#crablurb

[lottiecrabie]

hiii You know who this is can i please please please have cyosa mutual masturbation i lost so hard every time but once and you know you love meeeee 😇😇😇😇

this is for you🫵you know who you are. I love you🫶

‘matty…’ you moan, half as a beg and half as a mindless need. he chuckles, opening your thighs for him, putting you on display. you’re so ready you might take him right now. 

matty’s hand still dances on your thigh, working higher and higher. your breath hitches, anticipating the fateful meeting. he whispers, smirking, ‘how about you show me how you do it?’

your cheeks flame at the idea. you clench your thighs, trapping him in place, embarrassed. he doesn’t seem too bothered. he revels in prying them open again, grazing the ready skin until you’re squirming.

‘why would i when you’re right here?’ as if to convince him, you reach for his leftover hand, dragging it to a pert breast. he chuckles. his finger rolls the nipple and you sigh, still holding onto his wrist.

‘i want to see,’ he says. ‘i want to learn.’ you groan, half from pleasure and half from shyness. you hide in your shoulder, arching your back into his hand in contradiction. again, a laugh falls from him. ‘how about i show you too?’

your eyes snap to him, suddenly interested. he kneels up, towering over your parting frame. his hand makes quick work of his belt— quicker than your hungry, shaking ones could have done. he draws his cock out without any hesitation, holding it at the base. your breath dies in your throat. you freeze under him.

‘i’m already hard,’ matty says. ‘don’t even have to think about you cause you’re already laying there like a fucking daydream.’

you grin, spreading your legs further, giving him a show. a tortured groan rasps out his throat. ‘fuck, love, you’re gorgeous.’ he strokes himself once, swiping his thumb over the tip. you lick your lips, though you do not feel the need to reach out and do it yourself. you want to relish in the spectacle.

you get him, now. he knows this. says, ‘show me.’

you don’t feel as shy. your hand grabs his own, puppeteering him so he pinches and rolls your peaked nipples just right. a broken moan comes out of you. in turn, he strokes faster.

‘i don’t like the before,’ you choke out. ‘i’d rather just get to it.’ it’s all the warning you give him before you plunge your hand between your folds, circling your clit.

‘shit,’ matty cries. ‘you’re not real.’ you hum, pinching the skin of his wrist mischievously, reveling in his little yelp. ‘what do you think about?’

you shrug, non-committed. ‘i like my mind blank.’ matty tsks and shakes his head. you almost want to laugh, but your fingers hit a sinful spot and you’re too busy whining out.

‘you’re doing it wrong,’ he breathes. his hand is still hard at work on himself. he needs to frown in concentration to get his thought out. ‘the before, the imagination— that’s what it’s all about. you won’t get a mind-blowing orgasm if you don’t involve your mind.’

‘do it, then,’ you whimper. ‘mindblow me.’

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. ‘i didn’t expect you to be lazy.’ the challenge works and you set your eyes, competitiveness bubbling in your chest. vengefully, you dip two fingers inside, watching as he slows his rhythm in quiet wonder.

you thrust in and out, angling your fingers until your legs twitch mindlessly. your nails dig into his skin, and it’s not even to send any kind of message. he’s wrong about the mind. you masturbate to get you off— off that tyrannical ride your head leads ruthlessly. this, the hot euphoria beating in your veins, the quiet moans, the shivering limbs, is what it’s about.

‘i’ll tell you, then,’ matty says. he seems close, pumping his cock fast and certain. his chest rises and falls, the tattooed planes of his stomach in perfect display. you want to spread a hand over it, want to descend down and replace his hand, want to— you thumb your clit and stop wanting.

‘i think about you, all pretty and hot and needy. never this perfect, though. god, you’re really not real— like a fucking frosted cupcake, all sweet for me.’ the words fizzle up your chest. pleasure strikes through you, doubly so, and you cry his name in sheer shock.

matty continues, ‘i think about you in the library, bending you over until i erase that little worried frown you have. make you suck my fingers so you keep quiet still. don’t want to get banned— still need you to ride my cock on those big chairs after all.’

‘oh, god,’ you whine. you rub your clit furiously, eyes rolling back, seemingly astral projected to the library. your lips part in quiet worship. ‘more,’ you beg him.

matty pinches your nipple, forcing you to look at him. ‘your turn.’

you pant, trying to use your brain when your fingers are deep and quick inside of you, when he’s hanging off with that swoopy hair over his forehead and those dark, hungry eyes. you’re drunk on the mere sight of him, and you start fearing how he’ll affect you when he’s the one thrusting inside you.

‘i—‘ your legs kick, helpless. ‘sometimes when we watched movies, i’d think about you eating me out on the couch.’

matty groans, scrunching his eyes like he’s imagining it. ‘yeah? what’d i do?’

‘just— you’d kneel in front of me, and you’d tell me to pay attention, and then you’d do it. devour me like you were starved. shush me when i got too loud, remind me to watch my smart, pretentious film.’

another broken cry slips out of him. he falls over you, though still holding himself up with an arm. your now free hand spread over his ribs, back, anything your greediness can find. both your fingers work in tandem between your bodies, a quiet union you’ve just now noticed. you roll your head, hit his wrist. ‘matty…’

‘i thought about you asking me to fuck you before,’ matty admits offhandedly, lost in his pleasure. your fingers press into his working shoulder, mean. ‘fuck, i almost believed i was imagining when you really did ask me. figured i was going crazy.’

you twist your head, kissing his wrist over and over, tiny presses of love you don’t dare say. your tongue sticks out and licks it all up before it stays and means something. ‘again,’ you moan, feeling yourself get closer. your hips rise for your strained digits. your body hums in warning.

