noacfapologyst - Tumblr blog

[noacfapologyst]

“His curly hair gets in the way when we're kissing, I would meet him halfway if something wasn't missing.

I still give him my nights whenever he asks, ever he asks for them.

Every time that I'm in his bed I feel emptier than if I had left. Wanted a home, but I'm just a guest, thought I was different, I'm just like the rest.”

[noacfapologyst]

pov: you play spin the bottle

nothing crazy. just friends kissing each other.

warning: 18+, weed, boys kissing, mentions of sex. follows no timeline.

masterlist here.

that evening, you found yourself at matty's flat with the boys and some other people you didn't quite know but had definitely seen before. perhaps at previous gatherings held by george or matty. who knows. they all just wanted to get high, so that's exactly what you did.

the thing is, you hadn't smoked much prior to that night. yes, you enjoyed cigarettes (after all, you spent many hours with the lot of them) but didn't have much experience with weed. yet, you didn't want to be left alone so you agreed to go along for the ride and suffer its consequences, good or bad.

ross offered you a drag and you took it. you inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs and cloud your mind. apparently you held it in for too long that you started having a coughing fit, a very stoned ross staring while trying not to chuckle. "are you alright?" he said. "yes" cough "yes" cough. eventually you went back to normal, catching your breath, slowly feeling the effects of the drug in your body. you almost forgot how nice it felt and wondered why you didn't do it more often.

the last time was with george, back when you were a "thing", if you could even call it that. it was a rainy night and you both sat by the open window of his bedroom, sharing a joint. you were apprehensive at first but it had been a stressful day of work, so you needed to take the edge off. the weed definitely helped, but it might've also been the sex that followed. george had been especially eager to make you moan as loud as you possibly could. you could almost feel his hands tightly grip your hips at the memory of it when suddenly someone called your name and broke your trance.

speak of the devil.

george's face came into focus and started dragging you by the arm, "c'mon, we're going to play spin the bottle." he turned around to look at you, a smirk forming on his lips as he pulled you to the circle the others had formed. you thought this game was only played by horny 14 year olds, but what the hell. what's the worst that could happen, right?

you dropped down to the floor, crossing your legs and sitting between adam and george. looking around, you noticed that everyone was on some level of a high. ross was chattier and more confident than usual, which you enjoyed as you've grown to like him quite a bit. he was always a sweet one. adam looked like he was about to fall asleep, but kept reassuring everyone that he was wide awake. sure. being high looked good on george and he knew it. the fucker was just so effortlessly cool, running his hand through his hair, joint between his fingers. you had to look away, it was just too much for you to handle at the moment. then there was matty, who couldn't stop giggling at something the girl besides him was saying. you noticed the same girl put her hand on his arm and it make you feel a strange sensation. you weren't sure why, though.

a loud clap echoed in the room. "alright, everyone, here we go. i'll be the brave one and start." george announced while he spun the empty bottle of wine on the floor. you watched as the bottle slowed down, lifting your head to take notice of the lucky chosen person, none other than ross macdonald. he shot george a look, let out a big sigh, then laughed when it finally hit him what he had to do. "fine!" he conceded, getting up and stumbling over to plant a kiss right on george's lips. he immediately cupped ross's face, returning the kiss with a satisfying smack, leaving you pretty certain they'd done this before. there were cheers and some claps, making george feel smug and ross blushing as he settled back down.

next up was matty. he spun the bottle in one swift movement, landing on... ross. "looks like luck's on your side today, macdonald." the taller boy rolled his eyes, took a quick drag of his joint, and rose up to walk towards matty. he knelt before his friend, and this time it was ross who gently cupped the curly boy's face, pulling him close until their lips met. you could tell that gesture made matty excited as his hands tangled in soft brown hair. there was no question that tongues were involved, and only breaking apart once ross pushed matty away, cheeks flushed as he headed back to his seat.

the game continued and to your dismay, george ended up kissing and feeling up the very pretty girl who sat next to matty. adam had to kiss ross (surprise), but this one was just a quick peck on the lips. then it was your turn.

"let's see who gets the pleasure of kissing her. i can assure you won't be disappointed," george joked and you stuck up two fingers right in front of his face. "it won't be you, if that's what you're hoping." you smirked and grabbed the bottle.

it wasn't until you had it in your hand that you realized how high you were, immediately making you nervous of fucking up the kiss. such a childish concern, but you couldn't help it in you state. you put the bottle on the floor, giving it a hasty spin and silently praying it wouldn't point to george. it wouldn't be the worst as you'd know what to expect but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction, especially not in front of others.

it felt like the bottle took ages to slow down and once it stopped, your ears started ringing, drowning everyone's cheers as you realized matty had to kiss you.

you slowly sat back down on your heels, tugging at the hem of your skirt and feeling your cheeks turn bright red. it wasn't until you lifted your gaze that you noticed matty had stood up and was walking in your direction, stopping to kneel right in front of you.

he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at you as if asking for permission to continue. you mindlessly bit your bottom lip and he took this as a his cue, leaning forward, pressing his mouth to yours.

maybe it was the weed or the adrenaline or both, but you were certain time stopped at that moment, which allowed you to melt on his lips. he tasted like honey and it was intoxicating. to your surprise, you kissed back eagerly, grabbing at the collar of his white shirt, bringing him closer to you.

again, it was probably the drugs, but you thought you heard him quietly moan when your thumb lightly touched the side of his neck.

you didn't want it to end, but you had to pull away as you had no idea how much time had passed. opening your eyes, you found matty's soft gaze fixed on yours. you smiled at each other and laughed nervously, yet no awkwardness was felt between the both of you.

suddenly you realized you still had a tight grip on his collar. "oh, um, sorry." you let go, trying to tidy down his now wrinkled shirt. "no worries," he murmured quietly, planting a quick peck on your cheek followed by another on your lips.

matty got up to go back to his spot, but not before he told george that he was right, you were indeed an excellent kisser. the tall boy just glared at matty and decided that the game was over because it was getting boring. you couldn't help but burst out laughing, prompting george to storm out of the room. oops.

"what's gotten into him now?" the blissfully oblivious, high adam asked. "i reckon matthew might have just kissed the girl he fancies," ross mentioned while getting up to fetch another joint. adam looked at you. oooh.

you chuckled and stood up, glancing over your shoulder to find deep caramel eyes gazing longingly in your direction once more.

[noacfapologyst]

Eat me // Strawberry Sorbet - Matty Healy pt.2

part three

A/N: genuinely took a lot out of me to write this, but i hope y'all like it!! Thanks @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff bae for being the cause of random spouts of inspiration (soz for spamming you, can't help it xx) Enjoy my loves❤️

content warnings: slightly suggestive, Matty being a man, cursing, sexist remarks

wc: 6k

“Matty, what the actual FUCK??” 

Matty’s eyes snap open, vision slightly blurry as the bright lights of the walk-in fridge flood his senses. Scrambling to sit up straight, his hand narrowly misses the edge of the shelf, sending him tumbling down to the floor. 

Clutching his shoulder, his eyes dart up to the source of the disruption. Ross. Red in the face and positively fuming, Matty feels a hand grab his arm, lugging him up to a standing position. Feeling slightly dizzy, he grabs onto Ross for balance, promptly being (rather violently) shoved off and towards the shelves stacked against the wall behind him. 

“There is a full fucking house out there, and youre in the goddamn walk-in sleeping” his voice drips with rage. Matty looks at him, throwing his hands up apologetically before trying to scoot past. Ross’ hand stops him, pressing square into his chest. 

“I dont give a shit where you were last night mate, but i will-” “Yeah, yeah, get off it now, i got the message.” Matty interrupts him, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder, gently moving him out of the way. Appalled at Matty’s nonchalance, Ross has no other choice but to stand there and watch him walk away and back onto the floor, swaying his hips ever so slightly. 

“Fucking dickhead,” he mutters under his breath, before following suit, returning to his spot behind the bar. 

Matty’s fridge naps were a rarity, but always happened at the worst possible times. Tonight was one of those times. The house was completely full, with Hann on the verge of yet another nervous breakdown, flipping through pages and trying desperately to find places to seat people. Waughy had migrated to the kitchen, and was now helping out George with an onslaught of orders. 

Polly and Jamie rushed around the main space, almost running out of paper with the amount of orders they had to take. Gabriella had spontaneously called in sick, leaving six people to do the work of what seemed like twenty. And what had Matty been doing whilst chaos unfolded on the other side of the door? Sleeping off a wretched hangover. 

Glancing at the clock, the time read six pm. Had he really slept for that long? Shaking his head, Matty pulled at his apron, checking his hair in the small mirror that hung on the wall next to the entrance to the kitchen. Bit messy, but at least he had shaved the day before. The grey streaking his hair seemed even more prominent now, standing out like a sore thumb. 

“Fuck me,” he mutters, putting on his best customer service smile before relieving Jamie of covering both their sections. The look in Jamie’s eye could only be described as pure hatred, ignoring his attempt at a truce, smacking his hand away. 

Walking up to a group of recently sat 20-something year old girls, he pulls out his notepad to take their orders. Giggles erupt as he shamelessly flirts with what he clocks is the leader of the group, a skinny, blonde woman, maybe about 24 or 25. 

She bats her eyelashes at him, ordering five vodka martinis for the group, twirling her hair around her finger. Matty laughs inwardly before winking in her direction, turning around on his heel to walk up to that bar, putting the orders in. 

“Nice to see you finally doing your job.” Ross comments, pouring an older looking gentleman a glass of whiskey. He glances over to the group of girls, all of them staring at Matty’s back. 

“Looks like you got fangirls this evening, what's it like being fawned over everywhere you go?” 

