#you made me into someone mean and selfish and awful

[heliads]

Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme:  kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect. 

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[swiss-army-fangirl]

.

[astonmartingf]

NEW PERSPECTIVE ; FA14

fernando alonso x photo journalist!reader

. . . twenty years into his career, alonso faced a lot of changes. but it was all because of you, that he looked forward to at the end of everything.

amgf 2.8k words. implied mentions of spygate, rumors, other controversies, accidents and more. slightly realistic? i cried writing this— made me in awe of fernando as a driver even more. enjoy 👍

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

[2005]

Is Fernando selfish?

He could say that to himself, it doesn’t matter to him what other people thought of him. At the end of the day, they’re just here to race.

He’s aware of it, if it weren’t for his skills and passion he wouldn’t have come this far— a young boy from Spain, dreaming to make it to the top. It didn’t seem like reality four years ago, yet here he is.

Standing on top of his car in parc ferme, the crowd cheering him on as his engineers flood through from the garage to greet him. The sun shining down on him— celebrating his win, it felt as if he was back at home in Spain, under the protection of his helmet he could see the entourage of people crowding him.

People as far as his eye can see, but it’s all a blur— to Fernando this was everything he dreamed of and more. It peeved him that he didn’t win the Brazilian Grand Prix, but winning the World Championship was even better.

His shoulders held high hugging every Renault engineer he could find, it was history. He will be a part of history- no. Fernando Alonso made history. And this was just the beginning.

[2007]

Where did things go wrong?

Exactly two years ago, Fernando was on cloud nine. The only thing he’s getting to the nines is stress. As much as he hates to admit he was intimidated to be one-upped by a rookie at that.

It’s his ego that’s eating him alive, nonetheless Fernando is still proud. If he has his head high, nothing could ever stop him.

It scares him, the monster growing inside him, but what else can he do? In this sport, one can either hunt or be hunted. If he had to use tricks up his sleeve, why wouldn’t he?

It’s nothing personal, Hamilton just happened to be there, his only mistake was thinking that the rookie won’t retaliate. In hindsight, he’d gladly accept P2 over his teammate.

Fernando may have an egotistical and dubious character but he wasn’t blind to the young man’s skills. But it was also a mirror and testament to his own, if Hamilton could do it, what’s his reason not to deliver?

Thinking back on his phone call with the team principal, he should’ve immediately told the FIA instead of ratting himself out. Now he has to face the consequences of his actions, deciding to do better, Alonso ultimately leaves the team.

[2008]

He must be a penchant for bad luck, this time Fernando knows it wasn’t his fault.

It annoyed him that controversy seemed to follow him wherever he went. “Are you Fernando Alonso? Is it real you tried to kill your teammate? What can you say in response to the rumors circulating about you?”

Joder!

“Fernando Alonso? Do you have time for an interview?”

Alonso wasn’t one to be caught off-guard, but for the first time he stood frozen, in shock. Glancing around the area, Alonso stepped forward nodding towards the interviewer. He’d been dealing with stupid questions all day long, what’s another one gonna change with his mood right?

“I’m YN LN interviewer for Formula One Herald. As someone who has witnessed you win the championship back in 2005 and 2006, what are your plans in securing the most points possible?”

Wrong.

Now Fernando is truly caught off guard. Wary off your question, overthinking and analyzing hidden meanings behind it. Alonso didn’t think of himself as calculative, he’s simply observant and protective of his space. Knowing how easily one’s words could be twisted into a narrative.

Fernando stares at you, Surely you’re not the type to work for meager clicks on the webs?

It was silent for the next few minutes.

“Sir Alonso? I’m sorry for taking your time, you can go ahead if you don’t want to answer.”

Somehow you managed to catch Fernando’s attention even more, “I thought journalists were supposed to be persuasive? You’re just letting me go without getting a scoop of the news?”

Fernando’s eyes widened, hearing you laugh at his words, he didn’t think of himself as funny, maybe it’s one of their tactics. To know one’s information you must soften them a bit, his expression only hardens ultimately catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh- I guess I’m just nervous since it’s my first time actually being dispatched on field. I used to take pictures on the sidelines- I even took one of yours when you won back in 2005, it was such a nice memory. I remember fighting a lot of reporters to catch a glimpse of you, I managed to take one and it was chosen as the front and center photo of one famous magazine! Hopefully you win more races and podiums, you make it fun and exciting. Speaking as a fan and not some journalist, I’m rooting for you- I must’ve been rambling for a while, thank you for sparing me your time, don’t worry this will all go off the record just for you. Have a nice race week.”

The air must’ve felt it too, because since then things have changed.

Fernando was left alone watching your back disappear from the crowd.

The moment things were finally looking better for him.

[2012]

“Sir Alonso!”

The voice from afar alone caused Fernando to look around for the familiar voice in the paddock. Somehow he’s been always keen on answering your questions or setting up time for interviews, often extending them for an absurd amount of time as what his manager said.

It’s not biased if your questions are the only thing interesting. That or it could be your magnetic presence, he could feel your passion beaming through as you asked him intricate questions none that he experienced before. 

Another telltale sign is you’re the only one who calls him “Sir Alonso”, thinking back on his first meeting with you, it definitely came as a shock. Despite all the formality, he’s taken a liking to the name only you call him.

It makes him feel respected and more importantly it makes him feel like he has a special relationship with you. Walking through the crowd, he spots you at one of the tables waving your cards in the air, like a bait to lure him into your trap.

Not that he minds, if he had to spend the next hour talking about how the season wrapped, he’d rather talk to you about it. Smiling unknowingly, Fernando rubs the palms of his hands on his red tracksuit. 

Was he nervous to talk to you? No. It’s all about racing, a topic Alonso is fond of, but is your presence rubbing him off? I guess he could say that. All the thoughts in his head buzzing, what should he say? What should he do? How should he act in front of you.

Fernando never thought of himself to be as calculative, but the need to impress you has astounded him even more.

“Fernando Alonso, congratulations on finishing P2 for the season. It’s exciting to see you on and off the track now that the season is over.” 

He could feel himself beaming at the sound of your voice, it’s like you infected him with your insurmountable enthusiasm. Alonso liked that about you, no need for snarky remarks, or hidden agendas behind your question, you were always talking about the sport, yet somehow your spark never seemed to fade away.

And as much as you like to praise him, he’s slowly in the making for one of your biggest fans. Not that he will admit that to you himself.

“YN, it’s always a delight talking to you.” Grabbing your hand for a handshake, Fernando pulls you in for a hug without thinking. Immediately pulling away, Alonso’s thoughts began firing, overthinking the previous interaction.

His doubt was erased once he saw the smile on your face, happiness reaching the corners of your eyes. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, this is becoming a thing isn’t it?”

A thing. What thing? Fernando raises his brows asking for more context, maybe he’s overthinking it again or confused, maybe he didn’t hear you properly, totally not distracted just by being in your personal space.

“Post-season interviews? It’s always nice to catch up and look back on the season, especially this one P2. Congratulations Alonso…” Your voice drowns out into the background.

It was another turning point in Fernando Alonso’s life, and somehow this was all because of you. Only realizing then that he’d rather sit down for what seems like the longest time in his life, talking to you, not just about his racing but about your own life. He realized that he’d never catch himself doing this with other interviewers, and this was your thing.

Fernando liked that.

It’s nice to catch up and look back on the season with you.

[2016]

Lucky to be alive. Lucky. To be. Alive.

It only dawned on him what happened then. Fernando sat in silence next to you, from the corner of his eyes, he could see you tidying up the small things you prepared for the interview. Alonso felt vulnerable, it’s been a while since he’s experienced such a crash.

“I should leave you to rest, hmm?” Raising his head, Fernando meets your eyes full of concern or at least that’s how he sees it. In a spur of the moment, Alonso shakes his head ‘no’.

“Can you stay for a while?” Fernando avoids your eyes, halfway in regret from being unable to control himself. To his surprise, you drop your papers sitting down next to him.

“Do you want to talk as a friend?”

A friend.

Fernando stays quiet before nodding his head.

And just like how you do all the time, just being by your side Fernando could feel himself slowly getting better. Letting himself let go of all the thoughts and worries in his head. If not now, when?

When will he have another chance to spend time with you? Not just as a friend.

It was the second time he felt it change.

[2019]

“Congratulations Alonso!”

The corner of Fernando’s lips curl up to a smile watching you approach him closer, opening his arms, catching you in his arms. If he wasn’t already feeling better with his win, having you here by his side is even more enjoyable.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come here. Sick of the F1 Paddock?” Fernando inquisitively asked, he expected you to reply politely for support, but what he didn’t expect is for you to suddenly grow balls.

“Honestly it’s boring without you there. Why would I go when you’re here?”

Or were you always so straightforward that he didn’t notice it? Stunned. 

It was always a surprise with you, not that he minded it didn’t matter what you would’ve said, Alonso would gladly listen to you. “When did you arrive?” Clearing his throat, trying to not get your words to affect him as much as he wants to.

“Oh, I’ve been watching since yesterday, I stayed in one of the tents.” 

And there goes Alonso, surely if you had looked further into his eyes, you could see his heart doing somersaults and cartwheels. Is this your effect on him? He wasn’t that aware, but now it’s slightly concerning for him to be acting this way in front of you.

You simply stunned him. And Alonso wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s surprising how I managed to hide from you, to be honest my self-control isn’t that good-”

I’m sure yours is better… if only you knew mine, Alonso thought, lips curling into a smile.

“But somehow I thought, wouldn't it be better to surprise you in the end? If you win then it’ll be a surprise and a celebration. Just like now! I took so many photos of you, you want to see?”

Fernando didn’t notice you moving closer to him, showing him the photos you took of him. 

“And if I lost? What would happen then?” A smirk grows in his face, feeling proud to put you into the corner, but Fernando should know by now that you will always have the upper hand. Especially when it comes to you.

“Oh, I planned on giving you a big kiss, comfort you and take you out for dinner. But isn’t it good that you won?”

The way Fernando’s face fell at the thought of getting a kiss from you sounded a lot better than winning.

Joder! I’d rather kiss YN than win… Is this where I’m at now? 

“What a shame that I won then, are kisses only for losers?” Fernando ought to shut up, but he just can’t let you win, taking blow after blow he’s been hit hard where it hurts. His ego and what could’ve been a kiss from you.

As if you couldn’t surprise him more, Fernando stood frozen watching you move closer to him, hands wrapped on both of his cheeks. He could feel the coldness of your hands against the warmth of his cheeks, pressing a small kiss on the side of his face totally catching him off guard.

“Winners get one kiss. Losers get two.” 

Fernando can’t help but burst out laughing, eliciting the same to you laughing along with the sound of his laughter. “What?”

Alonso shakes his head, face red from the blushing, laughing, or just being in the same proximity as you. You’re full of surprises, he’ll give you that, but he completely surprises himself in the end.

Fighting the urge to kiss you then and there, Fernando settles on grabbing your hands, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go on that dinner you were talking about.”

[2021]

Getting out of his seat, Fernando immediately looks around for you. The energy, adrenaline, and excitement fueling him. Walking towards his team waiting for him by the barricades cheering, yet his eyes linger towards you.

Behind a camera with a wide smile on your face, Alonso waves as you mirror his movements. It’s as if time had stopped, as you capture his moments, Fernando has already ingrained you in his mind.

Coming back to Formula One wasn’t easy. He had sacrifices to make, but seeing the warmth and familiarity of your face around the track. He kept his shoulders up.

Now more stable than ever, his sacrifices, priorities, and privilege will all be tested as the season comes to an end. Nevertheless, Fernando is grateful to have you by his side.

It’ll only be the beginning for more changes to come, and with you by his side, there’s nothing stopping him now.

[2023]

“You're back with the interviews?” Fernando sits at the other side of the table overlooking the view of the yacht dock.

“My favorite driver is on the grid, so why not. I thought this was our thing?” Fernando watches as you prepare the papers in front of you, head tilting, focused doing your own things. Sitting back and letting you do your magic, Fernando grabs one of your cameras.

You were always behind the lens of your beloved camera, Alonso remembered you saying to him that this was one of your oldest cameras. You also gave Fernando free reign in using your camera, he wasn’t aware of the magnitude of you letting him use your camera, but knowing how special it is to you, Alonso knew to handle it with care.

Fernando turned on the camera immediately looking for the photos you took in them. He has an inkling of the contents inside them, but what he didn’t expect was the overwhelming amount of photos you have of him.

Going as far back as 2003, photos of him in his first win in Hungary, photos of him in podiums, smiling, some showcasing his losses, photos of him with past teammates and in various uniforms.

The feeling dawned on him, you’ve been there from the start, watching him through the lens. Seeing himself from your eyes, Alonso was taken aback at the photos. As if you couldn’t sweep him off his feet even more, learning this about you even made him fall in love with you more than he already is.

“Why are you crying?” 

