#my bbf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shinycollarboneapologist · 2 years ago

Text

an opportunist

(part 1 to clandestined or the one where matty piques your interest.)

content: mentions of drugs and alcohol, no smut but heavy petting, matty’s insufferable, matty is also george’s best friend, slight age gap (3 years), and bending of irl timelines

a/n: special thanks to @hereyeswerefilledwiththestars for inspo and for letting me rattle my silly little ideas to you.

matty healy is nothing if not insufferable.

his very presence evokes a roll from your eyes and scoff from your lips nine times out of ten. he’s got an ego that often takes up all the air in the room. he’s always jumping down your throat, always has to be the one that wins every argument (you always give him a fight, though, never one to back down too easily), and always has to have the last word.

matty healy is insufferable. but he’s also your older brother, george’s best friend.

it started when you were thirteen. george had accumulated a new friend group and a new after-school hobby of playing the drums so loud you thought your ears were going to bleed. with george came matty by association, the boy a few years your senior and george’s best friend. he had curly hair and lanky limbs, and he always smelled a bit like weed when he would kiss you sweetly on the cheek and hug you hello. and when george tells your mum he’s joining a band and has to trek over to the healy residence five days a week, she tells him that he can go anywhere he wants so long as you go with him because realistically how much trouble can a group of teenage boys get into when there’s a thirteen-year-old thrown into the mix. in truth, the answer is a lot, but you were sworn to secrecy with a few crisp bills and the promise that when not if they make it big they’ll have a chapter dedicated to you in the tell-all book. it’s enough to keep your lips sealed, plus you get a place to go after school to kill time and get homework done. though george is begrudgingly dragging you along, matty never once batted an eyelash. he embraced your presence, welcomed your ideas, and made you feel special (all before joining in as the other guys held you down and shoved worms in your face until you cried and begged to go home). but you felt special, nonetheless.

matty healy is insufferable and your older brother’s best friend. but he’s also the long-term object of your desires.

while george slowly grew out of his distaste for your presence at band rehearsals and gigs and grew into the adoring and protective older brother you have now, matty planted his seeds in your brain. he was george’s friend first, but with that came the extension of him being another older brother figure to you. he was a good listener (when he wanted to be) and gave sound unbiased advice. when he spoke to you, he kept eye contact and made you feel like he was really listening (even if he wasn’t he was good at keeping up the charade). and when you would mindlessly ramble about some stupid boy in your science class or how much you hated the switch from lime to green apple skittles, he was good at making you feel like your opinion mattered- even if he would take the piss out of it all when you left. he made you blush when he complimented your hair or your outfit. and when the other guys would make fun of your heated cheeks and bashful gaze, matty wouldn’t join in. instead he would tell them to fuck off, and would flash you a cheeky smile. he was equal parts annoying and fascinating.

he’s always been the one, you’ve known that much since you were sixteen. you admit that to your roommates one night after a few glasses of wine and a conversation about lost loves. and though they tease you about it until your cheeks burn and you’re hiding your face in your hands. they tell you to go for it, to just bite the bullet and confess already. but that’s a loaded request. he’s matty, probably only seeing you as a direct extension of his best friend and you’re you, said direct extension that hasn’t been around recently due to the stress of work and classes. you haven’t realistically been in his presence since last christmas, you presume, minus all of the gigs you attended and george’s birthday party. it’s silly really. the way he still has you blushing and giddy all these years later. you chalk it up to the wine, though. especially when you’re scrolling through your socials later and see a few posts of matty belligerent on george’s story and it turns your stomach a bit. but people often mistake butterflies for moths, right?

you keep telling yourself that over and over as the brisk wind whips around you while you weave in and out of cars and you’re pulling your jacket tighter around your chest. the occasional horn blares at you, but you satiate it with a flip of your finger. you have places to go, people to see, drinks to consume and you’re running late. they have to be at least getting on stage for their set now, meaning you’ve missed the ceremonial pre-gig toke and you know you’re going to get the stink eye from all of them for it. the four of them, especially matty, are big on their traditions, citing some karmic return if they’re not completed. you just hope it all goes well so the blame doesn’t fall onto your shoulders, as it playfully often does.

when you approach the club, the line is already wrapped around the block. so much so that you can barely make out the dark facade of the building. you’re groaning. time is ticking away and four oversized toddlers are going to rip you a new one if you’re not in there and fast. through some bribing and squeezing and lying and smiling, you make it toward the middle of the line; the door is visible and you can vaguely see the bouncer checking id’s. you’re thanking a bunch of religious deities at this point.

