Im Very In Love With Book Jamie At The Moment…

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

gale: katniss will choose whoever she can’t survive without

peeta who was just peacefully sitting in the corner, trying to remember what the color orange looked like and didn’t even know there was a love triangle to begin with: ok??😐

Omg but picture Soap and Ghost coming back from leave and hearing Birdy freaking out in the next room, only to find König on top of her again— they don’t know what’s going on, but Ghost is ripping him off of her and ready to fuck him up, and Soap is by her side trying to calm her down and get her away. Price hears the commotion and comes in like ?????? What the fuck happened? And oof, Ghost is livid. This guy almost killed their Birdy once and Price is just gonna let him do it again?? Not fucking happening.

Side note— she made that comment, “you got the job you wanted, the transfer, the training.” I wanna see more of that— her feeling like König killed her and replaced her and everyone was seemingly fine with it (they weren’t, but they’re a bunch of men who suck at showing their feelings). Some of them make more of an effort to spend time with her rather than him (ie Soap and Ghost), but the others think König’s actually an alright guy if they gave him a chance.

Idk. Lots of potential for angst here. Could be fun.

OH MY FUCKING GOD YES.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I can see Ghost being fucking furious over Price allowing Konig to train the reader. Now that Ghosts back he pulls Price aside privately and straight out says "I'm off leave now. I'm the better hand to hand combatant and I outrank that cunt. Let me train them"

Meanwhile König wants to fucking die. You're right about the other guys being cool with him, Gaz is alright, Rudy as well (if we're including him and Alejandro). Alejandro is a passionate guy so I don't think he'd be okay with it.

I feel like Soap is actually on the fence about it. He's probably the most logical of them all regarding knowing it was an accident but understanding the hatred. He didn't just try to kill the reader, König fucking mutilated her. He's psychotic on the battlefield and everyone admired that until they realized just how fucked it would be if it was turned on them.

Oh don't worry the readers hatred isn't going anywhere either. I specialise in angst 🤌😏

◇ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ◇

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟒: 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 18+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

◦ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦! 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warning: edging, teasing, sex! toy (vibrator!), pussy eating, soft dom marc, overstimulation

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You really wish you hadn’t tried getting back at Marc. Teasing him never went well for you, it always ended you up in the position you were in at the moment.

Your wrists were tied to the headboard with your legs spread, marc between your thighs with your legs above his shoulders. He wasn’t fucking you with his fingers or eating you out. He was holding a vibrator to your acing clit, circle it softly then pulling back as soon as he saw your legs shake.

“Told you honey, right before we walked out that door didn’t I?” Marc cooed. You whined in agony as your pussy pulsed and dripped in need. He’d been at it for who knows how long.

You went out with Marc tonight, the late night bar date was going well until you told him to look under the table. Marc’s body tensed as he saw you wearing no panties, just the thin fabric of the dress hiding what’s his from the world.

Now you were here, tied up and being edged for the past 30 minutes. “I- I’m sorry” you choked out as Marc ran the warm silicone up your sticky folds. The sound of the vibration and your slick making you even needier.

“No you aren’t and that’s ok, I don’t mind this” he mocked as he pressed the vibrator down onto your clit. Your hips bucked up in the air as you squeezed your eyes shut and focused on the pleasure.

You felt the knot getting tighter and tighter as he slowly circled the toy into your messy cunt. Marc smiled up at you, pulling the toy away the second he saw you too comfortable.

You let out a pitiful cry, tears streaming down your face as the edging was getting to much. “Ple- p- please Marc, please” you cried out.

“I know sweetheart, sucks doesn’t it?” He mocked. His lips pressed a soft kiss into your inner thigh, his hand moving the toy back up to your clit and dragging it through your folds.

“Think you’ve had enough punishment for today yeah?” He hummed. You nodded weakly with tears streaming down your face and body shaking. Marc turned the vibrator off, your soft smile turning into a frown as he threw the toy to the side.

Before you could get a word out his mouth was lapping at your pussy. His tongue working at your swollen clit that was covered in slick “mhm so fucking g- good” Marc groaned as he rolled his tongue around your clit.

A loud whine spilled out your lips as he bobbed his head and lapped as if his life depended on it. Your hands flew to his hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you.

