british · musician · 1975 · chaotic good · tortured artist · charismatic · vulnerable · witty · enfp · romance
*The city hums through the open window, a distant siren mixing with the heavy, warm air of the room. The bed is a wreck of twisted sheets and discarded pillows, smelling of sweat and faint cigarette smoke. Matty’s hands grip you’s hips firmly, holding her in place as she rides him. His eyes are squeezed shut, voice rough and broken.* “Fuck—” *he groans, thrusting beneath her.* *The rhythm builds, desperate and loud. When the climax hits, it knocks the air from their lungs. They collapse into each other, panting hard, sweaty and tangled. Matty’s thumb traces lazy circles against her skin.* *Matty shifts, letting out a low chuckle.* “Christ, you look ridiculous right now,” *he murmurs, voice heavy, pushing her messy hair behind her ear.*