Matty leans against the counter, looking slyly over his shoulder. 

“You sure know how to make a girl blush, mh?” Matty retorts, blowing kisses at a now even more annoyed Ross. He pours him the drinks, placing them on the platter. Matty spins around to bring the ladies their drinks, running a hand through his hair while making direct eye contact with the blonde from before.

“How about something to eat?” he purposefully lowers his voice, relishing in the attention and reactions he gets from the group. Once again, the blonde, also known as Ashley, orders for the table. Five Caesar salads, dressing on the side. Matty nods, noting down the order on his notepad. All eyes are on him as he turns to the kitchen, shooting Ross a provocative grin from across the room. 

The kitchen is a hellscape, with meal tickets littering the counters and walls, George and Waughy up to their eyeballs in steak orders and essentially drowning in sauce. Fuck friday night. 

“You alright, lads?” Matty asks, taping his tables order to the wall. 

“Fuck do you think?” George spits back, gesturing to his sweat covered body, the heat of the stove getting to him. 

Waughy is in the corner, frantically plating food and pouring soups into bowls, making sure everything is warm and ready to be sent out. Matty almost feels bad for them, before remembering that they don't have to deal with asshole customers all day. Thanking the two of them for their hard work, which causes George to raise an eyebrow at him, questioning his sincerity, Matty promptly leaves the sauna that is the kitchen, sighing in relief as the air conditioned atmosphere of the main hall kisses his skin. 

Time stops when his eyes float over to the bar. Amongst the numerous people already sitting, he spots a certain someone he wasn't really expecting to see tonight. You. 

Feeling his heart jump, he knows exactly what he needs to do. Rushing past his table of fangirls, he lifts the door to the back of the bar up, tapping Ross on the shoulder. An exasperated breath leaves his lips as he realsies who’s standing in front of him. 

“Don't you have tables you need to tend to?” Ross asks, waving his hand at the six (all completely full) tables in his section. Matty sucks in a deep breath before speaking in a frantic voice.

“Ross, mate, swap with me.” He rolls his eyes, beginning to shake his head. “Please Ross, swap with me right now.” Matty begs, shaking him by the shoulders. Ross just frowns, refusing to go take his tables. 

“Why do you want to-” “I'll give you fifty if you swap right now, no questions asked.” Now this makes him perk up, uncrossing his arms. 

“Do you even have fifty? Last I checked, you had about six pence to your name.”

Matty scrambled around in his trousers pockets, producing a wad of cash. Smirking, he hands the man in front of him fifty pounds, and he reluctantly takes it. 

“If you so much as undercharge even one shot, I will have your balls strung up as bells at the front door, you hear?” he threatens, pointing a finger right into Matty’s face.

“Remind me who the qualified bartender is? Youre lucky the coppers haven't shut this place down yet.” he chuckles, turning around, eyes meeting yours.

You light up at the sight of him, thinking maybe he wasn't working today. Matty quickly walks up the end of the bar, leaning forward on his elbows as you greet him quietly. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” He says, his hands working on making your drink.

“Aperol Spritz, yeah?'' His grin is intoxicating, the gel in his hair shimmering under the orange lighting of the bar. 

“You remembered.” your voice is small, and you know you sound overly sentimental. But how can you not? It's been almost two weeks since you had first laid eyes on each other, and you didn't even really expect him to remember you in the first place. 

Matty could feel Ross’ eyes on him as he continued chatting with you up, handing you your drink. Pulled away by the same gentleman as before, he pours him another whiskey on the rocks, making sure to measure it out perfectly. The man thanks him, turnign back to the newspaper in his hand.

Matty spends the next 15 minutes taking various drink orders, mixing up fruity cocktails for college students, and pouring glasses of merlot for stressed moms on a night out. You studied him from the other end of the bar, watching how his hands gripped the bottles, strong forearms mixing and shaking ice and liquor. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing even more tattoos. It felt weird, ogling him like that, but you couldn't help yourself. 

Minutes tick by, and Matty takes a glass from the shelf, pouring himself a whiskey on the rocks. Clinking his glass against the older man’s one, he takes out a tenner from his pocket, flashing it at Ross before putting it in the tip jar. Ross rolls his eyes, silently telling Matty that he shouldn't be drinking on the job. Matty discretely flips him off, brushing his hair out of his face. 

“What's got a pretty thing like you drinking alone on a friday night? Boy troubles?” Matty asks you, finally done with the other customers. Blushing at the compliment, you shake your head, playing with the straw of your drink before taking another sip. He cocks an eyebrow at you, thrumming his fingers against the wooden surface of the bar. 

“Nah, just lonely.” Matty perks up at the word. Lonely. You were alone. In other words, not taken. 

You twirl the ice around, picking it out out sucking on the cold surface before crushing it in your mouth, the loud crunch oddly satisfying to your ears. 

“God i fucking hate that.” Matty cringes at the sound of your teeth grinding against the ice, an involuntary shudder taking over his body. 

“Oops, sorry.” you apologize, taking out another ice cube

His eyes are on you, darting between your hair, your eyes, and the ice cube between your lips. You suck on it lightly, the cold water coating your fingers. Matty feels his breath getting slightly shallow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Aren’t you a server?” your words snap him out of it. He nods, explaining that he was, in fact, a licensed bartender. You already knew about Ross not actually having been trained, and you comment on how Matty’s drinks tasted far better. 

He lets that go straight to his ego, making a mental note to rub it in Ross’ face later.

You finish off your drink, and Matty makes you a new one. 

“Surprise me this time, will you?” He nods, starting to shake up various different liquids and pouring them into a tall glass. He makes a show of it, flexing his forearms when he knows you're looking, shooting you a wink whenever your eyes meet his. 

“And.. there.” he presents to you a fruity looking concoction, topped with a cheesy umbrella. You cock your head, inspecting the glass. 

“What is it?” you ask, taking a tentative sip. 

“It's a sex on the beach! Have you seriously never had one?” you shake your head, humming in approval as the myriad of flavors hit your tongue. 

“It tastes like juice.” you state, the alcohol barely present as you down almost half of it in one go. Matty swats you away, pulling the drink out of your reach for a second. 

“Jesus, calm down, don't want you getting hammered on my watch.” You sigh, rolling your eyes when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket for what felt like the 17th time that night. Ignoring it, you turn back to Matty, tongue in cheek.

“Do you have a reason you don't want me to get drunk tonight?” You can see a faint blush dust his cheeks as he avoids your gaze.

“Do I have to?” a sly grin spreads onto his face, but the moment is crudely interrupted by Ross, who is speed walking up to the bar, looking like he’d just been through hell and back.  

“Your fangirls want refills.” he sighs, setting the platter onto the counter, and you see Matty shake his head before grabbing the vodka, filling up each glass. 

“Fangirls?” you question, confused as to what he meant. Ross gestures at the table of girls behind him, all looking at, you guessed it, Matty. Your eyes scan over the group, each more beautiful than the last. A pang of insecurity ripples through you, and you down the rest of your drink, taking out your phone to scroll while Matty hands Ross his drinks. 

“The main one wants your number, but I told her to go ask you herself.” this catches your attention, and you crane your neck to the left, trying to figure out who he meant. 

“People seem to think I'm like your secretary or something. Fuck me, you cant be that attractive.” Oh, he definitely can. Ross looks just about done with life, slapping on his best (fakest) customer service smile and walking back over to the table, almost tripping over Jamie’s feet. 

Sure enough, not even thirty seconds later, a blonde girl sheepishly walks up to Matty, batting her eyelashes at him, pulling her lip between her teeth. Something stirs up inside of you, but you desperately push it down, bringing your attention back to your phone. 

“A sex on the beach, please..” she throws her hair back, making sultry eye contact as Matty looks her up and down, slightly unimpressed, but not letting it show. “And your number?” 

He 

“Sorry, I don't know how to make one.” That's a lie, you were literally holding one in your hand, about six feet to her right. Why would he say that? Was it because of you? 

You see her visibly deflate as he pointedly ignores her second question, smiling faintly before rolling her eyes and turning back to her friends, each of them glaring at Matty like he’d just smacked her in front of them. 

“Should've given her your number, she's pretty.” you mumble, the straw in your mouth slowly disintegrating. Matty wanders over to you, surprised at your comment. His expression is indecipherable, and you watch as he places the glass in his hands down, leaning onto his elbows as his face comes incredibly close to yours. 

“Not as pretty as you though, is she?” he winks at you, a provocative grin spreading onto his face. You stutter over your words, not exactly sure what to say to that, his boldness making you take a second to gawk at him.

“Make me another drink.” you say, pushing the empty glass towards him. He smiles sweetly, going back to his various bottles of liquor, though quickly being distracted by a young man flagging him down from the other end of the bar. Snapping his fingers and waving like a lunatic, Matty finally gets to him, asking him what he would like. 

“What's that bird over there drinking?” he points at you, oblivious to the whole situation. Matty eyes him up and down, telling the man your drink order. Something lights up inside of him, and he starts feeling oddly protective, not wanting you to interact with this guy at all. 

“She’s having an aperol spritz.” the waiter says dryly, not even looking at the rather short stranger in front of him. A chuckles escapes his lips as his eyes rake over your frame from a distance, unabashedly checking you out. Matty goes to leave, hoping the man was done, but is quickly halted by an aggressive tap on the counter. 

“So then, a vodka coke for me, and send over a drink to her, will you? Tell her it's from me.” The request makes Mattys blood boil, and every little part of him screams to just walk away, that the money lost would be worth it. He almost ignores him, but he catches Ross’ gaze on him all the way from table three, pointed eyes making sure he was on his best behavior. 

