds like it was pulled out from one of his songs.
‘I’m sorry for earlier, I was kind of a douche’ Matty whispers mere centimetres from your ear.
‘You were, but you can make up for it’
He wiggles a bit under the covers, impatient to hear your request.
‘Stay still and sing me to sleep, will you?’ You stifle a yawn right after and you flutter your eyelids close. Finally, your breathing evens out.
‘Sure thing, princess. Any requests?’’
‘Blue sunday’ You answer. It’s an unintelligible mumble, but he knows you too well to not expect it.
So he begins to card his fingers in your hair, alternating scratching at your scalp with tracings of your neck. His voice breaks the silence in the sweetest melody:
I found my own true love was
On a blue Sunday
She looked at me and told me
I was the only
One in the world
Now I have found my girl
My girl awaits for me in tender time
My girl is mine
She is the world
She is my girl
His arms tighten around you as the lyrics reach the end. Content floods your body, you can finally sleep peacefully.
Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.
What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?
Authors note: I’m here:) finally. It’s been a while, idk how long, not that long but long enough i guess, sorry for the wait! This one is wordy but also has a lot going on, so hope you enjoy!
Ngl, this can probably be read as a standalone if anyone’s seeing this and not started the series, it’s just a bit angsty and mostly smut? But unsure, I said probably! X
Warnings: Arguing, usual Matty and Mouse thinking (feels like it needs its own warning at this point, they’re saddos), smut, unprotected sex, EMOTIONS (because yeah)
> Last update: look back here if you'd like!
Masterlist
There was something raw in the bitterness that was love. Like the sour skin of an apple that was first thought to be sweet. Love was deceiving in itself really, but it was never alone. It brought life and light. It wrought anger. It stirred both jealousy and pity. It gave and gave, until all you were left with was that tart tang aftertaste.
Some people revelled in it.
Others, withered away.
Years before, perhaps maybe not even that long ago now, Matty would have belonged to the former. He had enjoyed the strings he found that could tie him to people, sex and money had given him the ability to do it, to keep them there, to pull them alongside him. And he’d indulged in it all, beyond what most would consider extortionate.
And still, even after everything, when the fun had ended and the games had been discarded, and he’d just been tossed off somewhere to the side… Alone once more. He had continued on. On and on and on, until he ultimately had lost himself completely.
The last few months had shifted something in him though.
And now here he was, still angry and bitter and resentful. But full of actual love. The raw type. The kind that left you marvelling at the most stupid things— insipid little concepts that held no actual value or any real detail worth getting all starry-eyed over.
It had wormed its way into the hollow shell that was his heart and rebuilt some part of him that he believed he had long since destroyed.
He wanted to scoff at the very thought. The very idea that an emotion could be felt so strongly that it differed the world around you; that, singularly, it could change you. The notion was far too complex, too out there to even begin to fathom, but then again, Matty supposed that emotions were exactly that. Complex.
It sent his mind reeling. Had his entire body aching with a fever to expel the feeling completely, if only so that he could think freely again, so it wouldn’t hurt to merely breathe anymore.
You should have told me.
He knew that. He had admitted as much.
And yet, he still hadn’t told her.
He’d lied.
Why didn’t you tell me?
And that was the question, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t he just told her?
Fear, he guessed.
Yet another morbid emotion in which Matty had always been so wary of. Another lost feeling he thought he’d swallowed whole and hidden somewhere deep down. Because there was no fear in a drug induced haze. When you were off partying or chasing some other euphoric high. What the fuck was there to be fearful of? When the chilling buzz which shook you to your very core blanketed over everything else.
When there was always that silence.
That numb quiet he had chased and craved and cherished.
Though, he supposed, it was nothing compared to the fear of losing this.
Of losing her.
Still, Matty could not for the life of him find it in himself to tell her exactly that. Those words lost on him, lodged in the column of his throat and etching themselves a home there.
“Where do we go from here?”
He blinked at the sound of his own voice, looking up at her shadowed expression and at how tired she then seemed. How different she now looked compared to the moment they’d first met.
She’d been something of a presence even then. Always effortlessly complex. With her soft smile and guarded eyes. Eyes he’d gone and fucking wondered about for hours on end.
Those eyes which were now caught on the far wall stood opposite, the one lined with coloured photo frames and that odd little doodle Teddy had gotten in trouble for only a couple of weeks prior.
The realisation made Matty mourn the few days they’d spent apart.
After a long moment, she finally shrugged at him and he found himself swallowing tightly at the movement. Startled by her seeming lack of care.
“I don’t want to lose you, Squeaks.”
It was honest. As honest as he could be.
She huffed an amused breath in return though, “Not like you’re short on company, Matty.”
He felt his gaze snap up to meet hers then, head shifting with it.
“What’s that even meant to mean?” He asked her, frowning now, at the way she had crossed her arms over her chest and how her shoulders had hunched on their own accord whilst she casually moved to glance out the window. Matty forced himself up onto his feet, hating the fact she had turned away from him.
“I saw everything, Matty.” Mouse replied tiredly, as though she was fed up, fed up with this, with them. “I saw the articles.”
Matty’s stomach bottomed out at her words, he stepped towards her. “Nothing happened.” He murmured, taking another step closer. “Nothing fucking happened, Squeaks. I swear it.”
She tensed but didn’t quite flinch at his sudden approach, so he kept a little distance between them, even as desperate as he was to hold her. To shake her enough so that she would see sense, that she’d realise how stupid he would have had to have been to have gone near anyone else. That girl was no one, she’d meant nothing.
“You can swear that, can you?” She mocked him, one corner of her mouth toying with a merciless smile that didn’t quite suit her. “You were gone, Matty. Fucking out of it. That much was clear to see just from the photos alone.”
Matty stared at her helplessly.
She shook her head.
“I’d had a couple drinks. That isn’t a crime!” He stressed, automatically falling onto the defensive, “Didn’t mean I was stupid enough to get with the first person I fucking saw! That girl- she was off her head too. Had mates with her even! But she was just trying to help me, Mouse. That’s all it was.”
She was shaking her head again now, tongue catching on her incisor; a dead giveaway to how stressed she was, how anxious she was getting. Matty only wished to shoulder it all, that defensiveness of his faltering slightly at the sight of her trying to hide it all. To stay strong. How fucking long had she had to do that?
“I feel like such a fool, Matty.” She finally spoke, her voice trembling with the onslaught of tears that glazed her eyes but she didn’t dare let fall. “A fucking fool. ‘Cause I’d thought that things were okay, that we were okay. That I could finally relax and let you in. But then-“ She paused, a sad huff leaving her, “Then you went and dropped this mess in my lap and somehow expected me to just deal with it. To tell you it’s all fine. That we could make it right.”
Mouse turned then, ever so slowly, looking about as defeated as Matty had ever seen her. He felt his chest burn with the last breath he hadn’t remembered taking let alone hold onto, too afraid to look away, to even move.
“But you embarrassed me. You’ve made the whole world believe I am that fool. That I was as naive as they’d first made me out to be. As my friends thought me to be.”
Her smile was shattered and broken, her voice wet and hoarse, but she continued on even as her hands fell limply to her sides and she took a single step closer.
“And to make things worse, you didn’t just hurt me, Matty. You hurt Teddy too.”
–
Hit them where it hurts.
That was the saying, wasn’t it?
But it only left me feeling all the more sour- gutless. As well as a little stupid, I supposed, wondering if Matty even cared for Teddy at all, or how he had felt the last couple days.
Though I shouldn’t have second guessed it, not when the way Matty’s face immediately paled and then fell proved me wrong.
Deep down, I knew that he cared. In his own odd way he had always cared. But to know it and to see it were two entirely different things.
And although it was true, that Matty had in fact hurt Teddy. It still felt like a shitty thing to say to him then. But he’d hurt me as well, hadn’t he. And even though I’d been hurting most of my life, Matty being the reason for all that hurt pained me in a way I couldn’t even comprehend.
“I didn’t-”
I scoffed at his attempted reply, but my heart wasn’t in it, breaking all over again. I wondered how long we could drag this out. If we even would.
“Mean to?” I finished for him, shaking my head stupidly. “I know you didn’t mean to, Matty. Doesn’t change the fact that you still did it.”
His eyes slipped closed just as his lips fell apart, and when he opened them again I was stuck staring into his devastated gaze.
“If I could take it all back, I would.” He breathed, “I promise you I would.”
I swallowed back my own tears, even as they burned and pricked at my throat and eyes. “But you can’t.”
And it was as simple as that, wasn’t it? He couldn’t ever take it back.
I don’t want to lose you.
He knew just how to get under my skin, past all that rusted armour of mine.
It was what made this all so much harder.
“Tell me what to do, Squeaks.” Matty croaked pleadingly, hand reaching out towards me before he looked down at it, blinked, and then let it fall. “I’ll do it, just– tell me.”
What was left that he could do? When it felt like things had so suddenly and so horrifically fallen out from under us.
“I don't know.” I told him honestly, in a barely there whisper, “I just don't know, Matty.”
He stepped even closer then, hand moving to capture my jaw in a determined haste, not restraining himself like he had just moments before. I tried to pull away, titling my chin and looking off to the side as I clenched my teeth, but his thumb was there, luring me back in, forcing me to meet his eye.
“I’m not just gonna give up.” His other hand jumped to cradle my face, a cushion to those heated words.
I was reluctant in my needless wanting, desperate to be held whilst simultaneously wanting to push him away. So I lifted my hands up to cover his own, unsure of the choice they’d make. To stay, or go.
“It’s not about that, Matty.” I heard myself say pathetically, voice wavering with each word, “You can’t just forget this.”
His dark eyes were trained on me, flickering over every square inch of my scarred face. I’d never felt insecure about them when I was around him, but this moment felt too heated, too high strung. And I’d been burning the candle at both ends the last few days, so with him being this close, this intense, every emotion I’d felt was brimming closer and closer to the surface.
Instead of facing him, I turned away, hiding once more as I worked my jaw and felt my hands slip down to the backs of his forearms.
A shared breath and then,
“Don’t do that.” Matty whispered in the quiet, almost begging. “Don’t hide from me.”
His thumb smoothed over the skin of my cheek and I was all but putty in hands, looking back at him just as a tear escaped me and slid to meet the pad of it.
Matty brushed the tear away without thought, before he leant in to rest his forehead against my own. The action forced me to cling tighter to his arms, eyes closing to keep from embarrassing myself any further. I wouldn’t cry.
I wouldn’t cry.
“Look at me.” He demanded, nose so close that I could practically sense its phantom touch. And foolishly, I did as he asked. “You-” His breath stuttered as his eyes pleaded with me, sounding forced as it broke free from him, his fingers making a home for themselves in my hair.
“You don’t know what you do to me. How much of a mess I’ve made of myself. How much I have missed you.” Matty confessed, his voice quiet in the small space shared between us, in a place where we were both sheltered and unseen. “And I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. Enough that I’ll keep on repeating it until you fucking believe me. Enough that I’d do just about anything for you to see how much I want this.”
