Can you read my mind? I've been watching you (Part I of III)
Find it here on AO3 (I much prefer the formatting there)
Pairing: Matty/George
Summary: Matty's bored. He decides to make it everyone's problem.
(AKA a fic about that unhinged video of Matty gagging on his own fingers.)
Words: ~2k
Rating: E
Matty was bored.
Supremely, mind-numbingly bored. The kind of bored that had him antsy, doom scrolling through his socials, picking at his clothes and bouncing his legs, unable to sit still— that had him searching for any kind of stimulation. It was the sort of restlessness that tended to drive him to irritate the fuck out of everyone else in his immediate vicinity. For all the years he’d spent touring the world, he had never quite figured out how to pass the time during a flight if he wasn’t throwing back Ativan like tic tacs.
Those were the days, he thought grimly.
Shifting uncomfortably in the reclined leather seat, Matty craned his neck to peek at the others. From the dim glow of the track lights running down the center aisle of the plane he could just make out their sleeping forms bundled in thin, threadbare blankets. They’d been going non-stop, and their schedule was so tight that the red-eye was probably the only opportunity any of them would have to get some rest before they were whisked off to the next show. Luckily, Jamie had managed to book a long-hauler equipped with sleeper seats, not that it was doing Matty any good. He eyed Adam snoring peacefully into his pillow across the aisle with envy; if fucking only. Checking the time on his phone he sighed aloud, running a hand down his face. They had hours to go before they landed in Honolulu, and Matty simply could. Not. Sit. Still.
He was on edge, and truthfully, rather miffed. George had rejected every advance he’d made in the last 48 hours, and it was driving him to distraction.
This thing they had between them was still new, still undefined, but God, if it wasn’t all Matty could think about. It had started out innocently enough— a clumsy, tequila-induced fumble after a show a few weeks back— but from there quickly spiraled into the two of them sneaking around, unable to stop themselves from crashing into each other over and over (and over) again. Sex with George was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. There was something profound about it, something deeply intimate and dirty and right and—
Matty exhaled shakily, vision softening as his mind wandered back to that hotel room in Chicago. The tactile memory of George’s massive hands all over his body— gripping his hair, stroking his sweat-slick skin, squeezing his cock— evoked a sharp flash of desire that surged through his chest and settled low in his groin. He bit the inside of his cheek remembering the way George had fucked him into the mattress, thrusting so deep inside him that he’d seen stars as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of his eyes.
So he was a little infatuated; sue him. He couldn’t help it if now that he’d had a taste, he would never get enough. As far as Matty was concerned, they had decades of catching up to do.
George was cautious. He didn’t want anyone to know just yet, and went to great lengths to cover their tracks, intent on remaining inconspicuous. Whatever this development in their relationship was, it would surely have an effect on the band, on the music. Maybe? They weren’t quite sure what it meant yet, so he didn’t want to broach the subject with the others unless they had to— and that was just the kind of reasonable, level-headed logic that Matty couldn’t be arsed with.
A small movement from the corner of Matty’s eye caught his attention: two rows down and across the aisle, one of the blanketed heaps— the largest— shifted and turned on its side, searching in vain for a more comfortable position.
He really couldn’t help himself.
M: you up?
Nestled back in his seat, he watched the blue light of George’s phone silently illuminate the ceiling of the plane. The reply came immediately:
G: no
Matty smirked. George was protective of his sleep, and a mardy fucker if you dared disturb him, but that was a chance he was willing to take— damn the consequences. He shot another cursory glance around the cabin.
M: meet me in the bathroom?
G: why would i meet you in the bathroom?
M: everyone’s asleep…
Matty popped his head into the aisle to spy George sitting up, blanket shrugged off his chest, his fingers flying across the screen.
G: you’re joking
M: not
G: are you mental??
M: obviously ;)
He thought he could make out the faint sound of George snorting over the hum of the plane, but he couldn’t be sure. His phone vibrated.
G: thanks but no thanks love x
Matty frowned.
Not here. Not now. That was all George had to say to him for the last two days. They were booked tight with back-to-back shows, and when they weren’t traveling or performing they were inundated with endless press, leaving precious little downtime— which would’ve been just fine had George been capable of keeping his hands to himself.