‘i want to come on your stomach. want to mark your skin— god, need it. need to see you all pretty with my cum, make you all messy. show you’re mine.’

‘matty,’ you scream, pumping your fingers just right.

’need to see you come, too. break apart so you’re not so perfect. my pristine, pretty girl, drooling for me, screaming my name, working those little fingers…’

‘fuck—‘

‘you’re doing so well for me,’ he promises. his hand has lost any sense of regular rhythm, pumping with desperate abandon instead. ‘just like i though,’ he says, full of wonder. he seems so gone you’d figure he’s all in his head, but matty stares at you like he could lick up the frost off the cupcake. ‘of course you’d listen. of course you’d do just i say.’

‘fuck, i need—‘ it’s on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t get to say, a shattering orgasm taking you instead.

you open your jaw and dig your teeth in matty’s wrist, biting down the yells as waves of pure ecstasy shake through you. your head, never quite unattached before, blanks with the force of pleasure. you say his name, you think. or maybe not. in the end, you don’t think at all, and it is glorious.

matty’s close after you, screaming out your name shamelessly. the ropes of white cum hit your stomach and he draws out his last trembles before he falls atop you with a sigh.

your head’s all fuzzy as you lay there. ‘oh,’ you finally say once you regain speech. you trace a finger over his back, staring at the ceiling in quiet contemplation. oh, this is what it’s supposed to be.

‘yeah,’ matty murmurs in your hair. because he understands, of course he does. your lungs feel full and heavy.

he finally rises and you catch a glance to the mess between your two bodies. the cum is painted over both of your stomach. though matty doesn’t even bother wiping it off before he smirks, kissing down your sternum. his eyes flash up at you, full of mischief. ‘so you want me to eat you out, huh?’

[lottiecrabie]

I also cannot explain how much I need this including everything you said in the tags hahaha consider this my blurb request!!!!! (ps linecook 2 was insane and so unexpected like what a gift u are ily xx)

Would you rather me camp with a tutor au sign or a linecook v word roleplay sign 🪻

on a weird smut streak dhmu

it starts off as a joke, or at least that’s what you assume. you’re recounting your first time story like a stand-up, treating the awkward fumblings and condom slippings and bloody sheets and the pain as punchlines to your story. matty doesn’t laugh much, but you entertain yourself, tipsy on amaretto sours and the warmth of his hand on your thigh. you get to the dead-fish look just above your eyes before the tell-tale groan and rollover when matty can’t take it anymore.

and it goes like it usually does, dirty speeches about how it wouldn’t have gone like that if your first time had been with him. and, sure, it’s a truth and a fact and a promise, but it doesn’t stop you from mocking him a little for the grandiose sermons.

then he says it. ‘i can show you.’

‘what,’ you say, laughing. ‘you’re gonna stitch me back up and take my virginity again?’

matty doesn’t even crack a smile. he’s taking the subject much more seriously than you would think, especially considering how silly it all is. ‘we can pretend. make it what it should have been.’

you’re taken aback. your fingertip rolls around the rim of the glass, chewing on your lip. ‘you’re seriously suggesting a virginity roleplay?’ matty shrugs. your heart races in your chest, but you aim for another joke. ‘are you never scared of being such a cliche?’

matty grins. ‘no. never.’

so he takes you home, though pushes your hands away when you try to unbutton his pants, blinking up at him in your best virginal doe eyes. he kneels before you instead, claims it’s all about getting used to the feeling. it’s where he stays the whole night, drawing screams and tears out of you until you’re dripping and drooling on the mattress, then kisses your forehead and wishes you a goodnight.

he teases you more and more, never giving you what you want, what you need. you know the trick; get her desperate and cockdrunk before you slide in, and it seems matty reserves a particularly delicious torture for ‘first times’. he croons sweet promises in your ear, fingering you and praising the way your cunt stretches for him, gets used to him, how he can’t wait to be inside of you, how well you’ll take him soon. by the end of it, you’re so pent-up about the idea, you almost forget it’s not actually your first time.

you’re making out on his bed when you grasp his hand, tightening it and blinking up at him. ‘matty. i’m ready.’

he plays it casually, smiling at you, but you sense his heartbeat quicken under your palm. ‘yeah? want me inside of you?’

you pout, moaning, ‘fucking need it.’

he hums. ‘oh, baby. alright. take your shirt off for me.’

you’re undressed in a matter of seconds, kicking off your shorts before he even asks. you wear white lingerie; much better than the nude cotton underwear you had on your first time. it seems you, too, want to rewrite history.

matty grins at you, danger in the spike of his teeth. ‘like a little lamb.’ you shiver as his mouth dances down your body, kissing your skin, and buries between your thighs.

he gets you off like that for a while, of course, because it’s matty. stays until you’re pushing his head away, the bed spinning around you. matty wipes his mouth as he crawls back up, already tugging off his shirt.

it’s when you’re both naked and panting in each other’s mouths that it starts feeling too real. your heart races, apprehension and anxiety and nerves spinning in that hurricane head. you feel exactly like you did the first time, unsure and overwhelmed and excited.

you opt for another joke to crack the tension. fluttering your eyelashes at him, you say, ‘i don’t know if it’s gonna fit.’

‘we’ll go slow.’

you wrap your hand around his hard cock, stroking gently. ‘i’ve never done this before.’ your thumb swipes his tip. ‘it’s so big.’

matty halts your hand with his own, prying it away and crossing both your fingers together beside your head. ‘i won’t hurt you,’ he says, gentle. your throat closes up. he doesn’t want to joke.

you dig your nails into his shoulder as his tip teases your entrance. you hold your breath, nervous, as though readying for a pain that you know won’t come. you blink up at the ceiling.