He sucked in a breath, and I blinked back at him, lips tingling with the sensation of his proximity.
“I know I messed up. I know.” He repeated, eyes flickering back and forth between my own whilst his thumbs trailed the line of my hair. “But all I’m asking for is a chance to make it right. To be better. Squeaks, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if I could.”
His breath was tickling the skin of my cheek as well as the corner of my mouth, it almost made it difficult to think let alone remember how to breathe. I wanted–
Suddenly my eyes were looking down, focused on his parted mouth, on the stubble he’d let grow across the cut of his chin as well as his upper lip. His nose finally brushed past my own, touching ever so carefully as one or both of us pressed nearer, almost there, inching closer but not close enough.
“Tell me no.”
Instantly, I was thrown back to that first night he kissed me. I hadn’t told him no then, and for some reason I couldn’t find it in me to decline him now.
So instead I took, all but biting as my hand cradled the back of his neck and closed that short amount of distance between us. My nails dug into the exposed skin of his nape, where the collar of his shirt jumped with each move he made. My teeth nipped at his lower lip, angry in my attempt to swallow him whole, teeth clashing as we both stumbled, moving and moving until Matty’s back hit the nearest wall.
How the roles had reversed, I thought to myself as Matty’s shoulders flexed beneath his shirt and jumped under my ever roaming hands. I hated the desire that it stirred through me, knowing how easily he could take back control with his carefully contained strength. But he didn’t, instead he gave my fury something to latch onto.
My hand lifted to pin one of his wrists somewhere to the left of his head, glare not wavering even as his stubborn gaze met my own. He was as riled up as me.
“You have some nerve.” I all but spat, watching on as his chest rose and fell, questioning how quickly everything had switched.
“Yeah?” Matty bit back, those familiar brown eyes- a colour that had always brought me comfort- were blazing now as they trailed over the flush that I was sure lined my face. “Why’s that? You’re the one with me pinned, darlin’.”
His heavy gaze traced the bow of my lip, slumping ever slightly in his stance so that his head could fall closer forward. My breath hitched.
That was all he needed apparently, to earn the upper hand here. Because in a moment, the room was spinning and then I was the one being crowded against the wall, fury be damned.
Contrary to my previous endeavour, Matty’s touch was still as careful as ever, making it that much more obvious that I could slip away if I so wanted. But the question was whether or not I did.
“Matty–”
But he just carried on, as though he hadn’t even heard me speak, voice a low breathy murmur.
“I’ve been stuck in this endless loop. Driving myself mad.” He told me, his knee angled enough so that he could let his head dip towards the juncture of my neck, his mouth pausing by the shell of my ear whilst a finger gently trailed its way up over my hip. “Wonderin’ if I’d lost this for good.”
My heart pounded in my chest as the ghost of his words tickled my skin, tensing when his nose ever so slightly grazed my jaw.
That finger of his continued to move, working its way up my torso, jumping across my ribs and up to the bone of my collar. My gaze was fixed on the opposing wall, on the mirror that framed my dazed face and the back of his head. My hand worked its way into his unruly curls.
“But you’re as stubborn as me, see.” Matty added, luring me in, “And I’m not the type to give up on a sure thing.” His words held enough bite that I snapped back to meet his stare, he tilted his head at me whilst I scowled.
“Excuse me?”
Matty smiled, lids heavy as his careful hand danced its way back down my front.
“And this,” He said, almost in a whisper, ignoring my retort as he hooked my leg around his waist, “This is a sure thing.”
A soft breath escaped me even as I batted his hand away, but he simply reached up to grip at my chin, touch tender even with the way his calloused thumb dragged down my lower lip.
I was slowly beginning to imagine that this was all a dream, something my sick mind had gone and conjured up in hopes to ignore all of the hurt he had put me through. Because this couldn’t be right, things couldn’t have fallen back into place this easily.
“Matty.” I tried again, firmer this time, but was captured by the look his eyes held, probably having understood the expression that must have just crossed my face.
“What did you do, Squeaks?” He asked me almost hurriedly, shaking my chin between his forefinger and thumb, my previous anger and doubt melting slightly as I leaned further into his touch. “Did you want me to hurt, too?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question, his swift change in topic. Baffled by the fact that he was now trying to pin this back on me.
Was that really what this was? I wanted to ask.
Matty didn’t give me the opportunity to say a thing though. My surprise had stalled me briefly, but it had evidently been long enough to allow him to simply carry on.
“What did you do, eh? Tell me.” He breathed before he pressed his mouth to my jaw, once and then twice, pulling away just as I tilted my head to accommodate him, “Did you go out, baby? Find somebody else? Or did you just stay here, waiting for me?”
I reeled back, anger spiking again. “Fuck you.”
Matty’s eyes flickered back and forth between mine.
“I’m trying to get you to.” He said, always so brazen and snarky, even in the moments where I hated him most. The hand I had previously slapped away went back to the leg he still had draped over his hip, snaking up over my knee and to my thigh.
My glare didn’t waiver, even as my breathing picked up at the pressure his fingertips wrought on my skin.
“Tell me no.” He finally repeated, eyes failing to meet mine. And how was I supposed to? When having him this close brought back that fire he’d put out in me, when he was kissing my neck so sweetly?
“We’ll regret it.” It was as close to a no as I could get, enough to have him pause. Matty looked to me then, his hold loosening on my body but still holding. Hoping.
“Do you care?”
I marvelled at the question, did I care?
I cared so much it pained me.
But he hadn’t meant it like that. That much I knew.
Do you care if you regret it? Because, what if you don’t?
With Matty there was always chance– he was the type to play the odds, to push his luck.
What if.
What if, what if, what if?
Shaking my head, I was forced to question if he understood me as much as I did him. If he could see each of my thoughts just as they dawned on me, flashing across my face like a story being told.
Then I wondered whether or not I even wanted him to understand. This, this thing we were doing would only further complicate things between us, but perhaps this could be a goodbye.
But, if this was a goodbye, why was he looking at me like that? Watching and waiting for me to truly answer.
Tell me no, he’d said.
Matty’s gaze swept over my face, as though trying to read me, maybe in hopes to find what it was he was really searching for.
Tell me no.
“Please.”
And my resolve broke at the word.
“Okay.” I heard myself say in reply, nodding quickly, and that was seemingly all the permission he needed before Matty was wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me towards him fully.
My hands floundered momentarily before they were back on his shoulders, his teeth nipping at my neck.
I moaned, eyes falling shut as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down my skin, teeth scraping before his tongue swirled to soothe their angry ambush. I could smell him everywhere now, the shampoo I was so used to stealing, as well as the only aftershave he’d ever claimed to like.
His hips rolled into mine, pressing himself right against the fabric of my trousers and the underwear which had grown damp during our heated argument.
I didn’t want to linger too long on the thought of my body’s obvious betrayal, too caught up in him to think about how wrong this should all feel.
“Shit.” Matty groaned, breath catching with it as he continued to grind against me.
I gasped back, grabbing at him harder as he bit down on the curve of my neck. I nipped at his jaw in retaliation, nails digging into the skin of his back, hoping to leave a mark.
“I knew you’d miss me.” He grunted into the base of my throat, the hands which held my waist dipping beneath the hem of my shirt to explore further. “Even when you’re angry you’ll wait. ‘Cause no one else can touch like me.”
A whine bypassed my lips almost involuntarily as he continued to rut against me, I wanted to be angry- no, in fact, I was angry. But all emotion other than want was blurring at the edges of my mind now, being pushed further and further back by each eager kiss he peppered along my jaw.
“You really–” I jerked in surprise, cutting myself off with a short gasp when his hand slipped past the hem of my trousers, fingers pressing against the damp fabric he found there.
“What was that?” He provoked, and I could hear the smirk in his voice as he trailed over my covered clit, causing me to whimper before I was biting down on my lower lip. Matty didn’t like that much. “Come on, I wanna hear you.” He muttered, pressing a little harder, wanting a reaction. “Tell me.”
“You’re such a bastard.” I panted, head falling against his shoulder as my hips pushed further into his touch, seeking more.
Matty laughed, all breathy and lovely, mouth catching on the lobe of my ear before he hissed, “Yeah, but you like that about me.”
His hand was gone with that and I was almost tempted to ask, to even plead with him for its return, aching all the more now, enough that all I could think about was riding his fingers until I couldn’t think at all.
But then Matty was grabbing my waist again, his grip hard, firm, and I swallowed when he whispered into my ear once more.
“Jump.”
Without thinking, I jumped.
We collided, his mouth on mine and the two of us moving as though it was second nature. And in a way, it was. But it shouldn’t have been. I knew that. I tried to remind myself of it.
He shouldn’t be here.
But he was. Walking his way through my flat with ease, effortlessly missing each sharp corner and the miniscule step which led back into the hallway. He was blind, my hands in his hair as he manoeuvred us into my bedroom, throwing me down onto sheets that he’d never seen, let alone slept in.
I tugged him down with me, his hands moving to unbutton those fucking jeans he always wore as he worked his way back into my mouth.
He hovered over me after kicking them off, my head pressed to the pillows as his eyes roamed every inch of my face. “Beautiful.” He whispered, as though he hadn’t really meant to say the word aloud.
My breath hitched anyway but Matty paid it no mind, leaning in closer to kiss me again, slower this time around, though his hands were still quick, tugging at the hem of my top enough so that I got the hint. I lifted myself up, breaking away to take it off and toss it to the side.
Matty kissed his way down my neck again, following the trail of scars down my torso until his fingers paused to hook around the top of my trousers. I nodded at his silent ask, planting my feet a little firmer on the mattress so that they could follow my tee.
Matty stopped then, kneeling between my parted thighs, eyes caught on the panties I was wearing, and I could swear something in his gaze shifted as he stared down at me.
“Lace?” He murmured, fingers curling around my thighs tight enough to bruise as he pushed forward, closer to my face. “Really?”
It was a loaded question. Almost felt like an accusation.
I shrugged– I hadn’t meant to end up here, but it hadn’t been subconscious when I’d picked them out of the pile this morning. He liked the way they looked, had told me so one night spent at his when he’d talked me into smoking a couple joints with him sprawled out on his living room floor.
I opened my mouth to reply but Matty didn’t quite catch the motion, already busying himself with the task of pulling the lace down my thighs. His fingers, calloused from years of playing guitar, dragged alongside the black material rolling down my legs. I tensed at the feeling, zeroing in on the slow motion, then listened to him groan at the sight before they were gone completely.
I watched him pull away, balling the damp fabric up in a fist before leaning over the side of the bed to drop them on top of his jeans.
“A souvenir?” I couldn’t help but question, mostly out of mirth, but humour helped deflect from the weight I felt at having him here.
Matty hummed, fingers already back on me, trailing the length of my right leg before he was stretching his way back up again, head stopping between my parted thighs and nosing at a crease sat at the very top. He didn’t answer me though, instead choosing to shut me up with another gasp by dragging his thumb across my folds.
“Matty.”