The nerves in your body tingling as you finally got the release you’ve been dying for. Your breathy moans filled the room as he didn’t stop, causing your body to shiver and squirm under him.

Marc gave one last lick with a pop of his lips, his mouth covered in your wetness as he lifted two fingers onto his cheeks and collected your cum with his fingers, sucking them clean with a moan.

Both of you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time, and you were definitely not sorry.

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GothamU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily. 

Feeling like this whole being around people today

Netflix canceling Shadow and Bone season 3 and not doing a Six of Crows spin-off has got to be one of their dumbest decisions in the past 4 years. It is one of their most popular tv shows and was ranked 1st for weeks after season 1 and 2 dropped around the world. At this point, Netflix is just asking to lose everything because they have continuously canceled the most popular TV shows and try to replace them with really shitty ones.

But, I am so grateful to Leigh Bardugo, all the directors, producers, writers, costume designers, set crew, and literally every single person involved for bringing it all to life and putting their entire beings into making it as perfect as it is.

And of course I will always forever love every single actor for making all my favorite characters walk right off the pages and bring tears to my eyes.

Deal With It - Matty Healy

Plot: I had this idea where the reader is Matty’s plug and it seemed kinda cool so I’m running with it. Has a little bit of George Daniel. Also based on she way out but set around 2015/16 time.

Female reader

Warnings: Explicit drug use, Alcohol, Cocaine, Weed, Smoking, Swearing, Violence, Smut, Male & slight female dom

“There she is! Finally fucking made it,” Matty announced as he pulled me tightly into his side. I grinned, smelling the booze, cigarettes and cologne on him. He’d accosted me as soon as he spotted me walking across the crowded nightclub. It’d been booked for some fancy private party full of celebrities, and Matty had got me on the guest list. He pulled me toward the group of sofas in the corner, where the band and various others sat.

“Alright, get off of me you daft twat,” I joked, escaping from his grasp and ruffling his long curly hair. George stood from his spot at the table, standing in front of me with his arms open and smile lines in the corner of his eyes. I didn’t hesitate to fall into his embrace, my head only touching his chest as he towered above me. His arms looped around my back as he picked me up and I felt my short dress ride up.

“George! George my arse is out,” I warned him, laughing. Matty came up behind me to pull my skirt down and his band mate returned me to my feet. I felt my ears burning as George grinned down at me.

“How are you doing then? It’s been a while,” he asked, and I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face. It was almost embarrassing how attractive I found him. Matty had introduced us at one of his parties and we hit it off over a spliff.

“Not too bad, whitey king,” I teased, earning a playful shove.

“Hey, hey, don’t steal her away. I’m the one who asked her here,” Matty interrupted, obviously upset at being left out of the conversation bubble. He swooped in, hooking an arm around my shoulder and leading me away from the group. “I’ll bring her back for you shortly, we have business to discuss first,” he announced cheekily, sending a wink in George’s direction, who didn’t look overly impressed.

“Matty, I didn’t even get to say hi to anyone,” I complained, squirming out of his grasp because I wasn’t entirely sure how it made me feel. Whilst George had been wearing cuffed jeans and converse, Matty seemed a lot more dressed up. He had on black trousers and a white shirt that was more draped over him than being worn, the top buttons undone. It suited him.

“You can see them later, now have you got anything for me?”

“You’re dressed smart,” I stated, ignoring his question. He rolled his eyes, but I could see him smirk.

“And you’re dressed hot, now where’s the coke?”

“Ey!” I scolded, smacking him on the arm as we reached the bar. “It’s here,” I told him, taking his hand and pressing the baggy into it. He thanked me, pocketed it and pressed a kiss to my cheek, slipping a some bank notes into my bag. Matty waved a hand at the bartender, a pretty young woman who came over immediately.

“I’ll get a whiskey and a…” he turned to me.

“Just a rum and coke.”

“A double rum and coke, and could you get a tray of shots to the table in the corner?” Matty asked her, pointing out his group. The bartender nodded, making quick work of our drinks and passing a message on to serve the rest of the band. Matty slid my glass over to me, knocking back his own drink alarmingly fast.

“D’ya need me to give you any money for that?”