Your voice breaks his train of thought, blinking away the moisture poling into his eyes. Alonso isn’t one to be emotional, but seeing your love flow through the pictures from the screen, fills his heart heavy with emotion.

Wiping his tears, Alonso places the camera back on the table. “I never thought I would feel this way about these…” Fernando watches you shuffle around, dropping everything as you move beside him.

“I remember telling you about these photos. They’re all about you.”

Alonso nods his head, still deep in thought, beyond belief at his love for you, ever growing every single day.

“I never saw myself like this… how you capture my every moment, through the good and bad. I feel loved, and I love you.” Fernando, professing his love for you. Truly, one of the best seasons.

You allowed him to see himself in a different light, different from what the media says, the roles he played in the sport, a conniving villain. You allowed him to see himself in a new perspective.

amgf death of a bachelor comes to a close. thank you for supporting the series this far, i laughed, cried and felt a rollercoaster of emotions writing this. i hope you enjoy this, until the next series <3

[pelova4president]

Bet on it

Georgia Stanway x AWFC!Reader

summary~ Georgia was an absolute douchebag, arrogant and cocky. Leah, one of your bestfriends thought you’d get along but clearly she was wrong, right?

You hated her. You absolutely fucking hated her.

How you met wasn’t ideal but that wasn’t the reason why you couldn’t stand her, at least not fully. The first impression was awful. She was cocky, selfish and just mean.

It wasn’t even on the pitch that you first met, if you did you could blame her behaviour on the game.

It was when you got introduced to each other that the hatred started. Leah and you being teammates at Arsenal and Georgia and Leah being being teammates at England, and bestfriends ofcourse. She thought the two of you would get along, maybe even be friends yourselves. But she couldn’t have been more wrong.

You and a few other Arsenal players organised a birthday party for Leah. Beth was in charge of the guests since she knew most of the people Leah would want to invite, Kim chose the location and organised most things. That left you and Vic to decorate.

It was all pretty last minute but the location still looked like a dream. You even convinced Kim to get a magician to perform at the party.

Vic and you couldn’t decorate it all without a little fun. The two of you made a little game ‘pin the smile on leah’. You were both really proud of your creation. It took about half an hour to put it all together since Vic can’t cut on the lines.

You had hung it up, next to the bar when someone came stomping in. Next to Beth stood a brunette. She was looking unimpressed around the room. Her facial expression let you know she didn’t think too good of it all.

When you walked up to her to introduce myself she shook your hand and looked you up and down, doing a full scan. “Yeah hi, i’m Georgia but you probably already knew that.” she said. She acted like a douchebag but then again, you did already know who she was.

Vic showed your creation to the two lionesses and Beth was actually proud of you. Georgia again, wasn’t really bothered.

It was 8pm and everyone started to arrive. Leah wouldn’t arrive until 8.30pm, when Viv would pick her up to ‘look at a puppy’.

You were sat at the bar, sipping on a martini when the bayern playing sat next to you. She ordered an espresso martini and turned to look at you. “So what do you do?” she asked me like Leah didn’t tell her about you, did Leah not talk about you like she told you about Georgia?

“Uh well, i’m a footballer. I play for Arsenal and The Netherlands.” you told her, flashing a smile. “Yeah, i figured. What position?” she asked, more interested in her drink on the bar than your conversation. “Mostly midfield, you?” you replied, knowing damn well where she plays on the field and for what club she plays.

At that question she looked up “Bayern and attacking midfield, thought you’d already know that” she said offended. “Yeah well i thought you knew who i was too” you snapped back. She laughed but before you could say anything back Jen yelled that Viv and Leah could arrive any moment.

The lights went out and everyone was trying to hide behind something, Georgia and you behind the bar. You heard Leah and Viv talking, Leah asking her if she was sure that they needed to be here. Viv told her she was sure and opened the door. Kim put the lights on again and everyone screamed ‘happy birthday!’.

Leah wasn’t as surprised as you hoped she’d be but it was still funny to see her shocked face.

After she made her rounds thanking everyone she walked over to you, with that cocky brunette next to her. “Hey, have the two of you already met?” she asked us and you nodded “yeah Beth introduced us to each other earlier.”.

You fell into a conversation with Leah, Georgia was just standing there listening. She kept looking at you, you could feel her eyes on you. You didn’t really focus on what Leah was saying anymore, you turned your head and looked Georgia in the eyes. “What’re you looking at?” You asked her annoyed. She rolled her eyes “nothing, you’ve just got somethin’ on your face” she smirked.

“Fuck you” you said and pushed past her. You walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, searching for the thing Georgia was looking at. You don’t even have anything on your fucking face. Why is she acting like this, you didn’t do anything to her, she doesn’t even know you.

You walked towards Vic who was sitting at the bar. You took a seat next to her. “Vicky, i don’t know what i’ve done but Georgia literally hates me.” you sighed. Vic hummed and told you not to think about it too much.

You tried to avoid Georgia as much as you could that whole evening. You chatted with Leah and her mom for a bit, a few of the other England girls but mostly with vic. You tried to get people to do the ‘pin the smile on Leah’ game and most of the people did, only Viv and Georgia didn’t. Vic and you were on a mission to get Viv to do it.

After a few minutes of convincing her (and a bit of blackmailing) you got her to do it. She actually won well.. you thought she won.

“Viv, you’re actually really good. I think you won.” you hugged her. “She didn’t win yet, i still have to go.” Georgia interrupted. “You’re not gonna win.” you said, rolling your eyes at her. “Oh yeah, wanna bet on it?” she asked arrogantly.

You agreed, if Viv won she would do what you said. If she won you would do whatever she wanted. Viv normally loved bets and a bit of rivalry but she got bored and walked away murmuring something like ‘children’.

Leah on the other hand was beyond entertained. She did think the two of you would get along, and she still thinks that. It’s just funny to see the both of you fight while she already knew the two of you were really really interested in each other, always asking about the other whenever she brought the other up.

She knew Georgia had a little crush on you but she would never admit that. She’d rather keep that cocky façade up, that was her way of flirting, of making an impression on you.

Georgia eventually won. You don’t think you would’ve hated it as much if anyone else won. She just milked it out. “Y/n, y/n, i think i’ve won. Don’t ya think?” she grinned. “Whatever” you mumbled. She laughed and you asked her what she wanted from you.

“Hmm.. i think i’ll save my wish for later.” god was she evil. she got closer to your face and whispered in your ear “Lighten up a bit baby.” you honestly wanted to kill her. You looked her dead in the eyes, her chocolate brown eyes. They were actually beauti- fuck what are you even thinking, she’s so fucking full of herself. “fuck you stanway” you said, walking off. “You wish y/l/n!” she shouted after me.

leahwilliamsonn posted on their story

Vic, Viv, Kim, Beth, Leah and you cleaned everything up when the party was over. Leah didn’t have to, she just insisted on helping all of you.

You looked at the notifications on your phone ‘leahwilliamsonn tagged you in their story’, you clicked on her story. “Leah fucking Williamson, i hate you so so much.” Leah giggled and tried to run away from you. “No no y/n/n you love me ssooooo much!” she yelled. You stopped running after her when you got another notification. ‘stanwaygeorgia started following you’.

You don’t know why but that made you way too happy. But you still refused to follow her back ‘don’t want her ego to get any bigger’ was your excuse.

It was another Champions League night… against Bayern München. Bayern München where the incredibly arrogant brown eyed Georgia played.

Minutes before arriving to the Allianz Arena you got a dm on instagram.

stanwaygeorgia

Ready to lose

y/n_y/l/n

you wish

stanwaygeorgia

wanna make a bet?

y/n_y/l/n

you’ve still got your wish

stanwaygeorgia

doesn’t matter. If i win this match i get a kiss. If you win you’ll get whatever you want.

y/n_y/l/n

whatever

stanwaygeorgia

deal or no deal?

y/n_y/l/n

deal.

The game didn’t go as planned. Bayern was pressing a lot. They were physical, very physical and that Georgia was covering you didn’t help.

She really wanted to win and you could definitely see that when she got the ball and dribbled towards your goal. You tried to take her down but a tackle wasn’t enough. She passed the ball into Lohmann’s feet and she got one on one with Manu. Sydney shot right into the bottom corner leaving Manu standing like a shocked tree.

Stanway jogged back to her half but not before she could tease you a bit more. “Looks like i’ll get my second wish” she laughed.

Unfortunately that was the only goal of the game. Fulltime: 1-0 for Bayern.

There was another game, in the Emirates. Still all to play for. But that kiss was still something you had to give her. It made the loss sting a little less but you would never admit that to anyone, let alone her.

Walking towards the tunnel you didn’t see her. Just when you wanted to walk to your changing room she stopped you. “I believe you still owe me a kiss hmm?” she smirked like she always did.

“yeah i guess” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, if you don’t want it we don’t have to, you know that.” she shrugged, feeling a bit guilty and walking away.

“No! ..i mean no, a bet is a bet right, i’m not a sore loser.” you told her before she could walk away. She smiled and held your head in her hands. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn y/l/n.” she told you before her lips crashed into yours.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a kiss to last so long. She kissed you until it got hard to breath. You heard people talking and boots stomping on the ground. “I guess i’ll see you in about a weeks time hmm” she gave you a final peck on the lips and walked away.

stanwaygeorgia posted on their story

You eventually decided to follow the england midfielder back.

stanwaygeorgia

the princess finally decided to give me a follow back huh?

y/n_y/l/n

don’t get too big of an ego now, it’s already too big how it is

stanwaygeorgia

ouch.. you’ve hurt my feelings. kiss it better?

y/n_y/l/n

hmm maybe after the game

stanwaygeorgia

can’t wait

And just like that the two of you texted non stop the whole week. Georgia wasn’t only arrogant, she was funny, thoughtful, nice, sweet, beautiful. She was a lot more like Leah told you she was. You couldn’t help but like her, maybe even more than just a friend.

Just like you had every game, there was a bet. If you won she would take you out on a date, something Georgia doesn’t do. Leah told you all about Georgia and how she didn’t really do relationships but you didn’t believe her.

If she won, she got another kiss. A win win you might think. But there was more on the line than just a date or a kiss. You needed to win to go to the champions league final.

Walking out of the tunnel you tried to talk to Georgia but she was too focused on her mascot to notice you. She looked so sweet, something you wouldn’t have thought of her just months ago. Georgia was likeable, more than likeable, loveable and that’s how you realised. You loved her.

Vic nudged you. Everyone was walking out of the tunnel. The Champions League music echoing through a sold out Emirates. This is what dreams are made of.

The game was slow, both teams playing safe. It was the 70th minute when Jonas signaled for you to go into attack. It was the 73th minute when The Arsenal scored through an assist from you.

It was all even again. You still had 10 minutes to change the game and win.

Lohmann made an ugly tackle on Caitlin so you got a free kick, which Lotte took. She passed it to Katie who backheeled it into Vic’s feet. Vicky shot it into the air, it landed on your head and went right into the back of the net.

The crowd went absolutely wild. “I fucking love your head!” Vic yelled while Katie tried to murder you by jumping on your back.

When the whistle blew you couldn’t help but search for her. Georgia sitting on the ground, looking at the grass beneath her.

You sat down next to her and she looked up. “Congrats, i guess i have to take you out now.” she laughed awkwardly. “Yeah i guess so, you’re lucky i’m a good loser and a good winner.” you laughed with her. “I guess i’ve won the jackpot with you huh” she hugged you.

She did keep her promise and took you out for dinner. You went to a Greek restaurant not that far away from London.

stanwaygeorgia posted on their story

The first date went so good that she asked you out, again and again.

This time it was your turn to travel to Germany for your date. Georgia wanted to go to a museum and picknick after.

y/n_y/l/n posted on their story

The two of you have been ‘dating’ for two months now and Leah was starting to ask you about your secret girlfriend.

Okay so.. you didn’t really tell Leah about Georgia yet.

It was all just a bit fresh and new and if anything went wrong you didn’t want her to have to pick a side. Plus you didn’t even know what you are.

So when Georgia wanted to visit you again she was more than welcome. The two of you spent the day walking around London. Katie was throwing a little party so you brought Georgia with you. You got a few weird looks and it didn’t really help that when Georgia had had a few drinks she got very touchy.

You were sat on the couch next to Georgia when she pulled you into her lap, covering your face with kisses, which wasn’t so weird when you were at home. But you’re not home, you’re with the Arsenal girls who didn’t have a clue about your relationship until.. well now.

leahwilliamsonn posted on their story

It was around 11 pm when you decided it was time to go home. Driving home Georgia placed her hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“I still have my wish right?” she asked looking out of the window. “Yeah you do. Why’re you asking babe?” You asked looked at her face before turning to look at the road again. “Well, what if my wish was for you to be my girlfriend.” you didn’t even have to look at her to know she was smiling from ear to ear.