“Hm?” He hummed again, having sat back on his heels to watch me squirm as he continued on. I shot him a rather annoyed glare.
“Take off your shirt and fuck me.”
His brows rose languidly when he flicked his eyes back up to meet mine, then tilted his head. “But I’m having so much fun.”
With a swift kick to his side, Matty’s hand fell away and he shook his head around the beginnings of a smile. “Always so demanding.” He tutted and before I could spit something back– probably about him being the biggest hypocrite I knew– he was placing his hands either side of my head and leaning forward so that his lips were right beside my ear, his breath fanning the shell of it. “You gonna beg for it?”
My breathing grew heavy as I watched him pull away, dragging a finger up the inside of my thigh before stilling ever so briefly and venturing on, up over my hip and then my ribs. He pressed a slow kiss to my chest, eyes flicking up to find mine as his tongue swirled over the skin, there and then gone.
“Come on–”
He huffed a quiet laugh, the force of it lighting goosebumps over my exposed flesh. “Come on, baby. Beg.”
I rolled my eyes, reaching up to grab at his neck but he was already dancing out of my reach. He jutted his chin.
“Matty.” I huffed.
“Yeah?”
I really wanted to throttle him, “Fuck me. I’m not asking.”
The corner of his mouth tugged itself up into a small smirk, “Good enough.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped me, one which was quickly cut short by his wandering hands finding purchase on my hips once more, before he dragged me down the length of the bed, his mouth finding purchase on the swell of my breast.
He pressed fast kisses along the curve of it until his tongue flicked out over the nipple, causing me to gasp. My hands flew out to tangle themselves in his hair when he lapped it into his mouth to suck and I groaned at the weight of his hands cradling the curve of my back.
“Matty.”
He hummed and the sound sent vibrations rippling out across my skin, I fisted my hands into his curls harder.
Shifting until my hips found his whilst he lavished at my chest, I pressed up into him, both annoyed by the fact he was still clad in his boxers and pleased by the very visible wet patch I could see. I ground against him and the sensation elicited moans from the pair of us, his hands flying down to hold my hips steady.
“Patience.” He murmured, but I was having none of it, lifting a leg against his arse to spur him closer. Matty’s head jerked up at the surprise before he looked down at me and stared. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“You better hope not.” I replied, hands finding the hem of his shirt and dragging it off before he could fight me on it. “I’ll make it painful.”
“Counting on it.” Matty murmured back, hair now a mess, either from the clutch I’d had on it moments before or from the way I’d all but yanked his top over his head. “On all fours,” He said roughly, tapping my outer thigh twice. My already flushed skin heated further at the understanding of how he wanted to take me but– contrary to popular belief– I didn’t argue and rolled onto my stomach.
Palms to the sheets, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, eyes trained on the headboard. I grinned to myself when I heard Matty groan at the sight, looking back over my shoulder only briefly to see him palming himself through his boxers.
“Don’t have all day, Healy.” I prompted after a moment passed, just before the mattress shifted beneath his weight. I heard something drop to the floor a second later before he was right up behind me.
I jolted a tad at his sudden touch, then was forced to focus on the way his hands slid over my hips with that same familiarity they’d always done, moving up to the swell of my arse to squeeze it before dropping back down to spread my legs further apart.
A moment passed and I was forced to wait in the silence he then gifted me, waiting and waiting until I finally went to say something. It was then that I felt a finger glide down my spine, dragging ever so slowly over my jumping muscles.
“Hands,” Matty then reminded and I was forced to blink away the haze I had drifted into, reaching up to grab onto the headboard just as I felt him swipe his dick between my thighs, guiding himself up over my folds, pushing past them so he rested at my entrance.
I let go of a rush of air, splaying my hands further against the headboard before he slammed into me without any warning at all, all the way up to the hilt whilst I cried out at the sudden fullness. “Fuck.” I hissed, head falling between my shoulders as I winced.
I breathed through the bit of pain that came with the thrust, acknowledging that Matty didn’t move an inch and instead keeping still, hands holding my hips even as he leaned over to whisper, “You good?”
His voice was surprisingly soft in the quietness that encased the flat, reminding me of other times we’d spent here, both like this and in other odd moments. It made my chest ache.
I took another moment to adjust to him before I nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He hummed in turn but didn’t question it, just waited, thumbs circling the skin on my hips for a moment in a manner so gentle and yet so very Matty, before finally, he moved.
His thrusts were shallow and slow at first, his thumbs keeping the same steady tempo as they continued to soothe the tops of my hips. I moaned at the feel of him, before I managed to roll my hips back to meet his own, enjoying the sound that escaped him.
“So good.” He said, hand sliding further up my side and towards my ribs before I was titling my head back and Matty was holding a fistful of my hair. He just held it for a bit, forearm pressed against the skin of my back before his thrusts began to grow harder, tugging more and more.
The room was quickly filled with the sounds of our groans along with the bedframe rocking against the wall and I praised all the Gods above for the fact that there were currently no neighbours residing in the flat beyond it, before I was quickly swept up once more in the thick scent of sweat and sex. Matty fucking into me with a desperation I’d never quite experienced from him before.
I panted beneath him, nails digging into the wood of my headboard whilst he picked up the pace.
I couldn’t quite focus on anything but him. His breathy whispers, his fingertips which dotted my skin, the feel of him rocking in and out of me. It was almost as though nothing else existed but this moment, even if I knew it would soon end. His thrusts getting sloppier, his grip tightening, his murmured praises increasing by a tenfold.
“Come on, baby.”
I liked when he called me that.
Made me feel special.
But that thought soon soured. Because, was I really?
How could I be anything special when my whole life I’d been nothing but a doormat for people to walk all over? I couldn’t help but think that Matty would be the same, like he’d gotten too close and finally seen what everybody else already had.
“Squeaks, baby. What do you need?”
I whimpered at his ask, tears collecting in the corners of my eyes. “I–”
What the fuck did I need? It wasn’t meant to feel so loaded, that question. But it felt as though the walls were now closing in. Because was this it? Was this the end?
“I–” I tried, feeling Matty’s fingers slip from the ends of my hair before a gentle palm laid itself flat on the small of my back.
“So good for me.” I heard him say and I moaned at the slight praise, breathing harder as he continued to mumble mostly to himself, “So pretty. So good.”
I was almost there, back arching under his palm as the other moved away from the right grasp it held on my hip, fingers finally finding my clit, knowing exactly what I needed.
“Yes.” I panted as the combination of his hard thrusts and steady hand sent my head into a dizzying pool of water, “God, yes. I–”
I think I screamed as I came, his fingers working deftly whilst mine clung to the headboard, body trembling as I fought to keep myself up. But Matty was there, holding me long enough so that he could reach his high and pull out with a loud grunt, coating my inner thighs.
We stayed there for, I don’t know how long, until he finally released me, falling away whilst I slumped forward onto the pillows before us. He followed a second later, still catching his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. I watched him, eyes hidden behind my forearm and a sprawl of hair that had fallen over my face, content to soak in what I could of him. What I had left.
Then Matty shifted beside me, I half expected him to get up and leave with some half-arsed excuse on the tip of his tongue, but he paused when he caught my heavy gaze. I let my eyes trail over the side of face, on the tired circles settled beneath his lash line and the slope of his nose.
He looked back towards the ceiling.
“You got your souvenir, remember?” I found myself saying, stupidly, voice just above a croaked murmur, “Don’t let me keep you.”
Quiet. And then, “Do you want me to?”
I knew what he meant, but still I asked, “Want what?”
Matty’s head slowly turned towards me, eyes guarded and peering over at my devastated form. I wondered what he made of me right then, if he thought anything at all.
When he offered me no words, I refused to add anything either and felt what was left of my heart crumple up into a pitiful bundle when he pushed himself to the edge of a bed with a barely there sigh.
The air in my lungs caught as I watched and waited, eyes trailing after him as he rounded the bed frame to pick up his discarded boxers. I let them slip closed again, not wanting to watch him leave.
I listened to his feet pad across the hardwood floors and out of the room. My chest ached with every step but I didn’t dare stop him, burying my face further into my pillow.
I laid in wait for the front door to open, for there to be a clue to his evident departure, but then the footsteps returned. I didn’t dare give myself false hope, knowing he must have forgotten something to have come back. But the padding continued, closer and closer until they were back by the bed and I held my breath as it creaked, my eyes stinging just as I felt a warm damp cloth press against my inner thighs, wiping me clean.
I choked on the sob that wanted to escape me and the cloth paused for a split second before venturing on. I waited, wondering why he was doing this, why he was dragging it out.
Just leave already.
But then the cloth was pulling away again, and the bed was creaking again, and the tears, they wouldn’t stop.
Stay.
Please just stay.
I gasped into the pillowcase, stomach tensing with the strength to keep quiet. To let him leave quietly.
I wouldn’t cry.
And then there was quiet, at least for a moment or two, before the bed dipped once more and there was a hand in my hair, combing the strands from out of my face and tucking them behind my ear.
When I opened my eyes, he was still there. Dressed and ready to go, but still sitting there beside me. Whilst I laid bare, curled up into a ball to better protect myself from his knowing gaze.
Suddenly everything hurt. Suddenly I felt exhausted and was falling apart at the seams.
Matty moved carefully, stretching toward the foot of the bed before returning with the sheet to cover me up, laying it gently over my trembling shoulders. He leaned in to press a slow kiss to my forehead and then went to move away again.
My hand caught his wrist.
And then I was flat out sobbing. Hysterical even. Crying into the pillow almost soundlessly as I gasped to try and catch my breath. Because I wanted him to stay. I needed him to stay.
Not just for me. But for Teddy. And for the life he brought into my dreary flat. To the kindness he never failed to gift me.
I needed him to stay.
I needed him.
I opened my mouth to ask, to let him know. But I could hardly even bear to look at him, blurred as he was through my onslaught of tears, Matty still held the key to all but destroying what little I had left.
His hand returned to my hair, fingers tangling themselves in it, a sudden contrast to the rough grip they’d held there earlier. And then he settled further onto the bed, back pressed against the headboard whilst he continued to run his fingers through my hair.
The tears still flowed but the sobs came less and less, until I was blinking at his shadowed figure in the dark, holding out hope that somehow he’d just know and he’d stay.
Notes: I’m a feminist but not when it comes to Matty Healy, clearly. On a more serious note, I wanted to participate in the tag cleanse so, here it is!
P.s. It’s very loosely inspired by 'Batphone' by Arctic Monkeys and 'Wives and lovers' by Jack Jones bc they’ve been on repeat lately
TW: MDNI!, typos (english is not my first language), traditional gender roles/stay at home girlfriend brain rot, religious themes (I don't even know how that happened), smut
WC: 1.9k
You wait in silence on the rug of the living room, your back to the couch, your knees drawn up against your chest. Everything about this moment feels appropriate, normal, even comfortable, from the stiffness of your now cold limbs to the slight smell of smoke and ashes coming from the wood stove in the corner, the only light source that you allowed yourself to keep on.
It suits you, an almost hermit-like situation, silence as your only companion in a never ending wait for salvation.