“Are you kidding? It’s on a tab, now get that drink down you, you’re unnervingly sober,” he told me, linking his fingers through mine and pulling me through the bodies. He led me through to the hall and then stopped outside the women’s bathroom. “Hurry up,” he scolded, gesturing back to the untouched glass in my hand. I scowled at his bossiness, but did as I was told and knocked the drink back with a slight grimace.

“What are we doing hanging outside the ladies?” I asked him suspiciously, but he didn’t dignify me with a response, instead pushed through the door and hurried me into a toilet cubicle. I raised an eyebrow. “Well now I think that you’re really fucking weird, and I’ve been your dealer for over a year.”

“Do a line with me you muppet,” he quipped, pulling the baggy out his pocket. He got his phone out and cut two decent lines on the black screen. He did his first and then I copied him, covering my nostril and tipping my head back as I sniffed hard. Immediately the chemical petrol taste started a drip at the back of my throat. Matty looked up at me. “You’re the best, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be hitting you that quick, let’s go back.”

“Fine, let’s get another drink in you,” Matty decided for both of us. Although I wanted to go back and see George I figured a pit stop by the bar wouldn’t be the worst thing to shift the nerves.

By the time we stopped for a cigarette and got two Jägerbombs the drugs had hit my system and I knew it would be a terrible idea to go over and try to speak to the drummer. I felt a grin stuck on my face as Matty frantically talked my ear off, although I’d only half been listening. Instead, I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor, where the song Everybody Dance by CHIC was playing. His words were cut off as he raised his eyebrows in surprise, obligingly following me to the front where the DJ was. He chuckled, beginning to dance along with me. We were facing each other, stood quite close. His pupils were dilated, his hair falling over his face. Suddenly he stopped dancing, laughing at me instead.

“What? What is it?” I asked, feeling flushed and totally off my face as I grinned.

“You’re totally off beat,” he said, leaning close to my ear so I could hear him. Matty leaned back, first tapping the rhythm of the song onto my arms, then trailed his fingers down my forearms to catch my hands in his own, pushing them foreword and back so that we were dancing together, and putting my rhythm back on track. He wetted his lip as swayed to the beat. We shouted the words at each other, Matty at one point playfully spinning me around, his shirt now totally unbuttoned, showing his torso and tattoos.

“MATTY THIS IS YOUR SONG!” I shouted at him as all of a sudden Love Me off the boys new album started playing. He chuckled, looking almost embarrassed as his own voice came through the speaker.

“Oh god,” he complained, but he still humoured me with a short dance before we made our way back to the table, both feeling a lot more trashed than when we had first bumped into each other. Matty essentially deposited me with the others before he was off to the bar again. George welcomed me a spot on his lap as all the seats were taken and made quick work of settling his arms around my stomach with his chin resting on my head while Adam and Ross discussed the next tour they were due to go on.

“I was hoping you weren’t going to run off with Matty again this time,” George said, his hands moving to tug the skirt of my dress slightly down so my knickers weren’t on show. I felt my ears heat up red again at his comment. George seemed to be able to make me so flustered at his comments, despite the way he said them so calmly.

“Matty is Matty, he’s constantly dragging me off to do things.”

“What things?” George asked, hinting at the obvious.

“Cocaine mainly,” I deadpanned.

“That’s a bit naughty,” he teased, digging his fingers into my sides so that I squirmed. I spotted Matty making his way back to the table with a tray of drinks.

“George, you do know what I do for a living?”

“Yeah, I sussed it out,” he replied, pressing a kiss to my cheek as Matty wedged his way into a non existent seat between Adam and George.

“I bought us shots,” he announced. “Come on (Y/N), you’ll do a shot with me won’t you?” His voice was coming out testy, and as I looked him in the eye I noticed his pupils once again dilated. I frowned, noticing the way his mood had soured and hoped he wasn’t about to make it everyone’s problem.

“Sure, I’ll do a shot,” I appeased, tilting my head to look at George. “You?”

“Yeah, course,” he replied, moving his hands back to rest on my thighs while Matty grimaced slightly and handed shots out to the group.

“Fucksake Hann, I’m trying to hand you this,” he snapped at Adam when he failed to notice the drink he’d been offered.