“Well, i guess i’d have to be your girlfriend then hmm” you laughed. Georgia grinned and spoke again “My little loser, will you be my girlfriend?”. “Well if you ask like that i won’t!” you said offended.

“Okay okaaayy. My beautiful girl, will you be my girlfriend. Please.” she looked at you hopefully. “Yeah, i’ll be your girlfriend but don’t get too cocky now.” you kissed her.

stanwaygeorgia, y/n_y/l/n

liked by lucybronze and 48.472 others

made a bet, i guess we both won

comments

victoriapelova enemies to lovers kinda thing

↳ stanwaygeorgia i didn’t hate her

↳ y/n_y/l/n oh but i did

leahwilliamsonn who would’ve thought 🙄

katie_mccabe11 don’t eat each others faces next time you’re over

bayernstanway12 waittt they’re dating??

wosobronzey2 the best couple out there

A/N this might actually be the longest fic i’ve ever made but i kinda like it

[sebsbarnes]

lover girl || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: tangerine saves you from an awful date, cliche realizing feelings afterwards

warnings: mentions of killing, language, talks of insecurities

word count: 2k+ ; angst, comfort, fluff-ish

tangerine masterlist

"i have a date," you excitedly told the twins.

"ain't this the third one this month?" tangerine asked popping grapes in his mouth. lemon knocked him on the head in disapproval. tangerine whipped his head around, glaring at lemon as if he was the one in the wrong.

you simply rolled your eyes, "i feel good about this one."

lemon and tangerine both knew you wanted to be loved more than anything else. you constantly said that was the one thing missing in your life. you loved your job, your family, your friends, your hobbies but you just wanted someone to share all the good with. which is why you made it your mission in between jobs to go on as many dates as possible. the twins understood the desire to find someone, they wanted it too, but they held their hearts close to their chests whereas you did not.

tangerine often ranted, to a knowing lemon, how you needed to be more careful for a plethora of valid and invalid reasons. it was dangerous dating as an assassin, your cover could be blown easily, or it could be a set up. and then, there were the selfish reasons that tangerine didn't even realize were selfish. you sometimes would opt out of jobs to meet someone you were interested in or you would cancel premade plans with the twins to see someone. and this irked him. what do you mean tangerine didn't have his favorite sidekick with him on missions? what do you mean you skipped the weekly brunch you and the twins had? all lemon could do was console a jealous and unwilling to listen tangerine.

you lived in the apartment next to the twins and had made your way back over to get ready. the guy you were meeting was handsome and a total gentlemen over text and you were feeling giddy. you played dress up for hours. perfectly styling your hair, coating your skin, eyes, and lips with makeup. the dress was the showstopper. it was a fitted red satin dress that you paired with black heels. your date told you he made reservations for a steakhouse which truthfully you weren't too keen on, but it allowed you to dress up which you never did with your job.

lemon had offered to take you to the restaurant since you didn't want the man knowing where you lived. tangerine stayed back as lemon exited the front door but couldn't resist looking through the window. it was only a glimpse, but he saw the lowcut back of your dress and your shiny hair and he bubbled with jealousy.

your date was waiting outside the doors for you chatting away to the valet girl, a little too closely for your taste. his body leaned onto the podium, head cocked to the side as if he was mesmerized by her and that should've been the first red flag. he greeted you with a hug that you returned.

"i am starving," he basically yelled, "i wish you said you could do dinner earlier."

"oh i'm sorry," you said blinking rapidly feeling guilty.

"yeah it's chill, i'm ready for a beer," he waved off, opening the glass door but letting it fall on you. your eyebrows knotted together. did he just drop the door on me? you were baffled but chuckled awkwardly grabbing the glass door, smiling at the older couple who witness the whole thing.

the tension in your body made you rigid. you felt uneasy across from the man who was obnoxious and blatantly checking out the waitress. he had already finished his third pint and you hadn't even ordered entrees yet. you were poking absentmindedly at the salad, grimacing at him.

"so what's you job again?" all you could see was the food in his mouth and you dropped your fork.

"i work at a catering company," you lied. it was your go to fake profession as it could excuse your bizarre working hours and absence from town.

he patted his mouth with his napkin, "oh so you don't make such money don'ya?"

"excuse me?" you were completely and utterly flabbergasted at the remark. though, he seemed unfazed and gestured towards your salad you had now abandoned. you were disgusted by everything and pushed the plate towards him.

"i'm kind of a hot shot at work," he bragged and you were motionless. any further movement looked robotic meanwhile your douche of a date was leaned far back in the chair, his beer in his hand, and manspreading to the point his feet could trip someone.

the twitch of your eye was becoming more dramatic as he droned on. was it not obvious that you were paying zero attention to the man before you? the only thoughts circling your head besides how he's a douche is the fact you could easily take the knife out of your purse. with ease it would slip through the fabric and you'd lean forward dragging it across the man's adam's apple and watch the blood trickle down onto his ugly polo shirt.

"pretty impressive, right?" the dull man asked. he had been on a ten-minute rant on how he was promoted within a month of working at his company because he stole a coworkers idea but it was okay because 'well the boss hates her so i knew he would approve the idea if i brought it to him'.

"mmm, riveting," you mocked, swirling the red wine in the glass.

"i'm gunna go take a whizz," he pointed, throwing his napkin onto the table. your mouth slacked open at his actions.

'im begging you to pick me up' you texted frantically.

'you haven't even been there long what's wrong?'

'either you tell me yes or i slice this man's throat open'

'on my way.'

your fingers drummed on the white tablecloth, chin perched on your fist waiting for the clown of a man to return. his figure approached from the bathroom and just when you thought you couldn't be more turned off by this man he shoved his hand down his pants adjusting himself. in front of the whole restaurant.

when he sat down you slowly stood up placing your purse on your shoulder, "look, i'm feeling a bit unwell so i'm going to head home. and this was awful," you muttered the last part under your breath.

"well aren't you going to pay?" he asked dumbfounded.

you couldn't stop the guffaw that left your mouth, "good one, prick."

you sauntered outside waiting for tangerine. the cold air nipped at your skin and for some reason tears started to line your eyes. they closed and to calm yourself you let out a shaky breath through your nose, though this did nothing for your watery eyes. tangerine's head lights moved slowly beside you and you ripped the door open before the car came to a complete stop.

"well don't ya look fuckin' joyous," he joked, his eyebrow high on his face.

you huffed, finding your red dress constricting and pulling at it to let your skin breathe.

"not in the fuckin' mood for jokes tangerine," you hissed. you leaned back against the headrest eyes closed trying to calm yourself from the swirling thoughts on why you can't find someone good. tangerine went quiet, silently observing your resting state, throat bobbing up and down. he sighed before slowly pulling away. the ride was silent for a few minutes before you felt the rant bubbling up in your body and your lid was about to explode.

"he shut the door in my face!" you laughed incredulously, "he only talked about himself. god he wouldn't shut up! he works in tech so he thinks he is hot shit."

tangerine laughed, "definitely shit."

"then he had the audacity to say i make no money. me! tan, we make so much money that man would be ashamed of his check if he saw ours. he gawked at every single lady in the building and i know i shouldn't care about anything that prick thinks but he must think i'm ugly. i worked so hard to look pretty tonight! he ate my salad, granted i had two bites but he took my food? and then. then he touched himself! in the restaurant!"

tangerine's foot slammed on the break in shock causing your bodies to lurch forward and he immediately stuck his hand in front of your body to not fall into the dashboard, "sorry i didn't mean to do that."

"you're okay."

tangerine didn't really know how to respond. his brain was reeling of ways he could kill the man for hurting your feelings. if he could he'd kill every asshole you went on a date with. you don't deserve to be treated poorly and it ached at tangerine's soul every time you'd come to their apartment after a date sighing in disappointment when it didn't work out. lemon would be the one to comfort you as tangerine stayed quiet nodding as you ranted but silently raging.

tangerine turned off the main road, a destination in mind that wasn't the apartments. your head swiveled towards him in confusion and he glanced out of the corner of his eye, an amused smirk on his face. he paralleled parked and turn the engine off.

"what...?"

he smiled, "c'mon."

you slowly opened the door skeptically looking at tangerine.

"we can't waste a good outfit now can we love. plus, you need to eat." tangerine grinned sticking his elbow out for you. baffled, you wrapped your arm around his staring up at your favorite speakeasy.

arm in arm you two entered the building and he didn't drop the door on you. he pulled out the chair to the high top allowing you to sit. tangerine immediately ordered your usual drink and appetizer. he ran a hand through his curls giving you a smile.

"why are you doing this?"

he paused briefly, "i see you every week get treated like royal shit love. truly i don' know why any of these pricks, first of all, think they have a real shot with ya nor do i know why they'd treat someone like you so poorly. i know i don't do the mushy stuff, but i don't like seeing you upset. it's not a good feeling and i know it's not for you either. you think their actions are a reflection of yourself but it's not. their dicks okay? so you can't keep thinking you're the problem 'right? you're hardworking, you're smart, you're kind, caring, loyal, honest, funny, beautiful and these pricks deserve none of that. not from anyone and especially not from you. your heart is too good for most people."

to say you were shocked in this moment was an understatement. never in your years of knowing tangerine had he spoken so highly and with compassion about someone other than lemon. your heart ached at the sentiment and you knew every word was true. you were easy to give your heart away to be loved and you took the failures as your fault, a reflection of you like tangerine said. deep down you knew it not to be true but the insecurities loomed and swallowed your confidence like a storm. you also knew deep down that's why you do date shitty men sometimes because you think it's what you deserve. tangerine knew this too and he was here stepping up now to help you in stopping the cycle.

"tan, wow i-," you stumbled over your words, once again teary eyed, "you see right through me don't you." your hand snaked over to his, softly wrapping your hand around his palm.

"i care about you, i do. i want you to protect your heart just as much as i want to," he confessed placing a soft kiss to your hand.

a few beats had passed and the server walked over placing the dishes around your entangled hands, "you're a beautiful couple," the young girl spoke before leaving.

your's and tangerine's cheeks went pink. your eyes fluttered down to look at his hand in yours, "we would be, right?"

[snenbubs]

I have to do EVERYTHING myself. Tell me, you guys, why nobody is simping for Mammon??? He is hawt and i lobe him so here are some Mammon (Helluva Boss) x GN Reader headcannons :] Jst sm romantic stuff 🫠

Its all lowk ooc cuz he's an asshole but I'm delulu so lets go.

♡ I need to be honest w/ you guys, he's the sin of greed. This man is an inherently selfish lover. But its okay it checks out.

♡ With that, he's a very greedy lover and he wants all of you whenever he can;

- Hands are always on you, and he has four of them! All the better to hold you with, seriously, one hand will be wrapped securely around your waist whilst the other rests atop of your head.

- I reckon he'd be fond of carrying you, I mean, he's HUGE, and assuming that you're an average sized demon, shark, hellhound or sinner or whatever you are, he's gonna tower over you like a baguette to a croissant. But he wants your face close to his. The solution to this? Hold. When he's not busy, your in his arms, or on his shoulder.

- His persona is very touchy feely so he can get away with a lot of this in public! And I think he's a big fan of PDA. He likes asserting the fact that you are his, he's quite possesive in that aspect.

♡ In addition to this, webs;

- The giant spider has webs.

- HE HAS WEBS.

- His webs are a weird sort of pride, when he sees them on you. He's one of the only demons who can make them, and so when they're on you, its essentially a statement of possesion.

- Its nothing too 'out there' maybe just a bracelet, or a necklace, or a hairtie (if you have hair 🧑‍🦲) But its somewhere people can see.

- If someone tries to flirt with you whilst your wearing it then he has an excuse to get all pissy.

- He isn't against tying you up if the two of you are having a moment and you try to get away. Whatever else you need to do, it can wait. He's the king of greed and he wants to indulge.

♡ He's enjoys having everything, but he also enjoys YOU having everything so expect to be bathed in lavish gifts and prizes;

- Most of the time he won't be able to go with you personally, so he'll send one of his assistants to take you shopping.

Only the best places for you.

- He knows exactly what you like too! He has a person who keeps track of all the things you like, follows you around and takes note of the things you appear interested in. This has lead to a few Birthdays where you were shocked to find a gift you hadn't even mentioned to Mammon yet.

♡ There is never a moment where you may feel he doesn't love you. Ever since he asserted himself into your life, it has been made extremely clear;

- He's very busy and doesn't always have the time for you, so, whenever he is free he ensures you will be at his side.

- He's good at hiding his feelings but he'll slip up, quite often actually, when it comes to you. He'll find himself staring, in awe, at your astounding presence.

- He's not good with his words, though, he never knows what to say to you, or how to express his feelings so its the gestures that count. Mostly buying you things, as I said before, but it gets the point across.