He had called you several hours prior from an airport located in a warmer country, telling you he was on his way. You knew it. Of course you knew it. You didn't talk much during touring days but you religiously kept track of his schedule, every stop carefully listed by him on a piece of paper now attached with an apple-shaped magnet on the refrigerator door. Little boxes accompanied each one of them for you to cross; today, the last little square was ticked off.
You recall the first time you had to welcome him home after such a long time. You had felt lost. Did he need anything? A ride from the airport, a warm meal, a new set of lingerie to rip off of you? You had pondered his return so much that your mind had started to suggest you had chosen a life that couldn't belong to you. Sooner or later, you had thought, he would have realized your inadequacy to fill the spot beside him at dinners or at the pub, to fill his house, to fill the rest of his life with, maybe even his grave in the family chapel up north. Concerns, heavy like lead, had crowded your head to the point you felt the ground underneath you flex under the weight.
First times are often embarrassing, sweet or clumsy, but the first time he had returned home to you it just felt… wrong, like you couldn’t provide him with an appropriate welcome. The echo of his footsteps around the house had felt chastising and more similar to the sound of whip to the one of your lover's return.
You had spoken to him about it some time later, explaining the lack of purpose you felt laying there, waiting for him to rescue you instead of welcoming him, and he, of course, had told you not to worry, and that 'he wasn't a soldier, he was just doing his job like a normal human being'.
While you trusted him, you realized that the former suggestion resonated with you in a way that you couldn't quite comprehend at first. Maybe it was distasteful to think about his absence that way, considering that greed and gluttony would be the only real threats to his well being while on tour, but the lack of him made you feel like a military widow nonetheless. In a way, you were sharing him with an entire nation, multiple ones even, all waiting for him to offer guidance to his community. The parallel probably didn't make any sense, but it gave you a purpose.
That's why a cherry tart was in the fridge, Nick Drake was softly singing from the record player and you were now sitting facing the windows with wet hair and red lipstick on, waiting for him to turn up. A silly little routine maybe, but comforting, something that generations of awaiting women before you probably had done, the anxiety of being nice and put together for the man you love.
Suddenly your train of thought is cut off at the shower of light that fills the room. It's a sudden flash, the rays filtering through the blinds and painting your face striped before the glow of his low beams curves slightly and then dies on the driveway, replaced by a quick splash of orange.
You could recognize it anywhere.
It's like experiencing the beginning of the universe, like discovering that life exists outside these four walls, a big bang happening just outside the windows, giving you a world to finally live in. You slowly get up, counting down the twenty seconds it will take for your Adam to reach his garden of Eden.
His silhouette finally fills the glass door frame, standing straight to watch yours behind the frosted barrier. He pushes the handle and finally he’s in front of you, the first man to ever exist. It’s routine now, his hand coming behind your back to push you towards him and then coming to your waist, grabbing at the fabric of your white nightgown and crinkling it with his tan fingers, the other hand still on the handle, his lips coming down to leave a butterfly-weighted kiss at the corner of your upper lip, the gesture so delicate it could have been the night breeze.
Soon you’re in bed, the white cotton covering you giving the appearance of innocence, contrasting widely with the man kneeled at the foot of the mattress. He looks like sex personified. He has discarded his shirt on his way to the bedroom, following the flowy nightgown up the stairs, and he is now unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other keeping your foot in place, caressing the ankle with his middle finger. Without the support of the leather strip his dress pants fall just a little lower on his hips, gracing you with the spectacle of his ‘v’ shaped abdomen and his rose tattoo. You don’t dare move just yet, enjoying the way he naturally takes the lead. He unbuttons his slacks, standing up to undress himself completely, half-lidded eyes never leaving your figure. He then crawls over, lifting the nightgown just above your belly button, littering your stomach with small, wet kisses, lingering on your pelvis before crashing his tongue flat against your cunt. He caresses your thighs while he eats you out, slowly lifting your legs to circle his head with, clamping around his ears, the tips of his fingers barely grazing upon the skin, agonizingly ticklish. He slowly trails two of his fingers down and into you, curling into your sweet spot with surgical precision while his lips suck on your clit with unrelenting eagerness. You are panting furiously, swears cascading off your lips with ease and mixing with pleads of his name but he suddenly stops, raising his head just enough so that his breath is still teasing your core.
‘You need you to be a little bit louder princess, I can’t hear your sweet moans with the way you’re crushing my skull’
You desperately nod, anything to have him back there and, just as a little aid, you slide your legs down to his throat, choking him slightly and eliciting a deep groan out of him. He instantly resumes with flickers of his tongue, making sure to maintain eye contact with you while you reach your high again. You cross your ankles on his back,tightening the grip around him and cutting his blood flow just a tad more; he takes the hint, increasing the rhythm of his fingers until you’re cumming on his face, completely enveloping him for good with your limbs, his name reverberating in the air like a sinful litany.
He climbs your body in a couple of swift moves and now you’re face to face, his wet, swollen lips brushing yours, his breath hot against your cheeks. He looks quite a state. Unruly curls, sunken cheekbones, a rosy flush across his neck.
‘Welcome back, baby’
He chuckles darkly, his erection twitching against your thigh, pressing into your flesh through his boxer in search of relief. You slide your hand across his chest, almost feeling his ribs. You’d love to tear him apart just to count them, just to make sure that you haven’t dreamt it: there’s a missing one. God, if he exists, made you out of it, out of him. Maybe that’s why you’re always trying to be as close as possible to one another.
He does just so, after peeling the last piece of clothing off himself, sliding inside of you like he hadn’t left in the first place. He starts moving slowly, standing a little straighter to watch you squirm and whine.
‘What’s wrong baby? Do you want me to stop?’ He coos. He knows exactly what you want, the condescending tone not helping your situation.
‘Need- need to feel you better’
‘Is that so, princess? Did I make you too wet? Let you make it up to you, yeah?’
He finally undresses you completely, crumpling the nightgown in his hands, bottoming out completely and wiping your cunt, the friction causing a small moan out of you.
When he finally thrusts into you again, the burn is so delicious you can feel your eyes roll into your skull.
‘Is that better baby? You’re such a dirty fuck doll, so eager for this dick that you want it to feel it split you open’
You choke out a broken moan, fire licking up your limbs and feeding the warm feeling in your lower stomach.
‘Answer me princess, don’t be shy’
‘Y-Yeah I am Matty, fuck’
His thrusts get faster as a way to reward you, the effort making his smirk fade in favour of a much more fucked out expression. He’s on the edge as much as you. You can feel the pleasure reaching an impossible level of tightness in your stomach and you grab his forearm with your hand in anticipation, fingernails planting into his tattoos.
‘Keep looking at me when you cum on my cock kitten’
Matty’s request sounds more like an order you can barely follow when your orgasm actually hits you, eyelids fluttering and hands scratching his tense back, your legs twitching like a shock wave had just hit you. Matty does his best to ground you, his hands keeping your hips glued to the mattress while he keeps fucking into you.
‘Matty you can’t anymore, ‘m too overstimulated’
He coos at you, sweetly condescending, your whispered pleas almost amusing him.
‘Yes you can, baby. Just a bit more, okay? I’ll cum with you, promise’
You nod your head the best you can, feeling the tension starting to rise again when he starts to gently rub at your clit with his thumb, leaning to cover your cheeks with small kisses that contrast with his frantic thrusts.
‘Where do you want me, princess?’
It’s a rhetorical question, you both know it, but you don’t seem to be able to answer him. Even with your mouth agape, air isn’t filling your lungs, and you can only trust him to understand you when you trail a hand down to your lower stomach, resting it on the spot where you can feel the head of his cock hitting.
He smirks down at you, his expression scrunching up a second later when he feels you clenching around him.
‘I’ll fill you up good, kitten, don’t worry about it, you just have to let go. Wanna feel you milking my cock for what it’s worth’
His words finally make you crumble a second time, tears brimming your eyes while he fucks you through your orgasm until he is on the brink too, admiring your fucked out expression before releasing inside of you.
He rolls off of you, his arms coming to cradle your head while you try to regain your breathing rhythm.
‘I’m never gonna leave again’
You chuckle and slap his heaving chest.
‘You will, but I’ll wait for you. All that I do is wait for you.’
Notes: I’m a feminist but not when it comes to Matty Healy, clearly. On a more serious note, I wanted to participate in the tag cleanse so, here it is!
P.s. It’s very loosely inspired by 'Batphone' by Arctic Monkeys and 'Wives and lovers' by Jack Jones bc they’ve been on repeat lately
TW: MDNI!, typos (english is not my first language), traditional gender roles/stay at home girlfriend brain rot, religious themes (I don't even know how that happened), smut
WC: 1.9k
You wait in silence on the rug of the living room, your back to the couch, your knees drawn up against your chest. Everything about this moment feels appropriate, normal, even comfortable, from the stiffness of your now cold limbs to the slight smell of smoke and ashes coming from the wood stove in the corner, the only light source that you allowed yourself to keep on.
It suits you, an almost hermit-like situation, silence as your only companion in a never ending wait for salvation.
He had called you several hours prior from an airport located in a warmer country, telling you he was on his way. You knew it. Of course you knew it. You didn't talk much during touring days but you religiously kept track of his schedule, every stop carefully listed by him on a piece of paper now attached with an apple-shaped magnet on the refrigerator door. Little boxes accompanied each one of them for you to cross; today, the last little square was ticked off.
You recall the first time you had to welcome him home after such a long time. You had felt lost. Did he need anything? A ride from the airport, a warm meal, a new set of lingerie to rip off of you? You had pondered his return so much that your mind had started to suggest you had chosen a life that couldn't belong to you. Sooner or later, you had thought, he would have realized your inadequacy to fill the spot beside him at dinners or at the pub, to fill his house, to fill the rest of his life with, maybe even his grave in the family chapel up north. Concerns, heavy like lead, had crowded your head to the point you felt the ground underneath you flex under the weight.
First times are often embarrassing, sweet or clumsy, but the first time he had returned home to you it just felt… wrong, like you couldn’t provide him with an appropriate welcome. The echo of his footsteps around the house had felt chastising and more similar to the sound of whip to the one of your lover's return.
You had spoken to him about it some time later, explaining the lack of purpose you felt laying there, waiting for him to rescue you instead of welcoming him, and he, of course, had told you not to worry, and that 'he wasn't a soldier, he was just doing his job like a normal human being'.
While you trusted him, you realized that the former suggestion resonated with you in a way that you couldn't quite comprehend at first. Maybe it was distasteful to think about his absence that way, considering that greed and gluttony would be the only real threats to his well being while on tour, but the lack of him made you feel like a military widow nonetheless. In a way, you were sharing him with an entire nation, multiple ones even, all waiting for him to offer guidance to his community. The parallel probably didn't make any sense, but it gave you a purpose.
That's why a cherry tart was in the fridge, Nick Drake was softly singing from the record player and you were now sitting facing the windows with wet hair and red lipstick on, waiting for him to turn up. A silly little routine maybe, but comforting, something that generations of awaiting women before you probably had done, the anxiety of being nice and put together for the man you love.