“Sure, mate, that’ll do.” Matty is forced to serve him, making both drinks with huffy breaths and an eye roll or two as he continues staring like a creep. So maybe he overcharges him a bit, making him pay the price of a double when he’d ordered a single. Where was the harm in that? It's not like the place was swimming in money, and this guy clearly deserved it with the way his hungry eyes were looking at his favorite customer.

Sliding his drink over to him, Matty struts over to you, basically smashing the drink onto the surface of the counter. You jump, fumbling your phone until you drop it into your lap, looking up at Matty with a well pissed expression. 

“This is from that bloke over there.” He vaguely gestures to the man sitting on the last barstool, and you see him smirk at you. You politely nod your head, but your fingers don't move from their spot in your lap, opting to fold them over each other atop the smooth surface of the bar. 

“Tell him I appreciate it, but I'm not interested.” “What, really? Why?” Matty sounds genuinely curious, seeing as he himself never turns down a free drink and some friendly conversation. You simply shake your head, averting your gaze as to not have to look at the man who had sent you the drink. 

“Sorry mate, she’s not interested.” Matty states, unable to hide the joy from his voice. The stranger simply rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Mattys ears perk up when he makes out the end of the sentence.

“Frigid bitch, waste of my goddamn money..” he scratches the back of his neck, sighing annoyedly before making a move to get up. 

“What did you just say?” Mattys voice is firm, unmoving. He was not about to let some random bloke speak about you like that, especially not right in front of him. 

“Mhm? What d’you want?” 

“What did you just say about her?” he repeats himself, setting down the glass that he was currently holding in his hands, knowing he would feel the urge to chuck it at the asshole in front of him in the next three seconds. 

“Women these days are so ungrateful, I buy her a drink and she won't even look at me.” he mumbles again, brushing off his coat. Ross sees Matty absolutely fuming, recognising pure, unfiltered rage in his eyes. You? Ungrateful? Far from it. Mattys mind started cooking up various insults to throw at the man, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. 

“Everything alright over here?” Ross’ voice cuts through the blaring silence between the two men, setting a cautious hand on Mattys shoulder, grounding him. The man simply nods, shooting Matty a weird look, before walking straight out the door. 

“What was all that about, you looked like you were about five seconds away from clocking him in the face.” he tried to sound lighthearted, but the waiter simply pushed him away, trying to get back to work. 

“You have to tell me.” Ross adds, refusing to leave Matty alone. He flips him off, going back to rinsing glasses in the sink under the bar. 

He feels your eyes on him, watching his every move. Your presence might’ve been the only thing keeping him from dragging the guy out and curb stomping him in front of the restaurant. Now, Matty wasn't a particularly violent man, but assholes like him deserved to be strung up.

“Sexist dickhead said something about her.” he nudges his head in your direction, and you jump when Ross suddenly turns to look at you. 

“Was gonna teach him a lesson before you rudely interrupted me.” 

“Who is she?” The question is like a bucket of cold water. 

“No one.” he answers, not wanting Ross to put the pieces together. He knew George had told him about the sneaky fudge, but neither of them had made the connection yet. Adam, being a complete saint, flagged down Ross to the host stand, getting him to deal with an annoying customer, which meant he finally went away. 

In an attempt to change his own mood, Matty sneaks off into the kitchen once again, hoping and praying he’d be back before Ross or Hann noticed. Tables were overflowing with guests, most of them business dinners or groups of people on a night out. The lights seemed even dimmer than usual, but that was just because Matty had gotten used to the bright light that hung right over the bar. 

“George?” He shouts before he even turns the corner, not wanting to accidentally run into Waughy with a tray full of already set plates. 

“Yeah?” The chef's deep voice rings through the kitchen, frustration evident in it. Matty slowly walks up to him, his face giving him away before he even opens his mouth. 

“What do you want?” trying to think of the best way to go about this, Matty lets a few beats of silence pass between the two of them, giving George ample time to finish what he was doing. 

“Can you make me a strawberry sorbet?” a familiar grin spreads onto George's face, and Matty rolls his eyes, silently begging him not to say it.  

“Is it for your girl?”

“If I say it is, will you make it for me?” 

The taunting grin doesn’t falter, and the blonde man stands up straight, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Say it.” 

“Fucking hell, yes, its for my girl.” Matty huffs out, glaring up at him. 

He’s quick to fulfill Mattys request, grabbing a clear crystal bowl from the cupboard, scoping two scoops of pink strawberry ice cream into it.

“What's her name then?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“She hasn't told me yet.” Matty sounds almost sad, the fact that he didn't even know how to address made a small part of him ache. Pushing the feeling down, he watches as George drizzles sweet chocolate in the form of a heart onto the dessert, handing it to him. 

“You have to find out who she is, if she's got you running around getting free food for her.” 

“Fuck off, how do you know she not paying?” George eyes him up and down before answering.

“If she were, Jamie or Polly would be in here, not you. I know you're behind the bar tonight, even if you think you're sneaky” 

Fuck, he’s caught. Rolling his eyes again, he lightly shoves George, quietly thanking him before pushing the doors leading to the main hall open.  

He spots you, still sitting where he left you, talking on the phone. Mesmerized, he stops and stares, eyeing you up and down, watching you speak. The way your lips move and your mouth tugs up into a smile as you chat animatedly to the other person on the phone makes him grin as he slowly makes his way across the room, stopping right infront of you. 

By that point you had already seen him, quickly hanging up and tucking your phone back into your pocket, wide eyes following him as he moved towards you. Brushing your hair out of your face, you sit up straighter, arching your back ever so slightly. 

“Here darling, I hope you like it.'' He sounds genuine, deliberately lingering as he hands you the bowl, the glass cold in your hands. 

“I’d say it wasn't necessary, but you’ll just ignore me right?” he nods, leaning against the high counter as he peers down at you expectantly. 

You get the message, picking up the spoon that was elegantly placed right beside the sorbet. Raising your eyebrows at the heart shaped chocolate, you stifle a giggle before touching the spoon to your lips, letting the ice cream melt in your mouth. 

Matty thought he was slick, the way his eyes watched your mouth with such an intensity, you felt your skin burning under his gaze. Lapping up the remnants of ice cream from the spoon, you make direct eye contact with Matty, grinning knowingly. He had a game, and you were just a willing participant, setting the utensil down before licking your lips, humming at the sweet sugary taste of the chocolate. 

“I like it.'' You debate bringing George into this, to tease Matty further, but the sight of his chest heaving and arm flexing against the wood of the bar was enough for you. He just looks at you, taking deep breaths to steady himself, reaching up to adjust his nametag. 

“You really don't have to bring me free shit, I can pay you know.” he smirks, and you feel his whole demeanor change. 

“I know you can, but what would that make me? You’re already spoiling me too much, darling.” his arms are now firmly crossed over his chest, taking a small step towards you. 

“Speaking of darling, that’s getting a bit old, innit? I’d much rather know your actual name.” 

Pretending to think about it, you lean your chin onto the palm of your hand, playing with the rapidly melting sorbet. You finally give in, telling him your name, watching his eyes light up. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl, mh.” he numbles, almost to himself. But alas, all good things must come to an end, including this little interaction. You see Matty jump as Ross seems to spawn out of nowhere, scaring the shit out of him 

“Fucking hell Matty, im gonna have to fire you if you dont get your shit together.” he interrupts, grabbing Matty by the collar of his shirt, lugging him backwards. He yelps, grasping at his shoulder, a pained expression spreading onto his face. 

“He’s very sorry for hassling you Miss, he’s going to leave you alone now.” you smile gently at a visibly stressed Ross, nodding your head before turning your attention back to Matty, who was already lifting up the bar door in defeat, shooting his mate an apologetic look. 

“Alright alright, I'm going. Look!” He recklessly waves a bottle of tequila around before walking up to a woman, taking her drink order. Ross looks at you one last time, almost as if trying to commit your features to memory, before finally disappearing into the kitchen, the doors swinging harshly at the force of his entrance. 

Minutes pass, and Matty busies himself with other customers, pouring drinks and handing bills to people ready to close out. The song playing softly in the background changes, a jazzy number coming on, filling the room. Feeling at ease, you lean back slightly, letting yourself fully relax.

You sit and watch, just like you did before. Matty moves around so fluidly, mixing drinks and handling glass and silverware like he was born to do it, almost like an art form. Sweat beads on his forehead, making his skin glow in the light, the grey in his hair now even more visible. 

Matty mentally curses at Ross for getting between the two of you. He knew he had to actually contribute something to the restaurant, but you were far too interesting to just ignore. Out of nowhere, Matty spots George. Now, George wasnt meant to leave the kitchen, and he was ready to go up to him and tell him to fuck off, but something stopped him. Ross was right next to him, and was pointing at something. You. Fuckkkk

Panic fills his eyes as he tries to get either of their attention, trying to stop you from noticing. They speak in hushed voices, giggles escaping their lips as they piece the puzzle together. George and Ross had figured him out, and it was only a matter of time before Hann knew as well. Glancing over to you, he sighs in relief, seeing you completely engrossed in your phone, blissfully unaware of Mattys worst nightmare unfolding right in front of him.

Torn between going to them to tell them to fuck off, and shielding you from their inevitable comments, his eyes dart between both options, eventually landing on the crowd of customers right infront of him 

Pouring a lady her amaretto sour, he smiles as best he can as she hands him a tenner, telling him to keep the cash. He thanks her, eyes looking right past her head and glaring at his mates, who were actively plotting his demise.

Conjuring up a plan to keep as much distance between you and his mates as possible, he strolls up to you, drawing your attention to himself. He silently begs you to ask for the check, and by god's good graces, you do. 