Whether it was an innocently placed hand on the small of his back, an arm slung around his neck, or a teasing brush against the curve of his arse, George took every opportunity to rile Matty up, smirking with satisfaction whenever he managed to make him stutter or lose his train of thought. They’d always been physically affectionate, but it was undeniably different now; there was something like ownership in George’s touch, and it made Matty shiver. Not to mention the way that George looked at him when he thought no one would notice. Matty’s knees went weak each time he caught George’s heated gaze raking lazily over his body from across the room. He looked at Matty as though he were something indecent.
The unspoken tension between them had grown so unbearable that on more than one occasion, Matty had dragged him toward an empty closet or dressing room out of sheer desperation, only to be met with the same measured response:
Not here. Not now. Be patient.
Matty was sick of being patient. He wanted George to shove him up against the wall of the dodgy airplane bathroom already and fuck him until he couldn’t see straight. Dignity be damned.
The drive to the airport was the final straw. In the dark back seat of the van, Matty held his breath in silent shock as George’s hand slowly crept up his thigh to massage him through his jeans— like a horny fucking teenager. He had to bite his tongue (literally) to keep from making some horribly pathetic sound whilst George carried on a full conversation with Adam and Ross, the passing street lights illuminating the small smile ghosting his lips. It was torture. George was playing with him, seemed to be doing everything in his power to make Matty’s life hell, and to top it all off, he was enjoying it.
For all his kumbaya, inner peace, yoga-loving-meditation bullshit, George was a control freak. It was in the way he would obsess over a piece of music until it was perfect, bending pitch and beat and melody to his whim until it pleased him. It was the subtle change in his demeanor when he was behind the kit in a live show, driving the pace of the entire performance, knowing that the fate of it all rests with him. And it was never more obvious than when they were tangled together, their bodies flushed with exertion as they gave in to twenty-odd years of repressed desire. George was sweet, kind, and deeply tender; he was also impatient, possessive, and exacting. He hid it well, but beneath his placid smile and gentle bearing, there was a quiet hunger in George that demanded to be fed. Matty found himself utterly intoxicated by the contradiction of it.
Matty reckoned that he at least gave as good as he got; figuring out how to provoke George had very recently become his greatest obsession. Maybe it stemmed from the boyish competitiveness of their school years, some childhood dynamic they never really outgrew as men. In any case, knowing how to turn George on was its own kind of power. Besides, he’d never been too proud to beg.
M: please. need you.
M: i’m desperate ok?
M: i’ll be so quiet, no one will know
M: pleasepleaseplease
A minute passed. No response.
Dejected, Matty peeked down the aisle, and nearly jumped out of his skin. George was staring back at him, his expression carefully composed, dark eyes glittering with an unspoken warning in the low light. He merely shook his head once, subtly, but the message was loud and clear. No.
Gritting his teeth, Matty flung himself back in his seat like a petulant child. He checked the time again, running through the math in his head; they still had six hours to go before they landed in Hawaii. He was going to lose his mind on this aluminum death trap hurdling through the sky, and he was going to make it everyone’s problem.
A ridiculous idea crossed his mind. It was impulsive, completely outrageous, even for him— and that really was saying something— but the more Matty considered it, the more amusing it became. It was a little out of pocket, sure, but then again, that was sort of his brand these days, wasn’t it? He lifted his phone, opened his front-facing camera, and pressed record.
Peering at the screen, he reckoned that he didn’t look half-bad. Clearly tired and a little ragged, but in a sexy, disheveled sort of way. His hair was a nightmare, and he briefly tried to fix it before accepting that it was probably futile, giving up entirely. That wasn’t the point, anyway. Staring down the lens with heavy, hooded eyes, Matty let his mouth fall open gently as he brought his fingers to his lips, embracing the thrill of arousal that snaked up his spine from the boldness of what he was about to do.
Before he could talk himself out of it he opened wider, guiding three of his fingers back, back, back until they filled his mouth to the middle knuckle, forcing him to breathe through his nose. He pressed down on his tongue ever so slightly, revelling in the feeling— he’d always had a bit of an oral fixation, and the cigarettes were only partially to blame. The fullness made him think about George, thick and heavy, stretching him to his limit, because George was big and fuck if Matty didn’t love the way he made his jaw ache. He shuddered, eyes rolling back as he lost himself to the image of his best friend standing over him, a tight fist in his hair, groaning at the silky heat of Matty’s mouth. Spurred on by the fantasy, Matty shoved his hand further until his eyes began to water, brow creasing at the intrusion.