Suddenly your train of thought is cut off at the shower of light that fills the room. It's a sudden flash, the rays filtering through the blinds and painting your face striped before the glow of his low beams curves slightly and then dies on the driveway, replaced by a quick splash of orange.
You could recognize it anywhere.
It's like experiencing the beginning of the universe, like discovering that life exists outside these four walls, a big bang happening just outside the windows, giving you a world to finally live in. You slowly get up, counting down the twenty seconds it will take for your Adam to reach his garden of Eden.
His silhouette finally fills the glass door frame, standing straight to watch yours behind the frosted barrier. He pushes the handle and finally he’s in front of you, the first man to ever exist. It’s routine now, his hand coming behind your back to push you towards him and then coming to your waist, grabbing at the fabric of your white nightgown and crinkling it with his tan fingers, the other hand still on the handle, his lips coming down to leave a butterfly-weighted kiss at the corner of your upper lip, the gesture so delicate it could have been the night breeze.
Soon you’re in bed, the white cotton covering you giving the appearance of innocence, contrasting widely with the man kneeled at the foot of the mattress. He looks like sex personified. He has discarded his shirt on his way to the bedroom, following the flowy nightgown up the stairs, and he is now unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other keeping your foot in place, caressing the ankle with his middle finger. Without the support of the leather strip his dress pants fall just a little lower on his hips, gracing you with the spectacle of his ‘v’ shaped abdomen and his rose tattoo. You don’t dare move just yet, enjoying the way he naturally takes the lead. He unbuttons his slacks, standing up to undress himself completely, half-lidded eyes never leaving your figure. He then crawls over, lifting the nightgown just above your belly button, littering your stomach with small, wet kisses, lingering on your pelvis before crashing his tongue flat against your cunt. He caresses your thighs while he eats you out, slowly lifting your legs to circle his head with, clamping around his ears, the tips of his fingers barely grazing upon the skin, agonizingly ticklish. He slowly trails two of his fingers down and into you, curling into your sweet spot with surgical precision while his lips suck on your clit with unrelenting eagerness. You are panting furiously, swears cascading off your lips with ease and mixing with pleads of his name but he suddenly stops, raising his head just enough so that his breath is still teasing your core.
‘You need you to be a little bit louder princess, I can’t hear your sweet moans with the way you’re crushing my skull’
You desperately nod, anything to have him back there and, just as a little aid, you slide your legs down to his throat, choking him slightly and eliciting a deep groan out of him. He instantly resumes with flickers of his tongue, making sure to maintain eye contact with you while you reach your high again. You cross your ankles on his back,tightening the grip around him and cutting his blood flow just a tad more; he takes the hint, increasing the rhythm of his fingers until you’re cumming on his face, completely enveloping him for good with your limbs, his name reverberating in the air like a sinful litany.
He climbs your body in a couple of swift moves and now you’re face to face, his wet, swollen lips brushing yours, his breath hot against your cheeks. He looks quite a state. Unruly curls, sunken cheekbones, a rosy flush across his neck.
‘Welcome back, baby’
He chuckles darkly, his erection twitching against your thigh, pressing into your flesh through his boxer in search of relief. You slide your hand across his chest, almost feeling his ribs. You’d love to tear him apart just to count them, just to make sure that you haven’t dreamt it: there’s a missing one. God, if he exists, made you out of it, out of him. Maybe that’s why you’re always trying to be as close as possible to one another.
He does just so, after peeling the last piece of clothing off himself, sliding inside of you like he hadn’t left in the first place. He starts moving slowly, standing a little straighter to watch you squirm and whine.
‘What’s wrong baby? Do you want me to stop?’ He coos. He knows exactly what you want, the condescending tone not helping your situation.
‘Need- need to feel you better’
‘Is that so, princess? Did I make you too wet? Let you make it up to you, yeah?’
He finally undresses you completely, crumpling the nightgown in his hands, bottoming out completely and wiping your cunt, the friction causing a small moan out of you.
When he finally thrusts into you again, the burn is so delicious you can feel your eyes roll into your skull.
‘Is that better baby? You’re such a dirty fuck doll, so eager for this dick that you want it to feel it split you open’
You choke out a broken moan, fire licking up your limbs and feeding the warm feeling in your lower stomach.
‘Answer me princess, don’t be shy’
‘Y-Yeah I am Matty, fuck’
His thrusts get faster as a way to reward you, the effort making his smirk fade in favour of a much more fucked out expression. He’s on the edge as much as you. You can feel the pleasure reaching an impossible level of tightness in your stomach and you grab his forearm with your hand in anticipation, fingernails planting into his tattoos.
‘Keep looking at me when you cum on my cock kitten’
Matty’s request sounds more like an order you can barely follow when your orgasm actually hits you, eyelids fluttering and hands scratching his tense back, your legs twitching like a shock wave had just hit you. Matty does his best to ground you, his hands keeping your hips glued to the mattress while he keeps fucking into you.
‘Matty you can’t anymore, ‘m too overstimulated’
He coos at you, sweetly condescending, your whispered pleas almost amusing him.
‘Yes you can, baby. Just a bit more, okay? I’ll cum with you, promise’
You nod your head the best you can, feeling the tension starting to rise again when he starts to gently rub at your clit with his thumb, leaning to cover your cheeks with small kisses that contrast with his frantic thrusts.
‘Where do you want me, princess?’
It’s a rhetorical question, you both know it, but you don’t seem to be able to answer him. Even with your mouth agape, air isn’t filling your lungs, and you can only trust him to understand you when you trail a hand down to your lower stomach, resting it on the spot where you can feel the head of his cock hitting.
He smirks down at you, his expression scrunching up a second later when he feels you clenching around him.
‘I’ll fill you up good, kitten, don’t worry about it, you just have to let go. Wanna feel you milking my cock for what it’s worth’
His words finally make you crumble a second time, tears brimming your eyes while he fucks you through your orgasm until he is on the brink too, admiring your fucked out expression before releasing inside of you.
He rolls off of you, his arms coming to cradle your head while you try to regain your breathing rhythm.
‘I’m never gonna leave again’
You chuckle and slap his heaving chest.
‘You will, but I’ll wait for you. All that I do is wait for you.’
The Same Damn Thing (collab with @sycophanticsolipsism)
Here’s part 5, can’t believe we’ve only got two parts left! Thank you to everyone for your likes and reblogs and kudos and feedback, can’t tell you how much it motivates us and how much we appreciate it. It truly lifts our spirits so thank you thank you. The most thanks to @sycophanticsolipsism for supporting my sorry ass through a writer’s block, this thing would probably still have like 100 words without you!
If you need to catch up, check out the masterlist.
Warnings: MDNI, smut, angst, probably some typos
Part 5: If I Could Go Back To That Evening We Met…
“I’d kill to go back to that evening we met. Trembling hands as I’d ask for your number again, you saw me different then…when I held your heart in my hand” - Lewis Capaldi
Nobody on the flight is happy to be leaving the magic of Rome, clutching their Prosecco and pecorino Romano from duty free as if it will evaporate upon takeoff. Nobody except Val, that is. She is buzzing, fidgety, can’t get out of this goddamn country fast enough. She has been in constant motion since the moment she’d woken up this morning.
Val’s had her share of mornings (less than some of her friends but more than she likes to admit) where she woke up disoriented and hungover, unhappy with where she was and a little foggy on how she got there. But this morning? This one was by far the worst, because she didn’t wake up next to a strange guy wearing one sock drooling on her shoulder. No, instead it was Matty - adorable, inconvenient, sexy Matty. By one night stand standards, it was probably the safest she’d ever been. And yet it was the most reckless, brainless thing she’d ever done.
‘It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ She’d repeated it to herself over and over - during her shower, throughout the most chaotic packing job of her life, and all the way to the airport. But no matter how much Val tried, her treacherous bitch of a brain would not let it go. She rocks up to the gate after boarding has begun, sliding into her seat at the front of the plane (she’d used the few minutes waiting for a taxi at the hotel to switch her seat), keeping her head low and her sunglasses on (she takes back all the times she previously called people wearing sunglasses on planes pretentious twats. She gets it now). She’d held her breath as he boarded, pretending to be asleep when she saw his eyes searching for her. Her noise cancelling headphones provide little relief from the rattling around in her head. Now that she’s stopped, albeit forcibly, it’s harder to keep the thoughts she’s desperate to avoid at bay.
She catches up on texts as the plane taxies, until her friend Dina responds to a picture of Barry Keoghan in the group chat with a resounding “fuck me” and Val’s transported back to the moment Matty whispered that in her ear as he slid into her for the first time. Opening her email once they’re airborne, her inbox is flooded with emails from him from the last few days, running commentary on the conference sessions they’d attended separately. Reading his cute ramblings on the boring presenters and arrogant question askers felt like a shiv jabbed through her ribs. Finally, she gives up, slamming the laptop shut and closing her eyes. Maybe if she’s unconscious she won’t think about it.
If her life were a movie, Val would have stirred to light stubble nuzzling her neck, his hand snaking down her front, his gruff voice whispering filthy nothings in her ear. But life wasn’t a movie. Instead, the blare of the wakeup call had jolted them awake, her elbow colliding with his jaw as they both scrambled to answer it. By the time Matty’d thanked the hotel staff with broken Italian, Val was already in her jeans, searching for her earring while avoiding looking at him completely.
“Val…” His voice is low, shaky, uncertain, like he’s approaching a caged animal. Val’s heard him employ that tone a hundred times before - with clients and colleagues when he wants to win them over, with their uni friends when he was trying to mediate a dispute between them, with Marin when she was pushing herself too hard toward the end. But he’s never used it with Val before, until now. He thinks it’s full of charm and confidence and take-charge-ness. But what it feels like right now is patronizing. It’s the first time Val fucking hates the sound of his voice.
There’s a twinge in her neck she’s not sure the cause of as she whips her head around. “Don’t give me that tone.”
Matty physically recoils, blinking stupidly back at her. “I don’t know -“ He looks down at the bed before standing, moving to the chair in the room, maybe to put more distance between them, escape the scene of the crime.
“Yea you do!”
“Look, I’m confused too but…” But she isn’t. Confused that is. She may not be on board with all her actions over the last several hours, but in this moment, she is in full control of how she feels.
Angry, that’s how Val feels. Angry at herself for being an idiot cliche who slept with her boss. Beyond annoyed at him for not just leaving her the fuck alone to languish on Richard’s team all those months ago. Furious with whatever early Roman asshole invented wine in the first place, with its inhibition-altering goodness. And don’t even get her started on Marianne, who landed them in this joint-room trope predicament in the first place. Yep, her shit list is growing by the minute. She would have NEVER done this at home. Never. She needs to get back - to her bed, to her routine, to her goddamn sanity. Oh, she is clear on her emotions alright.
“Oh, I’m not. I know what this was, no need to explain it.” Sheets and pillows are flying now as the search continues for her earring. “Listen, we can’t miss our flight and I need to find my earring. I can’t lose it, it’s—“
“Marin’s, I know.”