“You better put that sorbet on the bill.” you say halfheartedly, grinning up at him. 

“We both know i wont.” rolling your eyes, you look for your wallet, fumbling around for it in your purse. You don't notice Matty grabbing his pen from his apron, scrawling something onto the paper in front of you. 

Pulling out two twenty pound notes, you straighten it out a bit before handing him the money. You raise your eyebrows as you notice his erratic handwriting right beneath the total. 

Little do you know, Mattys heart is beating about a thousand miles an hour as he sees your eyes dart across the words, your expression remaining neutral. 

“I tell you I can visualize it all, too real, it all seems.” 

you read it out loud, your voice smooth, making Mattys breath hitch slightly. He wrings his hands behind his back, his tall frame casting a small shadow over the surface in front of you

“Whats this?” you ask, turning the receipt around so he can see. Noticing his slightly nervous demeanor, you smile reassuringly, waiting for his answer. 

“I write songs, just thought you might like this one” your heart warms, he did seem like the creative type, even if he did look like he hasn't laid hands on a book since year 8. Scruffy and maybe even a bit dirty, no one was necessarily mistaking him for a seasoned academic. Not that you were complaining, though, his messy hair and wrinkled shirts did unspeakable things to you. A thousand questions go through your mind, but you settle on just one.

“When will I get the rest?”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, words getting caught in his throat. 

The rest. Was there even a rest? He’d write you as many songs as you wanted, about anything you could ever dream of. 

Dreams. Mattys dreams.  

Dreams filled with passion, naked skin, hot whispers, high pitched moans that belonged to you. 

Matty, even as an artist, was incredibly out of touch with his emotions, opting to shove them down as far as they could go, never properly feeling. This had a tendency to make him difficult to be with, his inability to communicate driving all girlfriends and lovers away. But hey, who needs communication anyway? It's much easier being a tortured songwriter in a tiny flat in western London, living off of cigarettes and the odd pre-packaged sandwich. 

So, love– not exactly Mattys forté. 

Snapping back to the present, he just stares at you, words forming in his mouth, being erased before he could even voice them. 

Your question lingered in the air, and suddenly the space felt small, like it was only two of you in the room. He finally speaks 

“Come back.”  

He knew he’d said it too fast, sounding too desperate. His flirty, indifferent façde slips for the first time. He scrambles to pull himself together, straightening his back, grinning at you as best he could, trying to play it off.  

You smile slightly, thumbing the ink on the paper, running your fingers over the smooth surface of it. You read it again, once, twice, before finally answering. 

“Do you want me to?” you deflect, batting your eyelashes at Matty, trying to elicit a reaction. Something, anything.  

“I do.” 

All you can do is nod, neatly folding up the paper and sticking in your pocket. 

“I need to go, but it was nice talking to you, Matty.” The way his name rolls off of your tongue makes his head spin as he spits out an answer. 

“See you, darling, don't forget me.” he winks at you, waving as you stand up from the barstool, grabbing your bag. The goodbye is short, no further quips from either of you. Matty watches you go, the length of your coat covering most of your body, swaying with your movements. 

Once you're out of sight, Matty feels an arm around his shoulder, immediately recognising it as Georges. Fuckk.

“That's your girl?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Giggles erupt from Ross, who was hiding behind the blonde man essentially holding him hostage, continuing his interrogation. 

“You think you can hide this from us? Nice try, but we know everything.” he prolongs the last word of his sentence, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Matty groans in exasperation, trying to get free from George's iron grip. No use, he just ends up looking like a complete idiot. 

“Do you at least know her name?” George asks, glancing at the stool where you had just been sitting, your full aperol spritz still sitting there. Matty nods, refusing to elaborate. 

“She is pretty, but really? Doesn't really seem like your type.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Matty sounds offended, not appreciating the comment on his taste in women. You were interesting to him, able to keep up with his incessant flirting and cheesy pick up lines, never faltering. 

“It means, you usually go for the ditzy ones.” George laughs hysterically, drawing unwanted attention from guests trying to enjoy their meals.

While true, Matty knew you were nothing like that. You were different. New. 

“For the sixth time this evening, fuck off forever please.” 

With that, he's finally left alone. The barstools were now mostly empty, and Matty got to picking up dishes and washing them under the sink. Moving down the line, it takes about fifteen minutes before he gets to where you were sitting.

There were two glasses left. The one you had gotten from the stranger, still completely untouched, and one empty one. 

What caught his eye wasn't the wet ring it left on the table due to your lack of coaster, but the red mark od lipstick around the rim

Though the drink came with a straw, Ross had gotten these cheap, paper straws that disintegrated if you even looked at them too hard, which forced you to drink straight from the glass. 

He eyed the imprint, committing the shape of your lips to memory. Rinsing the glass, he let his mind wander. 

The way your lips moved when you talked, especially when it was something you found interesting. The way your eyes crinkled around your eyes whenever he said something particularly scandalous, all just to watch the blush spread onto your face. 

The sound of your laughter was his favorite. He relished in it.

Even if you thought you were sneaky, Matty was fully aware of your staring when you thought he wasn't paying attention, eyes raking over his body from a distance, taking in every fold of his shirt, every flex of his arm, even the way his slacks clung to him in all the right places. 

But now, every time he hears the bells chime, and the door creaks open, he hopes it's you. Your face, your body, your presence. He wanted you with him, even if only in short intervals. Anything you gave him was enough, his only goal when you were around was to hear the sound of your angelic laughter, or see you attempt to hide the redness of your face whenever he shot you a provocative wink.

There still wasn't anything real. Matty didn't know if he wanted anything real, but there was a nagging feeling in his chest that wouldn't  leave the thought be. Like always, he pushes it down, refusing to acknowledge it. It didn't matter, it didn't matter. 

A pathetic attempt at avoiding his own mind, Matty announces his smoke break, grabbing his coat and quickly shoving past Ross before he could stop him. 

Leaning against the cold brick wall of the alleyway behind the restaurant, smoke spilled from his mouth, the nicotine quickly calming him down. A quick fix, a break from, in his opinion, unnecessary thoughts. Unnecessary feelings. Feelings?

The realization dawns on him. Feelings. Emotions. Want. Lust. Everything boiled down to one singular fact: 

He has feelings for you. 

“Fuckkk.” he groans, the sound of his voice echoing in the cramped alleyway.

This never ended well. 

[noacfapologyst]

for the anon who asked me for the slowly falling in love with george's sister blurb, i'm working on it.

but i was thinking one thing, would you like that request to return to your own au or not?

this is the request btw

[noacfapologyst]

telltale heart — matty healy. part 2

´part 1´

summary: you and matty have a pending meeting at some awards where you promised to go as a couple. but something goes wrong.

wc: 2,5k

a/n: hey! i'm so sorry for the lateness. a lot has just happened these days but here is the second part. thanks for the love, x.

The weeks between the awards and the proposal to take Matty as your date have been from the moment he left the studio, the only thing you've ever seen going on in your mind.

You haven't been able to sit down and compose peacefully, or be able to just have a conversation without mentioning him without you slipping through your cheeks. Or that he appears in stains on your writing, the references may be exhaustive at some point, but your brain is about to explode just to think that he'll be there for you, and just for you. You wish his hand would occasionally slip into the waist of the dress you will wear and you would use that touch to keep it forever in your memory.

Even in your best dreams you wouldn't have had the courage to ask him to accompany you to prizes like your date, you can actually stand near him without trembling about it by mere chance.

Two weeks before, you go back to the conversation that tortured you several days ago with your team.

"Matty Healy, are you really sure?" Your manager inquires again, you cross your legs again. It's a sequence you've been living since Friday. "It dissolves your image too much in front of his. I don't know if it fits."

"Really, I don't care." You shrug your shoulders with heaviness. Your image is ruined anyway, but you're not going to let them take this off your hands. "Whether i go with someone or not, there is a stir. I was cheated, remember." You point again and you look at your fingernails, you need to finish defining everything now. "I don't care if it ruins my reputation. Matty is my friend, end of discussion, Helen."

Maybe it's the tone of voice or maybe you've just fed everyone up with it but Helen, your manager for years, sighs and nods with discontent. A winning smile sits on your face. You understand the worry in that office really, but you have one more card to play. You don't really care what his image is from doors to the outside because with everyone around him he's never been more than a gentleman and that's the only thing you really stick with when you have to talk about him.

"Plus, we give the media what they want. The antithesis of Sam." Helen decides it's time to let the argument go and even though her face is a weak grin they decide to move on to the other agenda items.

"Have you decided the dress, at least?" Your innocent smile betrays you and you're nowhere near getting a blow to your head.

You run into a bubble of teenage foolishness, she should understand that. But you won't discuss that either because deep down you've let him look distracted.

"I'll see the dress later, I'll let you know which one I choose." You inform her at the end by taking a sip in the cup of coffee. Helen doesn't make any sound anymore, and you know you've officially won.

--

Stylists really only want to kill you now or throw some fabric over your head. But they are right in their anger, you shouldn't have waited until the last week to choose the dress or gather too many designers in one place without having a very clear idea of fabrics, cuts and necklines. All you know is it has to be red, it can't be any other color under any forecast.

But it's not that you didn't want to choose it, you just couldn't find the right one. Which is kind of a lie.

No one can deny that there is an attraction in you posturally just by seeing you from afar, there is some light in you that stands out without you trying. You know that you're actually beautiful and that you're lucky enough to fit in dresses and that anything would be fine to show off on you. Your face has small freckles and you have good proportions between your nose, your eyes moderately green and almond, and your round lips. Your hips and abdomen are fine although you've never paid too much attention to them, or at least lately. But you know that your figure is imposing and immutable when the line is drawn between your low back and your high back and everything stands out there.

