Haunt || Matty Healy

Eighteen.

My eyes are lidded and my head is spinning, but looking down at him, eyeing the tilt of his mouth and the wicked tongue he has between, I realize then that I'd let Matty Healy fucking mutilate me. A taste, he mewls quietly into my head, I'll make you feel so good. I nod my head frantically, "Yes," I breathe, "Te deseo."

Matty tugs off my top before pulling me down for a kiss. He holds me by the back of my neck, fingers weaving into my hair, keeping me in place as he works his mouth on mine. I've never been kissed like this before and I couldn't imagine it being with anyone else at this point. Matty moves his mouth so languidly, like we have all the time in the world right now, and as far as I'm concerned, maybe we have an eternity.

His mouth explores mine, tongue probing and licking, sucking on my lips, stealing every breath I let out. His long lashes flutter against my cheeks, sending jitters down my body. I feel it down to my toes and my knees tighten against him on instinct. He pulls away wetly, resting his head against mine, not letting go of his hold on me. "Come on darling, I want to taste that pulse in your neck." I shiver, letting out a whimper I can't control. "Among other things."

"God," I whisper, "Matty, what are you doing to me?" I try to keep my eyes open for a little longer, to catch my breath at least. I can't control myself, it feels like I'm falling and I have nothing to catch myself on.

"Fall into me, angel." He coerces.

I lift my head up, hair tossed back and arms coming up to cover myself. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't question my actions. His hands fall to the small of my back, rubbing circles into my skin. "Matty," I clear my throat, annoyed at how hoarse I sound. His eyes glitter in the moonlight. "I think...Uh," I place a hand to my forehead, flustered and flushed. This is stupid. This is a dream – what could really actually happen? Then I realize, "Matty, you said you couldn't hurt me in my dreams." In fact, I'm sure he said he could make them a lot better.

"Did I?" he murmurs dryly, looking up at me. His eyes look heavy, as if he's the one that's been missing sleep. He blinks and his eyes go black for the shortest second. It does something I've never seen it do before – it starts white in the middle, quickly expanding until it's all murky. My heart lurches, and he blinks, like he isn't aware of what he's doing.

All this happens in under two seconds and my words tumble, "You lied."

"I do that, often," he confesses. "Nothing ever fatal."

I grab his hands and place them on my thighs, "Look what you did to me."

He touches the bruises on my skin gingerly, like he's caressing them.  He finds them easily, but his eyes never leave its gaze on my face. They slowly linger down my neck then down to my exposed breasts. Goosebumps rise along my skin, but it feels as if I'm burning. I have to question myself for maybe the hundredth time in the past 24 hours. Why do I want Matty Healy to continue to hurt me? To use me in the best of ways until I'm begging him to choke me.

His thumb rides up my legs, my body is quivering. If this is hell, I don't want to go to heaven. "Look what I'm doing to you," he counters, teasingly. I grip the material of his sweater, my nails digging into the thick fabric right above his heart. He sucks in a breath. "If you could," he mumbles, mostly to himself, his palms hiking higher until his fingers play with the lace of my panties. "I'd let you, Nila."

"Let me what?"

"I'd let you dig your fingers into my skin and bones. I'd let you rip this beating piece of shit out of my chest." He grins up at me "It makes me hard imagining you devouring my heart. Now that's what I call sexy."

My eyes are wide, "That's disgusting."

"Yet your soaking wet at the thought." My skin is heated. That isn't why I'm so putty in his palms at the moment. Not fully, at least. I grimace at the thought of blood all over my mouth. "I'm a disgusting creature by nature." He flips us so quickly, my head swims. I gasp, hands coming to the back of his neck. I keep my eyes trained at the ceiling, noting the cracks I've never seen before – mostly because I couldn't. They look dark, so emphasized and angled perfectly as if they were intentional.