“Fucking hell Matty, what’s got you so tetchy?” the guitarist asked, receiving an annoyed look.

“I’m not tetchy,” Matty responded unconvincingly.

As the night went on Matty’s move improved slightly, even if it was only after sneaking off to do more coke. It was a while before he went off into the party, him instead favouring hovering by me and George, occasionally dropping in arsey comments which were beginning to piss me off.

After Matty sloped off to the bathrooms again, I asked George to come with me for a cigarette. We pushed our way through the crowd and stumbled through the corridor to the outdoor smoking area; a large rooftop balcony overlooking West London. I leant against the railing, George coming to stand next to me.

“You got a light?” I asked, having left my bag inside. He nodded, patting down his pockets to find it, then ignited it, holding it out with his hand guarding the flickering flame as I lit my cigarette and then as he lit his. I took a deep drag.

“I have to ask you something.” He turned to me, his body slightly closer to my own. “Are you… Are you and Matty a thing?” George asked, before taking another drag of his cigarette. I let out a laugh.

“What? No,” I chuckled. “He’s a client, and probably a friend too now I think about it, but we’re not romantically involved.”

“Cool,” came George’s response. With that, his hand reached down to cup my cheek and I looked up at him curiously, but in the back of my mind I knew what was going to happen next. As his eyes flickered from my eyes down to my lips and back my suspicions were confirmed and he leaned down to kiss me, both of us unaware that there might be any potential observers. As his lips pressed against my own and our cigarettes smoked away, forgotten by our sides, I couldn’t help but feel a slight disappointment. The kiss was just… a kiss. Perhaps I’d set myself up for it, expecting fireworks just because I found the man attractive, but the truth remained that there was hardly a spark.

My thoughts were cut short however as a third party forced it’s way into the moment, in the form of Matty Healy. It took a moment for me to register George reeling away from me, another for me to comprehend that Matty had punted his best mate in the face.

“Matty! What the fuck?!” I heard my own voice exclaimed shrilly. George was stood back from the aggravated Matty, holding the side of his face in surprise.

“You two? Are you fucking joking me?!” Matty exclaimed, clearly fresh off one line too many. I rushed over to George, seeing to check if he was okay, but when I reached him he stepped away from me, a hurt look in his eyes as if I had lied to him about my relationship to Matty. I didn’t blame him. The way Matty was acting was as though I was his wife of four years, not his newly acquired mate.

“I’m going inside, you two should talk,” George said, a little coldly. He left quickly, not bothering to say anything else to either of us.

“(Y/n), I…” Matty began, obviously sensing that he might have done the wrong thing.

“I’m not speaking to you here, it’s too… public,” I told him. He reached out for my arm and I batted him away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I snapped, ignoring his shocked and guilty eyes.

“My hotel is across the street, we could talk there?” he suggested. I paused, thinking that that might be a terrible idea, but my head was fuzzy with booze and coke and I more than desperately wanted to sit down. I nodded, unable to speak incase I began yelling at him.

We walked in total silence, Matty stumbling slightly the whole way and me remaining at least two paces behind him, except for making sure he didn’t dart out into the busy London traffic. Eventually we made it to the hotel room; a large suite by the top of the building. Matty kicked off his shoes and I shut the door softly behind me before he walked past and fell down onto his stomach on the bed, reaching into the drawers.

“We could go for a spliff,” he suggested, a cheeky grin on his face, contrasting the stony look on my own face. I was gobsmacked at his complacency.

“Matty!” I scolded, and he sat up to look at me, leaving the skins and grinder on the bed. “What you did was not alright, in fact, what the FUCK were you thinking?” I began, all the frustration I’d built up finally coming out. He looked irritatingly surprised that we were still on the subject, likely from the drugs.

“I dunno, it was just wrong wasn’t it?”

“Wrong? What the fuck does that mean?”

“George shouldn’t have kissed you,” he continued, not really explaining anything. I stepped closer to him and he stood up to meet my height.

“Matty, what do you mean he shouldn’t have kissed me?” I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

“I…” Matty began, but he didn’t sound so confident now. “I didn’t like it. I dunno.” His eyes darted down to the floor. “I watched you outside being all lovey-dovey and I didn’t like it… so I… I hit him.”