When the tip of his middle finger brushed the back of his throat he gagged harshly, jerking in his seat; the sudden movement made him groan. He didn’t particularly care if anyone could hear it.
Chest heaving from the effort, Matty slipped his wet fingers from mouth, saliva dragging down his chin. He stopped the video. Watched it back. Turned the sound off and added some heavy track with a slamming beat and a gritty guitar.
And hit post.
The plane shook as it passed through an air pocket. Matty gripped the armrests of his seat, uneasy, his heart hammering in his chest. It had little to do with the turbulence.
In the moment, the video seemed like a good idea; now, he wasn’t so sure. Could he get canceled for this? He wanted to scoff at the thought, but a tiny seed of doubt had taken hold in the back of his mind as the notifications continued to roll in at a relentless pace. Most of them were inconsequential. Only one actually mattered.
Hi! I'm sundrownsthehouse (she/her), sporadically writing Matty/George fic here on tumblr and on AO3!
Huge shout out to ALL of the fic writers here- you make the world go 'round and I have mad respect for each and every one of you. When I started this blog I was pretty active, but I'm trying to be more present in my day-to-day life, so I've dialed things way back.
I have a few unfinished fics that I'm simultaneously proud of and fucking horrified by; you're welcome to read them if you like, with the caveat that they may remain incomplete. I've thought about taking them down, but decided to leave them be for whoever enjoys them. Who knows! Maybe one day I'll get around to writing again.
✵fics in progress✵
Take This Pain And Give It A Name (AO3)
Rating: E
Words: ~ 16.8k
George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.
Can you read my mind? I've been watching you (Part II of III)
Find it here on AO3 (I much prefer the formatting there)
Part I
Pairing: Matty/George
Summary: Matty's bored. He decides to make it everyone's problem.
(AKA a fic about that unhinged video of Matty gagging on his own fingers).
Words: ~3k
Rating: E
Seen by bedforddanes75
As the minutes ticked by, the rush of excitement and adrenaline that drove Matty to act out had quickly given way to embarrassment. A light sweat broke out at the nape of neck as he resisted the urge to physically cringe; he couldn’t bear to look down the aisle, no matter how desperately he wanted to. He squirmed in his seat, his mind racing.
What if it was too much? What if he’d pushed it too far, annoyed George, completely mugged him off? Fuck, what was he even thinking, putting himself through this on a ten hour—
Matty stilled. Goosebumps rose on the back of his arms. At the edge of his awareness, he felt it; George’s presence was undeniable.
His first thought as he glanced up was that George looked furious. To anyone else, his blank expression might have come across as indifferent, bored even, but Matty knew better. His stomach clenched with a heady mixture of fear and arousal as he took in the thin line of George’s lips, the intensity of his stare, the way he loomed from above— tall, broad, and imposing. There was something about George’s stature and the hidden power it conveyed that triggered a primal response in Matty’s subconscious, the innate knowledge of he’s bigger, stronger, could hurt me if he wanted to sending all of the blood in his body rushing south.
Before he had the chance to say anything a tight grip encircled his wrist, hauling him up into the center aisle. George guided him toward the rear of the plane without so much as a glance back, stepping gingerly to avoid waking the others. Matty stumbled and struggled to right himself as he trailed behind, whipping his head around to ensure that no one noticed them.
When they arrived at the bathroom George slid the door open and all but thrust Matty inside. Matty wavered— “Jesus, George”— and steadied himself against the wall, muttering low under his breath. He turned around just in time to watch George flick the lock closed with a deadly sort of calm.
He’d wanted a reaction, but he never expected to finally get one— and if the icy look in George’s eye was anything to go on, he was well and truly in for it. Matty allowed a smirk to play at the corner of his mouth, an arrogant gesture of self-satisfaction that he was certain George would clock immediately. It was an attempt to mask just how high-strung he really was. His pulse pounded in his ears as he silently grappled with that strange, overwhelming fight-or-flight response that George—sweet, perpetually stoned George— seemed to evoke in him.
The tiny room was far too small to contain the mounting tension as they sized each other up. For a moment, the only sound was the steady thrum of the plane’s engine, giving the air an odd, muffled quality. Paired with the harsh light of the florescents, the whole scene seemed altogether surreal— dreamlike, even — until George broke the spell with a question.
“What’s your damage?” he asked darkly.
Matty shrugged, nonchalant: “Dunno what you’re on about.” He jerked his chin at George’s hard stare. “What’s yours? Dragging me back here like a brute.”