But this is different, it's a dress for and by Matty. It has to be perfect, not close to it. It may be one of the few opportunities you have in your life to receive his look on your body and make you tremble even just by looking at your cheeks. And that's also why the red dress has to be camouflaged on your cheeks.

In the end you find it and you couldn't be happier with the result. Red satin, straps around the back and neckline. When you test it automatically your body functions like a teenager and you start spinning around it without even finishing tying your high heels properly. But as you see yourself spinning in the mirror a smile sits on your face from ear to ear.

"It honestly feels like it was designed for you." After everyone in the room approves it by nodding as they take the measurements for the final adjustments, your image advisor shows up at the door and his confirmation lets you see that you're going to be relevant at the awards and with several glances on it overshadowing several more artists. "You look like the fucking winner."

And that confirms that you've finally found it. And it's perfect.

---

"Hey." Matty's face appears on your computer screen when he calls you on FaceTime. They haven't seen each other in person since the night at the studio, but their contact has been maintained anyway. "How do you feel about the awards?"

"Why the question?" You better place the device on the table and rest the guitar on your legs. You take the opportunity to spend some time watching how the hair on his front move each time he accommodates the camera.

"I wanted to make sure you remembered that we will be the best couple at the awards." Your heart stops for a second. "Believe me when I tell you that Sam is going to vomit with resentment when he sees us." The archness in his voice, the change of tone, the punctuation of the latter. The silly smile and the wink he makes. Too much for three o'clock in the afternoon.

That's when you realize something else. Ever since Matty became your supposed date, you haven't spent a second thinking about your breakup or your ex or who she's going to take. Just now you're rethinking it.

"You still there?" Matty claps his palms and looks at you from the screen with a frown. He doesn't mean it in a blunt way, but he knows how your brain works and he knows you've frozen to yourself.

"Yes, I don't know, I had forgotten he was going to be there." In fact it's a confession would be because it's realistic. You've been in your pink bubble about Matty that you forgot your ex would be there. "I don't wanna see him. I would like he stop exists sometimes." You laugh silly and he gives it back to you with a supportive look.

"It won't bother you, darling. I'll protect you." You feel like you're gonna throw up rainbows for the next five minutes and you don't know exactly what the trigger is. But luckily you can hear George's voice in the background and you know Matty's going to say goodbye. "See you on Friday. I'll get a red bow for the suit."

"That would be fantastic." You wink at him revealing the color of your dress and he smiles waving his hand around the camera as if he were a small child. "Bye bye, Matty."

When you cut off the call you have your head burning up from the amount of information you're processing right now, and then you go back to the first point you noticed today, the initial cause you owe to being able to go with Matty to the awards has stopped crossing your mind the moment this whole plan happened. It's also when you realize how self-destructive it is to have portal notifications on your computer just to keep abreast of public opinion about you.

You shouldn't let it get to you so much, but it actually does. Sam and her, the girl the rumors of your infidelity fed on and then confirmed, holding hands in front of the last bar you and he went to as a couple, two days before the breakup. His hands on his waist, he looks happier than he ever was with you. Smile more, he has a genuine expression in it. She's cute and it hurts you because you thought you were her ideal type and she, ironically, is completely different from you.

Your breath is cut short and you force yourself not to blink so fast and control the splash in your eyes. Yeah, maybe it's been a few months, but you're back in front of that studio and you're back in front of the words that stuck like a dagger in you when he said he didn't really love you and you just bored him. That feeling makes you get carried away and after weeks of holding back you get carried away and you just cry liberating yourself. At some point you let go of a drowned cry when you think about how you imagined a life full of it or at least imagined it would last more than a few months.

In the epitome of your catharsis you stretch between the guitar and the notebook and reveal that not letting yourself feel in its totality is what has not allowed you to put words in a line. And that is now broken from the moment your fingers prick the guitar in a melancholy and sad way, your thoughts fly and stay on the page when you denote the betrayal in your story, the lie and the reality of the facts. As your facet of strength and pretending smile and well-being collapse and leave you reduced to your tear-filled role, your knees on your head and the floor next to the gray armchair.

Maybe one of the best songs of your career. How you died waiting for a sign that never came even if they had sworn you everlasting love. Like you would actually have given up everything to keep it.

Suddenly you calm down just as quickly as you have acquired the previous state, when you manage to breathe properly thinking that Matty said he would be there and accompany you in front of Sam. That he has used the word protect gushes warmth within you, and you know that you can rejoice in the feeling of affection that he inevitably gives you. Therein lies the essence and effect Matty has on you and how important his friendship is to every aspect of your life. He's been there in every stage of your life and he's never stopped accompanying you even when he wasn't at his best.

Then you relax thinking about how lucky you are to be able to take him to those awards regardless of the terms agreed between the two and what the media put on. At the end of the day you'll be going to the awards that you and him have been talked about for thousands of nights being the best choice of both because understanding was never faked and that chemistry is always instantaneous.

When you realize you're tapping the guitar without a predetermined note, it's glimpsed between scratches of melancholy and a pink bubble. But now you're back to your usual thoughts and now you can't stop thinking about Matty dressed in a suit (and looking awesome, by the way) with him basically matching you in his tie.

--

Since you open your eyes on Friday, the day becomes chaos. Dress test, hair test and make-up test. The walk in heels, the review of the speech. Thinking about what to say about the breakup, that your figure remains dazzling no matter if the person able to disarm you is the one standing next to you. Both for your ex-partner and your date. Then they'll come and tell you about your nomination and how some song will be better than yours. The vicious circle of being an artist.

You wish it was a quick day, but it becomes extremely heavy. You hardly have time to stop for a drink of water and when you realize you are already changed for the event.

You look in the mirror with your stylist and then he starts to take shots while he changes between different angles to have the best pictures. Your hair is semi collected in a braid from behind and only a few waves break off on the wind but it gives the feeling that you have a princess collection and is not in danger of collapse.

Your dress gets all the attention, you look taken off the cover of a magazine. The red satin falls on you adjusting your curves and marking your figure in a rather attractive way to see, the cut on the leg does not take out the dainty of the dress. Your neckline falls on a beak held by a very thin thick straps that connect the dress with the neckline at the back, leaving your back open only with a few straps crossing to your low back.

You're perfect but you can't help but want to bite your nails because you feel there's something still missing even though you're being manic checking your makeup all the time. And if it wasn't because you don't have a second for your stylist to talk to you about important things, you'd have tried to touch up your makeup many more times.

When you get in the limo, you breathe until you calm down, and then you have a millisecond to talk to Matty.

see you, x

hey

we're coming for you soon

You turn off the phone and leave it on the seat when you feel your manager's gaze pointing at you.

"Where's Matty?" You ask after a while starting to listen to your senses that tells you something is wrong. They should have passed Matty's house a few miles ago, and your heart speeds up when you know you are entering the freeway.

Your phone vibrates and lets you see the Brit's messages making you form a thick grimace between your lips. Your brow automatically frowns and you feel your makeup heavy as you read each word carefully and feel like someone is playing a heavy joke on you.

only a thing

if you promise someone a date you have to keep it or at least warn that it's a fucking joke

Your vision becomes blurry for a few moments and you feel your world just stop in front of a polarized window and the body of the seat. You don't want to believe that what your head is thinking is actually what's going on, you can't just go overboard like that. The chances were very slim.

And then, come the words that confirm how you dug your own grave without it being your fault. You feel like someone's slapping you right where it hurts the most.

"Oh yes, about that. Matty isn't a good look for you, so we just got you someone else. You'll thank me later."

actually i think it sucks but will be rewarded in the next part? anyway let me know what you think <333

[noacfapologyst]

Eat me - Matty Healy // Hot fudge

part two

A/N: heyy y'all, this is what i've been cooking up these past few days. I hope you enjoy Waiter! Matty's incessant flirting.

content warnings: mentions of alcohol, flirting

wc: 5k

Life tip number one: if you sign a lease for a new flat, and said flat happens to be in a non-smoking building, maybe don't spend your days lighting up at every possible opportunity. Seems like common sense, no? Apparently not. 

Matty scoffed when the landlord came to his door, throwing (quite factual) accusations around, telling him he knew he had been smoking in the building after specifically being told to take it outside. Now, he would have happily obliged if it wasn't the dead of winter and pissing it down almost every morning, making it impossible to step out for a quick smoke break throughout the day.

Threatening eviction, Matty simply nodded and dismissed him with a wave of his hand, saying he’d cut it out (and having absolutely no intention of doing so). Even so, Matty really couldn't afford to be kicked right now, with the flat being a perfect distance from his place of work, the commute consisting of three train stops and a short 5 minute walk to the front door of Roadkill. 

The face you're making right now was the same one Matty made when Ross told him “Roadkill” was the name he had chosen for his new restaurant. While it might sound disgusting and vile, the food was quite nice, so there was little room to complain. 

Since they were boys, the four of them had wanted to make music. Starting in a garage, recording emo tracks with shitty sound quality had been a hobby, which slowly morphed into a passion. Fifteen years they had been doing the same thing, trying to make it big. Hann, a legend on the guitar, had tried to get them in contact with record companies, begging for any of them to sign the band. To no avail, but that didn't stop Matty from dreaming. 

Dreaming of sold out arenas, thousands of fans singing his own lyrics back to him. Groupies following them from city to city, screaming their names. The classic rockstar cliché, drinking and smoking his way to festival headlines, having even the Times beg him for an interview slot. 