“sorry, we’re at capacity and the show’s about to start.” the bouncer rips you from your self-reflective glee. your eyes widen immediately, a plethora of pleas babbling out of you.

“no, no, no. you don’t understand, my brother’s in the band and he’s gonna be so fucking pissed at me. i need to get in there,” you plead, eyes big. you’re trying to connect with the bouncer at some level at this point, eyes scanning for a name tag, something, anything. “c’mon,” you try, “daniel, you get it right?”

his eyes soften, giving you a once over.

“yeah i get it,” here it is, your golden opportunity, “now go get in line with the other sisters, wives, girlfriends, and boyfriends over there,” he nods his head over to the line of people behind you who were also denied entry. you groan, defeated.

the one night you want to go out and you’re stuck warding off frostbite in a skirt that’s too short, a jacket that’s hardly even warm enough, and the stupid, uncomfortable-heeled boots that your roommate let you borrow. calling george would be a moot point by now, but you try it anyway. as predicted, his phone goes straight to voicemail. you try a few more times, but each time it follows the same route. you wallow for a few minutes, trying to ward off the frustrated tears that have already started to sting at the corners of your eyes.

“no, dude. i don’t know where she is. yeah, i’ll keep looking, calm your balls,” a familiar voice is pinging through the air and before you can even turn your head, there’s an even more familiar mop of curly hair in front of you.

“found you. where’s my reward?” matty grins, pulling you into a tight bear hug. if it was any other time, you probably would have shoved him off and pinched his arm. but he’s warm and smells good and you’re still freezing. “we thought you bailed on us!” he confesses, and you can tell there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“me? never. the train was late, the knob at the door won’t let me in, and it’s cold. and i’m pretty sure i almost got hit by a car coming walking over here,” you groan. he pulls away and you almost want to cry as he takes the warmth with him.

“no wonder you’re cold. look at you!,” matty chides, “really, look at you.” his voice falters as he mumbles the echo of his words prior.

he gets a once over at you. his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual, darkening a bit at the sight in front of him. you suck in a breath, feeling your cheeks burn and your skin prick with goosebumps. matty’s eyes trace you again and in a self-conscious fit, you wrap your arms around yourself. there’s a familiar feeling bubbling in your stomach, those god-damned moths won’t let you have a break.

“let’s get you inside, yeah?”

you nod in return, fingers intertwining with his as he leads you to the front of the line again. you flash the bouncer a smile and he only rolls his eyes in return.

it’s crowded inside. the crowd is at least twenty people deep on the floor, and that’s not including the people wrapped around the bar or those on the balcony. matty’s grip on you tightens and he weaves you both in and out of the small huddles of people to get to the makeshift backstage area.

“precious cargo acquired,” he calls out to the guys, pushing through the dark curtain that separates the band from the gig’s patrons. there’s an eruptive cheer as your figure pushes through after matty’s. “thought she was gonna freeze to death out there.”

george is the first to envelop you in a hug. you hit his shoulder as he pulls back, furrowing your brows at him.

“hey, what’s that for?” he shrieks and you narrow your eyes at him.

“learn to answer your phone, dickhead. almost got hypothermia out there,” you grumble. he retaliates by mimicking your voice, turning up his nose.

“she would’ve frozen to death without me mate. m’her prince in shining armor. or whatever that’s supposed to be,” matty calls over and george just rolls his eyes. your cheeks feel hot, much like they did when you were sixteen and staring up at matty with wide eyes after he said he liked your eclectic music taste.

“s’knight in shining armor,” adam quips. matty just waves him off with an utterance of tomato-tomato as he lights up a cigarette.

“are you guys still playing my favorite song?” you chirp.

“nah, matty scratched it from the setlist,” ross sighs.

your eyes go wide, “what?”

matty, preoccupied with his cigarette, only shrugs. “doesn’t fit the vibe anymore.”