George snorted and stepped forward, crowding Matty against the wall, filling his field of vision. Matty couldn’t help but admire George’s features up close; his strong brow, narrow eyes, plush lips… the stubble across the sharp angle of his jaw… George was so fucking beautiful, so classically handsome in a striking, intense way, it was unbelievable that it had taken him so long to see…
After days of taunting, the proximity had Matty’s head spinning. The tiny sliver of air separating their bodies was alive, charged with heat, shimmering like the first few drops of rain on asphalt in the summer sun. It took everything in him not to reach out and touch, so he relished the way George broke first, leaning in to grip his hips just a little too tight. He slid his hands up and under the hem of Matty’s shirt, the pads of his fingers brushing against bare skin. The sensation made Matty's abdomen twitch.
“What do you think you’re doing, Matthew?” George implored softly as their foreheads met. He sounded wrecked. The low rumble of his voice reverberated deliciously inside Matty’s skull.
Licking his lips, Matty looked up at George from beneath his lashes. “What do you mean?” he murmured.
George sighed in frustration. He dragged his left hand up Matty’s torso to rest along the long column of his neck, fingers splayed to cradle his jaw. He drew their bodies together, solid, warm and hard. Matty’s breath hitched; there was no mistaking the swell in George’s jeans, throbbing insistently into the angle of his hip bone.
“That needy little display you put on the internet for everyone to see,” George grumbled, grazing his lips against Matty’s ear.
He sounded so annoyed that Matty actually laughed. “Don’t slut-shame me,” he protested. “Ah!—”
George bit brazenly at the corner of his jaw in response, pulling a shocked, heated moan from deep within Matty’s throat. He shuddered and gasped as George mouthed at the sensitive skin to soothe it, trailing hot, open kisses down the edge of his jawline before sucking a bruise into the exposed dip of his collarbone. When George spoke, his voice went straight to Matty’s cock:
“Don’t act like such a fucking slut, then.”
Matty’s eyes fluttered closed with a groan as the electricity coursing through his veins doubled-back and intensified. One of the most unexpected things he’d learned about George when they started sleeping together? He had a filthy mouth on him— and what a discovery that had been.
In a useless act of half-hearted defiance he gave George’s shoulder a weak shove. George easily captured his wrist, pinning it to the wall with a tsk of disapproval. His other hand still lingered on Matty’s neck; he didn’t place any pressure there, but he didn’t have to. Matty was already fighting to focus through the haze of lust consuming him, already finding himself slipping as his chest heaved. Why was he even resisting? What was the point, again? When it would feel so good to just give in?
George drew back to take in the sight before him. Matty knew what he must look like by now; pupils blown wide, cheeks aglow, mouth all soft and pink and wet. He melted under George’s gaze, tilting his head against the wall as his hips rose of their own accord, seeking some kind of friction. George traced Matty’s mouth with his thumb, pulling gently on his lower lip just to watch it pop back into place. Matty’s tongue darted out to stroke the border of the tattoo inked into the skin there. Transfixed, George’s eyes grew hazy. He slowly shook his head, incredulous.
“Look at you. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he whispered.
The tension in the room, stretched taut like a rubber band, finally snapped.
Lips collided, both men groaning with relief at the contact. Matty surged forward to fist at the collar of George’s shirt, pulling him in, needing him as close as possible. The hand that had been resting on Matty’s neck moved to his hair, threading through the messy curls as George changed the angle of the kiss. Matty quickly became lost in the increasingly familiar feeling of George’s warm, soft lips moving against his own; it was like he was floating above himself, and yet somehow, he’d never been more grounded in his body.
George’s mouth covered his as the kiss deepened, growing hot and languid. He parted his lips to allow George’s tongue to sweep against his own, to taste, sending pleasant little shivers down his spine. Time slowed, dripping over them like honey. God, Matty had needed this; needed George to take up his space, surround him, burn through him until there was nothing left. He never could understand how it always felt this good to be caught up in George’s orbit. Matty was fickle when it came to sex; it was easy to catch his attention, but he was quick to lose interest. It was different with George. Things had always been different with George.
Matty gasped when George released his wrist from the wall to settle over the bulge in his trousers. He’d been painfully hard since he looked up to find George looming over his seat, and it was nothing short of divine to finally have George’s hand on him. Matty retreated from the kiss, breathing hard as he leaned into George’s shoulder. George was stroking him properly now, running his hand up and down his length with the perfect amount of pressure. A needy moan fell from Matty’s open mouth.