RAAAHH I LOVE HIM

[justlikemebutsixfootthree]

the birthday party -

pairing: matty healy x f!reader

content: friends to lovers, explicit consent, george is a good friend, matty eats pussy, safe sex, denise, p in v sex

wordcount: 6787

this blog is 18+. minors, do not interact. this blog is a safe space. no hate or disrespect of any kind will be tolerated. all work is my own. do not reupload my work on any other site without my consent.

a/n: matty healy, you will always be famous <3

maybe it shouldn't bother him as much as it does. after all, it's just another day.

but it's his birthday. it's his fucking birthday, and there are no messages from you lighting up his phone.

at first, matty tried to convince himself that it was nothing. he had woken up and expected an all-caps message, only to be met with the god-awful time of 5:00 am. but it was okay - it was early, so you probably just want to wait - to ensure that he's awake to see your message. 

so he waited.

he waited through bleary eyes - surrounded by his concrete walls and his white comforter - until his alarm sounded and jerked him awake.

a rush of disappointment shattered his bones when there was no message from you. no ‘happy birthday,’ no ‘good morning,’ not even a ‘hey.’

but still, it's okay. matty went about his morning, taking phone call after phone call from family members he hadn’t heard from since last year, pretending there wasn’t a hole in his heart where you left a dent. his mom texted him once; something about going over for a party and celebrating his birthday there with his family and bandmates, and that was it.

he spends the rest of the day picking at the pancakes george made him and tries desperately to ignore your silence.

so yeah, it hurts that you didn't text him, and he's starting to think that maybe it's not okay. because you're his best friend, and you didn't even have the decency to wish him a happy birthday.

there's always been something between the two of you; dotted lines that make it hard to walk or see straight whenever you're together, usually bickering about god knows what.

george says you love him. matty flicks his forehead until he drops it.

because how could someone who loves him forget his birthday?

he feels selfish - feels like shit wishing for something other than the health and clarity he was brought up to be thankful for on his birthday. 

and you still don't text him. 

it's only a couple of hours later when george's air conditioning hits his face with full power, eyes watering slightly with the artificial wind blowing right into his cornea. they’re on the way to his mother’s house, and matty is bracing himself for the onslaught of aunts with their strong perfume and uncles with their disapproving looks. beside him, george hums from the driver’s seat, a clear indication he can sense matty's heedlessness.

"alright, that's it," george says, turning down the music dial until barely audible guitar strums resonate in the car. “you’ve been moping all day. what gives?”

matty shrugs. "nothing, mate."

"bullshit."

george’s eyes are switching between watching the road and glaring daggers into matty's.

“it’s your birthday, and you’re acting as if someone just killed your snake. so i ask again,” george mutters as he flicks on his turn signal, pulling off the freeway to evacuate the sanctum of subdued car horns and merge into the exit lane. “what gives, matty?”

"it’s not a big deal,” he starts, interrupted by the forced chuckle that resounds beside him. he continues when the light turns green, george slowly letting off the breaks as they near his mom's house.

“i mean, i guess it's just, like, i dunno. i thought that—” he cuts himself off, lost in his head. matty stumbles over his words, a mess of broken syllables as he runs a nervous hand through his hair, messing up the mop of curls.

“she hasn’t texted me today.”

it’s rushed, a lick of shame and embarrassment crawling up his spine as the frigidity of the air conditioning meets his neck. the car is cold, chilling matty's bones with gentle fragility until they freeze and shatter like glass. he bleeds shame, every ounce of blood in his body tainted with the reminder that you forgot.

george's breath hitches, and he clears his throat with a fist over his hand as the other one turns them into a familiar street.

his mother’s house appears in his peripheral vision, the front porch light emitting a timbre, yellow glow, and he can see shadows through the large kitchen window.

matty picks at his nails, messing with his fingers as george parks the car. he can feel watchful eyes on him when he stares down at his lap.

george turns in his seat so they’re forced to face each other. “she didn’t text you at all?”

“not since last night.”

he unbuckles his seatbelt and places a hand on the door handle. he's stopped, a tug to his arm keeping him in place and not permitting him to leave the car—leave the conversation.

“hey,” george starts, voice low and with a lilt of concern tracing the lone syllable. “i’m sure she’s got a good reason. she wouldn’t just forget your birthday.”

matty scoffs, shaking his head until strands of dark hair fall in his face, blowing upwards so he can see again. “what reason?”

“i don't know,” he says, all one breath and fidgety when he unbuckles his seat belt. “but whatever it is, i’m sure she has a good excuse.”

there’s a squeeze to his shoulder, warm fingers emitting heat where they touch his skin through smooth cotton.

“you’re too young to be going through a midlife crisis over the girl you love not texting you for twenty-four hours.”

matty doesn’t have the energy to argue, not when he knows that his friend is right.

so instead of arguing, he smiles and punches george in the arm for good measure before they head down the paved walkway to his childhood home.

his mother greets him first, halfway through his third knock because she expected them over earlier. despite the squint in her eyes, she pulls her son into a tight hug, rubbing comforting circles into his back.

“happy birthday, dear,” she sings, muffled by his chest as she stands nearly half a foot shorter than him.

“thanks, mum.” he smiles, moving aside so george can get engulfed in a hug.

he’s missed it here, the warmth that bubbles in his stomach when he’s around his family, a house full of love and people that he grew up with. it’s almost enough to make him forget about a certain someone who still lingers in the back of his mind like day-old leftovers.

almost.

“so!” his mother beams, stepping back and allowing the boys to remove their shoes and step deeper into the house. “everyone is already here, and they can’t wait to sing you 'happy birthday'.”

matty’s led down the hallway, following his mom into the kitchen. a rumble of deep-set voices and squeals call his name, and his head turns to watch distant relatives scramble to pull him into tight hugs.

he kisses his grandparents on the cheeks, hugs his aunt and uncles and tells his cousins that he missed them. they pass him presents like he’s five again, smaller gifts to unwrap now that he’s an adult and no longer asks for life-sized action figures. george joins him, staying close with a timid smile on his face as he mingles with matty’s family. the whole scene coaxes a content sigh to escape his lips, and he relaxes when his mom gives him another hug.

“i got you something too,” she whispers when they pull apart, leading them into the living room and passing him a glass of wine. they sit, lively music wafting through the speakers, and he smiles as he watches george twirl his cousins around. “it’s not here yet though, i’m afraid. you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“you didn’t have to get me anything, mum,” he says through the bitter taste of merlot. 

she waves her hand dismissively. “oh stop it. you’ll love it, i promise.”

he tries to enjoy the party—really, he does. but thoughts of how much better it could be if you were here to enjoy it with him linger in the back of his mind. it’s tough to decide whether he should miss you or be mad at you. maybe he should forget you all together right now but he can’t. not when his brain is growing fuzzy and his cheeks feel warm, patches of crimson surely paint his face, thanks to the glass he downed in one go.

“matty, come do a shot with me!” 

with a huff, matty makes his way toward his friend who holds a shot glass nearly overfilled with clear liquid.

george’s grin melts away when he sees him, eyes filled with concern as he hesitantly passes the shot to matty.

“you okay, mate?”

matty clears his throat and mumbles something about allergies and how it’s stuffy in here as cool liquor spills over his fingers. george doesn’t seem to buy it, but he shrugs anyways.

he shakes off the mist clouding his brain and smirks, self-indulgence taking over his dark eyes. he clinks the glass to his friend’s, liquid sloshing off the sides before he tips it back. it burns when it runs down his throat, leaves his tongue dry in a desert of twisted intoxication he knows he’ll regret in the morning.

“shit,” george hisses through his teeth. “‘ forgot that i fuckin’ hate vodka.”

matty laughs, and there’s silence between them for a moment, then, “mate, are you sure you’re okay? ‘cause, not to be an arse, but you look fuckin’ horrible.”

exasperated, matty runs his hands through his already mussed hair.

“i’m gonna go get another drink.”

a calloused hand wraps around his wrist and stops him from pulling away. “maybe you should ease up on the booze,” george says.

“aren’t you the one that was just begging me to do shots with you?”

“that was before you turned into a sad drunk. here,” he shuffles around for a water bottle, “drink this and go get some air—maybe a smoke, too, while you’re at it.”

grinning, matty takes the water from george’ hand with a simple “thanks.” 

he sneaks away to the back porch where crickets chirp quietly in the grass—a change from the loud commotion of music and chatter.

lithe fingers bring a cigarette to chapped lips, thumb slipping on the lighter to invoke a small flicker of flames that burn the end of the bud.

with an inhale, matty wonders if his room looks the same as it did that last time he was here; if his brother had claimed any of his clothes or knick-knacks he’d left when he moved out. he wonders if you would find his room childish.

with an exhale, he wonders how his thoughts always seem to trace back to you.

“what have i told you about smoking, matthew?”

“i have a good reason.”

his mom wanders her way next to matty, leaning against the fencepost next to him. “and what might that reason be, love?”

“her,” matty breathes, the smoke from his lungs floating into the distant air. “fuck, mum. it’s always her.” he pauses to take another drag. “she hasn’t texted me all day, and i’m worried about her getting hurt or somethin’.”

denise smiles, and from the corner of his eye, he sees her turn back to the door of the house. he doesn’t follow her motions.

“i’m sure she’s fine, sweetheart,” she says, turning back. “you’ll hear from her soon.”

“but—”

she elbows matty’s side. “no ‘buts’. now, i think you should put that out and come back inside, okay? that stuff is bad for you.”

“soon,” he says, completely ignoring her request, and she sighs, giving her son a final nudge before stepping back inside. matty doesn’t spare her a glance, opting to keep his eyes trained on a black, starless sky.

the familiar buzz of red wine floats through his bloodstream, and he draws another hit into his lungs, filling the void of sadness with grey smoke. he almost thinks he’s hearing things when someone speaks from behind him.

“she’s right, y’know.”

the exhale of smoke comes out in a choked gasp, and his heart stutters, chest tightening. 

matty’s scared to turn around. scared to face the cause of his well-being, because there’s no way this can be real. his lip is worried between his teeth, hair falling into his face as he stares at the cigarette laced between his thumb and index finger.

the open wound you left in his heart this morning is sealed by the resound of your voice that echoes through the air.

he doesn’t turn around. you do it for him.

matty’s forced to face you with a pull on his arm, skin tingling where your hand rests. the cigarette is plucked from his fingers seconds after, the stub dropping to the ground where you step on it to put it out.

“hi,” you say, completely and utterly exhausted. “happy birthday.”

the closeness is suffocating.

you’re standing too close but somehow too far away, and matty would pull you into him if it weren’t for the frozen state of his bones. 

“hi,” matty breathes, eyes glossy with unshed tears as he stares down at you.

it’s surreal—standing here with the lingering taste of tobacco and merlot heavy on his tongue—the gentle breeze blowing tufts of your hair.

“what are you—w-when did—” matty stutters, mind running a mile a minute, intoxicated brain took over with perplexion. he stops, takes a deep breath, and collects his thoughts. “how are you here?”

“well,” you drawl, shuffling closer to the stunned man in front of you. “your parents bought me a ticket to fly out for your birthday—per george’s request. after that, all i had to do was keep it a secret, hop on a plane, and here i am.”

“here you are?” he repeats. “you had me worried sick. you didn’t text or call—hell, you didn’t even wish me a happy birthday! you can’t—you can’t just waltz in here and pretend that everything is fine when you put me through—”

“matty,” you interrupt, grabbing his hands. “calm down for me, yeah? breathe.”

“no—what? don’t just-”

he pulls away and leans back against the fence. his hands run through his hair, fingers desperately wishing they were holding a cigarette.

“breathe, matty.” you sigh patiently. “how about you give me a tour?”

“can we just … stay here for a while?” he asks, and if there’s tension in the air, it’s ignored. “i just want to make sure i’m not dreaming, or something.”

“you dream about me?’ you tease, crossing your arms to try and shield yourself from the breeze.

dark eyes slowly meet yours.

“all the time.”

he pushes himself off the fence and steps closer to you. the boots he’s wearing give him some height, so he’s looking down at you as his hands move to push your hair back.

“tell me,” you whisper. “tell me what you dream about.”

it’s the urgent tone of your hushed voice that has matty caving—hesitancy swept away with the wind as he gives in, letting his hands trace the sides of your face.

“everything,” he admits, voice quiet and shy. “fuck, love, i dream about doing everything with you. anything and everything you’d want me to.”

you’re silent.

you’re silent, and matty is losing his mind, brain pounding against his skull. he can feel bitter bile rise up his throat, nauseous when he looks back at you—just standing there—lips parted and leaving matty to lie in the grandeur of his own self-destruction.

there’s already an apology forming on his tongue, the fingers that were wound through your hair curling away.

but you step closer and grab his hands, stopping their retreat.

“i dream about it too.”

the words take matty by surprise, the tenderness that coats the revelation alleviating the shake in his hands. he looks at you—really looks at you—and scrutinizes the expression on your face.

he finds no hint of a lie; no hint of cruel duplicity, or fraud. the truth of your words really sinks in when you drop his hands in favour of running the pad of your thumbs under charcoal eyes, ridding him of the hint of tears that start to seep from puffy eyelids.