“and what vibe is that? emo sad boy virgin pop?” you huff.

his eyes meet yours, softening as he seems to rethink what he was about to say. there’s a twitch of a smile at his lips. he runs his tongue out over the plush flesh. the intrusive thoughts take over your brain and you’re trying to tell yourself that it would not be a good idea to tell him that you’re jealous of his tongue.

“watch it,” he’s snide, tone alluring as smoke fans over the room.

you blink a few times, exhaling slowly as you regain your composure, “or what?”

“i’ll make you go sit outside in the cold again.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“you’re right, i wouldn’t.” his eyes travel over you. he lingers a bit at your hips and you swear you can see the wheels turning in his head. you go to comment, but adam’s already rounding all of the boys up to get them on stage. his head tilts at the proximity between the two of you (which isn’t much as matty’s made his way to be a few inches in front of you now), noticing the way matty’s looking at you. he hits him on the shoulder, giving him a look and jerking his head towards the curtain. matty’s hand brushes your waist as he passes behind you. it’s there for a fragment of a second, but the repercussions weigh heavy in your brain. there’s a phantom of his hand remaining on your heated skin, heart thumping hard in your chest. and as they walk away, you can hear the harsh whispers between the two men, but you can’t make out what they’re saying.

matty ends up playing your favorite song. and it’s the only think you talk about the whole cab ride back to his and george’s apartment. the others try their hardest to switch the conversation but as soon as you see an opportunity, you’re circling back to the fact that they played your favorite song. you’re an opportunist at heart, living for the way they groan.

the five of you are sitting around on matty and george’s balcony. you’re curled up on the beat-up couch, knees pulled to your chest. you’ve changed, thankfully, into some old sweats you left here at one point. and it all feels normal and a bit nostalgic, an air of their early days. the guys are asking about your classes at uni, and how your roommates are treating you. and when you answer, you find yourself catching matty’s eyes lingering on you for a little longer than normal.

he watches you intently as you bring the bottle of cheap wine up to your lips, taking a long sip. he thinks a lot about what your lips would taste like, probably a mix of the wine and the cherry chapstick he had seen you use earlier. matty’s head feels heavy and he’s chalking it up to the wine and the weed from earlier and not from the lingering thoughts of you swimming around in his brain.

he’s bringing up a cigarette to his lips, expert fingers flicking the lighter as he inhales. matty catches your eyes on him that time, half-listening to what ross is rambling off to you. he grins at you from across the table, loving the way you’re rolling your eyes at him and returning your full attention to ross. there’s a fire burning within him, an antagonizing thought screaming that all your attention should be on him and him only. he loathes fighting for your attention, even more so now that you just look at him that way. it’s just pointless banter. that’s what he hushed back to adam as they walked to the stage. adam was being ridiculous in his accusations that matty was pushing the flirting with you thing a little too far. if you didn’t seem to mind, then why should he? it wasn’t like the both of you were going to do anything about it.

the night is settling down. adam and ross had both abandoned the remaining three of you to head home; they had an early morning tomorrow with some radio interview and they all had to be on their a-game.

matty’s got his hand in the snack mix bag, grumbling to himself.

“who ate all the pretzels?”

you laugh to yourself, hand coming to cover your lips. he’s quick to hear it though, eyes narrowing, “you’re just like george, i swear to god.”

“hey! what’s so bad about being like me?” george huffs in mock offense.

“i’ve got a list.” you and matty drawl at the same time, heads already snapping to gasp at each other.

george only laughs, stretching his arms above his head. “think i’m gonna call it a night. need my beauty sleep. matt, you’ll lock up right?”

matty nods.

“goodnight,” george hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head, “pillows and blankets are already on the couch for you.”

a warm smile finds its way to your face, thanking george.

you can’t find the will to get up as george exits the balcony, limbs feeling like liquid and head still swirling with the weed-induced daze.

matty pulls another cigarette out from the pack. you raise an eyebrow at him.

“i’m quitting, i swear,” he scoffs.

you only laugh and lean your head back, “i didn’t even say anything. you’ve just got a guilty conscious.”