“You wanted my attention so badly?” George murmured, squeezing Matty through the thin layer of fabric. Matty, for once, was rendered speechless. His mind was fuzzy, wholly captivated by the feeling of George’s strong body pressed to his… the smooth timbre of his voice… the drag of his fingers…“You have it.”
George shifted his hands to Matty’s shoulders and pushed down, hard. The sudden change of pace startled him, cutting through the fog clouding his mind. He wobbled as he went to his knees, protesting at the twinge of pain as they met the floor.
“Fuck’s sake, I need those you know,” Matty snapped.
Above him, George’s eyes flared. He grasped Matty’s jaw in a vice-like grip between his thumb and index finger, digging into the soft skin of his cheeks. Matty glared even as his heart jumped in his throat. George leaned in close, his voice deceptively soft: “Don’t pretend that this isn’t exactly what you wanted when you posted that shit,” he warned venomously.
Matty wanted to argue. He wanted to shove George away, run his mouth, object to being manhandled like this. Yet even as the thoughts crossed his mind, he could feel the desire to commit to any of them slipping away. The act of being brought to his knees already had the outside world fading out of focus.
George fumbled with the buckle on his belt with trembling hands, the metal gently clinking as it came loose. He pushed his jeans down his thighs, revealing the hard length of his cock trapped beneath the thin grey material of his boxer briefs.
“I need to be able to sing tomorrow,” Matty cautioned, eyes trained on the way George gripped himself through the fabric.
George shook his head, an amused smile at the corner of his lips: “Should’ve thought of that earlier.”
He released Matty’s aching jaw to run his fingers through his hair before gently drawing Matty’s face to his groin. Matty went without complaint, mouthing along the outline of George’s cock, teasing, soaking the soft fabric. George groaned appreciatively above him. Matty could feel himself going under again, losing himself to the simplicity of giving George pleasure. He was good at this— he knew he was— and it felt good to give for once instead of take. It seemed like he was always taking.
George tightened his grip to a fist and pulled Matty off, wrenching his head back in the process. Matty thrilled at the sting, at the tiny pinpricks of pain tingling along his scalp. He could already feel the strain on his neck and shoulders, and the ache only made him sink deeper into that blissfully blank headspace.
George slipped his briefs down his legs to pool at his feet with his jeans, his frankly intimidating cock bobbing up to curve toward his stomach. With one hand still in Matty’s hair he squeezed himself, eyes drifting closed with a sharp exhale. Matty’s mouth fell open as he drank in the utterly intoxicating sight of George touching himself. It made him feel even more desperate, if that was even possible— he fucking loved sucking George off. He tried to take George in his mouth, but the fist in his hair held fast— he couldn’t budge. He flicked his eyes up to find George gazing down at him thoughtfully.
“Wider.”
Matty shuddered, and did as he was told.
George tapped the head of his dick on Matty’s outstretched tongue a few times in quick succession, the wet, rhythmic sound filling the room. He guided it over the outline of his swollen lips, rubbed it against one cheek and then the next, repeating the pattern until saliva glistened on Matty’s face. Matty tried to close his mouth around it, eager to swallow him down, but George merely tighten the grip in his hair to pull him back, controlling exactly how far Matty could reach. The easy display of power made Matty whimper. The most he could do was push his tongue forward, just barely able to lap at the tip, his mouth filling with saliva as he struggled.
“You’re obscene,” George murmured reverently. He released his rough hold on Matty’s hair to stroke his cheek. Matty melted into the tenderness of the touch, floating on the endorphins flooding his system. George drew his eyes up with one finger beneath his chin, in so much contrast to the way he’d yanked his head back by his hair mere moments ago. It made something warm glow in Matty’s chest. “What do you need, love?”
“Need you. Need this,” Matty pleaded, mouthing at the shaft of George’s cock. “Need… I need you to tell me what to do,” he confessed in a rush.
“You like when I tell you what to do.”
It wasn’t a question, but Matty answered anyway: “I fucking love it.”
George let out a shaky, uneven breath.
“Then suck.”
Finally released, Matty promptly wrapped his lips around the head of George’s cock, swirling his tongue, savoring the salty taste of the pre-come gathered there. He took more and more of his length into his mouth, thrilling at the stretch, at the way his jaw was already protesting at the position. Above him, George was moaning into his fist, trying desperately to keep quiet as the silky heat of Matty’s mouth engulfed him. Matty took him to the base, pulled off with a lewd sound, and dove back in to bob his head in earnest. George’s panting was laced with bitter curses and strangled groans of pleasure.