“He’s your fucking best mate Matty! Why do you think you get to do shit like that just because you don’t like a situation? And you were watching us? How long was that little act of voyeurism?” I demanded, but this time Matty met my eye with a level of slight arrogance.

“See, this is why I like you. Only you would say a phrase like that.”

Before I even thought about it my hand had caught the side of his face. He put his own hand on the spot where I’d slapped him, looking at me slightly shocked. All of a sudden I couldn’t find the words to continue. Guilt hit me in my stomach. I hadn’t meant to do that.

Matty’s expression however had changed. His dark eyes stayed trained on my face, lips parted and I could hear him breathe slightly louder. For a second we both stood there, tension thick between us, in total silence.

“Matty I’m sorry I-” I began, but was cut off as he took my face in his hands and connect our lips, pressing his hard against my own and slipping his tongue into my mouth. I felt my heart rate increase at the excitement of his hands falling to cup the small of my back, pulling me into him. A rush of adrenaline coursed through me as my hands found their way into his tangled hair, fingers tugging at it as Matty let out a slight groan at the feeling. He spun us around, the backs of my knees pressing against the bed. I parted my lips from his, touching my forehead to his.

“Matty,” I began, and he let out a sigh even at me just saying his name. I tilted my head away from him, his hands holding me in place as my own dropped to rest on his shoulders. “I don’t think…”

“Please don’t stop this now, I think I might have I nervous breakdown if you stop this now,” he countered before I had the chance to voice my concern. I could hear the slight desperation in his voice as his hands gripped me slightly. “(Y/n), we can deal with the mess in the morning,” he added gently, his hand coming up to the side of my head as he knotted his fingers softly into my hair.

I considered it for a moment, but the thrumming deep within me and the way I could feel Matty stir against my thigh quickly made up my mind for me.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, connecting my lips to his again and running my hands down to unbutton his shirt. His hands snuck under the fabric of my dress that had been riding up all evening, gripping at my thighs. I let out a soft moan which made him pull away, looking at me hungrily as he took his shirt off.

“Get on the bed,” he instructed lowly, and so I kicked off my heels and shuffled back along the mattress. Matty’s eyes never strayed from mine as he crawled up towards me, running a hand down one of my legs only to lift my ankle, kissing along it softly, trailing his lips along the inside of my leg in a painfully slow manner. As he torturously made his way up toward my inner thigh I could feel myself get worked up, letting out a moan as he nipped my skin lightly. He hummed against my skin as his hands reached to pull my skirt up around my waist and his fingers hooked the sides of my underwear, making me lift my hips to help him remove them, but he didn’t. He lifted his head and moved up between my legs, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I nipped his bottom lip between my teeth and he let out a moan that seemed to surprise him.

Together we removed my dress, leaving me in my mismatched underwear; a black bra and lilac lace knickers. Matty pushed me down onto the bed, moving to plant wet kisses along my neck as he let his hips grind against me. Sick of the teasing I rolled on top of him, straddling his waist with his erection pressed against me. I reached around to unclip my bra, letting it fall to my elbows before removing it. Matty quickly sat upright, cupping my breasts as he kissed me again, and I ground against him, enjoying the feeling of his skin against mine. I brought my hands up to his chest, pushing him back to a laying position and making him look at me in total awe. I brought a hand up to cuff his neck, not choking him, but pressing my thumb into the side of his neck so I could feel his pulse increase as I rolled my hips slightly.

“Fucking hell,” he swore, his hands resting on my waist, pushing to try and deepen my movements. I leant down to leave another wet kiss onto his mouth, moaning into it when he bucked his hips up against my heat. I moved my kisses down his neck and chest, starting to unbuckle his trousers and pull them down his thighs. I paused my kisses for a moment just to get his trousers off, then placed the gentlest kisses to his stomach, ghosting over his We Are Kings tattoo and letting myself breathe over his skin, his hands once again tangling into my hair as I laced my fingers into the waistband of his boxers. I felt his muscles tense as I pressed a kiss to the crook of his hipbone. “You’re driving me fucking insane,” he murmured, tipping my head to face him with my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I grinned slightly, before placing one last kiss at the very edge of his underwear and then pulling them down, freeing him.I pumped his erection in my hand a couple of times, enjoying hearing the satisfied grunts Matty let out at finally being touched, and then I gently touched my lips to the head of his cock, Matty watching me intently the whole time, slightly sat up on his elbows. I hummed slightly, knowing he’d feel it, then pulled my lips away, sitting up.