‘look at me,’ matty whispers. you lock eyes with him, with the reassuring gaze. velvety, sugary. his hand grasps yours firmer. he slides in.

and, no, of course it doesn’t hurt. but you gasp anyway, like an inherent mental reaction. he goes slowly, inch by inch. you moan, throbbing around his length.

he lays there, kissing your face, immobile. you take several breaths, adjusting to him, to the emotion building in your throat. ‘you ready, sweet girl?’

‘yeah,’ you whisper. ‘you can move.’

he slides out and it’s meteoric, rippling pleasure through your sweaty body. you moan his name, digging your hands in every inch of his skin you can find.

‘you’re fucking perfect,’ he moans in your ear. ‘taking me so well. fuckin’ squeezing me.’ as if on cue, you clench around him, a wave of pleasure swallowing you as he hits deep and true.

‘do you feel good, princess?’ you nod, too hazy to form words. his hand sneaks between your bodies, rubbing at your clit. you gasp his name. ‘better?’

‘yes.’

‘i’m gonna make you feel good. you’ll see.’ he kisses your shoulder, licking up your collarbone. ‘this is sex.’

you throb around him, closing your eyes and seeing stars. ‘fuck,’ you cry. ‘matty, i need more.’

he coos at you, kissing your neck. ‘it’s okay, baby. trust me.’ he speeds his thumb, but doesn’t slam into you like you’re silently begging for. ‘don’t want to hurt you. we need to go slow.’

‘i won’t break.’

‘i know better.’ you huff, rolling your head back, letting yourself be washed by the ecstasy he does masterfully pull out of you.

it’s a slow, gentle fuck like you never do. you bury your hand into his hair and tug him to your face, kissing him until you’re out of air. until you’re drowning in him.

matty only breaks the kiss to whisper-pant, ‘they wish they could have you.’ he licks into your mouth, starved. ‘they all fucking think about you. but they won’t get it.’ he kisses your chin, your jaw, your cheek. ‘won’t have you. only me.’

you nod. ‘only ever you.’ his thumb speeds at your bundle of nerves. deep strokes hit you, burying and burying.

‘i’m the only one who’s ever gonna know you like this. i’m the only one who’s ever gonna fuck you.’

‘yes!’ you scream, delirious. pleasure pulls at you, pressing and insistent. you tremble under him, tighten your hand around his in warning.

‘don’t need others when i treat you this well.’

and you don’t like the weird emotion building in your chest, your throat, your head. instead, you plead, ‘make me come.’

‘oh, don’t you fucking worry.’

he rubs and fucks and kisses until you’re melting into his arm, the loose letters of his name falling down your chin. he gets you there, right there, and then makes you look him in the eyes as you fall apart for him.

the sight gets him crazed. he fucks you harder, ready and greedy. ‘fucking love this cunt.’ he kisses you. ‘love it. love you. fuck—‘ he comes with a shake and spills into you.

you lay there, heart racing, mouths panting. you gently stroke his hair. there’s a strange peace in the room. time suspends, still unreal, still pretending.

it’s the best first time you’ve ever had.

[lottiecrabie]

crablurb masterlist

matty healy

eat me like a good boy – request

go back to sleep – request

call me when you’re bored – request

bi threesome and continuation (w other girl)

cheating

halloween

ghostface

studio (w george)

pray for my soul

cockwarming

morning sex

sex toy

fight

cross

drunk and morning after

matty’s parents

defending

boyfriend

sore

vacation

girlfriend and its twin

first date

proud

trick or treat

winter

don’t fuck the line cooks

cockwarming

threesome (w bartender!george)

fire escape

caught in the act

cat

virginity

socmed

to dust and bones

cockwarming

prequel

jealousy

stars

handcuffs

rockstar girlfriend

studio eating out

brits

professor!matty

cockwarming

raspberry

cyosa!matty

cuddle

galatea!matty

concert

ross macdonald

play me a song – request

george daniel

how’s your itch – request

thigh riding

studio (w matty)

bartender!george

threesome (w linecook!matty)

intense

lottiecrabie deep cuts, as a birthday treat

crabie quiz

how well do you know lottiecrabie fics

which lottiecrabie fic are you

[lottiecrabie]

patrick bateman smut? hey. Hi. um. Patrick bateman smut pls? heyyy queen lol American psycho smut when hahaha (please)

sorry for the last prank guys i was in a mischievous mood (when am i not)

the basement is drenched in a red, soft light. over the lamp, a lacy shawl lays, orchestrating some moody, spooky vibe. a tired witch hangs from the door. on each stair, a small plastic pumpkin stares at them. through the floor, the resounding thumps of feet jumping up and up, as well as the on-key pop music, echoes your heartbeat. thump. thump. thump. matty stares at you like a predator.

there’s something glinting in his teeth, a sort of edge to the shape of them. his striped suit fits him perfectly. his hair is slicked back. he’s all proper, if not for the blood splattered over his face, and that ax. his chest rises with his deep, quick breaths. his eyes darken.

‘sorry,’ you try to say, though your lips crack up and it doesn’t sound very honest. in your hands, an open packet of fake blood stains your palms.

matty arches an eyebrow. there’s danger in just that. ‘are you?’

‘it fits your costume.’ matty hums lowly, taking a step towards you. that prey instinct in you, half stress and half desire, takes a step pack. your grin slackens on your mouth. he takes another. ‘it was just a joke.’

your legs hit the back of the beat-up couch. you stumble on it, catching yourself on the dusty pillows. he towers over you, maniacal twinkle in his eyes. the gentle caress of your face, stroking down your cheek, surprises you. like you expected something to toughen, to hurt.