“c’mon, matty. you can’t possibly be surprised. i mean really, i dropped everything just to see you.” your tone is gentle, but a laugh sneaks its way out of your mouth and curls around matty’s head, leaving him feeling warm.

he rolls his eyes; courage slowly washes over his bones and makes his hands move to pull you in by the waist.

“shut up and kiss me.”

you surge forward, capturing his lips on your own as your hands move from his cheeks to his hair; threading them through unruly curls. 

matty drinks in every noise you make, welcoming them as they leave him desperate. the taste of stale alcohol still lingers on his lips, but underneath the bitterness is you; sweet and human. 

he would like to pretend that he hears fireworks when your lips part, a mess of bright, colourful explosions littering the sky as he softly licks into your mouth—but that doesn’t happen.

and it’s alright. it’s completely okay because instead of the headache-inducing light and noise, there’s the muffled laughter of his friends and family, the gentle chirp of crickets, and you.

you; gasping into the kiss.

you; your hands tugging gently at his hair.

you; flush against his chest. so close that matty can feel your heartbeat melding with his.

you; jerking away so abruptly his eyes shoot open, flickering over your—now beet-red—face.

the creak of the back door had pulled you away from him, and the sight of george standing atop the welcome mat made you flush.

“um,” he says, shuffling awkwardly. “i just wanted to say ‘hi’, but i think you welcomed her home enough for the both of us.”

matty clears his throat and grins sheepishly at a very shocked george. his cheeks burn red at being caught, but he can’t really bring himself to care—not when you’re finally next to him.

george scoffs, exasperated by his love-sick friends. 

“come inside,” he urges, nodding in the direction of the house. “everyone’s excited to see her.”

matty watches as you turn back to him and give a little shrug, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth—and it’s then that he decides that he’s not done kissing you yet.

“yeah. we’ll uh—we’ll follow you.”

he leads you into the house with a hand on the small of your back, and shuts the door behind him, blocking out the sounds of lingering traffic. cheerful voices seep through the walls, and the irony of how he walked in here just a couple hours ago, saddened and heavy because of the girl who’s now looking up at him with only adoration in her eyes is not lost on matty. 

“okay, denise is in there laughing about how we all tricked you into thinking the worst, so prepare to be humiliated.”

matty hums in response, staring only at the back of your head as you follow george toward the kitchen. he reaches a hand out, grabs your arm and gently tugs you back with a finger over his lips and a wink.

“mhm,” he sings, leading you slowly towards the stairs. “sounds like fun.”

he doesn’t get the chance to watch as george turns around, already halfway up the stairs with you latched onto his arm.

“you’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” george’s exasperated voice is the last thing he hears before he’s crowding you against the wall at the top of the stairs.

his lips are on yours before you get a second to breathe, a bruising hold on your waist as he pushes you into solid plaster. he keeps one hand on you while the other presses the wall beside your head, arm shaky as he leans his weight onto you.

there’s a light push to his chest, and you gasp under him as you pull back. matty has to refrain from groaning at the loss of pressure on his lips.

“my bags,” you pant, “i forgot them outside.”

a breath of laughter ghosts over your lips. “we can get them after.”

“but my clothes are gonna get wet—matty, the grass was wet.”

your words render useless as he leans down to plant open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

“then you can borrow some of mine,” matty mumbles, trailing his way up to your jaw to suck purple bruises into tender flesh.

at the thought of drowning in his clothes, you go lax against matty’s lips; giving in to his desperate mouth.

“okay,” you agree, and that’s all it takes for matty to recapture your mouth and let his hands wander. 

calloused, gentle hands trace the curve of your body as lithe hips press into yours. he manages to tear a hand away from you to feel for the cool metal of the familiar doorknob, twisting until the door falls open.

he tugs you in with sweet urgency, his old bedroom cast in soft light, the only luminosity coming from the moon where it seeps through the blinds.

maybe it’s just the heat of the moment, or maybe you don’t care—but matty’s grateful you don’t comment on the bowie posters that grace his walls as he pushes you into the middle of his bed.

you land with a light bounce and prop yourself up onto your elbows, a cocky grin making its way onto your face. “i’ve been here for barely twenty minutes,” you breathe, gasping when matty situates himself between your legs and pushes you higher onto the mattress. “and you already wanna tear my clothes off.”

the brunet dips his fingers under the hem of your shirt, hiking it up just a sliver to catch a glimpse of soft, smooth skin. “wanted to for a while now.”

he brings the hem of the shirt up to your lips. “bite,” he whispers, voice husky.

with the new expanse of skin exposed, matty's practically left breathless. he takes tender flesh between his teeth, laps his tongue at bare and unmarred skin, and sucks until he feels you arch your back and lean into his mouth. his hands trail the expanse of your ribs, feeling the delicate bones under his touch.

marks upon marks are added to your lower stomach, matty desperately trying to leave reminders on your abdomen. his lips work on their own accord, sucking bite after bite up your torso until he lands at the base of your bra. he looks up at you, eyes questioning. laughing softly, you sit up, gently pushing him back onto his knees. dark eyes trace your body, watching as you undo your bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor, along with your shirt. 

the man in front of you sits in awe, and lets out a long sigh. “fuckin’ gorgeous.”

you’re not sure if the words were meant for you to hear, but you blush anyways, leaning back and letting your elbows hold your weight.

“do your worst, birthday boy.”

matty laughs, the happy—and somewhat shocked—noise echoes through the small bedroom and causes you to grin. he doesn’t hesitate to drop his head; lips meeting your warm skin, teeth leaving trails of bruises. 

you gasp out breathy pleas when matty flicks his tongue over the peak of your breast. “y-your—shit,” you whine, hands landing in the man’s hair, tugging at the curls harshly. “your family is downstairs, matty. what if they—ah!—hear us?"

“don’t care,” he responds, biting softly at the pink bud and rolling the other between his index and his thumb. “want this. want you.”

”fuck. i—okay, okay. you have me, matty,” you moan, pleasure dripping from your lips. “you have me.”

he surges up to kiss you again, newfound fervour in the brush of your lips as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth. you still taste sweet, everything matty could ever ask for. 

“you’re gonna have to be quiet,” he whispers, leaning back on his knees and tracing patterns over your stomach, dipping his fingers into the bruised marks just to hear the masochistic whines you let out at the pain. “as pretty as you sound, i don’t want anyone hearing us.”

hearing his words over, matty backtracks, his hand stuttering over your torso.

“i mean, not that we need to like, do anything—i’m not—i don’t wanna force you into—”

your fingers wrap around his wrist, halting his ministrations to give a comforting squeeze to his skin.

“i want to,” you breathe, using your grip around his wrist to drag his hand down your stomach to rest on your belt. “i want this.”

at your words, matty rushes to tug at the buckle, effortlessly removing your belt and tossing it to the side. 

your jeans are off your hips in a second’s time, but he takes his time sliding them over your ankles, bending down to leave firm kisses on your inner thighs.

you preen under his touch, and your chest heaves as you breathe, a glistening trail of spit drying on your nipples. when the jeans are discarded and messily thrown in a pile somewhere across the tiny room, matty notices the soaked bottom of your underwear.

tracing a finger up the fabric just to watch you writhe, matty tuts. “and you thought i was eager.”

your hips jerk up in response, surprised by the soft touch. your hands fly to his hair, gripping the curls so tight that he grunts against your neck. 

“jesus.” 

“sorry! ‘m sorry,” you sob. you manage to relax your fingers, but matty shakes his head.

“don’t stop on my account.” 

you feel his fingers slide across your damp underwear, moving to mindlessly palm your thighs as he leaves burning kisses up to where you need him most. your hips rut up, chasing his hand desperately, but matty’s not having it. 

“matty, please,” you huff, tugging at his hair to try and get him where you want him.

“stop whining,” he hushes. “‘wanna take my time.”

your soft gasps and whimpers start to get to him though, and he pushes his knuckles against your pussy, forcing a shocked moan out of you. 

matty shushes you because while he is completely enamoured by each noise that escapes your lips, he isn’t too keen on one of his family members walking in to see him take you apart.

you relent, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, while matty returns to the task at hand.

“pretty,” he mumbles, slipping calloused fingers beneath the elastic band of your underwear. 

he pulls to gradually reveal your soaked folds and his breath catches in his throat. at the sight, he speeds up his movements and practically rips the cloth off your legs. the material joins the jeans on the floor, and finally, he gets to see you in all your splendour.

“can i taste you?” he whispers, voice shaking. you nod, already out of it as you take the liberty of collecting all of his hair away from his face, holding it back as he works his mouth against you.

“matty, you—” you start, a hand flying from his hair to his sheets. they smell like him, but you’re trying not to think about that—trying not to think about how loopy it’s making you feel—because matty’s holding your hips up, nose bumping against your swollen clit as he tongues at your hole.

“you—” you start again, but the thought gets lost somewhere. disappears as matty does something with his tongue that makes you gasp. “jesus christ—” you huff, chest rising and falling quickly.

you get your words out before you can forget. 

“fuck,” you sigh, arching your hips into his face and tightening your fist in his hair, “you look good like this.”

the praise goes straight to his head, and he’s groaning. nodding his head into you, hitting a sweet spot and almost immediately, the hand in his hair pulls him up.

“i don’t wanna cum yet,” you say, quiet because you have to be—taking account of the people downstairs. “so just, go easy on me, okay? you’re surprisingly good at this.”

“surprisingly?” matty retorts, raising an eyebrow. 

you don’t have time to respond before he runs his teeth against your clit, and chides, “brat,” before tightening the grip his fingers have on your thighs, pushing the digits into your skin before shaking his head from side to side. you see black, your eyes clenched closed as you try and pull your thighs together, but matty pushes them open, desperately lapping at you.

his jaw aches as his mouth moves, but your pleasure is all he knows. even though you asked so nicely for matty to not yet make you cum—the question is nothing but a distant memory in the back of his mind.

he flattens his tongue and guides it up, sliding across your slit before enveloping your clit in his mouth and sucking—forcing a strong, white current to wash over you. your hands shoot up to cover your mouth as you arch into his mouth, breathlessly stuttering his name as you come.

can’t talk, can’t speak.

the feeling is too overwhelming, too all-consuming before the come down eventually starts and words are coming out, your body shaking with the effort to stay quiet; muffled whimpers sounding behind tight fingers.

you hitch your hips up, and matty’s moving with them, basically getting onto his knees to keep you close. “holy fuck,” you breathe, looking down between your tits to where he’s kissing away your slick, only letting go when you shove your hands down between your thighs, nerves shot and sensitive.

“mmh,” you whimper, clamping your thighs together, trying to calm yourself down. 

“you with me?” he asks, tucking his damp curls behind his ears. you have to laugh. have to laugh all of this pent-up emotion out as you brush stray hairs from your face.

“yeah,” you nod breathlessly. matty kisses you with a smile and you taste yourself on him. his features go goofy when he raises a brow and asks, “good?” 

“fucking amazing.”

“good,” he says again, then rolls onto his back beside you. he’s unbuttoning his shirt, saying, “i aim to please,” when you’re crawling your body up his chest and kissing the shock away from his face.

“oh fuck,” he curses, fumbling to grab a hold of you. you slide your fingers onto the side of his head and taste yourself, mixed with the feel of his swollen, curving lips as he smiles against you. desperation sweeps over you, and you cup a hand over the bulge in his pants, grinding your palm down, and matty has to focus really hard to not give into your touch.

regrettably, he pries your hand away, bringing it to his mouth and kissing each one of your fingers with sentimental ease. “wanna fuck you,” he mutters, playfully biting at your ring finger until you laugh and pull your hand away.

“come on,” you drawl, moving to sit directly on his bulge. “it’s your birthday. don’t you want me to blow you?”

you have a point, matty supposes. his birthday is supposed to be the one day of the year when he gets to be selfish, and what kind of person would he be if he passed up the opportunity to feel your lips around him? 

but you’re his gift. tasting you and making you cum from his mouth alone is a better present than he could have ever asked for, and matty thinks he can afford to be greedy tonight.

but to him, being greedy isn’t fucking your throat until pretty tears fall down your cheeks—he can do that another time. greedy, to matty, is taking another orgasm from you, just so he can hear the way his name sounds when curled around your tongue.

he makes quick work of slipping off the mattress and taking off the white button-up and trousers, leaving him in only his boxers.

“i’m not lettin’ you suck me off.” he smirks.