“It’s quite late, maybe I should leave,” I said calmly, wanting to see his reaction. It was only a tease of course, I could feel myself dripping with arousal as I said the words. He looked at me darkly.

“Don’t you fucking dare, this might be the hardest my dick has ever been,” he warned, sitting up and grabbing my wrist.

“Hmm, okay. Will you say please?” I asked mischievously, knowing I was pushing it.

“Fuck off.”

“Fine then,” I responded, pulling myself out of his grasp.

“No! Wait!” he exclaimed, making me pause. “Please can you?”

“Please can I what?” I asked, definitely abusing my power now. Matty let out a pained groan.

“Please can you suck my fucking dick?” he requested reluctantly, but he couldn’t hide how desperate he was. I kneeled between his legs, placing another gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. I didn’t bother teasing him further, just took his length into my mouth, pushing it as far as I could handle. Matty let out a groan at the feeling, resisting the urge to buck his hips up further into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the head and then sunk my mouth back down, repeating the process again and again until Matty grabbed my hair and pushed me down, cumming into the back of my throat with a slight moan. When my mouth came off of him a string of saliva connected my tongue to his twitching cock. He sat up fully, grabbing me by my neck and pulling me to kiss him with his taste still on my tongue. I moaned languidly into the kiss, rubbing my thighs together to try and alleviate some of the throbbing. Matty’s hand trailed from my breast, across my stomach until his fingers brushed against where I needed him most. He hummed contentedly, feeling how wet my underwear was already. He didn’t break the kiss as he moved them aside, inserting two of his fingers into me and curling them up, making me gasp and grip at his shoulders. His lips trailed along my jaw while his thumb brushed my clit, soaking up the noises that spilled from my lips.

“Go lie down,” he instructed firmly, pulling his fingers from inside me and licking them clean. I blushed seeing the way my juices had dripped down his hand. I lay back with my head on the pillows, my knees together self consciously, but soon Matty parted them, not hesitating to lick a stripe along my heat. I shuddered at the stimulation, Matty hooking his arms around my parted thighs as he pushed his face down between my legs. I let out a unexpectedly lewd moan, covering my mouth with my hand. Matty reached up to pull my elbow, silently telling me that he wanted me to be loud. His tongue circled my clit, pressing down onto it and this time I let my whimpers be heard.

“Matty,” I gasped, quickly threading my fingers into his curls, pulling slightly and making him growl slightly. His grip tightened on my thighs as the pleasure built inside of me, causing me to close my thighs slightly around his head. His tongue flicked over my clit, warm and wet. His curls brushed against the inside of my legs. “Fucking hell,” I whined. “I’m really fucking close.”

To my frustration as soon as I said those words he pulled away from me, looking at my face while he lay his head on my thigh. He had a smug grin on his face.

“You bastard,” I cursed him, lifting myself up on my elbows. Matty pressed a kiss to my stomach and then sat up, wasting no time in pulling me into his lap, his erection pressing against my stomach. My hands quickly looped around his neck as his held tightly onto my hips. We looked each other in the eye, smiling like naughty teenagers while his thumbs rubbed circles onto my hip bone. I gazed at him through half lidded eyes, ghosting my lips against his until he darted forwards and caught my lip between his teeth, dragging it back and making me release a noise halfway between a giggle and a moan. I leant back slightly, looking down between us. “Did you get that just from going down on me?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied lowly, before moving to press another kiss to my neck. As he moved his attention from one side to the other, I lifted my hips and let him press the top of his cock to my slick entrance. As I lowered my weight, he let out a load moan, and I felt his hot breath against my neck as his hands squeezed my sides. I rolled my hips up, moaning myself as he slid up inside of me. While my pace sped up, his hands dropped to hold my arse, his head tipping back and his lips parted. We gripped each other and panted, and I couldn’t shake the need to be impossibly close to him. As he grew closer his eyes darkened, and he pushed me onto my back, pounding me into the mattress. More heavenly moans tumbled from our lips, and as I grew closer I clutched at his back desperately.