‘are you gonna make it up to me?’ he whispers. you nod fervently. ‘yeah?’ he pouts, condescending. ‘how?’ you’re robbed of words. he knows this.

he grabs the bottle of blood, holding two weapons in each hand. you expect it when the blood hits you straight in the chest, trickling down. you gasp still, cold and wet and dirty. he grins, a little proud, and there’s something sick in you that preens at that.

‘you’re gonna let it stain like that?’ he says, and suddenly you’re pulling out of your pink dress. you’re in nothing but your underwear; the blood drips down your breasts, droplets falling on your stomach and lap.

matty makes a low noise, kneeling down and catching a breast in his mouth. his hand paints the other, spreading the blood just to lick it all up. he bites meanly at your nipples, prickle of pleasure-pain blooming. you moan, head thrown back on the pillows.

his mouth is bloody when he lets your tits go, grinning up at you. ‘d’you want me, sweetheart?’ he says, and he again knows. ‘like this?’ he looks down to himself, the twisted image he’s showing off.

you bite your lip. he tugs it out, blood smearing on your mouth. you lick it off, nervous. his hand parts your legs, hot and decided between your thighs. you shiver, spreading them for him, giving him the answer in ways that aren’t so concrete, so embarrassing.

you ready for a tough, callused finger at the center of your underwear. shake just from the sheer need of it. instead, matty raises his fake ax, grazing the cold metal on the inside of your thigh, just to push the wooden handle against your core. you jump, gasping, moaning from the contact.

‘matty…’

‘grind.’ he’s fatalistic. your hips follow order, rolling and bucking against the ax, hot shame dripping with ecstasy. you dig your nails into the couch, moaning and mewling at the pleasure, at the wood, at the dark look on his face as he watches you.

his head bends down, revering, kissing up your goosebumps-thighs. the blood from his lips follow, a lick of blood to mark you, to own you.

you draw in a hot breath, shaking, feeling that sick pleasure build in you.

‘you’re a naughty girl,’ matty whispers against you, and you vaguely shake your head at that. ‘you think you deserve to come?’

‘please.’ matty snorts. he throws the ax away, unimportant now that it’s out of his hands, out of your thighs. you make a moan of disappointment, rocking against nothing uselessly. he laughs at that.

he stands up, pushing you back on the couch until you’re lying for him. his hand tugs your panties off, thrown beyond the world that means something too. you’re open and naked and vulnerable, and he’s kneeling above you, fully clothed and bloody. there’s something unhinged about the knowledge, the sight. something that mixes with the lust, taints it.

matty unbuttons his pants and draws out his hard cock, but that’s as far as he’s willing to undress. he strokes it once, twice. arches an eyebrow. ‘i don’t know if you’re ready for me.’

‘i am,’ you nod, desperate. your legs spread open for him, a traitorous squelching noise following. ‘fuck, i need you.’

‘you’re so fucking dirty.’ he tuts, reaching to the floor. you try to look over, curious. ‘would let me have you anywhere, as anyone, right? even this.’

‘yes.’

matty springs back up with the bottle. he splashes the remainder of it over your body, fingerpainting it over your belly, your thighs, your wet cunt. you gasp as he brushes your sensitive clit, not giving you what you need still. he takes a red hand to his cock, pumping it once, twice, then enters you.

you gasp, clutching his hip as it snaps into you, over and over, a brutal tempo that has your mind deliriously spinning out of your ears. you moan and cry and curse, and all he does his breathe heavily in your ear, laughing every time his name slips out.

a hand covers your throat, owning and strong. you shake under him. he’s delighted, so fucking amused as he presses into your neck until thoughts fly away. your lips hang open, the sound of his name dried out.

‘this is how we treat bad girls like you, isn’t it?’ you try to nod or say yes, but his cock fucking into you and his hand choking you are all too much to make anything coherent. you claw at his skin, vengeful. matty tsks. ‘not that it fucking works. you like it too much.’

you laugh, rolling your eyes back. matty presses a free hand to your clit, rubbing away. ‘gonna brat out all the time now, is that it? so you can get fucked filthy like you want?’

to give you a chance, he releases your throat, blood rushing back to your head in one overwhelming wave of euphoria. your fingertips tingle as you gasp for each mouthful of air, grinning slackly. matty smiles in your neck, biting there.

‘gonna say sorry, brat?’

‘sorry!’

matty hums. ‘why don’t i believe you?’ he pinches your clit, making you clench around him.

you pout, crying, ‘i’msorryi’msorryi’msorry.’

his dark eyes are ruthless. ‘why don’t you beg for mercy?’

everything is too intense. tears fill up your eyes as you grip him between shaky hands, moaning and screaming. ‘please, matty. i need— fuck, it’s too—‘ you throb around him. his thrusts are mercilessly, snapping incessantly. his work at your clit is diligent, knowing just how to get you dumb and wrecked. ‘god—‘

‘there’s no god here.’

‘matty.’ he twitches inside of you. you blink up at him, eyes wetting with euphoria. ‘matty. matty. matty. please. matty.’

tears stream down your face. he groans, bending down to lick some, fucking harder just to pull some more pathetic cries out of you. his hand presses into your cheeks. ‘you’re so fucking pretty when you’re ruined.’ he grins. ‘i love it when you cry.’ somehow, this has another strike of euphoria hit you.