“Fuck, your fucking mouth, Matty—”
George’s words only spurred Matty on, stoking the fire blazing through his body. A dizzying sense of relief washed over him. Distantly, he realized that this was the most at peace he’d felt for days.
George’s hands came to rest at Matty’s temples, his fingers gently burying into the dark curls. He gave a small thrust into Matty’s mouth, searching his face for some sort of sign. Matty took the hint, slowing his own movements and gazing up at George in silent permission. George held his head with both hands as he slowly began to rock in and out of Matty’s pink, wet mouth, fragmented praise spilling from his lips.
“Fuck, baby, just like that… so good, so good for me always…”
Despite his best efforts not to, Matty gagged and sputtered as George set a punishing pace. His eyes watered as he tried and failed to control the broken sounds forming deep in the back of his throat.
“You wanted it so badly?” George demanded, breathless, “so badly that you couldn’t wait, like I asked?”
Matty whined, unable to nod. George stilled and guided Matty’s head back so their eyes met, Matty’s lips still around him. “Let’s see you take it, then. Take all of me… that’s it, just relax…” He steadily fed his cock further and further into Matty’s mouth until his nose was pressed into wiry hair at the base. Matty trembled all over, concentrating on his breath as he felt his throat flutter around George’s length, his own spit dripping down his chin. He flushed with satisfaction at the feeling of George’s whole body shuddering, at the ragged pants falling from George’s lips, the deep growl in his voice.
“You’re such a fucking brat, d’you know that?”
Matty choked harshly as George thrust once, twice, before pulling him back down to the base: “Takin’ me so well, Christ.”
Matty was just barely on the edge of true discomfort when George pulled out with a grunt, somehow always knowing just when to ease off. Strings of saliva still connected them as Matty panted, fighting to catch his breath, luxuriating in the warm, deep calm that had settled into his bones. He didn’t realize his eyes were wet until George crouched down in front of him to wipe the errant tears away, gazing at him with adoration and something like pride.
George kissed him softly, cupping his cheeks. Matty made a small, happy sound at the contact. “You were so good Matthew, so good for me. Are you okay, love?”
Matty nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was better than okay; he was euphoric.
“C’mere,” George murmured, helping Matty to stand up on shaky legs.
“I'm not through with you.”
I'm not through with you either, Matty thought slyly, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips.
the tags ajajzjajsjzshsnsjsj 💀giving cyrmm george big time
I'm guessing this about this post and oh my god. You're so right. I... I can't unsee that now.
(Side note: since I've been writing both over the past week, I've really noticed the difference between Take This Pain George and CYRMM George and it... makes me feel some type of way)
Patiently waiting for part three of “can you read my mind? (I’ve been watching you)”. Part one and two were so sooooo amazing omg I’ve reread part 2 like 10 times now. You’re such an amazing writer. I also would die for Ethel Cain and the fact that you used her lyrics in the title makes me scream lol
Bonus ❤️❤️I’m gonna quote my fave lines back to you !!
“His pulse pounded in his ears as he silently grappled with that strange, overwhelming fight-or-flight response that George—sweet, perpetually stoned George— seemed to evoke in him.”
“One of the most unexpected things he’d learned about George when they started sleeping together? He had a filthy mouth on him— and what a discovery that had been.”
UNREAL 😩😩okay bye
STOP IT this is so sweet, thank you so much 🥺 It's so crazy to hear, cause I mean I reread my favourite fics ALL THE TIME so it's such a kind compliment that anyone is rereading something I wrote. Thanks so much ♥️
I LOVE Ethel Cain, I regularly listen to Preacher's Daughter from start to finish because I love getting caught up in it. Although I've also been really into Inbred lately. "Crush" was just on repeat when I first thought up this story and I love the sort of youthful "I don't give a fuck, I want you" vibe- kinda sweet and kinda hot at the same time.
I've been writing the last part for a little while! To be honest I've become a bit self conscious about the dynamic between Matty and George again... I don't want to be cheesy, don't want George to seem too mean or Matty to actually seem put off, etc. And I'm definitely pushing the limit of what's realistic, but I want to do it in a way that's still believable... so yeah. Just in my head about it rn and open to feedback for sure.