“don’t need to say anything, it’s in your eyes,” he comments, “you want one? feel like i’ve been rude in not offering one to you all night.”

you nod, pensively. he holds the pack out and you take a cigarette for yourself before you place it between your lips. george would freak out if he saw you like this right now despite the fact he had done far worse at your age. before you can even ask for a light, matty’s already bringing the open flame up to the end of the cigarette. you blink a few times. his eyes are trained on yours, tongue poking from between his lips. it feels like ages go by. the intensity of his stare is consuming you, goosebumps littering your limbs.

“you’re supposed to inhale, love,” he remarks.

you shake your head, flustered and embarrassed, “no… yeah... i know. yeah.”

you inhale as he brings the ember up to the end again. matty’s intense gaze falls to your lips. the plump skin is curling around the cigarette, puckering as you exhale and his mouth goes dry. this is wrong, so wrong. and although there’s a part of him that just wants to pack up for the night, he knows there’s a stronger part of him that just wants to be close to you and feel your skin prickle with goosebumps again.

matty’s lips are cherry red, indicative of the way he keeps licking over and biting at them. his pupils are dilated; dark black bleeding into chocolate brown irises. his hair is awry as his fingers kept running through it. and in a fleeting thought, you wonder just what it would feel like to run your fingers through it and pull at the curls- not enough to hurt just enough to elicit some kind of a reaction. the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, which he notices, and you feel your molten limbs get pulled toward him. the blanket that adorns his body is soft. he wraps you up in it, properly tucking you into his side as he pulls the frayed hem taught around you. you’re close enough to feel him breathing now, close enough to watch his adam’s apple bob up and down. he’s lost in thought as you stare down his side profile.

“the guys treating you alright up there?” matty asks. it’s not a far-off question seeing as you’ve told him nearly everything about any male interests when you were younger.

“I’m bored-,” you hum, voice listless. the carefully curated consonants hang in the air before dispersing like the smoke that’s exhaling from matty’s lips.

“well fuck you, too, then,” matty snorts as he cuts you off, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “didn’t want to babysit tonight, anyway.”

you shake your head, and you can almost feel your thoughts rattling around as you do so.

“i wasn’t done talking,” you glower at him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. you watch as he shifts under your gaze. maybe he was just peeved with you, or maybe you catch the hint of a flush rising from his neck.

“go on then. we haven’t played therapist in a while, what’s on your mind?” his focus is back on the second joint he’s now begun rolling. you watch his fingers carefully, throat tightening. you’re not sure if it’s the after-effects of the weed or the absolute filth in your mind that’s causing this reaction, but it’s caught matty’s attention. he grins at you, “i said-”

“i-i heard you,” you scowl.

he purses his lips at you, shaking his head, “don’t frown, sweets, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“like you?”

“oi!”

“you already compared this to babysitting so i’m allowed to make all of the old man jokes i want.”

he holds his unoccupied hand up in mock surrender, “touche.”

“now, let me finish before you interrupt me yet again,” you narrow your eyes at him, playfully this time, “i’m bored with guys, i think. s’not one guy that’s caught my interest and i’ve been away at school for months. they’re all so boring, or they say dumb things and i just, ugh, i haven’t been properly kissed in ages.” you’re playing it up for dramatic effect now, honestly, and it seems to have the desired effect because he stills for a minute.

this piques his interest enough that he’s abandoning the joint that once preoccupied him to glance at you, eyebrows knitting together, “is that so?” he guffaws, smirking softly. “i think your problem, little miss, is that you,” he pauses to lick the edge of the rolling paper. it’s meticulous and calculated and your thighs squeeze together under the blanket. he knows what he’s doing, knows the dangerous game he’s playing, “you waste your time on boys. you need a man.”

“you’re a man, right?” you ask.

“uh, yeah? what are you on about?” he laughs. he’s still not paying attention to you, eyes focused on the joint in front of him while your whole brain, whole being even, is screaming out for him.

“so, why don’t you do it?” you’re leaning in close to matty, his eyes shut as he feels your breath against his neck. the scent of your perfume is intoxicating. it's so sweet; reminds him of you and your lilted laugh, something that’s never changed.

“what?” he sputters, blinking incredulously.