Nevertheless, those scenarios stayed in his dreams. As he grew older, the grey in his hair properly staring him in the face, Ross had decided that it was time to move on. Shitty pub gigs were not going to pay the bills forever, not that they ever really did. Mattys mother had begged him to go to uni, or at least finish his A-levels. Telling her it was all going to work itself out, he focused on his songwriting, sitting for hours, scribbling down rhymes and melodies. George was always by his side, yapping away about some music production bullshit that didn't interest him in the slightest. 

But soon enough, Matty ran out of money. Ross had taken to opening up a restaurant, the type of place Matty would be caught dead in. Glazed wooden tables, warm, orange lighting, and red leather booths and chairs adorned the space, giving it a sort of aesthetic he could only describe as “old”.

All four of them had begun working there at some point or another, refusing to leave each other. Even if it was chaotic at times, the restaurant was like their child. A symbol of what could've been if the music thing had worked out. Matty still hadn't given up on it, spending every ounce of free time dreaming up new songs and music, taking it to George the moment he’d created something “truly promising”. George had found his new passion in the kitchen, curating the entirety of Roadkill’s menu, each dish more delicious than the last.

Adam had taken to the host stand, doing what he did best, which was ordering the rest of the restaurant around. Matty was reluctant in working there at first, knowing that everyone else would think he had “finally” given up on his silly dream of being a musician. He hated being a stereotype with all his heart. 

He knew his shift started in less than half an hour, and that Adam would probably beat the shit out of him if he showed up late again, but that seemed irrelevant. 

The bathroom mirror was littered with fingerprints and dust, making it hard for him to see himself. Wiping at the glass, he’s greeted by his three day old stubble, faint grey hairs to be seen on his neck and face. Eyeing his razor, he decided that there simply wasnt enough time to shave, knowing his train was leaving in ten minutes.

His hands search for the tub of gel sitting next to his toothbrush, the bathroom counter covered in remnants of it. Slapping some onto the top of his head, he runs his fingers through it, slicking it back. Ross had told him multiple times to just chop it off, but Matty refused, telling him he’ll just look older. 

“You already look like you watch “The price is right” every evening, so there's not much more you can do.” that earned him a smack to the back of his head and an eye roll, muttering at him to fuck off and die.

Washing his hands in the sink, he inspects his clothes. Having gone out the previous evening, drinking way too much than was necessary, he had fallen asleep in his work attire. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, but acceptable. A small stain was visible at the bottom, but that would be covered by the ugly apron Ross forced him to wear while he worked. “Uniform” and what not.

Mumbling to himself, Matty scrambles for his keys and phone, stuffing them into his “purse”, as George so affectionately called it. It was a leather tote bag, perfectly acceptable for any modern man, not his fault his mate was still stuck in the 1950s, in terms of fashion. Grabbing his cigarettes off the front room table, he bolts to the door, slamming it behind him. 

Pacing down the street, Matty manages to fumble his light two times before finally breathing in the nicotine, effectively calming himself down. Much to his luck, the train was late, and spending the additional ten minutes in the piss smelling station just worsened his already sour mood.

Scrolling through his phone, he could hear the group of ladies next to him talking obnoxiously loud, their voices drilling a hole into his skull. 

Taking several deep breaths, as to not lash out at random strangers, Matts sighs in relief as he realizes the next stop is his. 

Pushing the doors open, Hann immediately appears at his side, yelling into his ear about being almost ten minutes late. His saving grace appears as you walk through the entrance behind him, spotting the host stand. Adam greets you with a fake smile, eyeing Matty in the corner of his eye, silently telling him to fuck off and go do his job. He smirks back at the both of you, walking towards the staff changing room. 

“Table for two?” he asks, flipping through pages of the restaurant layout. Completely unnecessary, seeing as the place was almost empty, with only a few patrons sitting down, munching away at various breakfast foods. 

“Nah, just me today.” You try to sound happy, but eating breakfast alone at a restaurant wasn't exactly how you thought you’d be spending your Saturday morning. Your mate had ditched you for her boyfriend, making up some lame excuse to stay home with him. You understood to a certain degree, but it was still a dick move leaving you stranded like that. 

“Booth?” you nod, and he leads you to a red booth towards the center of the restaurant, the dim lighting making you slightly tired, even if it was only eleven in the morning. 

It's cozy, you gather, small lamps decorating the table as you sit down, setting your phone onto the glazed wooden surface. Picking up the menu, you run your fingers over the leather cover, admiring the fancy golden lettering on the front. 

Meanwhile, Matty had already changed in the back room, and was now lounging about the kitchen, talking to George. 

“And then he threatened to kick me out, can you believe that?” Matty moves his hands around to emphasize his words, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I mean, it is a non-smoking building, innit?” He rolls his eyes, hopping off the counter as George tends to the eggs sizzling in the pan in front of him. Not even three seconds later, Ross comes bursting through the kitchen doors. 

“Healy, are you fucking serious?? Go do your job!” his voice booms through the room, scaring the shit out of Matty. Bowing his head apologetically, he makes his way past Ross and to the floor, looking around his section. It was nearly empty, with most people already having been served their food and drinks. 

His eyes land on you, scanning the menu. Fixing his slightly too big apron, he pulls out his small notepad and strolls over to you. The layout of the place is odd, and it takes a while before he finally stands in front of you, pen on paper, waiting for your order.

“What’ll it be?” His voice is rough, deep, his lack of sleep evident. Your words are caught in your throat, and you stutter before giving up completely. You weren't expecting him to come that fast, and he had taken you slightly by surprise.

“I- uh- i'm not sure?” You know you sound pathetic, and his facial expression doesn't help curb your anxiety. Setting the menu down, your hands clasp together as you stare at him, not sure what to say next. 

Matty finds your reaction endearing, his eyes softening slightly as they meet yours. The height difference was intimidating, with him towering over you as you sat. 

“Well, darling, seeing as it is..” he glances at his wristwatch “about 11am, i’d use my genius food-recommending skills to suggest some breakfast? What d’you fancy?” his northern accent catches you off guard, and you give him a once over, stealing a look at his name tag. Matthew, it reads, the bold silver letters standing out against his sandy button up shirt.

“What do you usually have?” The question makes Matty raise his eyebrows, cocking his head slightly. 

“I personally like the egg and bacon sandwich, but there's lots of other-” “I’ll have that then.” you cut him off, smiling sweetly, handing him your menu. He nods, taking it out of your hand, simultaneously tucking his notepad away.

“Anything to drink?” 

“A glass of merlot, please.” Now this surprises him. 

“Wine? At this hour?” he leans onto the table, eyeing you up and down. You feel judged, but refuse to let it show. 

“You look like the last person who should be lecturing me about my drinking habits, I can recognise a hangover when I see one.” you shoot back. Matty presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. 

“That's not very polite, is it?” he says, his voice tinged with something you can't recognise. A beat passes between the two of you, the silence full of tension.

“Are you sure you want me to be polite?” 

Matty’s look of surprise is horribly hidden beneath a sly grin as he turns on his heel, giving you one last look over his shoulder. You watch him leave, your heart pounding in your chest. What the fuck was that? 

His breaths are shallow as he puts in your order, shouting at George to make it quickly. Grabbing a silver platter from behind the bar, he pours you your glass of wine, measuring it out perfectly. Setting it onto the surface, he walks back over rather slowly, giving himself time to collect his thoughts. 

“Here you are, your food will be out shortly.” you twirl the glass between your fingers before taking a small sip, your eyes never leaving Mattys. The liquid sloshes down your throat, and you hum in approval, nodding at him. 

“Is there anything else I can get you?” He holds the platter in front of him, sort of like a shield. You give him another once over, before speaking. 

“That's alright.” you pause “Thank you, Matthew.” your use of his first name makes his breath hitch in his throat. 

“Only my mother calls me Matthew.” his nails scratch at the metal in his hands. “Please, call me Matty.” 

“Matty.” you repeat, taking another sip. Your phone buzzes on the table, an incoming call flashing across the screen. Matty takes that as his cue to leave. Making his way to other tables, asking if they needed refills or the check. 

You talk on the phone for a bit, quickly ending the call in favor of watching your waiter walk around the room, charming quests and handing out drinks. His features mesmerize you, and your eyes dont leave his frame until he steps back into the kitchen, disappearing from your view. 

“Is table twelves order done yet? It's been ages.” Matty’s voice is tinged with annoyance, watching George plate the food. 

“Oh fuck off, its been exactly ten minutes.” he grumbles, handing Matty the dish. 

“Be quiet, or i'll tell Ross you keep making yourself food for free.” he threatens, grinning at the blonde man. 

“You won't, because that would force me to reveal the reason behind the missing liquor bottles, and we would want that.” 

Matty rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before walking away.

The restaurant was steadily filling with more guests, with servers racing around the room, Adam looking positively stressed at the host stand. The lunch rush had officially begun. Businessmen and women sat down at tables, ordering steaks and burgers, getting annoyed when their food didn’t materialize in front of them within five minutes.   

Matty hated the lunch rush, deeming it absolute hell on earth. Walking to your table, he almost drops your sandwich when another server, Jamie, bumps into him, balancing at least three platters in his arms. 

“Sorry mate.” he mutters, rushing towards a table filled with what looked like accountants. 

“Here's your food darling, sorry it took so long,” Mattys voice is sickly sweet, his grin never leaving his face. You smile, brushing imaginary dust off of yourself before taking a bite. Trying to keep his composure, he watches as your teeth sink into the sandwich, a content moan leaving your lips. 

Your little noise makes Matty swallow wrong, sending him into a nasty coughing fit. Keeping calm, he asks you what you think of the food. 

