𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾
  • Reads 34,795
  • Votes 686
  • Parts 20
  • Time 6h 30m
  • Reads 34,795
  • Votes 686
  • Parts 20
  • Time 6h 30m
Complete, First published Apr 29, 2020
Mature
Wary of the decadence and skewed morals that her burgeoning music career might impose upon her, Joanna feels out of place at the rite-of-passage Notting Hill party her new manager has invited her to, until she encounters Matty - practically an old hand in the business, but sweetly untouched by their strange surroundings. The instincts and values Joanna used to cling to don't guide her now as well as they used to, and as the venues get bigger and the radio plays rack up, it becomes increasingly difficult to know what her friendship with Matty is really about.

'My ability to stay awake was waning, and I could feel myself dropping off, the darkness and warmth enveloping me. But somewhere in that liminal space, between consciousness and a blank stupor, I vaguely registered a hand finding mine across the sheets, fingers interlinking and holding it there, in the space between our faces.'

(((* = mature content)))

COMPLETED 19/11/20.
All Rights Reserved
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infatuation // m.h by subsectionss
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"Please don't go." "I'm sorry." "I hate you." "Can we go somewhere?" "I forgive you." "Do you actually love me?" "I don't want to be here anymore." "I fucking love you." "I'm sorry." "Please stay." These were things said often between the two. They were so enthralled in each other. They couldn't get enough. Skin to skin wasn't close enough. Kissing constantly. Driving with hands gripping thighs. Hands tangled in hair. Nails clawing backs. Eyelashes brushing cheeks. Heads resting on chests. They wanted nothing more than to crawl into each other, and never come out. Say goodbye to the rest of the world and crawl away into their own. They loved each other so much that hand holding and neck kissing wasn't enough. Sex wasn't nearly as close as they'd like to be. They wrapped limbs through limbs and never wanted to let go. They couldn't stop. But minutes feel like hours spent apart. They spent hours in each other's arms. Listening to music, driving, singing, loving, living. They couldn't bare time apart. She was obsessed with him and he was in love with her. They romanticised each other. They wrote poetry and songs and lyrics and melodies about each other. He was hers and she was his. They belonged to each other. They smoked together and drank together and they couldn't stop. Maybe it was unhealthy. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was toxic, doomed to end badly. Maybe it'd kill them. (Maybe the drugs would.) Maybe they were being dangerous. Maybe this would be the death of them. But they didn't care. *smut warning in quite a few chapters lmaoo* published 2015
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𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐫. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

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'Death? In every photograph?' 'Well, every portrait...' ~ Alma takes photographs at parties, at her studio and for prestigious commissions. She's critically respected and highly sought after, but her photographs are only meant to capture a transient moment - there can be no messy entanglements, no interplay of emotions. But Alma and Matty are utterly fascinated by each other, against their better judgement. So when she takes his photograph, what is she really capturing? And what is she taking for herself? PLEASE NOTE - this story is pretty kinky and there is mature content all the way through, although chapters with explicit sex scenes will be marked with an asterisk*. CW for discussions of eating habits, nothing disordered but would rather give the warning than not. Part Two coming soon...