‘i’m—‘ you feel the taste of ecstasy on your lips. you can’t hold on any longer. ‘matty, i need to—‘

‘come, angel.’ with a scream, you fall apart on his cock, washed away on his dirty couch.

he follows behind soon after, pulling out and stroking himself until ropes of cum hit your bloody tits. he pants above you, staring down at the mess of your body hungrily.

a hand strokes through the blood and cum, painting your skin like an artist. matty brings his hand over your mouth, lingering just far enough that you have to tilt your head up to lick it off his palm. ‘there’s my good girl,’ matty whispers. you smile up at him, proud. dirty hand strokes your hair. that same beating danger shines in his eyes as he peers down at you. ‘catch your breath and then you can clean my cock too.’

[lottiecrabie]

girlie brings professor!matty some cheap raspberry wine and rides him on the couch in his office

well he Has been looking very professor🤸‍♀️

the office is hot and stuffy, air thick with cigarette smoke and pine scent. the furnace is right beside it, and it heats and heats and heats until sweat sticks you to his tartan couch.

matty speaks of art theories, gesturing and nearly knocking his whiskey glass as he does so. you listen avidly, mostly. every word is a lesson, a treasure, a puzzle to scratch and undo and complete. still, the way he pushes his glasses up his nose is distracting, and you can’t stop your gaze flicking to the buttons of his orange shirt he pops one by one, the temperature gaining ground on him.

it’s just the heat, you remind yourself. it’s something else, too.

you nod at him. you sprawl on the couch; mary janes kicked off, feet tucked under your legs, elbow resting on the back pillows. comfortable, familiar, unprofessional. you’ve been here before— made a home of it, even.

the wine rests precariously on the tartan couch, but it’s not very scary. little worse could happen to it; it’s beat-up and dirty, pulled from some vintage shop fifteen somethings years ago, and tucked oasis of many college students since.

you take a swig straight from the bottle, licking the droplets. matty’s eyes flick to your lips, pink from raspberry wine. you smirk. ‘d’you want a taste?’ you ask, knowing.

his eyes settle on the wine. ‘is it any better than the last one?’

‘marginally so.’

matty sighs, opening his palm. he takes it like a duty, like you’re forcing him, as if it’s not completely his decision. he takes the babiest sip, then winces. ‘you drink this shit?’ matty spits, a disgusted grimace frowning his features. you laugh at the sight of it, swiping back the wine from him. ‘how do you not vomit pink by the end of it?’

‘dunno,’ you start, the light set-up of a tease. ‘guess i’m just better at handling my liquor.’

matty snorts. ‘yeah, i remember the state of you after two glasses of cognac.’ you shrug, innocent.

you take a swig of the bottle. the sweet, rubbery taste washes your mouth. you grin, dropping two cold fingers on his trousers, blinking at him as you graze them. ‘do you want another taste? don’t think you really took the time to appreciate the understated flavors.’

‘flavors,’ he mocks, though still leans in, and kisses you. your hand finds his hair immediately, loving to mess with his already undone curls, rake and tug until they stick out of his head like some mad scientist. give a face to those unhinged ramblings.

you kiss hungrily, licking and biting until you’re not quite sure you remember your name. matty breathes away to whisper, ‘mmh, you’re right. it’s a bit floral.’

‘shut up,’ you pant, pulling his head down.

you climb onto his lap, pushing him back on the couch. he lets his head fall on the pillows, tilting it up in offering as you devour him. his hands weight at your waist, respectful.

you break away from him, frantically unbuttoning his shirt until you get lazy, leaving it half-falling off his torso. it reveals the one tattoo you desperately crave to see, anyway; chest ink bright and depraved.

you focus on his pants instead, unbuckling his belt with shaky fingers. ‘woah,’ matty laughs. ‘are you even ready for me?’

you stare up at him, surprised. you steal a hand from him, placing it on the burning, wet heat between your legs. ‘always.’

‘fuck,’ he mutters, rubbing at your entrance, gathering a pool of your juices, slicking your clit. you jump at the contact, low moan as you work his pants again. ‘been all wet for how long?’

‘god, ever since you started talking.’ you finally spring free his hard cock, practically salivating at it. you rise up on your knees, stroking him.

matty’s not quite done with teasing you, blocking the way as he swipes and circles your bud. ‘is that right?’ he smirks, cheeky. ‘does it always get you all needy for me?’

‘yeah,’ you pout slightly, rolling your hips onto his hand, begging for more.

‘even when i teach?’ he pouts back, mocking. you groan, your head falling on his shoulder. ‘use your words, smart girl.’

‘yes.’

‘oh, it must be so hard for you, sitting in class for hours and hours, listening to me talk, all wet and throbbing and aching for my cock.’ he speeds up his fingers. you cry in the collar of his shirt, drooling on the cotton.

‘sir, please, i need—‘

‘right, right,’ he says, finally freeing the way, moving your underwear aside as he does so. you flash a smile in glee. ‘you’ve been so good for me lately. been all patient, too. you deserve it.’ pride shines through your skin. you lower yourself on his length, gasping in relief.

you rock your hips as soon as you get used to the stretch of him, rolling and bucking until pleasure waves through you. his hands dig into your flesh, encouraging.

‘what do you do, then?’ he whispers. ‘when you get all turned on in the middle of my class?’

you mewl, thrusting faster. the words get you needier somehow. get you ready for that fatal strike of ecstasy. matty pinches the skin of your thigh, punishing like a professor.

you clench around him, understanding his demand. ‘i—‘ you start, but his cock makes any thinking quite hard. ‘jesus, i— i go to the bathroom, sometimes.’