“you heard me,” you murmur. he can feel the ghost of your breath against his jaw now as you make your way toward his ear. “show me what it’s like to be kissed by a man,” you purr.

his resolve dissipates in a low groan of your name. he turns to look at you again, eyes tracing over your lips once, twice, thrice. but it’s taking too long for you. lunging forward, your lips press to his heatedly. and though the weed has lowered your inhibitions, it’s doing little to nothing to calm your nerves. maybe you read the signs all wrong. maybe this was a mistake. and oh, god, you’re still kissing him but he’s not kissing back. you pull away quickly, eyes wide and ready to begin your apology parade. this was not how this was supposed

the slew of apologies are ill-fated, though as he growls lowly and pulls you close to him. his hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he speaks, “you’re playing with fire, sweets. if you’re not careful, you’ll be burned.”

matty barely gives you a second to process what he’s doing before his lips are pressed to yours indignantly in a bruising kiss. it's slow at first, his lips working with yours as his hands fall from your cheeks to your waist. he’s pulling you even closer to him, your knees knocking against his thighs. you take the initiative and climb into his lap, straddling his waist and fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. matty’s hands wander from your waist to the hem of the t-shirt, nimble fingers traveling just underneath. you feel his cold fingers on your heated skin. they send a shiver down your spine, nerves ablaze with him.

your mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. he tastes of the remnants of his cigarettes and the wine he was drinking before, it’s dizzying. there’s a certain sense of pent-up desire behind his movements, a fever that you can’t quite put your finger on. you’re left only to whine against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair like you wanted to only minutes before. he’s kissing you like no one ever has before and you’re not sure anyone ever will.

matty pulls back just for a second, allowing you both to catch your breath. when your eyes flutter open, his darkened pupils meet yours. his lips are swollen, smudged with the rogue of your lipstick. you want to imprint this sight into your memory and tuck it away so that you’ll never forget how he looks in the moment. his lips are back on yours before you can comment on it. his movements are not as soft as before, not as calculated or contrived. you give in to the passion, let your desires drive you as your hips start to move against his. it’s his turn to gasp, and judging by the stiffening in his pants you can tell he’s a fan of it. he doesn’t pull away though, instead, he lets his hands grip your waist to control your movements. there’s some satiation from the friction, but it’s not enough. you want more, want him to completely ruin you.

his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, tugging as he pulls away. a whimper, deeply rooted in your chest, falls from your parted lips. there’s a smirk on his lips. you’re left panting on his lap. he leans up, cups your cheek and presses a softer kiss to your lips. your lips move against his slowly. and just as you’re about to part your lips for him once more, he’s pulling back.

an exasperated sigh leaves your mouth and he laughs at you, actually laughs, “you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

you’re breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. you try to find the words to rebuttal him, but they’re lost on you. the only thing you can think about is him, he’s completely encompassed your thoughts and your brain. matty’s lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down the sensitive skin. he nips gently and you moan, waiting for your reaction as he flicks his tongue out to soothe the area. he drags his hands languidly up your waist and you think that he’s going to lift your shirt and let you have it like you want. but, the notion is lost. he lifts you off his lap and kisses your nose.

“i’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” matty murmurs, “goodnight, sweets.”

he’s walking into the apartment before you can even formulate your own goodnight. the words feel lost on your tongue, thoughts feel lost in your brain.

you’re fucked. absolutely fucked and not in a good way.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy one shot #matty healy fanfic #matty healy #✏️ - matty.#bbf!matty #my writing.#.... yeah.

327 notes · View notes

antebellumite · 7 months ago

Note

top 5 antebellum politicians, not including presidents

For the sake of not making this response boring, Im going to personally remove all three of the triumvirs from the running. All three of them are now in Spot 0. Benton and Hayne can be there too.

Which leaves five spots for...