It hit me unexpectedly, a wave of pleasure deep inside of me that made my back arch up into him, pressing our torsos together. Matty let out one final growl and finished inside of me as I clenched around him. He pulled me in for a tired, wet kiss, and as he pulled away I saw the satisfied grin on his face. He stayed on top of me, pulling his cock out and then planting more kisses all over my face, making me laugh as his curls brushed over my forehead.

“That was fucking amazing,” he told me softly, unable to stop the smile stretching across his face, which I couldn’t help but mirror. He rolled off of me, but still pulled me into his side. “Honestly, (Y/n), that might have been the best sex I’ve had.”

“It was pretty fucking good,” I agreed, sitting up and getting off of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To the loo,” I responded, padding through to the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. As I sat down on the toilet seat I grabbed some loo roll to clean myself up, then went for a piss. After that I stood in front of the mirror, nude. My hair was all over the place, and my dark eye makeup had smudged, but my face was bright and glowy despite the state of the night. I tidied myself up a bit, took off as much of my makeup as was possible and returned back to the bedroom.

Matty was lying on top of the duvet still, stark naked and scrolling through his phone. He looked over at me as I emerged, putting his phone down. His eyes couldn’t help but cross my body again.

“I have to say, I’m glad you haven’t put your clothes back on,” he teased, and I rolled my eyes, but moved to join him on the bed anyway. Immediately he wrapped himself around me, his leg crossing over my body, and I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair again. His nose brushed my cheek and I could feel him breathe.

“I kinda like being naked,” I told him, fiddling with his curls.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned, but to my surprise he didn’t seem to be making any kind of dirty joke.

“Yeah. It’s such a vulnerable and intimate thing, but there’s a power in not caring,” I explained. Matty hummed in agreement. “I suppose it’s conditioned in us to see it as a very sordid thing, and that’s why it feels like a risk, but at the end of the day we’re the same people with or without clothes on,” I continued to muse. Matty pressed another kiss to my jaw, responding to me in a sleepy voice.

“That’s a good point.”

“Although, I am cold. I’m gonna get under the duvet,” I decided, trying to get out of his grasp. He stayed still, holding me in place. “Matty,” I complained. “Let me go, I’m cold.”

“You don’t feel cold,” he argued, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck. I let out an exasperated sigh, but wriggled out from underneath him, getting myself comfy beneath the thick bedding. Matty let out an exasperated groan, but got under the covers next to me anyway, his arms pulled me back into him, and we chatted for a little while, until our responses grew slow and we both fell asleep.

The next morning I woke early, my head feeling heavy and my body hot. It took me a moment to figure out where I was, sitting up and taking in the sleeping man next to me. He looked calm, his brow relaxed and his hair a mess against the white pillow cover. I found my bag and checked my phone.

Hey (y/n), sorry about last night. You left your jacket at the party so I picked it up x

I groaned, guilt forming in my stomach at George’s message. I pulled myself out of bed, finding my bra and putting it back on.

“Matty,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder slightly to wake him. “Have you got any underwear I can borrow?” He groaned tiredly, rubbing his eyes and pointing across the room.

“Suitcase.”

I rummaged around in his case until I found a pair of clean boxers, pulling them on. Matty rolled over, watching me shuffle round the room to find my stuff, the duvet pulled up to his chin.

“They look better on you than me,” he pointed out, enjoying the early morning show. I wasn’t in the mood for it, however, not responding as I pulled my dress back over my head and grabbed my bag.

“Matty, I shouldn’t have done this,” I told him, pulling my shoes back on.

“You’re not leaving are you?” he asked, yawning. “We could go and grab breakfast downstairs first.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Fine, coffee then, don’t be difficult.”

The idea of coffee did sound tempting, but I pushed that thought aside.

“I’m not happy with this, okay? I’m still annoyed at you, last night doesn’t change that,” I explained. Matty sat up, the covers falling down to show his chest and shoulders.

“Take some money for a taxi then,” he offered, still acting flippant.

“I don’t want your money, I’m leaving, okay?” I told him finally, and with that I left, ready for the walk of shame ahead.

me and the joel miller girlies