‘to touch yourself?’

you shut your eyes, nodding. ‘just a little, just to relieve some tension. i don’t— i don’t come.’

matty’s hands fall to your ass, puppeteering your deeper, closer. you fuck hard and fast, out of breath. ‘course not,’ he teases. ‘i know how you get when you come. whole bloody building would hear you.’ you flush. ‘when, then?’

your hand holds your weight up on the pillows of the tartan couch. your thighs ache, but you remain focused, determined. ready to blow. ‘when i get home. i get my vibrator and i—‘

‘hands can’t do it, huh?’ he laughs. ‘not like me.’ as though to prove it, he sneaks two fingers to your clit, rubbing better and faster than you ever could, that callus making you see heaven. you cry, gripping the tartan couch.

‘i play back the whole lesson,’ you admit. ‘how you looked and how you sounded like and— and i think of you saying it to me, in bed. think of all the things you’ve done to me, and what you would do if you were there. fuck, it makes me come so hard.’

you feel your hips grow erratic, bucking wildly and desperately. your legs shake, exhausted, overrun with euphoria. you say his name, again and again, a worship and a plea.

‘next time, darling,’ he says. ‘come find me. don’t need to do all of that; i got a perfectly good desk in that classroom that’s semi-standing up.’ you throb around him, hit with a wave of heat at that idea. ‘oh, you like that.’

‘promise?’ you squeak, dropping your head back as you get close.

‘you don’t know how often i’ve thought of bending you over it in the middle of class, love. you don’t have to worry about my word.’

you cry out, thrusting up and down, letting yourself exist in only his office, only the shape of his hands, until your brain breaks and you snap with a scream. you throb around him, falling on his shoulder, shaking.

he shushes you gently, holding your hips up as he continues to fuck into you. ‘so good, darling. so pretty,’ he promises, stroking your hair. ‘my best girl. my perfect girl. gonna make me come so hard.’ you whine. ‘where do you want it?’

‘inside,’ you hum. ‘want you to drip out of me all the way back home.’

‘fucking— shit,’ he groans, then fucks up into you a last time, spilling.

you breathe together as he slowly softens inside of you, still linked like some strange clay sculpture he would decorticate in class. your smile slacks your mouth. ‘i’m very excited for your next lesson, sir.’

he bursts out a laugh. ‘me too.’

[lottiecrabie]

halloween themed crablurb = matty in a ghostface mask

more scary sexy matty porfis queen 😪🙏🏻

on a weird roll i guess

your boyfriend is dressed as ghostface; black pants, black long-sleeved shirt, and that tell-take dramatic white mask. a lazy costume, bought last minute at spirit halloween the morning of the party.

your boyfriend is dressed as ghostface, but it’s not him pulling your dress down your body.

the mask is the same, but the breathing is lower, the hands rougher, the touch meaner. it’s not your boyfriend, and you let this ghostface unwrap you like a present, grabbing a fistful of your breasts and thumbing it. you gasp, back arching away from the wall and into his hand eagerly. he rubs your nipple and you moan, rolling your eyes.

you hold onto his shoulder as he pushes your underwear off your legs. stronger shoulders, broader and firmer, and yet you don’t even care as he grazes back up your legs. his hand cups your wet sex, dripping for him, this stranger.

‘please,’ you moan, and you do feel a little glad that there’s guilt blooming inside of you. not as strong as the pleasure when he dips a finger in, lazily pumping into you. your head rolls back, sighing. ‘jesus.’

shame heats your cheeks as he slips another finger in, the sopping sounds resonating through the quiet room. you grip onto his shoulder as he fucks you with it, hitting parts of you your boyfriend hasn’t reached with clear instructions. like this stranger already intricately knew you.

your legs shake, pleasure swimming inside of you. ‘fuck, you’re—‘ you don’t dare finish the sentence, as though this small amount of loyalty to your boyfriend could outweigh any of the things you were doing, letting do to you…

he slaps a hand over your mouth, quietening your whines. presses into your face until all sounds bury and die, until you can’t deny him. you wish you could scream.

the dark, empty eyes stare back at you, and you wonder what they see.

he slips out his fingers to dry them on your hip. lets go of your mouth to work his pants next. he pulls them down just enough to draw out his cock; decidedly not your boyfriend’s. you close your eyes, dropping your head back, playing the blind.

it’s not your boyfriend’s cock, but you let him hook a leg over his hip anyway, let him slide against your wet entrance until he’s all slippery, and thrust in.

your face breaks open, lips parting with a quiet revering sound. he fucks you fast and wild, brutal strokes that hit and hit and hit. you’re droopy in his hands, half-wrecked.

yet he’s there, white ghost face pulled in some semblance of scary and ridiculous, ever neutral. how you wish and don’t to know what he looks like. want to see his face wrinkle and break and smile, yet don’t want to know the features that make it up.

you claw at his shoulders, letting him thrust hard and deep until the wet, slapping sounds overfill the room. the party music drowns out faraway. you let yourself whine pathetically, don’t feel like holding anything back.

ghostface grabs and claws and digs, uncaring of your body, knowing it doesn’t break. not like your gentle boyfriend, ever careful, ever worried. your head spins. you haven’t felt like this in months.

and as you grow unspooled, unhinged, so does he.

he speaks.

‘fucking dirty,’ is what he says first. the words are eaten by the cloth, but you understand them still. his little thumb at your clit is indication enough; a silent worship, a silent praise. ‘he doesn’t know, does he? how much you need to be ruined.’

you mewl, staring down at your connecting bodies, over and over, breath knocking out at the fucking sight of it. you do.

‘yeah, look at you. how fucking wet you are for me. how you’re fucking swallowing my cock. don’t even know me.’ he lets go of your leg, but you hook it behind his back, desperately drawing him closer to you. ‘you’re a little slut. need me to fill you all up ‘cause he can’t.’

‘please.’