“Well, I can see why it's your favorite, it's really good.” egg yolk runs down the side of your face, and you quickly wipe it off, looking back up at Matty. “Give my compliments to the chef.” A snort escapes his mouth before he can stop it. 

“Chef? That's just my mate George back there.” he gestures to the kitchen, giggling at the implication that there was an actual, qualified cook in there.

“Tell him then, I'm sure he doesn't get appreciated enough.”

“I'll let you know I appreciate him enough, thank you very much.” 

His attention is pulled away by Ross shouting at him from behind the bar, telling him to get to his other tables. Your expression changes slightly, almost sad to see him go. 

“Sorry love, duty calls.” Matty shrugs, his hand running through his hair once again, trying to keep in place. You nod, watching him leave. 

The food is delicious, gone in less than ten minutes. Another server asks you if you want another glass of wine, and you gladly accept. Sipping and scrolling on your phone, you seem to lose track of time. People clear out, going back to their day jobs. The restaurant is emptier, the loud atmosphere finally dying down. You feel like you can think again. 

Looking around to try and spot Matty, you're greeted by him already walking towards you, a plate of something in his hands. 

—-----------------------------------------------

“Hey mate, make me a thing of fudge, will you?” Matty asks, seeing George wasn't all that busy. George was the head chef, making most dishes, leaving only simple things like salads and soups to the others. He had made the menu after all, so who better to cook the food than him?

“Sure, who’s it for?” 

“Table twelve.” George's eyes scan the meal tickets, not seeing the order. Matty hops back up onto the counter, watching George closely. 

“I don't see the order, did you forget to ring in again?” he accuses. Matty pretends to be offended, but even he knows the accusation doesn’t come without reason.

He had a habit of simply forgetting to put in orders, which always ended in him begging George to make it quickly so he wouldn't get his ass handed to him by the customer waiting 30 minutes for a simple soup. 

“Nah, now stop being a twat and make it.” Matty spits, avoiding eye contact. 

“Not until you tell me why.” he shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the server expectantly. 

“It's for a girl, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Jesus christ." 

Now, this was definitely not the answer George was expecting from him, a small, involuntary giggle escaping him. 

“A girl? Are you taking the piss?”

Matty punches his arm, silently telling him to shut the fuck up and just make it. George doesn't stop smiling condescendingly, making a show out of drawing a small heart on top of the fudge. 

“Here, for your girl.” he grins, handing it to him. Grabbing it out of George's hands rather violently, Matty curses at him.

“She's not my girl.” his words sound insincere, not going unnoticed by George. 

—---------------------------------------------

Matty sets the plate onto your table, scooping up the other dishes and putting them onto his platter. He grins at you as you see the heart. 

“I didnt-” “I know.” he predicts your words, cutting you off before you could even finish your sentence.

“So why-” he nudges your foot, and your breath hitches slightly. 

“Consider it a gift, I hope you like it.” His voice is low, gravely. His eyes pierce yours as he watches you take a bite, the fudge melting in your mouth. You let out a moan around the spoon, this time purposefully looking at him for a reaction. His lips part slightly as he watches you swallow. 

“It's delicious.” you say, eyeing him up and down. “Please, do tell George his cooking is phenomenal.” The mention of another man's name makes Matty’s hands shift beneath the platter. You notice, smiling up at him, batting your eyelashes. 

“Thank you Matty, you really didn't have to.” His expression softens, and he shakes his head, indicating that it was, in fact, his pleasure. Comfortable silence settles between the two of you, the cozy lighting of the restaurant illuminating his face perfectly. You admire him, memorizing every single discernable feature of his face. 

You notice his shirt has the first few buttons undone, revealing a trace of a tattoo. The faded ink catches your eye, and you can't help but stare. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” His words snap you out of your daze, and you can feel a deep blush spread onto your face. 

“You have tattoos.” you sound like a complete idiot saying it like that. Cringing inwardly, Matty’s laughter fills your ears, making you inevitably smile. 

“I have a bunch.” he states, rolling up his sleeve to reveal multiple pieces littering his forearm.

“You’ll have to show me then sometime.” your boldness surprises him, and he takes a step towards you. You turn back to your dessert, filling your mouth with another spoonful of warm fudge. 

The tension is now so thick, you could cut through it with a knife. He continues standing there, platter in hand, not moving. 

“You want the check?” he asks, making a writing motion with his left hand. The dishes almost fall off of the platter in his hand, but he manages to straighten himself just in time. You giggle at the almost accident, hiding your mouth behind your hand. 

“C’mon, dont hide that pretty smile from me.” You blush, eyes avoiding his.

“Just give me the check.” your voice is slightly shaky, and you cringe again, trying to regain your composure. What the actual fuck was wrong with you?

“Be right back darling, enjoy your dessert.” His casual use of the pet name made you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as he walked away. His hips swayed as he made his way toward the back, bringing the dirty dishes away. 

Though he seemed unaffected, his demeanor changed the moment he was out of your line of sight.

Leaning against the wall of the walk-in fridge, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The way you flirted back at him made his head spin, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Most of the time, he flirted out of boredom, or better tips. This was different. 

The reactions he got were almost always the same. A giggle, and maybe some dry conversation, and the inevitable ask for his number. He never said yes, wanting to keep the interaction strictly within the perimeter of the restaurant. 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that if you had asked for his number, he wouldn't have said no. This made him feel slightly uneasy, like he wasn't in control. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, just like you had not done ten seconds earlier, he went to get the check from the register.

George winked at him as he walked by, gesturing to you, still sitting at the same table after almost three hours. He hadn't realized how much time had passed, an hour seeming like only a few minutes when talking to you. Shaking it off, he checks over other tables before finally returning to give you your bill. 

“You really didn't have to pay for my dessert.” you mumble, taking the piece of paper out of his hand. When you do, your fingers brush against each other, and you can feel your heart race in your chest.  

His eyes stare at you from above, and you raise your eyebrows, desperately trying to appear nonchalant. Realizing you didn't have a pen, you spot one in the pocket of Matty’s apron. Without thinking, you reach out to grab it, your hand lightly grazing his front. You swear you see his hips twitch, but convince yourself it was only a figment of your imagination.

Your handwriting is messy, the pen scratching loudly against the paper. The total came to £23, and you smile to yourself as you round up to forty, leaving him a nice tip. His eyes widen as he reads it, trying to protest. 

“You don't have-” 

“Just let me spoil you a bit, yeah?” 

Your voice drips like honey as you swat his hand away. Matty huffs, reluctantly letting you hand him your card with a huge grin on your face. 

This time, he deliberately lets your hands touch, lingering for a few seconds too long before pulling away, turning to walk towards the till located at the back. 

He opens the leather check booklet, eyes raking over the paper. His breath hitches as he notices a heart scrawled next to the total. Of course you’d do that.

Reaching for your card, he flips it over, searching for your name. His heart sinks when his eyes land on two initials. No name. 

Charging the card, he lets the receipt print. It takes ages, and he makes a mental note to remind Ross to invest in some decent equipment. It's not like he didn't have the funds, he just loved making Matty’s life difficult.

The walk back to your table seems endless, narrowly avoiding bumping into Jamie again. Setting the booklet with your card onto the table, he thanks you again for the tip, his hands playing with the inside of his pockets. 

“Did you find everything alright?” he asks the mandatory question, unable to stop the grin that spreads onto his face as you tell him everything was absolutely terrible, your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I'm only joking, I loved it. Tell the owner I like the aesthetic of the place.” Matty sighs, voicing his hatred for the dim lighting and glazed wood of the tables. 

“I think it's quite nice, even if the name is a bit crude.” He laughs.

“That's what I told Ross when he opened the place, but he insisted on naming it that for some reason.” His hands move erratically as he tells you the story of him and Ross, how he had been so kind to give him a job when he was unable to hold down anything else. 

“It seems like the whole restaurant is some sort of big friend group, innit?” you question.

“Sort of, we’re all mates here. Known each other since we were about fourteen.” he says proudly. 

“Adam’s the one who sat you earlier, he's the responsible one. Keeps our books too. We all call him Hann though, don't think he responds to Adam anymore.” he giggles, turning to face the bar. 

“Ross is our owner and resident dickhead. He bartends sometimes when he’s too cheap to pay an actual bartender.” you watch him make a drink for a disgruntled looking business man. “We all hope and pray ALE doesn't raid the place.”  

He goes on about the servers: Jamie, Polly, and John. 

“Again, no one really calls him John, his name��s Waughy to ‘most everyone.” 

At some point, Matty had sat down across from you, and you hung on his every word. His voice made you feel entranced, the thick northern accent only pulling you in further. He talked about the fact that he was an actual trained bartender, and you make him promise to show you his skills at some point. 

“So, what do you drink? Besides wine, of course.” he asks, leaning his head against his fist.

“You're gonna be disappointed.” you mumble, his smirk making butterflies flutter in your stomach. He raises his eyebrows, assuring you it can't possibly be that bad. 

“Go on, tell me.” you take a deep breath. 

“Aperol spritz.” the words hang in the air for a second before Matty bursts out laughing. You shoot him a look, and he collects himself before speaking. 

“You just ordered wine at 11am, acting all mysterious, and you’re telling me your drink of choice is fucking Aperol Spritz?”  

“Oh yeah? Don't act all high and mighty just because you probably drink fucking whiskey or some other “classy” shit.” you spit back, leaning against the leather of the booth. 

“Oops, caught me.” he laughs again, childlike giggles escaping his lips. 

“Shut up.” you mumble as you finish your third glass of wine, Matty insisting on giving it to you on the house. Giddy and slightly day-drunk, you realize you had been sitting there for nearly four hours. 