“Of course you do.” She’s looking in the mini fridge now, which she knows is ridiculous, but she just has to keep moving. “Obviously, you’d remember your girlfriend’s ear—“
Matty’s chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound, drawing Val’s eyes over to his body. Bad idea, as he sits up abruptly and leans forward. “Listen, I don’t know what you heard about us.” Us. The word hits her like a visceral gut punch, a dull ache radiating out from her chest. It’s one thing to think it and another thing altogether to hear it. Her worn patience snaps, she can’t sit here with the smell of sex still lingering in the air and think of them. She just can’t. “It’s not what you th—“
“Aaah, got it!” Fuck, thank god. Her shirt she can do without but there was no way Val was leaving without that earring. She readies to flee, gathering her bag and looking around for her key card… before it settles on her that she’s in her room. She can’t leave, at least not without looking even more erratic than she feels. Plus, they really need to get a fucking move on to the airport and he’s still shuffling by the bed in just his pants.
She pauses, back turned to him as she speaks. “Listen” she repeats - it’s what her mum would refer to as a verbal tick, “umm, I’m going to hop in the shower, we’ve really got to go and I’m sure you have to pack and—” she’s moving toward the bathroom now, and the blessed door that will put a much-needed barrier between them so she can wash his scent off, and catch her breath and think. Something she clearly wasn’t doing last night. “And I forgot to pick up one last bag of coffee for my neighbor so I’m gonna run to that place down the square. I’ll just meet you at the gate.” The last part is thrown over her shoulder as she slams the door shut, not broaching any argument. She presses her back to the door, holding her breath, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. After eighteen seconds (her youth swim training finally came in handy), she hears the rustling of his clothes, the click of the lock, and then nothing. The sound that she makes as she finally takes a deep breath sounds like relief, and yet it doesn’t feel like it.
When they land, Val is off the plane like a shot, power walking through border control, not looking back. She implores every God she’s ever heard of - she even throws Dumbledore in there for good measure - that her suitcase is already waiting for her at baggage claim, assisting her quick getaway from the walking reminder in a wrinkled black suit and raybans somewhere behind her. But she must have exhausted all her luck between rounds two and three last night because the conveyer belt hasn’t even started moving yet (fucking Heathrow). He catches up to her a few minutes later, which is unfortunate because she was hoping to not see him until sometime next month. Maybe year. Decade. Never? She knows she’s being childish but at least now her mood matches her actions. Her boss! Her sister’s something. Her friend.
The look he levels her with is heavy with impatience. Oh, he’s waiting for her to say something? Fat chance, talking to him is what got her into this mess in the first place. Val talked herself right out of her senses and into his bed. Her bed. A bed. Speaking of, she wants to get to hers so she can crawl into it and die. “Where the hell are these bags?!” Mumbling to herself as a hideous green paisley suitcase makes a full go around the luggage turn style again before Matty seems to get fed up with their verbal game of chicken, taking a deep breath and letting a long sigh preview his words. “Well I guess I’ll sta-“
“Matty?” A high-pitched voice calls from somewhere behind them. Saved! Maybe there’s some magic left for her after all.
He whirls around to the voice, which is attached to a striking woman who Val does not recognize. Probably an enterprising networker from the conference. Now’s her chance to back away, book it to the other end of the carousel. Hell, maybe she should just abandon the bag, she can always come back and get it later. Having decided on letting present Val off the hook and leaving future Val to deal with the postponed chat with Matt, she turns to leave - when the woman steps into (invades is more like it from where Val’s standing) Matty’s personal space, confidentially, almost intimately. Val is glued to the spot, curiosity getting the best of her.
“Cheryl…hi, what are you - it’s nice to - aah” He awkwardly goes to hug the woman but they get tangled as they lean in, barely manage a weird half hug, half cheek kiss. Awkward is not a trait she’s used to seeing on him, and it really doesn’t suit.
Val doesn’t know if it’s years of computational science training or the hours of true crime documentaries she’s devoured but something has her mind whirring, interest piqued, collecting data on this new person. Tall, brunette, well dressed, older (she can’t be more than Matty’s age but Val is feeling petty all of a sudden).
“So that’s why you’ve been so hard to reach lately. Long trip?” Cheryl’s eyes dart towards her and then back to Matty, clearly content to not make Val’s acquaintance. She’s toe to toe with Matty now, which Val knows from no more legitimate source than Cosmo is a sign that they’re clearly comfortable in each other’s personal space. Physical space. Val doesn’t like where this is going but can’t seem to look away.
“Ehm no, just Rome. Conference.” He clears his throat into his fist and begins rocking on his heels in a way she’s never seen him do before. Who the fuck is this woman? “You?”
“Showcase in Sweden,” Cheryl says as if this explains everything. It doesn’t, not nearly enough. Be more specific Cheryl, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here! “But I’m home for a few weeks. We should…ummm…get together again, last time was… fun.” She punctuates the last part, dragging a manicured nail down Matty’s chest. Val knows later (once she’s home and showered and slept and sane again) she’ll admire Cheryl’s boldness, wish they were friends so she could ask her how she seems to manage more confidence in that one finger than Val seems to have in her whole body.
For his part, Matty does finally step back - or maybe he just loses his equilibrium in the presence of Miss Congeniality (she can’t help it) - and collides with Val, startling as if noticing her for the first time. And in this moment, the data set is complete - she doesn’t need to gather any more information to come to her conclusion - they’ve fucked. Recent enough that Cheryl doesn’t hesitate in initiating contact. Intimate contact that had him seemingly forgetting all about Val. The woman he slept with last night!
Keep moving.
Before he can move to introduce her or address her or do anything with her, she spots her bag, lunges for it, and leaves without another word.
There’s a Diet Coke stain on Val’s sweater, a general stale smell in the air that she’s pretty sure is coming from her, and she’s stiff and sore in areas she hasn’t been in a while. But she can’t go home. Because home has the couch where they sat till her head ached and back screamed, pulling and fixing data and railing against their colleagues for fucking up. It’s got the blanket she’d caught him wiping his eyes on as they watched Manchester By the Sea together. And the fucking grease stain on the edge of her carpet that he didn’t think she knew about from the pizza he’d dropped on it. (She might have to burn that rug, or sell it.) And the old journal tucked away in her closet filled with her thoughts of him that show just how stupid she’d been for him and for how long.
So no, Val doesn’t go home. When the cab driver asks where to, she rattles off the first place that comes to mind, dragging her suitcase behind her out of the backseat and into the cinema. The obviously-stoned teenager behind the counter doesn’t bat an eye when she asks him for one ticket to the “least fucking romantic thing you’ve got going here,” punching a few buttons before spitting out a stub and receipt for the latest installment in the Saw franchise. But not even gore and guts can keep her mind from drifting. The torture on screen ramps up - Val wants to picture Matty groaning in agony as she tortures him for all the shit he’s put her through today but all her mind can seem to conjure are his moans of pleasure.
She’s pictured him between her thighs so many times that she’s probably imagined every move he’s making tonight, from the moment he started trailing his lips down past her breasts. The way his mouth licks at each of her ribs as he slinks down her body seems familiar. And Val knows that she’s pictured him licking his bottom lip the way he does now as he slides her panties to the side with his finger. But all of these fantasies, she realizes now, have been devoid of the single hottest thing she could never imagine. His sounds. Because the gutteral groan that escapes him as he licks into her for the first time is like nothing she’s ever heard before. It must have surprised him too because he pauses after that first taste, resting his forehead against her pelvis, heavy pants tickling her skin. Val’s hands instinctively find his hair, raking through it, fingertips massaging the top of his head. She’s a little uncertain why he paused but she can’t help but stop and appreciate the intimacy of this moment, something new for them even after all their years of knowing each other.
“Christ,” he mutters, rolling his head slightly back and forth as he plants lazy kisses wherever his mouth lands, seemingly unhurried. But not knowing what he’s thinking begins to make her anxious. Was there something wrong? She’d waxed recently (not that it mattered and fuck him if he thought it did)…right? Yes, yes definitely. Maybe it wasn’t his thing, had she pushed him to do it? Oh god, was she the problem?
Her hand slid from his hair to his jaw, trying to coax him back up her body. She gasps at the quick snatch of her wrist, firm but gentle, his large hand encircling her wrist easily. He slides her other one alongside it, pinning both of her wrists in place easily on her left side.
“I just….you don’t have to….listen, just come up and we’ll…”
“Val?”
“Yea?”
“You are the fucking best thing I’ve ever tasted. Now stop thinking and let me enjoy it.”
She walks out halfway through the movie, her fickle mind unable to give into the distraction for long. There’s a cafe right next to the theater and Val ignores the annoyed glances she gets for hogging a table meant for two. But she needs room for her baggage. ‘Fitting’, she thinks.
She’s on her second latte and third episode of Derry Girls when her mum calls. Normally, she’d put her off until she’s in a better mood to chat, has more energy to pretend. One of the hazards of having a psychoanalyst for a mother is that every interaction can feel like a session, unable to avoid her trained instincts. But she’d already dodged her calls twice and Val is certain that even though her mother knows she was traveling with Matty (her mother was so relieved when Val said Matty was going, you’d have thought he was a 6’5 bodyguard instead of a 5’10 casual exerciser), if she doesn’t pick up a third time Gwen will start to panic. After what her mother’s been through, she tries not to blame her.
When Gwen asks how the trip went, Val picks her words carefully, trying to muster believable excitement behind it. “Good!”
“Really? It doesn’t sound good?” Clearly, her acting needs work.
“No, it was.” She tries again, hoping the raised octaves in her voice would make up for the lack of it in her mood.
“You and Matty were in Rome for a week and it was only good? I find that hard to believe.”
And she doesn’t know if it’s the sudden softness in her mothers’ usually firm voice or her own jet lag but Val feels the dam crack and break easier than it has in years. And it’s not a dainty crack either, where a tear slides down her cheek accompanied by one of those cute hiccups. No, Val is not a cute crier, never has been. It’s full on sobs, her splotchy face screwed up and her attempts to breath turning into snot-logged guffaws. She’s word vomiting her train-wrecked thoughts to her mother, trying to hide her teary face behind her crumpled napkin. The guy at the table next to her - some young college kid who probably hasn’t lived long enough to make the idiotic mistake of wanting someone you can’t have - tries to appear casual as he side-eyes her, giving her increasingly dirty looks before he slides his laptop and book off the table and jogs out of the place. ‘Yea kid, run so you don’t have to see what your life will look like in ten years,’ she thinks, reaching for the unused napkin on his table and blowing her nose loudly.
Val spares her the more salacious details but knows Gwen gets the gist. Silence follows, for so long that Val pulls her phone out of her bag to check the connection is still good.
“He calls me every year, you know.” Her mother’s voice is soft, vulnerable.
Of all the things she expected her mother to say, this was not it. “Who? Matty?!”