‘yeah, keep saying that. maybe i’ll give it to you like you so fucking want.’ his hand wraps around your throat and pushes into the wall, forcing you to look up at him. white mask stares at you, and you wonder how you’ll able to pass an halloween without flashes of his cock coming back to you now.

‘c’mon. say it.’ black, empty eyes. staring into your soul.

‘please.’

impenetrable voice from an impenetrable mask. ‘please who?’

shame and guilt and that traitorous lust shakes through your body. you stare at the mask, moaning, ‘please, matty.’

‘that’s right,’ he says, snapping into you harder, quicker. he takes off the ghostface, flushed and sweaty, wild hair springing out of his head.

a body that you know. a touch that you know. a voice that you know. a cock that you know.

your fucking ex-boyfriend.

you knew, of course you knew. but back when ghostface was on, there was still some plausible deniability that you clung onto. now you’re faced with him, with the reality of what you’re doing, and all it makes you do is claw at his throat and tug him into a kiss.

your teeth knock. he steals all air from your lips and then some.

his thrusts are frantic, both getting closer and closer. ‘gonna make you come, right?’ he says, as though he couldn’t feel you throbbing and clenching around him. ‘gonna make you lose your mind?’

‘yes,’ you admit, whining and shameful.

‘cause only i can.’

‘yes.’

‘cause you need it dirty and disgusting, and only i know.’

‘yes!’ he presses into your throat just like you need, and now you’re breaking apart. your body shakes. your tongue sticks out. pleasure strikes you. ‘matty.’

he pumps into you erratically, chasing his end as you mutter curses and elegies. ‘fuck—‘ and then he pulls out, coming all over your stomach.

you breathe out slowly. you stare down at the stain, fucking impossible to hide, the little shit.

matty bends down to kiss your nipple, swiping it before smiling at you. ‘i miss you,’ he says.

‘i have a boyfriend,’ you answer, biting like it could make up for all of it.

‘sure,’ matty snorts. ‘i’m threatened by that loser.’ he searches for his mask, pulling the ghostface over his head. there’s relief in the anonymity again. ‘call me when you need a proper fuck,’ is what he says, then he’s out of the room.

you catch your breath on the wall still, face scrunched. you’re screwed.

[lottiecrabie]

begging linecook!matty to meet u at a halloween party bc ur Drunk even tho he said he didn’t wanna go and would just link up with you after. he gets there and sees u in ur slutty costume and just loses it because that’s pretty unlike you

ofc the linecook halloween blurbs immediately say Slutty

you hold yourself up with a shoulder on the wall, but the world still spins around you. the hallway to the bathroom seems to zigzag ahead, and you can’t be arsed to make sense of the maze right now. applause by lady gaga rings behind you, with the resonating off-key screams of your friends chewing through the lyrics. light flashes up your face. you sway on your spot.

Hey

Hi

What are you wearing

Haha that’s a joke

Unless?

I miss yoh

Why couldn’t you have gone out with us we could be fucking in a bathroom right now:(

Your thumbs linger over the screen. You ready to tap out some new nonsensical stream of consciousness, but Matty’s speech bubble appears. You gasp. It surprises you, somehow, that he’s seeing these, like you had assumed his number was a speed dial to the void.

how drunk are you

You scoff. Why do you assume I’m drunk?

believe it or not i am literate. i can fkg read it

The last three shots of The Darling’s cheapest and strongest booze does haze your brain, humming pleasantly through your limbs. Narrowing to that needy center of yours, the one that always begs for him and never seems to be satisfied. You bite your lip, giggling as you send; Will you come join me if I show yoh my tits

jesus christ.

No?

i’m on my way A grin splits your face. You send him a string of emojis even you can’t decipher the meaning of, laughing to yourself as you get swallowed by the dancing crowd again.

Fifteen minutes later and Matty’s hand is at your shoulder, fishing you out of the dancefloor. You gasp, turning around to hook your arms behind his neck. “Matty!” You reach up on your tiptoes, pressing kisses all over his face. The faint remainder of your red lipstick glues to him in the shape of your lips. You laugh, wiping the one on his cheek. “I’m so glad you came.”

Matty nods, checking behind himself for the quickest exit. His hand tugs you along, and you let yourself be puppeteered away for a minute before you freeze, eyes wide. “I have to show you my tits!” You let go of his hand, bunching up the hem of your shirt.

“Fucking—” He clutches your hands, trapping them, preventing you from flashing him and half the bar. “No.”

“I made a promise,” you pout, but let him pull your fingers far away from your shirt. “My father always says a person is only as good as their word.”

“I’ll see them soon, princess.”

You smirk, licking your lips. “Oh yeah? Gonna have your way with me?”

“When you’re not fucking wasted.”

You frown. “‘M not.”

He snorts. “Sure.”

“I’m not!” The words come out high-pitched and whiney, completely contradicting you.

“You can barely stand straight,” he says, looking you up and down. His body freezes. His gaze licks up your body, taking in the heels, the black shorts, the tight little shirt your breasts practically fall out of. “What are you wearing?”

“It’s my costume,” you say, grinning proud. Your square your shoulders, straightening your back to show it all off. “You like?”

Matty swallows thickly. “What are you even supposed to be?”

You roll your eyes, pointing to the pair of ears sticking out of your hair. “A cat.”

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, gaze fixed down on your tits. You bet he regrets not letting you show them off now. “What are you doing wearing this when I’m not there?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well I asked you to be, didn’t I?”

“And when I said we’d see each other after, you should’ve put on a fucking sheet over yourself and gone as a ghost.” He pulls up on the neckline of your shirt, trying to cover your breasts up, but it only makes it ride up your stomach instead. Matty makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

You get up on your tiptoes, whispering in his ear, “Don’t worry. Your view when I take it off is gonna be even better.” Your hand circle his wrist, making him lazily grope one of your tits. He groans. You grin, grazing your lips down his jaw, lingering over his mouth. “Matty, take me home and fuck me.”