“what? why not?” you move to the edge of the bed, a look of confusion dancing on your features as you run a finger up matty’s exposed thigh. “don’t you want me to?”

it’s hard not to give in when you tease the waistband of his boxers, the light chatter rumbling from downstairs a distant memory as he loses himself in the feeling of cold fingers slipping under the elastic band. leaning forward, you press leisurely kisses against the brunet’s torso.

he allows you to mouth at his abdomen, welcomes the gentle bite when you pull skin between your teeth; a swirl of possessiveness ravishing deep in his bones when he realizes that you’re is trying to match the heart-shaped hickeys that taint your own body.

matty breaks out of his trance when you roll his boxers down until the cloth lies in a pile around his ankles. goosebumps rise to his skin and he can feel his legs begin to tremble.

before you have the chance to take his cock into your mouth, matty takes hold of your hair, and gently pulls you back.

“i said you’re not blowin’ me,” he mutters, leaning over your body until you’re forced to lay flat on the mattress, legs dangling off the edge and chest heaving at the proximity. “i know what i want for my birthday, and it’s not that.”

with a fluid movement, he flips your positions and settles against the headboard, letting you settle on his lap. his hands explore your body, nails occasionally scratching you—making you shiver.

“i want you. i want you as mine, and i want you to ride me, right here.”

matty laughs at your wide eyes, brushes sweaty hair out of your face, and relishes in the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. he’s painfully hard, and every time you shift just a fraction of an inch, it tugs a shaky breath from his throat.

“alright,” you say, pressing a chaste kiss to matty’s lips. “do you have any condoms then?”

his hand reaches out to his bedside table. “in the drawer.”

you lean to grab it for him, and matty’s kissing you the entire time. over your chest, collarbones, shoulders, and neck as you push around his drawer, saying “you have so much shit in here.”

he turns to look. turns back to your neck. “in the back,” and he’s kissing you again, palming your ass. he slides his hands lower and bumps them against your sensitive clit, making you gasp, clutching onto the wood.

matty fucking laughs.

you shake your head. “you’re an arse.”

“you’re very distracting,” he admits.

you finally find the box, and with a packet in hand, you look down to where matty’s cock lays on his stomach, a bead of precum leaking onto his abdomen. “shit, you’re big.”

matty smirks, cocky. “think you can take it?”

huffing, you slide the condom down onto him slower than necessary. his cocky smirk dies immediately when you suck your cheeks together and allow a pool of spit to spill from your lips.

“gonna try,” you say, slicking up matty’s cock with a thick coat of saliva still partially strung to your lips, the friction slow enough for him to buck his hips and try to fuck your fist to get needed stimulation. 

“tease,” he manages to choke out before you sink down onto him, hips flexing back so he slides all the way in. as soon as you bottom out, matty groans long and hard, and his head falls into the crook of your shoulder.

you don’t let him know when you’re ready, only lifting yourself up so matty can feel the drag of his cock along your insides, gasping as pleasure clouds your mind. shaky limbs help you in slamming back down, the legs of the bed creaking with the force of your bodies colliding.

”fuck,” matty moans, hands scrambling to find purchase on your waist. you sound fucked out already, blissful sighs breathed into matty’s hair. “you okay?”

you sit up again, the tip of matty’s cock catching on your folds before you lower yourself again, stuttered curses leaving your mouth.

“mhm, m’fine. y-you’re just,” you sob, trailing off and rolling your hips forward, letting matty’s cock grind against your sensitive bundle of nerves. you swallow, the sound resonating in matty’s ears as he aids your movements with a firm grip on your waist. “big.”

matty’s ego swells and he pulls you down hard on his dick, making you feel just how big he can be. it causes you to shake your head quickly.

“fuck! n-not so fast, please.”

“oh baby,” he soothes, palms sliding to grip your ass, and he uses his hold on you to fuck up into you, keeping a simple rhythm—cock hitting a part of you that makes you sob. makes you collapse against his chest, and you stuff your head into his neck and just take it.

“there?” matty asks with a twinge of something sadistic. “want me to fuck you there?”

“yeah, yeah, please—close, matty, ‘m so close.”

to try and lessen the noise, matty grabs your face and pulls you down into a bruising kiss. he swallows every sound, loving the way you struggle to kiss him back as your legs tremble.

“close already, huh?” he whispers against your lips, drinking in every soft moan that escapes your throat.

and it’s meant to be playful, something that he can tease you about later—but with the way his name is repeated in a fucked out voice, he’s sure he’ll forget to do that later.

so he relents, fucking into you with calculated thrusts, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

your thighs ache, and the edge is so close all you can do is take what he’s giving you and whine his name pathetically.

it hits you all at once.

a white-hot heat reaches up and grabs you and you clench so fucking tight around his cock that matty falters.

he’s losing his goddamn mind. head tilted back against the headboard, he’s trying to hold back pathetic whimpers, but when your eyes roll to the back of your head and your lashes flutter shut, matty lets out a sob as he comes, rutting his hips into you as your body shakes.

your body shakes with overstimulation as matty moves you against him, milking his orgasm and running sharp nails down your sweat-ridden back. 

after the comedown, you breathe out a sigh. matty’s kissing your neck. gently pecking at the hot skin, before spreading his kisses over your jaw, towards your mouth. 

“how was that?” he asks, tracing a calloused finger over the marks that litter your body. they turn a deeper shade of purple when his touch lingers for too long, and he grins as you squirm in his grasp.

“i think you already know,” you quip, frowning.

“maybe. but i wanna hear you say it.”

you don’t dignify him with a response, instead shaking your head and lifting yourself off his cock, wincing at the sudden emptiness.

��cold?” matty asks. you nod and curl into yourself as he gets up to rummage through his old closet.

once you’re fully dressed, in clothes albeit a bit big on you, matty helps you stand from the bed and pulls you into a hug—your first proper embrace since you’ve been here—and rests his chin atop your knotted hair.

you hum into his chest, wrapping your fingers behind his back and trace swirls over his bare skin. 

“i’m glad you’re here,” he says, pressing a kiss to your crown and pulling back to find his pants. “i don’t know if i actually told you that, yet.”

“i kinda figured you were—what with how fast you stopped crying when you saw me.”

“hey,” matty points an accusatory finger at you, but there’s no malice behind it. “you can’t blame me for bein’ upset, i thought you forgot my birthday.”

together, you fix the pillows and smooth over crumpled sheets, returning the room to the way it was before the kisses, the sex, and you.

“matty, when have i ever forgotten your birthday?” 

before leaving the room, you try to smooth out your hair, carding a hand through matty’s as well so it isn’t too obvious what you’ve been doing for the last hour—though you’re sure george has a hunch.

the minute you step into the kitchen, with matty close behind, you see george down the rest of his beer and make his way over to you. 

“so,” he drawls, a shit-eating grin spread across his face as he eyes you two up and down. “what have you guys been doin’?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

© 2023 justlikemebutsixfootthree - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or claim as yours

[msfbgraves]

Seeing a lot of: "The selfish strikers are hurting the crew members 😥😫😭" takes on Tumblr suddenly.

Well hello AMPTP PR team!

If the retraction of your labor did not hurt anyone, strikes would be absolutely useless. An industry is supposed to suffer from a retraction of labor, to show the value of that labor. And that is exactly why nobody ever starts a negotiation there. Every negotiation goes: "I offer something against fair compensation. When not fairly compensated, I will retract my labor, with us both knowing full well that people are going to suffer. So let's not. Pay me fairly for all our benefits. You reap huge rewards from this labor. That comes with the responsibility of good stewardship." If they say: "Nope, I am unwilling to compensate you fairly," the "and I don't care who the hell suffers for it" goes without saying.

That suffering is supposed to be a pressure on the bosses, as their refusal to pay fairly is what causes it. What they're now doing is saying the strikers cause it, as if that action wasn't a response to them not taking responsibility.

Do you honestly think that the same people who want to squeeze writers and actors care a single fuck for the wellbeing of the crew?! The AMPTP is causing that pain and could end it with a 10th of what WB alone has already lost in revenue. But no they want to alleviate the pressure of the collatoral damage of their refusal by scabbing (lessening the pain for their consumers), and setting the workers against each other. Oh, it's not my fault for screwing my workers over, which hurts you! It's their fault for not letting me do it without a fight! They're so mean!

When this could all be resolved - already is being resolved! - by simply giving in to very reasonable demands! People, including crew, who have made agreements with the unions are in fact working!

Say some footballer was harassing someone and got kicked back so hard they couldn't play. If the game is cancelled because of that, do you say: well, they should have just let themselves be hurt so I don't suffer? Or do you say: that asshole footballer is letting us all down by not taking responsibility that comes with their position and being an awful person? Even a toddler knows who is at fault in that situation. But if I have to spell it out: it's the person that starts being awful when it is in their power not to be, and when in fact they had every chance not to be. It's the footballer kicking someone for no reason. It is the AMPTP who wants to exploit and underpay people and screw over consumers by only giving them AI crap, which was trained on stolen work, the copyright of which they don't own and never offered to pay for.

People suffer because the AMPTP won't agree not to hurt people. This stops - and has already stopped in some cases - the second they agree to a reasonable deal with inbuilt protections.

The AMPTP knew in rejecting these terms that they would throw the crew under the bus. They didn't give a shit as long as they could retain the power to exploit people.

I bet they are paying the PR people more than they're refusing to pay the unions to not have to come to an agreement, knowing full well how much that is costing not just the crew but the entire economy of California.

If I were a Californian representative, I would call Zaslav, Iger and Lombardini and pressure them to stop fucking over the entire state!

[alchemania]

“Don't you hate her?”

Furina turned, eyebrows raised in confusion. “Huh?”

“Your creator. Don't you hate her?”

The girl pondered a moment, looking unsure. “I..don't know.”

“You should,” he asserted. “All this time you had to suffer alone, for what?? People who didn't even care about the real you?? People who were ungrateful and selfish and only cared about themselves, at the end of the day??”

“Not everyone is like that,” Furina protested, shaking her head slowly. “I ..did suffer, but it all worked out in the end. Besides, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her-”

“The same could be said for my mother,” Wanderer interrupted, eyes flashing. “I came into being because of her, but that doesn't make her a good person, or a good parent. She hurt me. These two facts can coexist. Focalors created you, yes, but she also subjected you to 500 years of suffering where you couldn't confide in ANYONE or risk losing everything. Wasn't that awful?? Wasn't it a horrible time? You were all alone living on a hope and a prayer, and if it went wrong, it would have been all for nothing. You were a means to an end, and what do you have to show for it? Sure, everybody was saved and all was well, but now you're just - a person, and people hate you for what you did, people hate you for what you DIDN'T do. Was it worth it?? Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” she nodded, after a beat. “Because, this is what I was created to do. And, I'm free now. I don't know what I'm going to do, but at least my life is mine. I can do whatever I want. I can live.” Wanderer's jaw clenched, and Furina frowned, nervously. “..why are you so angry?”

“Because SOMEONE has to be!” he shouted, voice cracking. “I mean- I heard about the trial, they were gonna kill you- they lured you there because you wouldn't talk, right? And then after everything, did anyone apologize to you or- praise you, for all the hell you went through? Anything??”

“.. Neuvillette is taking care of me.”

The pain on Wanderer's face was almost palpable, at that.

“..anything else?”

“.. it's fine," she tried to appease. "It's not like I serve any purpose anymore. Like I said, I did what I was created to, so I'm not of any use and-”

“Stop.”

“..what?”

“STOP- talking like that,” Wanderer snapped, eyes suspiciously glossy. She sounded so much like him, who he used to be, and it hurt so badly.

A blank sheet of paper has infinite potential, but it is nothing as long as it is empty, he'd said, a good while ago. He'd been wrong about himself, and Furina was wrong now.

“You're not just - what you were made for. You don't - what happened to you is wrong. You're not DISPOSABLE now that everything is over.”

“It- it was for everyone's sake, compared to my suffering, it's obvious what's more important! I had to save them! It’s what I was born for! It doesn't matter -”

“It DOES,” he yelled, eyes glowing an almost neon icy blue, and she startled. “Stop acting like your suffering was something that was necessary. Stop acting like it was just for the greater good. That doesn't matter! The fact of the matter is that you suffered, and you were hurt, and you're STILL hurting! And- barely anybody is there for you..your creator, she should have been there for you, she should have protected you, but she didn't. She didn't. And you - you have every right to be angry with her, for not being there for you. For you being unable to live, until now. It was wrong, even if it was, as she claimed, for the greater good. Don't defend her.”

"She loved me-"

"And she left you, so not enough."

Just like my mother ..

“...Wanderer,” Furina ventured, worry all over her face.

“What?”

“You're crying…”

..oh. He hadn't even noticed, but his cheeks WERE wet, and he put a hand to one with a start, quickly scrubbing at his face. “Ah-” and he pulled his hat over his face, to hide it.

“..it was a lot. I often wondered when everything would end. I wanted, to tell someone so badly what was going on,” Furina admitted, and Wanderer looked up, eyes red from weeping. “There were a lot of times I didn't think I was going to make it, but. But I did, and, and everything was okay.”

“But are you?”