“Yesss darling, Matty. Every year around the anniversary.” Val rolls her eyes, of course he would. He couldn’t just make it easy for her and be a dickhead she shouldn’t have feelings for. Her mother’s voice is still flooding her earbuds “…started out with a card the first year but then he missed the second one and called all flustered from some party boat…in Ibiza, I think.” Gwen’s laugh is another thing that Val doesn’t hear that much of, wishes she heard it more. “Said he was rubbish with anything analogue and asked if I wouldn’t mind if he called from then on.”
Val grips her napkin, busying herself with shredding it into pieces. “He always asks about you. Bless him, probably thought he was being so coy, but it was obvious that he was digging for info on you.”
“Me?” The shrillness in her voice attracts a glare from the guy who’s taken over the recently-vacated table. She glares right back. She can be hysterical if she wants to here, it isn’t a bloody library.
“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course, you. Who else?” There’s rustling on the other end, the unmistakable whimper of her parent’s golden retriever as he scratches at the back door, desperate to go out. Val is suddenly homesick in a way she hadn’t been in over a decade. “I thought you all had something going at school before…”
“No, mum.” Val interrupts before that thought can even fully form, can’t take hearing someone else verbalize it. “It was him and Marin…”
The sharp bark of laughter cuts her off. “Marin? No darling, definitely not.”
The confidence with which her mother says this should make Val feel better, someone outside of her own thoughts refuting her worst nightmare. But instead, her hackles rise, instantly petulant at being so easily dismissed. Her next words are biting.
“Well, I was there so I think I would know.”
“You certainly know a lot.” Great, her mother’s passive voice. It’s a reliable tool for de-escalation, but all it seems to do for Val is piss her off more.
“Well, how would you know? You weren’t here!“ She hates how easily she reverts to sounding like a child with her mum.
“Because she told me things.” The unlike you goes unsaid.
“I-“
“Honey, you’ve always kept things close to the vest. Ever since you were little.” Her mother anticipates her defensiveness “It’s ok, it’s just your nature. But it wasn’t the same for your sister. She told me eeeeeverything. Including the fact that she was asexual.”
Val’s cheeks flame in the way they always did whenever either of her parents even said the word sex. “Wait, what?”
“Yes darling.” She says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“No, I-“
“Honestly Val, it’s perfectly normal, some people just aren’t driven by carnal ins-“ At that word, Val is transported back to the mortifying moment she’d asked her mother the definition of carnal at the ripe old age of 7, having come across it while trying to read one of her Nan’s trashy paperbacks with Fabio on the cover. Her dad had been livid but her mum had simply sat Val down and explained the birds and the bees. Val had never asked for a clarification on another word since.
She’d very much like to not relive that whole ordeal now, or ever again. “Mum, I know what asexual means. I just, well…” Val pauses, biting her lip in contemplation unsure of what it is that confuses her about the finding. Her sister was allowed to keep things for herself. Val had obviously never told Marin about her feelings for Matty. Thou can covet thy sister’s boyfriend as long as you don’t tell anyone…that’s how the commandment went, right? But this, this was news that would have changed Val’s whole world that first year of uni. Maybe her whole life. And she’d kept it from her! Just because Val didn’t have a right to be angry doesn’t mean she wasn’t anyway .“I guess I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.”
“Oh bug, I think she would have. If she had had the time.” Gwen’s voice goes soft again in the way she only gets when talking about Marin. Or her own parents. Val hates making her mum sad.
“Well, good to know, I guess. Still doesn’t mean he didn’t fancy her.” The sigh on the other end of the line
“Honey, this isn’t really about your sister, is it? It’s about you. I mean, it’s fine to be guarded.” ‘Well, thanks for your permission mum.’ “But if you like someone, sometimes you, well, you’ve got to go out on a limb. Do something that you can’t walk back.”
“Uh uh Val, eyes on me baby,” Matty’s thumb taps at her hairline, bringing her eyes back to his. “There she is, that’s my girl.” His smile is so soft, so incongruous with the harsh snap of his hips moments before. He dips his head, nose nuzzling hers as his lips skim over her Cupid’s bow. “I want to see you.”
The elevator dings as it arrives at her floor, Val’s mind barely registering it as she stares at the hideous bargain carpet that covers every inch of her building. Two days ago, her Mum’s revelations would have had her spinning. But today, they just make her more tired. Tired of trying to decipher what it all meant - every word, every action. Tired of carrying around hope for all these years, foolish, unfounded hope. Hope could be heavy and she’d been carrying it since an early age, when Hollywood had filled her brain with stories of men who gave the smallest crumbs of affection and the women who devoured them like they were full feasts, never giving up and somehow always getting the guy. Beauty and the Beast, My Best Friends Wedding, Jerry Maguire, Bridget Jones’, Sleepless in Seattle. And those were just a few of her favorites growing up. But what those movies didn’t show was the nights filled with insomnia, the self-doubt, the second guessing yourself, the exhaustion that comes with taking every interaction with someone you would die to have - literally every single second together - and reliving it over and over again looking for the seIcret subtexts that would reveal how he felt about you. Wondering, confused, if it was love or if you weren’t just mistaking kindness for care.
Well, Val was officially giving up. Throwing in the towel. She couldn’t do it any more. She was no Hollywood heroine, she was just a mere woman, and she was tired. Of burying her feelings under shy smiles, then friendship, then a night with him that had only made the idea of friendship impossible. Of wondering if she was wasting time pining for someone when she didn’t even know how he felt. I mean, clearly he was attracted to her but just because he wanted her didn’t mean he wanted to be with her; just because he wasn’t in love with Marin didn’t mean that he was in love with Val. Contrary to how she sometimes acted, she knew she was not the only person of interest on the planet and he could have anyone he wanted.
And that was all just the personal anxiety. She hadn’t even begun to process how stupid this all was for her professionally.
As she makes the turn down her hallway, her eyes are drawn to a body, slumped in front of the door to her apartment. Asleep? Dead? Several particularly grim facts about stalkers and serial killers flash through her mind before she clocks the curls, the scuffed shoes, the pack of cigarettes lying next to him he’d clearly taken out to smoke before he must have realized where he was. On instinct, hope rises in her chest before she slaps her palm over her heart, holding it at bay. No, that was enough of that.
She kicks at his shoe, startling him for the second time that day. “How long have you been here?”
He doesn’t respond as he clambers to his feet, eyes dragging to his suitcase as if to highlight the obvious answer.
“Ok, other question. What are you doing here?” It comes out breathier than intended but she is genuinely surprised. Thought he’d be off somewhere with that troll Cheryl (she is not proud of how her feminism utterly abandons her in this moment). That she’d at least have a few well-timed sick days to prepare before seeing him again.
“I’m uh…” The toe of his brogues scrape at the floor .Whatever he wants to say, it’s enough to make him anxious. Which is enough to make Val want to avoid it at all costs.
Summoning her self-preservation, she cuts him off. “Listen, maybe we should do this when we’ve both-“
“Goddamnit Val, for once, please shut up!” His voice explodes in the small space, her gaze immediately going over her shoulder to her neighbor’s door. The last thing she needs right now is a noise complaint. Matty itches at the skin around his throat, as if raising his voice at her is as foreign to do as it was to receive. “I’m sorry, I’m sor- I just, I can’t risk any confusion here. Just need to get this out. Need you to listen. For once.” The attempt at a joke lands with a thud.
“When I’ve tried to get this out…and, I, just, it gets fucked every time.” His breath is noticeably shaky, hands on his hips as he gazes at the floor. “And I’m sick of, well I’m not sick of trying cause I’ll do that, not afraid…but I’m sick of the…if only I’d been clearer, got it out faster….in that pub, and I just, can’t take it any more…”
She’s about to tell him she’s not following when he seems to gather that for himself, head lifting to meet her eyes. She’s never been great at eye contact, always hates how put on the spot she feels by it. On instinct, Val glances away, over his shoulder, somewhere safer. A blurred hand lifts in her periphery, hovering near her face but not touching it, until her gaze turns back to his. Reminding her of the eye contact he’d insisted on the night before, as he went down on her, as he slid into her, as she came on his cock and as she’d fallen asleep.
“Val, I’m crazy about you. Have been for years… and before you say it, Marin and I weren’t anything. Or nothing like you think… I loved her, sure. But not in the way I do you…”
Val’s heard the phrase about the world going sideways before but she’d never really appreciated what it meant until now. She swears her body actually tilts sideways until it feels like the handle of her suitcase is the only thing keeping her upright. And with her equilibrium goes her ability to think straight.
“From the moment I met you when you had just got accepted, there was just something… and then you were dating that prick Roger from the cricket team.” God, Val hadn’t thought of him in ages. She’d been using him, trying to get under him to get over Matty. “…kicking myself that I’d just assumed there’d be time, like you wouldn’t just get snatched up by someone—“
The sleep deprivation seems to pick that very moment to redouble its efforts - she can’t think fast enough to respond. To buy herself time, she vomits out the first thought in her head. “Why didn’t you say something? Back then?”
“What? Rock up to you on the first day ‘Hey Val, d’you remember me? From that one weekend we hung out? Will you please go out with me? Oh, let me help you unpack, show you how shitty the beds are...’” He scoffs, she fucking hates that. “C’mon, I’d like to think I’m better than that…”
Her eyes look away, not willing to admit he’s right.
“I don’t know if you remember that night…in the pub—“ He stops, the effort of self-editing written all over his face. “What the fuck am I—Of course, I know you remember, like, the shittiest night of your life but I meant right before, when you and I were— “
She’s not intentionally tuning him out but her brain is now unhinged, skipping around and ahead, trying to determine what conclusion he’s coming to. Because the truth is, even if he’s telling the truth (she knows he has no reason to lie about this but she still can’t comprehend this monumental fact that he’s liked her for, it sounds like, almost as long as she’s liked him...) she still can’t have him. Because as the personal anxiety begins to ebb in the face of his declaration, the professional anxiety seeps in to take its place. She knows how this would go. She trusts Matty, of course she does (even after all these years, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else). But in her experience, shit like this - a relationship with a coworker - doesn’t stay quiet, no matter how hard two people try. Someone catches her glance at him differently, he says her name a certain way and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. The rumor mill must be fed, anything to make the mundane office more interesting, the hours less boring. It’s not that she blames them, has even joined in in her weaker moments, feeling slightly gross as she listened to the latest gossip, just wanting to be part of the inner circle, to be included. But she’s seen what it does to women, it’s always the women that pay.
“So, you can choose not to give this a shot, but it won’t be because of some bullshit misunderstanding you have about me and Marin.” There’s that tone again, like he’s confident in the case he made, assured of its persuasiveness. But once again, he’s underestimated her.
“Marin isn’t the reason.” It’s clear that’s not what he was expecting her to say, he’s caught off guard, eyes flitting back and forth between hers as if trying to scan them. “Well, not entirely. Matty, you’re my boss…”
“I’m well aware, trust me. We can handle it. Or I can.” Her eyeroll is instinctual at this point, honed from years of listening to men brush away her valid concerns as if they were so obviously not an issue that it’s idiotic that she’d even been thinking about it. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re tog—“
“No, it does… matter, that is… Cause this won’t be a problem for you, but for me it will be. A big one. My reputation, my career. People will think I slept my way into every job opportunity from here on out…” Val crosses her arms in front of her chest to stop wringing of her hands.