He makes a frustrated noise, conflicted. Then drops his hand from your breast, disentangling from you, shaking his head. “You’re trouble,” he swears, catching your shoulders and driving you through the crowd, one respectful arm-length distance away.

You pout, dragging your feet. Matty shakes his head, promising lowly. “Tomorrow.” You grin, Halloween cheer coming back to you.

“Promise?”

“Of course,” Matty starts, cheeky. “A person is only as good as their word.”

[lottiecrabie]

pfms matty taking reader trick or treating because she was never allowed to celebrate halloween growing up since her parents said it was the devils holiday blah blah

pfms crumb for u all

it’s october 31 and matty waits for her in the most undedicated devil costume. he wears his usual attire; some ripped, black clothes, as well as a pair of dollar tree red horns. black nailpolish and eyeliner is the most effort he’s put in his little get-up, and even that’s not far off from half of his basement shows.

he leans against the side of his van, several houses away. around him, small children and overrun adults roam the streets. there’s a shield of safety to the pumpkins and jolly ‘trick or treat’s; with everyone wearing a mask, they can be whoever they want.

she practically skips to him, licking the smile of her teeth. ‘you’re still not funny,’ she chastises, though the amusement betrays her voice.

‘what?’ matty grins. ‘it’s fitting. i’ve been told i’m the devil incarnate before.’

‘oh, my gosh. i did not say that, you dramaqueen.’

matty draws a hand out, catching hers and drawing her to him. she balances herself with two hands on his shoulders, blinking up at him. here she goes again, practically begging him to kiss her with some flutter of eyelashes.

‘i like the halo,’ he says, flicking it. she scowls, replacing the halo again. ‘you look cute.’

‘thanks.’

his hand drops to her waist, burning at the flimsy fabric. ‘we better not stain this dress. they won’t be able to recognize your costume then, angel.’ she flushes, thinking of that first party— and many more since. you hide in the crook his neck and he roars out a laugh, throat vibrating where her nose burrows. she smiles softly, kissing it. ‘i’ll keep my hands off, but i don’t know if we can trust you…’

‘hey,’ she says, looking up.

‘you’re impossible when you’re drunk.’

‘me?’ she says in faux-affront, as though she didn’t become some sort of superhuman glue any time red wine lingered on her tongue, sticking and sticking to his side.

‘alright, let’s go before george accuses us of ditching setting up to fool around.’

she snorts. ‘what could have possibly given him that idea, right?’ matty smirks, rounding the car. she holds the door handle, watching the little princesses and marios knocking on doors, sugared-up gullets smiling wide. something pinches in her heart. she bites her cheek, then sighs, opening the car door and stepping through.

‘what?’ matty says immediately, always some strange way of reading her. it doesn’t spook her nearly as much as it used to, doesn’t unnerve her from the inside-out.

‘nothing,’ she waves away. ‘it just seems fun.’

he frowns. ‘what does?’

‘being all dressed-up, going door to door, asking for candies.’ she vaguely gestures outside. on the sidewalk, a mother high-fives a tiny witch, rubbing her hair with a laugh.

‘you’ve never trick-or-treated?’

she gives him a deadpan look. ‘you mean the devil’s holiday that encourages gluttony and demonic activities?’ halloween was spent the same every year; hiding in a silent house with the lights off and the blinds shut, as though evil spirits could sense them through the cracks and rob their soul if they dared acknowledge it.

matty’s eyes soften at her. he reaches a hand out, warming her thigh. ‘well, i’m the devil,’ he waves to his silly horns, ‘so we have to celebrate.’

she gives him a humorous look. ‘what? go trick-or-treating at our age?’

he nods solemnly. ‘yes.’

‘what about the party?’

matty waves her away, already getting out of the car. ‘who cares?’

‘well, george.’ still, she’s opening the door, a giddy energy in her limbs. she jumps out as matty retrieves two plastic bags from the back of his dirty van.

‘c’mon,’ he says, already walking towards the first house of the street she runs behind him, laughing.

‘are we really doing this?’ she whispers, like this was a crime.

‘why wouldn’t we?’

he walks the stairs decidedly, uncaring of the looks parents give him. she pinches her thumb awkwardly, though not enough to hurt. she stands on the porch, unsure. she throws him a glance; he rings the doorbell.

a flushed-cheeked woman opens up. her eyes draw up to their height, a surprised oh leaving her mouth. matty stares at her. her eyes widen before she smiles at the woman. ‘trick or treat?’ her grin stretches strangely over her lips, as though it, too, didn’t know if it should be here.

the woman grins. ‘still kids at heart, huh?’

‘that’s right, ma’am,’ matty nods.

in their stretched out bags, she drops three pieces of candies each. this time, her grin brightens her face. ‘thanks!’

‘have a goodnight, kids!’ the woman cheers, then closes the door.

‘i can’t believe we did that,’ she whispers to him, jumping down each stair. matty laughs, shaking his head. he reaches into his bag, pulling out a lollipop, taking off the plastic, and sucking it into his mouth. her eyebrows raise. ‘you’re not gonna wait?’

‘why would i?’

decidedly, she takes a mini pack of gummy bears, ripping it open and biting off the first one’s head. the sugar fills her mouth. she laughs. ‘oh, this is fun.’

‘yeah?’

she smiles at him. ‘yes. thanks.’

he grins, throwing an arm around her shoulder and tugging her to his side. ‘anything for you, angel.’ they walk up the stairs of the next house.