John Randolph of Roanoke literally the MOST fascinating guy. Hes wilder than a herd of horses hoarse on meth. literally created a slur. he brought dogs into congress and stripped in the house of reps and got into verbal and physical fights. he dueled everyone to the point where his contemporaries commented that he should be in a straightjacket. he asked the cousin of the person he was dueling with to be his second in the same duel. he was a dramatic bitch who ordered a european badge of honor to be made for him in honor of that duel. he bemoaned that no one would care about him when he died. when he was near death he painstakingly made his way to the us congress gallery to hear henry clays beautiful voice one last time. whenever the wife of a congressmen he was insulting was in the gallery he doubled down on his insults. when he died he freed the people he enslaved but he did a piss poor job so everything just fell apart. he has tuberculosis but it was contained solely to his dick and so he suffered an inferiority complex and an inability to progress past puberty because of it. and also maybe he had klinefelter syndrome bc of a imbalance either ways, my name on discord is john randolph hrt not because i GENUINELY think he would support hrt, but because the fact that there is a CHANCE he would is still higher than the rest of his colleagues.

Henry Wise also the most insane guy of the time period. like jror, got into fights, but this was way more about slavery. he picked fights with jqa all throughout the gag war. surprisingly woke on several topics including thanksgiving and the rights of native americans. he says some of the funniest things ever sometimes. he thinks abolitionist is a slur. he became a general in the confederate army but got kicked out for being a bitch. somehow flip flopped between every. single. political. party. of his era. including almost becoming a republican near the end of his life. his irreverence for law and order is astounding. he bullied john tyler and literally everyone in congress. the fact that he was drinking buddies with franklin pierce and got him elected but also got pierces friend killed in the cilley graves duel is insane. the fact that in order to try and get henry clay the presidential nomination he literally bent his knee at hugh lawson white and did the equivalent of the uwu face is insane. the fact he more or less murdered john brown is insane. the fact that ralph waldo emerson said that if brown and wise were in a different life, they could have been friends is even more insane. like damn ralph waldo emerson now is NOT the time to be shipping abolitionist john brown and the slavery supporting secessionist governor of virginia who murdered him together. also not going to lie the fact that he never sought a pardon after his involvement in the confederacy is actually a breath of fresh air for this time period. go girl acknowledge that you are undeserving of a pardon or forgiveness for your crimes. i honestly cant do this guy justice without just telling you gto look at my #the field of blood tag. this guy. also i will not lie i did not actually understand his violent tendancies (which to his credit he wasnt like a maniac or anything ) until i saw his photograph. and uh yeah. shaking hands meme between jror and henry wise and the connecting factor is looking feminine and having a serious complex because of it.

Hugh Lawson White his hair. the way hes the only antebellum politician whos wikipedia page actually says what his personality and style was like. fascinating.

Charles Sumner hes such a loser. he deserved so much better. once he fell of a train. he was called his great impotency. he got caned one time and thats all everyone ever remembers about him. his main biographer did him SO DIRTY. he might be ace he might be gay. the hermaphrodite by julia ward howe is probably about the love triangle between julia him and samuel howe, julias husband. he has incredibly modern beliefs about things! hes funny and he has a three way benign rivalry betwen himself seward and douglas. he waxed poetic about daniel websters head and then felt betrayed by him. he once stroked his own head glumly. his eyebags. he got hit with a brick once. his handsomeness is the work of legends. hes awkward and gentlemanly and depressing and optimistic and so many many things its beautiful and he was beautiful and i love him so much! i love his friendship with mary todd lincoln and the way he was basically looming in abraham lincolns window every other night throughout the civil war.

William Plumer Jr. LITERALLY my guy!! his anecdotes are all so fascinating. the time he had a very dramatic meeting with daniel webster about Fate and Destiny. his involvement with preserving american history from the very beginning. just lovely and wonderful and i basically yassify him whenever i imagine him in my head. just wonderful. and these are basically all of them i think, though i like a lot of congressmen of this era.

Bonus, have a drawing of henry wise, a calhouny hugh lawson white for some reason, and fem plumer!

#biddle was never a politician so he isnt here #bbf would be here but he was never a politician lmao #god there are just so many good Background Congressmen TM in this era #need an slice of life with the antebellum us congress #john dawson. joshua giddings. the washburnes #teh triumvirs too but they dont need that muchscreen time #just so much...#fanart #my art #henry wise #john randolph #hugh white #charles sumner #william plumer #william plumer jr #misc #the congressional incubator #asks #thanks for asking!!

17 notes · View notes