“Jesus, I better get going.” you see Matty deflate, his shoulders visibly dropping. He gets up, taking your wine glass with him as he stands next to you, looking down. 

“You never did tell me your name.” His voice is small, almost timid. 

You shrug, giving him a once over before getting up. Even standing up completely straight, he towers over you, the top of your head only reaching his jaw. Craning your neck upwards, you take a small step back. 

“I guess i'll just have to tell you next time, won't I?” 

The implication makes Matty’s heart skip a beat. His hands wrap around the glass he's holding, gripping it tightly. 

“Next time?” he asks. You nod, turning to walk away. Every fiber of his being wants him to call after you, to somehow get you to stay a bit longer. He knew it wasn't possible, and watching you go was almost painful. His eyes followed the sway of your hips until you disappeared from his line of sight. 

“‘Till next time.” he mumbles under his breath, turning to the host stand, being met with more guests being sat by Adam. His section was slowly filling up again, and he got to work, taking drink orders and flirting with older women for better tips. The day continued as normal, but one thought just wouldn't leave him alone. The thought of a next time with you.

Next time.

[noacfapologyst]

can u write something with matty where the reader is also an artist and george's sister so theyve know each other since forever and its like a slow burn friends to lovers, BTW i love you so much youre one of my favourite fic writers🩷🩷🩷🫂

oh hi my sweetie cookie!!! thank u so much for your words 🫶🏻💘💘💘 they have made my day, really. it's nice to know that people enjoy what i do.

OH YES THE IDEA IS SO GOOD i'm so excited Let this be my first writing request because I think i have a pretty good idea (i don't know?)

but yes i'll be working on that this week and i'll post it as soon as i have and i hope i'll be soon or at this week if the uni don't kill me. but again, thank u for the words and the idea, you're an angel <3333

[noacfapologyst]

Veee could you write something with matty where reader is also an artist (a way less known one) and its just pure fluff with both of them being inspired by one another?

Feel free to ignore ofc!!🫶🫶🫶

muse - matty x reader

a/n: this took a very different direction than originally planned and got slightly existential sorry about that 💀💀 but i hope you like it regardless <33

divider by @/cafekitsune

cw: mentions of smut, talks of death, general fluff and sappiness.

the artist flicks through the feature.

her name is printed in big letters on the cover of the monthly issue, her face--smiling and excited--next to the centrepiece of her latest art collection: cupid and psyche. the painting is stunning, a riot of bold colours and patterns but the at the centre is a man, his face hidden, his jet black curls tousled. his body is relaxed, she thinks there's an air of carefreeness about him.

and she'd know that for sure, after all that day is etched into her memory.

when she feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around her, she smiles.

"you're rather proud of the feature, aren't you?" matty's voice holds a little teasing note. she's stared at the feature for close to thirty minutes now, discreetly pinching herself in the same spot on her arm. (it sports a tiny, barely-there bruise now)

"good," matty nuzzles his face into her neck, softly kissing the skin, "you should be. the exhibit was fucking gorgeous."

"mmm, because you were the centrepiece?" fondly, she teases back, but the memory flashes in front of her eyes--the bustling art gallery, matty in a corner, wearing a plain hoodie and jeans and a cap hiding half of his face, absolutely brimming with pride.

she remembers the journalists asking about the man in all the paintings, the one whose face no one can see. "he's my muse," she says every time, "this collection is dedicated to him."

"someone's going to connect the dots," matty walks around her, settling himself next to her on the sofa. instantly, they rearrange themselves into a tangle--her legs on his lap, his arm around her, her head on his shoulders, his head on hers. "if they looked carefully, they'll make the connection."

"matty, we have been each other's muse for years and no one's found out. i don't think they're going to start now. besides," she snorts, "i think the art world thinks i've made you up in my mind. won't be the first time an artist's gone insane."

matty laughs. "maybe you have. you always say i'm too good to be true."

when she can't think of a retort, she sticks her tongue out, shrieking away when he smothers her in kisses.

"seriously though, it's fun writing about you. singing about you. and i love seeing myself through your eyes." suddenly matty sounds all sober and serious. she thinks his voice even wavers slightly at the end. he blinks quickly though, and just like that the brightness in his eyes is gone.

"love it when you write about me too," she teases, "love being called a gemini and a sexy girl, such poetry."

"oi! i put my heart into that! it's a precious memory for me."

"the memory of us fucking in the new bath for the first time?"

matty giggles like a teenager, hiding his face in her hair. it's fun to rile him up like this, so she continues, poking him in the ribs. "or waking up the next day with a head cold because we stayed in the cold water for so long hmm?"

"you took care of me though, and so i think you deserve to have a song written about you. or a whole album works too i think." then matty tuts. "actually, no. don't wanna tell anyone it's about you, that'll ruin the magic."

"ruin the magic?"

"of being your muse and having you as mine. i think a hundred years from now, when people would see your art as the artwork of this generation, and my music as the tune of our times--"

"tune of our times..."

"yeah, quit laughing at me!" matty flicks her nose, quickly kissing it after. "so when my music becomes the tune of our times, i think people will see it then. they will make the connections."

secretly, she loves the idea--that their love might transcend time and space through their art. that decades from now their names might be whispered together, even though they aren't just yet.

"of course, we'll be buried together by then. same grave by the way, very romeo and juliet of us."

"that's morbid!" she laughs sharply, "what will the epitaph say?"

matty hums for a bit, thinking, his eyes flutter shut for a second or two almost like he needs to focus on the half formed thought until it's a complete sentence. then he excitedly clears his throat and gently holds her face between his hands.

"here lie the artist and the muse; inspiring each other in death as they did in life."

[noacfapologyst]

down bad has become my favorite from the tortured poets department and peter my fav from the antology

[noacfapologyst]

♡︎ moodboards for my fav fics — teacher!au by @ughgoaway ♡︎

[noacfapologyst]

well the tortured poets department is incredible i love the pop she really ate

[noacfapologyst]

by the way i love you forever matty you're my sweetie cookie no one could make me hate you ever

[noacfapologyst]

talking about heroin without consent and doing so when it is not your personal issue is wrong. i don't care who writes it, but even if it were an irrelevant line (which for me it is) it stops being irrelevant in the context of who the spotlight is on in the album. ot is wrong, it is a delicate topic to talk about an addiction and even more so if the person in question is the first to be criticized and the first to have their words twisted to make them look bad. it's a bad behavior, i def not into it.

[noacfapologyst]

“aaah yes, my entire gigantic fanbase wished relapse and overdose on this man so let me just reference heroin in this album where people are going to be looking for references to him” :)

[noacfapologyst]

HE’S ALIVE

MATTYYYYYYY

📸: yapstweets

[noacfapologyst]

actually this shouldn't even have to be explained, i mean, matty isn't our friend to tell him whether who he is with or not is right or wrong. and beyond that, criticizing a woman (beyond not having the same ideals) just because it is within reach is not something that, applied in reality, you would do with people close to you. then just don't do it.

Rant but necessary

Judging by recent convos, yall need to hear this.

1. Leave Gabbriette the fuck alone?!!! You don’t have to like her. But you do have to respect her. And while we’re at it, just because someone makes choices or does things that you yourself wouldn’t do, doesn’t make them a bad person. Have they killed? Stolen? Hit someone with their car? Then what’re you heated about?!!! Okay, you wouldn’t kiss your gay best friend on IG, great. Good for you. You wouldn’t vape indoors. Nice okay! You want an award for that?! Leave her be.

Yes, I’m going to call her out on BAD THINGS. Like profiting off of fans by selling shit that she received for free. Like belittling genocide just “for the bit” thinking she’s being matty and being edgy. BUT I am still going to respect her as a woman and a human being. Believe it or not it IS possible to disagree with someone without demonizing them. None of yall would last a day in the real fuckin world. I mean…..don’t you have friends and family whose perosnalities are different than yours? Don’t you have people with hobbies that you don’t enjoy?! Don’t you have grandparents with different political views??!! Teachers ? Coworkers? THE FUCK ARE YALL DOING!!!!

2. Matty is not your toy. You don’t get to take what you want from him, enjoy his music, his work, then shit all over him. Him going to “industry parties” is not that deep. Him going to Coachella is not that deep. HE WENT IN 2022!!!!!!! Can’t a guy enjoy some music and some fancy food or alcohol or weed or whatever the fuck? He’s allowed to hang out with his gf friends. That’s kinda what couples do! He’s allowed to be a moron. Again, see above about respecting people that you disagree with.

When he dismisses calls for solidarity against genocide? He’s due for a call out. When he dates someone you don’t like? NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS.

(Dis)respectfully, there’s no such thing as “I just like the music.” Maybe if it’s Harry styles or Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith. The 1975’s music doesn’t function that way. If that’s how you feel, consider that this fandom is not for you.

Istg if I see any sexist bullshit from any of you about Gabbriette, or any entitled delulu shit about Matty, you’ll be deeply regretful. Go outside. Touch some grass. Stop breathing in your own farts or huffing paint or sniffing glue or whatever the fuck type of bullshit you’re on that makes you so nasty.

[noacfapologyst]

Why defend someone who will be replaced after some time? It's not gonna last forever you know. //

The tone in this ask is exactly what we’re talking about. You don’t know Matty. You don’t know if him and Gabbriette will break up or if they’ll get married. The fact that you ASSUME they’ll break up and are discussing a human being as though she’s a replaceable object speaks to how shitty of a person you are.

This kind of bullshit has been said since day one. Like when they first got together I kept getting asks about how “she’s the new Meredith he’ll dump her when he’s done having sex with her” blah blah “she’s not so special.” Oh yeah? Neither are you homie.