There was a long pause, and the two of them stared at each other until Furina slowly shook her head no, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

“See? You're - we're both so messed up, from everything, and no one was there,” Wanderer almost whispered, looking out the window. "No one was there to help. ..You're strong as hell, I'll give you that. If I was in your shoes, I don't know if I would have made it. It seems people are stronger than I've given them credit for..”

It was something that surprised him, again and again.

“I just don't understand why you care..”

“.. I don't know why I do,” he shrugged. “Maybe because you remind me of myself, and. It hurts, looking at you and feeling like I'm looking in the mirror. But someone has to be in your corner and -”

“And you want to do that?”

A pause.

“..Well, if you don't stand up for you, no telling who will.”

“You don't have to cry over me. I'm -”

“If you say you're not worth it, I am going to bodyslam you,” Wanderer growled, eyes flashing, and Furina put up her hands.

“I wasn't going to! I was going to say that I will be okay. Not now, but. Eventually. I'm healing. I promise. There's people who care, like you.”

Wanderer fell silent then, looking away, and she reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I'm still wrestling with - with what I want to do and where I'll go but. It's nice to know that I'm valued just for existing.”

“That's all you need to be valued,” he muttered, looking to the floor. “You don't have to prove the worth of your existence. It's fine to just be.”

“..are you talking to yourself, or me?”

He looked to her then, expression unreadable, and she smiled sadly, in understanding. “Both is good. It's okay to just be. We're here, and we'll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Wanderer whispered, giving a shaky breath. “..we will."

[dotster001]

hi i got a request for grim ( Platonic ) where the reader and grim get stuck in a time loop and just have fun because the day ( or whatever far you want it to go ) will reset

so its just reader and grim having fun <3

( ofc you dont have to do this <3) (ofc it doesnt have to be grim it can be another characters )

3k follower Masterlist

A/N: I know you were trying to be helpful, but it is the funniest thing to me that you linked a definition to platonic for an aro-ace 😂

Unresolved

"Come to bed. The Great Grim needs cuddles!" Your kitty friend pouted from the bed.

You bit your lip. You had to pack, tomorrow Crowley was sending you home. But you were leaving Grimmy behind….

"I'm coming," you said with a smile, getting into bed, and snuggling him close to your chest, letting his soft purrs help you drift off.

It felt like moments and your alarm was going off.

"Don't get up yet,"Grim groaned, and you gently scratched behind his ears.

"If I don't, the headmage will keep me here for another year. You know how he is."

He grimaced and rubbed his eyes, and you reached for your packed bag….

Which wasn't there.

"Grim?"

"Hm?" He responded tiredly, continuing to rub his eyes.

"Nothing," no use worrying him. He already had a lot on his mind. You didn't have much packed anyway, so you quickly gathered your things and made your way to Crowley's office.

He was sipping coffee, and looked very confused by your presence.

"Perfect? Did we have an appointment?"

"Yes. You're supposed to send me home today."

Crowley burst into laughter. "Silly, silly prefect. That's tomorrow, remember?"

You stared at him, then looked to Grim.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

You looked at your phone, and immediately dropped it in shock.

"It's yesterday!"

"Prefect?" If you could see his eyebrows, you could guess Crowley was raising one of them.

"Nothing," you muttered. "I'll see you tomorrow, sorry for the confusion."

You quickly scooped up Grim and took him outside.

"Grim, it's still yesterday."

"Huh?"

"Look!" You showed him your phone screen, proudly displaying yesterday's date.

"I'm not doing the same classes again," Grim said with an eye roll. Which was soon replaced with a grin. "We should go to the town!"

"But-"

"Y/N, you leave tomorrow, right? So let's enjoy this extra day together!"

You couldn't say no to that. You owed him that much, considering he now had an extra day with him.

"Alright."

You spent the day on town, eating treats, buying Grim gifts, playing games in the arcade. At the end of the day, your kitty companion was sleepy, so you took him home, tucked him in, and snuggled in for the night.

Your alarm went off, and this time you checked the date.

"It's the same day," you muttered to Grim, and sure enough, the things you had bought yesterday were gone.

"We should go to the beach today!" He squealed excitedly, bounding from the bed before you could say anything.

….

It had been the equivalent of a week of the same day.  You were concerned. Grim was not.

"Grimmy, aren't you worried about this time loop thing?"

"Nope! I'm selfish, and it means you'll stay with me longer!" He giggled unashamedly.

You rolled your eyes, continuing your internet search, "How to End A Time Loop."

Most of the search results implied there was something unresolved that you needed to figure out. There was one search result, however, that discussed the possibility of someone's unique magic manipulating time. The trouble with that response was that no one but you and Grim seemed to be the only ones who knew what was going on.

You immediately smacked your forehead.

"Grimmy? Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" He asked through a mouthful of spaghetti.

"Is there something bothering you?" 

He tilted his head thoughtfully before shoving another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

"Nope."

The next morning you woke yourself earlier than the alarm, and made some cookies, setting a plate full of them, and a glass of milk on a tray. 

You gently shook Grim awake and giggled as he squealed in excitement over the cookies.

He started shoving them in his mouth, two at a time, and you sat gently next to him, scratching his head.

"Grim, what's wrong?"

He froze, and after a moment too long of silence, he looked up at you with teary eyes.

"You're going to leave me when tomorrow comes. And I know you have to go but…"

"But?"

"I wanna go with you," he whispered.

"I thought you wanted to be a great mage."

"I did, but…you're my family. I'd rather be with you."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

He glared at you. "I'm not stupid. I knew you'd tell me to stay here. But I ain't got no one else! And without you, what's the point of being a great mage."

He placed a hand on his hip, and snickered.

"Besides, you need me to protect you!"

You smiled softly. "If I said you could come with me, you'd be okay never coming back?"

He nodded aggressively, his eyes filling with hope.

"Okay Grim, if you're sure-" he cut you off with a hug.

That night, you packed your bags like usual, but this time, another person was packing alongside you. This time, when you set your alarm, another person had the appointment with you.

And when you woke up to go home the next morning, it was the next day.

[avelera]

I think the reason that making sure Hob remains at least a little imperfect in my fics, like a bit flawed or cringe or greedy or selfish (or all of the above!) is so important to me is because Dream is such a flawed person that in my mind, it makes them a perfect fit for each other.

When I say “Dream is famous in the supernatural community for being a disaster to date, leaving only garbage people to shoot their shot,” I do not mean that Hob should be left out of the list of garbage people! He has done terrible things! He’s not even a particularly inspiring immortal, he DIDN’T take his immortality and become the Old Guard or a superhero righting wrongs. He’s just a guy, who is immortal, and he regularly fucks up and ends up on the wrong side of history. He’s not magical or noble, he’s been a peasant and a soldier and a bandit and much worse!

When Dream gives Hob advice in 1789 about not taking away the right of another person to choose their destiny , it’s actually pretty profoundly hypocritical given that Nada is still in Hell! But that actually makes it better in my mind because Dream isn’t perfect, he isn’t pure, he didn’t use his near omniscience and immortality to become a saint, he’s still incredibly flawed, arrogant, self important, and cruel. Hob has been the target of his cruelty, Dream agreed to make Hob immortal in the hopes he’d get to watch this loudmouth beg for death.

Yes they’re both very pretty and yes they’ve got lovely smiles but what I really love about this ship is that underneath, if you could Picture of Dorian Gray these guys, they wouldn’t be angels underneath for the vast majority of their existence. They’re flawed people who are trying to be better and are absolutely weighted down by how many mistakes they’ve made over their long, flawed lives. They try to do better and they don’t always succeed and actually, for very very long stretches, they didn’t try to do better!

I don’t necessarily ship them because I think they can make each other better, only happier. I ship them because despite coming from very different walks of life , they have the potential to understand each other, because they’ve been similarly awful people in the past and they might be awful again when the world changes. Because they’ve shared experiences together that they don’t share with anyone else (Hob having someone who knows him for so long, Dream to have someone who only knows HIM and not his role as the Dream Lord). And if they do try to make each other better, it’s not going to be from a place of superiority, but from a place of lived experience and warning one another from making the same mistakes they have.

[beanghostprincess]

it wouldn't surprise me that, despite sanji being the literal cook of the crew, he had an eating disorder (ofc trigger warning here for eds, child abuse, starvation and, y'know, sanji's background in general).

he experienced the most traumatic years of his life trapped inside a fucking cell, with a metal helmet around his head and only eating when his father let him. which was 'only when the kid needs it', probably. which leads to judge saying 'i couldn't even kill my son' and it can translate to 'at least i kept you alive'. and not to turn this into irl trauma, but abusive parents constantly use the 'keeping you alive and giving you food' excuse (the bare fucking minimum) to guilt trip you into thinking that they're good and that you're exaggerating how bad they treated you because, well, at least they kept you alive, didn't they?

so here, sanji sees food as a form of loving but in the sense of 'at least my dad didn't kill me. that's something'. so his vision towards food remains positive but only because of his mom. only because his love language is acts of service and his mom took everything he gave her, even if it was horrific, as a way of saying 'i love all of you. you're perfect because you tried and the fact that you brought me your food is enough to make me feel loved. you're not a mistake' despite his brothers and his father saying that he was, indeed, a mistake and weak for wanting to give food to others instead of just taking it for himself.

both ideas of 'someone who loves you wouldn't let you starve' and 'offering food to others is opening up your heart' coexist inside little sanji's brain.

so it wouldn't be crazy to think that, although sanji loves cooking and his best early memories of it are that book that kept him dreaming while he was locked up, and his mom's words, has a hard time eating food.

besides, sanji is used to giving, not taking. he's not selfish, but actually extremely generous to the point of forgetting about his own well-being. i don't think he actually thinks about how hungry he is until it hurts. until he needs it. he only ate whenever his father let him so he wouldn't starve, and the only thing that made him feel well about food was the fact that he could give it to the one he loved and needed it.

sanji doesn't have good experiences eating food, but only cooking it. it's a great representation of his personality as a whole, to be honest.

then the whole zeff thing happens, and he actually almost starves to death and learns what hunger feels like. but once again, zeff saves him and he's the one to be hungry for not letting the kid starve. which might seem similar to what judge did, but 'not letting you starve because i couldn't kill you' isn't the same as 'not letting you starve because i don't want you to die'. sanji learns the difference that day.

he didn't know somebody could be that kind. especially to him, someone who doesn't deserve it (he thinks he doesn't) because, in his house, love only came when you earned it.

and, you know, sanji's like that. sanji's selfless. sanji does everything for others. and so the guilt eats him up first. what zeff did is beautiful and amazing and we love him for it, but we don't know about how that affected sanji at a young age. which only makes him even more selfless and more of a better, kinder, generous person. and that might be bad, considering how little he thinks about himself already-

he learns that throwing away food is awful, and that you have to be grateful for being able to eat. grateful for living. so his don't-waste-food policy is obviously a big part of his personality due to almost dying of starvation and also owing his life to his dad (zeff, the real one, of course. fuck judge).

but that can almost be dangerous because refusing to waste food leads to forcing yourself to eat only because of his concept of what food means.

and then we have luffy in wci saying the whole 'i won't eat anything that you haven't cooked' which is precious and something very beautiful to say to your cook, but that only brings sanji back to 'starving is a form of loving' and 'you can't let someone you love starve'. and no matter how much he wants to force himself to push luffy away, he gives him food because he knows his captain will keep his promise.

sanji feels guilty, once again, but he ends up fixing it.

the thing is, after everything i've said, i don't think it would be weird to think about sanji viewing food as something external. something that isn't for himself. something that he only has control over because it's for others and not for himself, and it's a concept, a form of love, and not a need. because he does not feel hungry. when it comes to food, he feels responsibility and guilt and love... but never hunger.

hunger is, by all means, a form of selfishness sanji isn't used to unless his body is about to give up completely. he can eat out of pleasure and satisfaction and love for food, but he does it to train a selfless skill that may or may not also be selfish in the sense of 'wanting to be loved and useful'.

so here we have:

seeing food as a form of love because at least his dad wouldn't let him die, but he probably learned to push away the concept of hunger

seeing cooking as the most beautiful way of showing your feelings and efforts and taking care of people

not knowing the concept of hunger due to his own selflessness

scratch the first one, actually starving for others is a form of loving. he will never let the people he loves starve even if it means he dies in the process.

he can't waste food because that would be insulting and disrespectful. no matter the context.

and i'm just saying (and this whole thing is extremely self-indulgent and me projecting again and again) that it wouldn't be surprising to me if he had some issues when it comes to eating and making food for himself.

it's not that he thinks he doesn't deserve food, it's just the thought that he doesn't need it. going back to his past it could be seeing hunger as a form of weakness (not when it comes to others. never when it comes to others), both because of what his family taught him men should be like, and the fact that the manliest man he knows used starvation as a form of love.

so it's seeing hunger as something that makes you weak, but only when it comes to himself because of course, he wouldn't apply the same rules for him as for everyone else. he's just like that.

he thinks about others first, and himself second. always second. and the thought of eating and needing it only comes when it's too much. and when that time comes, the voices in his head tell him that he's weak. and again, i don't think he sees himself as undeserving of food because he has this whole thing about everybody deserving to eat. but he has never played with the same rules as the rest, always a few steps behind, so if he can't fight the thoughts in his head contradicting his morals, that's just how he is.

not to mention the 'don't waste food' part which also would make him feel guilty about not being able to eat if the thoughts of not deserving food and being weak for needing to eat become too much. he can't eat because he doesn't deserve it and because he's weak. and he can't starve, because that would mean wasting food.

so, you know, sanji is out of options here.

if some days sanji just casually decides not to eat- forgets to prepare himself a meal while his crew enjoys his food... that's just the way he is, isn't it? and if he lies about it, it's just another form of love, keeping them away from his problems.

besides, controlling hunger and controlling food is the only way he has to take control of his messy life. when something is out of reach, the unstoppable thing called life he has never been able to control, at least he can choose not to eat. he can choose to starve, this time, with the comfort of knowing he won't. he can choose not to eat this time, not like all of those times when food was controlling him instead.

at least the strawhats will never, ever, starve if he's around. but of course, nobody thinks about asking the cook if he wants to eat. that would be absurd. and it's impossible to think sanji would have some sort of issue with it! sanji, the cook, who keeps telling them not to waste food, not eating? that would be absurd and too selfless to make sense.

that's just the way he is.