Matty is shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation has veered off course. “No, they won’t… and if they do, I’d immediately address it. We’d report them! I’m not really a nobody here, y’know.”
“Oh great, I can hear people now. ‘There goes Matty, taking Val ‘under his wing’” the air quotes aren’t really needed with the sarcasm laced in her voice but it’s important to her he knows how much that idea offends her. “I fucking hate that phrase.”
The smell of his cologne tingles as he takes a step closer, that confidence back in his voice. “Listen, I’m not stupid enough to think that it’d be totally fair, or that there isn’t stuff we have to work out—" (he says stuff as though the problem was (is) a small glitch in the code and not a huge attack on her entire system, her career) “—but I am falling in love with you… I want to do that with you. Want to do everything with you,” he chuckles softly, peering into her eyes, “And I think you do too, or at least I would hope so.”
Her resolve is crumbling, she needs him to go away, leave her so she can fall apart in peace. “No.”
“No?” Matty rakes his hands through his hair, interlocking his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing in a way that Val can’t help but find hot.
“Matty, I…I am just…I can’t…I’ve worked too hard for everything I’m accomplishing now for it to be credited to you. It would kill me to have people think that.” She hates thinking out loud but her trusty brain-to-mouth filter is failing her right now. Thankfully, he fills in the gaps for her. “It’s not worth the risk—“ The words are said carelessly but she can’t stuff them back in.
“No, I think what you mean is I’m not worth the risk” He says, and on his face she can read all the hurt her simple denial has inflicted. She wishes he would understand, that he would just listen and see it from her perspective because when she puts it all down on paper…well— the cons outweigh the pros, and her lists have rarely ever failed her. What if they don’t work out? What if after all this time pining for each other, they go on a couple of dates and realize they’ve made a mistake? It’s not like they can walk this back. Data isn’t subjective, it’s objective, it’s rational, reliable. Everything that they are not right now. She’s about to summarize it for him, a task which would be made easier if she had time to write it out, organize it.
Her thoughts feel scattered. “I’m not saying—” but it doesn’t matter that she’s not organized because she doesn’t get far.
“Got it,” he cuts her off, voice suddenly gruff and cold. “I’m an idiot. Thought last night meant you were still mooning over me the way you used to—jokes on me, I guess.” It’s been a while since she’s seen him like this, wounded animal cruelly lashing out at a perceived attack. This Matty is an unpleasant addition.
“Oh, fuck off, sounds like you were pining right back. Not that you kept your bed cold waiting though, did you? Fucking Cheryl and…”
“Cheryl?! God you’re unbelievable” His bag slaps against his thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder violently. “Cheryl is nothing. She was a one night stand—“
“—so was I!” They are screaming now and Val is almost surprised that the landlord hasn’t already been called.
Val doesn’t have time to see his reaction before he moves past her to the elevator. “Your words, not mine” He bypasses the elevator altogether, slamming the door to the stairwell open and disappearing into it.
When she’s finally in her apartment, suitcase sprawled open in her living room and temporary bed made on her couch, she lets it wash over her. All the emotions she has kept in a vice like grip since the second her feet hit the floor this morning, or rather till her feet landed in the heap of denim where Matty’s jeans had landed the night before. Val wants to be proud of herself for cutting it off, not feeding the beast (figuratively or literally) but what she really feels is regret.
Not sure if the ““““““story”””””” around this actually makes any sense, I just wanted to write this down without overthinking it because I hate rereading the things I write.
TW: mdni!, smut, breath play, slight bondage(?), dom/sub undertones, terrible use of the English language, typos
WC: 1100-ish
You hadn’t realized it at first. Nothing had seemed atypical when he had come over, just the usual quick fuck: as per usual, he gave you a quick call, just to make sure you were in fact home and seven minutes later, no words spoken since he had entered the door, he was fumbling with the buttons of your shirt while kissing you harshly, warm, plumped lips tracing the expanse of your throat. As you soon had learned when you first met him, Matty seemed, at least to the untrained eye, a creature of habit. Truth was, routines worked for him because he wasn’t one to work for routines: fame taught him that minimizing steps between actions and decisions often meant that he got to enjoy his time more. So, at a certain point in his career, he had begun to just do anything he pleased, without asking, on rotation, until everyone was so in sync with his daily antics that he did not have to explain himself or ask for anything. It’s not like anyone was going to get mad at him for it, anyway. He had that kind of boyish grin that made everything justifiable.
You weren’t immune, that’s for sure, or you wouldn’t have left the door ajar, as you always did, when you had heard the screeching of his tires just below your apartment complex; and he, like clockwork, just swung the door open, so sure of himself that you pondered, just for a second, how funny it would be if one day he just crashed on your front door that you ‘’accidentally’’ had left locked.
Becoming his favorite and only booty call was not something you had planned, the switch in your life so imperceptible you barely noticed it happened. At first, it was casual, just a mutual agreement for casual sex, but slowly you had become part of his never ending collection of habits, especially with your flat being exactly in the middle of the path between his place and the studio, making your ‘dates’ a daily occurrence that only required a brief notice on the phone, the convenience of it adjusting perfectly to his manically simple schedule.
And so there you were, standing before your still opened front door, topless and with your pjs shorts barely standing his needy pawing. Your fingers guide his face back on you, back at kissing him with force while his arms envelops you so close to him you almost feel you’re the one about to enter his body, and not the other way around. Quickly, his hands glide down your sides, putting the fabric that’s barely covering your modesty at risk again , coming at the back of your thighs before he finally speaks: ‘Jump’. You obey silently, his bulge brushing on your backside making you whimper like a teen at a school dance grinding on her crush. To be honest, it wasn’t too far fetched from truth, you had grown to like Matty quite a bit, especially when he was looking at you up and down like a predator, still in his white shirt and dress pants (maybe today wasn’t actually a studio day after all), towering over your now completely naked body on the couch.
He lifts one of your ankles in his hand, lowering just enough to stamp a trail of butterfly kisses from your calf to the soft skin between your thigh and your hip bone, letting his curls cover the spectacle of his eyes. He grabs your hips, suddenly turning you on your stomach as he grabs your wrists with one hand, reaching for his discarded tie with the other, the only piece of clothing he freed himself of. He waits a beat for you to stop him, taking your small hum as a sign before he’s tying your arms behind your back, your shoulder blades almost coming to touch.
You then hear his zipper come undone and after a couple of seconds his tip is splitting you open and filling you up to the hilt, not really giving you time to adjust to the delicious sting in your lower abdomen. He starts slowly but he’s soon pounding relentlessly into you, short, quick thrust that knock on your G spot just right every time, moans and calls of his name falling from your mouth with your now melted brain. He brings a hand to your head, shoving you against the cushion harshly and using it as leverage, almost like he wants to shut you up against the pillow, the new angle bringing him deeper in your cunt, but not stopping him from following his own pace, fast, barely bottoming out, hips clashing with your ass incessantly.
‘Stop fucking clenching’
The order comes as a surprise. Then, when his hands are instead pushing on your shoulders to keep you down and firm against the plushness of the sofa, it finally hits you: he’s fucking you like he would his fleshlight. On your request, he had sent you a video while he was on tour, the rhythm of his hips in your memory matching perfectly the one he was now keeping. He knew you liked seeing him using that toy, and he now wanted you pliant and still like the object had been. You actually had asked for it, to be used like that, but the conversation had taken place so long ago you were kind of embarrassed to bring that up again.
No eye contact, no moans, no movements of any sort, just your perfectly still body: it all made sense and you couldn’t bring yourself to find it even slightly less hot. You try to muffle something to him, adding to the fire within him, his hand coming to shut your mouth and pinching your nose between his pointer finger and his thumb, blocking your airways.
‘If you want to opt out, kick me, if not, keep playing, doll, but don’t you dare fucking cum’
There it was, the final confirmation coming straight from his pet names.
The lack of oxygen was making your head dizzy, heightening the tightness in your stomach and you could feel Matty starting to lose his steady pace.
‘You can cum now baby, did so good for me’ suddenly, the pressure of his body is off you, your constraint feels looser, the air returns your lungs and your orgasm is hitting you, the combination so strong your trembling under Matty, who’s enjoying the scene so much he’s decided to slides out to cum in his fist just to look better at you.
‘That was fucking insane, how did you remember about that clip? It was so long ago.’
And there it was, the most stupidly hot and egocentric grin you’ve ever saw in your life.
I guess it’s more of a drabble than a thought? I’m sorry for sharing my horny thoughts (that I haven’t reread), I am now going to put myself in horny jail and repent for my sins
Given Matty’s job I imagine he takes a lot of work trips and often comes home in the middle of the night, when girlie is already asleep. He probably hasn’t seen/touched her in a week (aside from phone sex) so when he sees her sprawled out on his side of the bed in just panties+a tank top, peacefully breathing his corruption kink goes through the roof. He debates with himself for a bit but, since you had previously discussed the topic and you had given him the green light about experimenting with somno, he decides to ultimately crawl to the bed and starting to palm himself over his boxer at the sight of you, sleeping and unaware of his growing need. He’ll then become more comfortable and just push your underwear aside, starting to rub his cock up your slit, guiding himself with an hand gently pressing down your stomach and his other hand guiding himself as to hit your clit with his strokes. He’ll notice you fluttering your eyelids and starting to wake just as he’s about to slip inside you, instantly bringing his hand up to your face to stroke your cheek and moving himself to murmur into your ear something like ‘daddy’s here, sweetheart, just making myself at home, don’t mind me, yeah? You can go back to sleep, i’ll take good care of this sweet cunt’ (of course, you aren’t). And just as he’s saying that he slides himself home, suddenly enough that you choke out a whine and he’s quick to bring his hand to the side of your neck, running his fingers along your throat, up to the shell of your ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it ever so lightly that you barely notice, shushing you with a small smile and beginning to move. He’ll stand a little straighter just to watch you become increasingly breathless and whiny, pressing down with the heel of his hand on your lower stomach just to make you feel how deep his cock is hitting, and you moan loudly at the feeling. At the sound of your voice he wraps a hand around your neck, cutting the blood flow, whispering to you to ‘keep quiet and just take it like the good doll you are’. He fucks you steadily and deliciously up until he’s about to come, climbing up the bed to part your lips with the head of his dick and pumping himself until he spurts across your face, before letting himself crash on your body and leaving an open mouthed kiss across your cum stained face.
(mdni) oh my fucking god i am SPEECHLESS i am taking myself to horny jail Right beside you wow wow wow!!!! daddy's here, sweetheart, just making myself at home ARE U KIDDING ME!!! thank u for this Omg uve got me feeling some type of way holy shit
romaincrisis
areudirty
prguitarman
kianamaiart
izzy806
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