[ghoulinfuschia]

Hi there, follower since your Amphibia themed days. May I ask, are there any connections you could make between Amphibia and Murder Drones in plot, structure, characters, etc. that you love?

I think a common thread that appeals to me in both stories has to be the element of finding love when you feel lost. And I don’t mean romantic love. Uzi and Anne as characters are both incredibly flawed. Anne started off as selfish, dismissive, pushy, and overall rude. Uzi starts off being abrasive, standoffish, and it’s made very clear that she has zero friends. While both shows have very different storylines and plots, both have a protagonist who has a lot of growing to do and a lack of bonds.

Anne’s a bit better off since she had Sasha and Marcy. She wasn’t straight up alone, and she had family that loved her, but her friendship was very toxic. It felt like it wasn’t until she landed in Amphibia that she was able to find a community to flourish in. She became kind and understanding because of that, and she learned to stand up for herself. She found family when she was scared and struggling to find herself.

Uzi’s case is like on the complete opposite end of the spectrum in regards of severity. Though we don’t know much about her life before the beginning of the series, we can infer that she’s been isolated for a long time. She doesn’t have a friend group, her teacher doesn’t want to deal with her, her mom died but not really, and her dad might as well not even be there. Khan tries, but with his track record he could be categorized as an absent father. The show plays up her angsty teen bit for comedy, but in reality she’s kind of a tragic character. She doesn’t know how to make connections because no one bothered to give her the time of day. She’s also awful with dealing with her emotions since she was never taught how. Once again this is all speculation but I’m pretty confident that p much everyone in her life failed her in one way or another.

It wasn’t until Uzi became friends with the disassembly drones that she found people to connect with. I mean, moreso N than V since V seems to have her own walls up (which she wouldn’t fucking explain because HHHHHHH LIAAAAAAAAM).

N seems like one of, if not THE ONLY person in Uzi’s life who’s genuine and actually gives a shit about her. He’s patient with her and incredibly caring. In turn he was the key to helping her make a real connection and open up. She’s still um. Kind of emotionally janked but she’s getting better WAHAHA

Also this is less of a “I can fix her” situation and more of a “finally I’m not alone” sorta thing I feel.

I think overall what hooked me into these series was how both of the protags fall under the category of “People who seem insufferable but really just needed a hug”. Watching someone become a better person is just v tasty to me.

[luveline]

happy 31k, lovely jade♥︎ if it pleases you, could i please request such a strange girl and i need a ride with my love bassist!remus? maybe someone made a comment online about her personality/the way she dresses and she gets really upset and tries changing to be better for remus? up to you though of course lovely

join luveline's halloween party ♡

thank u!! and tysm for ur req ♡ bassist!remus x ditzy!fem!reader

You're crying when Remus gets home. He's only ever seen you cry a handful of times, and each is as achingly awful as the first.

"Dove, what's going on?"

For a moment he worries you're leaving him. You've gathered all your clothes, lots and lots of clothes, your shoes, even your underwear, into a pile on the floor, and are kneeling with a hand pressed to either cheek. But there's no bags being packed, just you and your tears.

"What have you lost?" he asks gently, rounding your pile of things to bend at the waist and steal your face, transference from your hands to his. He thumbs at your cheeks, hot tears kissing his palms. "Don't cry so much, sweetheart, we'll find whatever it is."

You suck in a shaky breath. "I haven't lost anything. M'just- m'just..." Tears pool in your eyes, your eyebrows pulling together in a delicate distress.

Remus still has his bass on his back, the heavy weight of its case pressing into his spine as he drops onto his knees and wipes your fresh tears. He hadn't had time to put it down.

"What's the matter?" he asks, employing his best stern tone.

He finds it very difficult to be stern with you and often times you don't pay any mind anyhow, but your face screws a little tighter and you press your cheek to his hand.

"There's a blog page about me. About my outfits."

His stomach turns into a pit. "Right."

"They said I must be stark-raving mad to dress like this. N' you must be worse, to stay with me."

"Right," he says again. Remus doesn't get very angry these days, but he's propelled toward rage rather quickly at your admission.

"So I'm getting rid of all my weird clothes." Your voice cracks cruelly in the very worst place.

He uses his thumb to guide your chin up. "Dove. Do you like how you dress?"

"I don't want to be weird."

"But do you like how you dress?"

You nod sadly.

"Then you don't have to change."

Your chest heaves with a badly contained sob. Remus shushes you gently and pulls you toward his neck, wrapping a placating arm across the tops of your shoulders to keep you close. He hates how cruel people are, he hates that you've been ridiculed by people who don't know a single thing about you, and he really hates how your shoulders shake under his hands.

"I love how you dress," he murmurs, lips pressed to the top of your head. "Love everything about you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? I just do. I love all your pretty skirts, your blouses, your funny t-shirts." He speaks slowly, letting each declaration sink in before continuing to the next. "I love how weird you can be. Weird isn't bad, it's fun. And on you, it's beautiful."

Your hands grab at his waist familiarly. He loves this, too, the selfish way you hug, how you want to be touching all of his torso at the same time.

"Are you sure?"

He hums. "Mh-hm. Put me on the stand, I'll say the same thing." He kisses the top of your head.

He doesn't suppose his reassurances can erase the humiliation that comes with being a spectacle online like that. He's so mad about it he's trying not to think of it, wondering who he can't talk to about getting stuff like that taken down. Lily will know somebody who knows somebody, but if it happened once it'll happen again.

He waits for you to calm down. He doesn't mind that it takes a long time, that you wind yourself back up midway through, hiding in his hair. When you're mostly quiet, Remus encourages your head back enough to see your tearstained face again.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

You nod and kiss him. It's a very sweet kiss as most of your kisses are, chaste but firm, the dampness on your cheek pressing to his as you push that little bit closer.

"Sorry for making a mess," you apologise.

He frowns at your thick voice. "That's alright," he soothes, hand running down your arm. "But, if you really wanna make it up to me, there's something we can do."

You nod eagerly. That's how you end up in a three hour fashion show, mixing and matching different pieces and styles. Some outfits are surprisingly lovely, some are downright awful.

Remus takes a picture of his favourite ensemble.

It's a biased choice. You're wearing a Marauders t-shirt from the last tour and a midi skirt he adores, your black tights with tiny hearts made of a darker denier hiding underneath. All trace of upset has been erased by an unending wave of praise and stolen kisses. You're beaming.

He posts the photo on his socials with a simple caption, 'stark raving mad about you,' and turns his phone off completely. If anybody needs him, he'll be busy kissing you silly, weird clothes included.

[yallemagne]

I know Robert ain't the most unbiased guy, like... he is, for sure, the biggest Frankenstein stan there is...

But damn if I wasn't happy to see him again and double damn if I wasn't relieved to see him fucking roast the Creature.

I know that it is most definitely because Robert already knew of the Creature that he didn't cower away in terror like everyone else, but I did have the passing thought of "damn, Creature would have had an easier time if he just ran into Robert, huh".

Anyway, as the Creature was giving his speech of "oh you don't get it, it really sucked for me to murder several innocent people. think about what that did to my self-esteem" I was just like "oh? oh? it hurt you? to commit murders? it hurt you to frame innocent people for murder? why did you never stop, then?"

The profound relief I felt when Robert piped back "OH? OH? IT HURT YOU TO COMMIT MURDERS?"

THANK YOU ROBBIE. Someone had to fucking say it. Even Victor couldn't because he's also a selfish bitch who's like "me me me me". Runs in the family. Robert is obviously biased in Victor's favour, but his argument isn't "my poor meow meow did no wrong" it's "hey, creech, maybe you doing awful things of your own volition and feeling bad about it... doesn't make you more of a victim".

"Wretch!" I said, "it is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings; and when they are consumed you sit among the ruins, and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend! if he whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would he become the prey of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn from your power."

Though, contrary to what Robert claims, I do think it's more than just bitterness over no longer being able to torment Frankenstein for all eternity that the Creature laments his death. He wanted a partner to share his pain with, and well, Victor is the closest he could have ever had to that, really. Victor symbolizes the life he could have had. He hated Victor for abandoning him and found purpose in tormenting him so much so that he swore to hunt him down. It's twisted, but Victor's hatred was the closest the Creature had to being loved. Victor dying solidifies the Creature's complete isolation. The creator he scorned is dead, and now there is no meaning to his life.

[tea-stained]

we NEED to talk about Cioccolata and Secco.

they are so fucked up. and so beautiful. their chemistry does things to me. the way they interact, think about each other, the way they perceive each other, it's so interesting. i love how disgusting they are. i love the way they are portrayed. i love everything about them.

Cioccolata is this absolutely sadistic, awful piece of shit human being, willing to do everything and anything to satisfy this morbid curiosity of his, never looking at anyone's feelings, probably never experiencing empathy for all of his life, checking just where the breaking point for people is, as if that was the only thing that matters in this wretched world. as a child he'd get pristine grades, constant praise. no faults, it would seem. none at all. i love how he pretty much has no real reason or explanation for his actions, other than a mere it's fun, it's interesting. it's so... cold. so horrifying. so raw, so real.

at the same time, this man is so unbelievably loving towards Secco; is it because he is the only one who understands this passion? because this is the only one who accepts him for who he is? the only one who has seen this side of him without dying or ignoring it? or is it because of that ass NONONO back on track. i am so in love with this contrast. he loves Secco dearly and deeply, no doubt in that. he cares about him, just as much as himself - yes, this selfish man! yes, this man who would murder innocent people in cold blood because of curiosity! yes, this man who would make the elderly kill themselves just for his sick, twisted idea of fun! he takes extra care - knowing it might cost him his life if he makes any sounds - just to send Secco a voice message, praising, reassuring, guiding him. and, honestly? the second voice message feels so heartfelt. "You need to let go". "Only you can do this". Cioccolata probably knows he's as good as dead at this point. these are not the actions or words of someone who is really, truly just using someone. he doesn't need to do any of this. and yet, he goes an extra mile, only to increase Secco's chances of survival.

and when Secco realises, he's... furious. he's mad. they were going to be invincible. undefeatable. this was supposed to prove them more powerful than the boss himself! how dare Cioccolata lose? this feels like an attempt at disconnecting himself from Cioccolata fully. if he says Cioccolata was weak, he is still strong. Secco is better, he didn't lose. it's so defensive.

but now, what really, really gets me about Secco's reaction is a specific line:

"That's why I felt safe following your orders."

safe.

this makes me feel so much. so, so, so much!! it makes me wonder about Secco. so much is unknown about him, but this implies lack of the general feeling of safety in his life before meeting Cioccolata. i can't help but wonder, just how he became his patient... and how they managed the get along.

Secco confessing this means so much. you don't just feel safe around anyone. i do genuinely believe he is mad at Cioccolata for losing, but this also reads like a breakdown, somehow. grief is weird. denial is weird. anger is weird. especially when they all melt together.

to Secco, by dying, Cioccolata is betraying every promise he's ever made.

but at the same time, Secco is emotional. Secco is the type of person to just get carried away by whatever he feels.

i'm in love with the way he's drawn, animalistic like that, his teeth, spit. how nothing is visible other than his eyes and mouth. it's such an interesting choice, much like him stuttering and admitting that Cioccolata tossing sugar cubes is also something he felt safe because of.

they did love each other.

and i feel like it's somewhat poetic, how they both end up in the "combustible trash" truck. at the end, they are both worthy of each other. same trash. that's why i love them.

i can't stop re-reading the chapters they appear in. i need to rewatch their episodes, too, they are straight up calling me.