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sophaeros · 3 months

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interview #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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nikolaiar · 5 months

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COD Men and how you met (TF141 + Alex)

Gn reader but like I’m a guy so idk that may come across

TW: mentions of racism, murder, disgustingly wholesome meetcutes….

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Price:

•You two definitely met at a bar.

•One day after a rough day of training on base, him and his liberty buddy decided to get some drinks at a bar around the area.

•They we’re drinking some whiskey, trading stories when he saw you.

•You we’re with some friends, looking bored. Bars were never your scene but you’d tough it out for some bonding time with your pals.

•Price’s friend sees how he looked at you and teased him a bit, all but daring him to talk to you. So, he takes one last sip of his whiskey before walking over.

•He was flustered, admittedly. He tripped over his words, was flushed in the cheeks, and had an awkward smile on his face…luckily you found it charming.

Gaz:

•High-school sweethearts oh my god.

•Gaz has been a bit of a nerd in high-school (his name is Kyle, idk what to tell you) and always kept to himself.

•He was a person of color in the UK, and didn’t feel particularly accepted by his white peers, so he turned all that energy into his studies.

•Until you came along.

•You didn’t want to admit it, but you used to be a little punk. Wearing leather, running around with a wild yet close knit group of friends, having fun.

•You were a bit of an outcast too, and when you first saw Kyle, you knew you wanted to break him out of his shell.

•After hanging out with you for a few months, he was a changed man. He was confident, happy, and most importantly, in love. He’d only ever admit it to you, but you’re the one who gave him the balls to join the military.

Soap:

• Childhood friends????

•Soap grew up in a small town in Scotland, the place where everyone knew everyone…and that includes you. You would play in creeks with each other, ride bikes, make mud pies, all that good stuff.

•As you both grew up a bit, he would tell you all about how he wanted to be in the military, even trying to join before he was of the legal age.

•At 17, he got in. He promised to stay in touch, but over time you slowly became more distant.

•Years later, you both were invited to a wedding of a mutual friend (as all your friends were to some extent) and he saw you.

•He couldn’t deny how great you looked, and when you looked back at him, he could tell you felt the same. He grabbed two glasses of champagne and walked over, just to see what you’ve been up too, that’s all…

Ghost:

•You’d have to meet on base as a military member or veteran; it’s forced proximity or no proximity I fear.

•You we’re friends with Soap at first. You were only in the military because of financial hardships, so you didn’t take it as seriously.

•This initially pissed Ghost off, but after getting to know you, it grew on him. You could joke back with him but when it was time to get serious, you got serious. He appreciated that.

•I feel like you’d get drunk at a pub and he’d have to carry you back to base. You’d ramble on about how cool he is and how his mask is badass…He will never admit he was blushing that night.

•You will have to be friends a long while. He would never do anything to sacrifice his career in the military, and you respect that.

•After you get discharged, he’d keep in contact with you, getting drinks from time too time…maybe more.

Alex:

•He’d have like a legitimate meet cute.

•Alex just walking into a coffee shop and running into you. But, due to his fast reflexes, he caught both you and the coffee. Like, full on dipping you and everything.

•Alex would help you stand back up and you’d blush before thanking him, and he’d smile sweetly, handing you your coffee…but not before reading the name on it.

•’Y/N…right? It suits you.’

•This is a bit short but like, I don’t have much else to say. The baby boy had a meetcute idk.

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haveyouseenherlately · 3 days

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hi friends 👋

i just wanted to stop by to share some of the fics which i always return to and are now like comfort food for me. all of these awesome writers also inspired me to start posting here back in march so thank you. i appreciate you more than i could ever say 🤍

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be my mistake by @alovesreading

probably one of the first 75 fics i ever read once i got back on tumblr late last year. it is heartbreaking but i cannot stop myself from re-reading it every once in a while. a is such a sweet and talented person with so many amazing fics that you should check out if you haven't. another one of my faves by her is quarter past midnight, for all of the ross girlies out there.

body piercer!matty by @sugar-coat-it

i mean, there's not much i can say about our favourite mohawked punk boy. my dearest belle killed it with this au and he's become one of my go-to matty's in this world. i'd kill for a night with him lol. ilysm belle and whenever i see your handle pop up on my feed i cannot help but smile.

truth serum by @imagine-that-100

this fic is so freaking sweet and i love it so much. again, this is another one which i found soon after i came back to tumblr. if you even need a little pick-me-up, reading this will do the trick. matty taking care of you will always be a fave trope of mine. @imagine-that-100 has also created other beautiful au's and if you are ever looking for some alex turner x reader fic, will we talk? is beyond.

costumes by @toomuchracket

roleplay with matty in his lab coat? sign. me. up. this fic fucked with my mind in the best way possible. i think it was my first introduction to birthday party!matty. needless to say, i was instantly hooked. mads is an incredible writer and all of her au's are :chef's kiss:

playing on my mind by @ughgoaway

if you for some reason haven't read any of ace's teacher au, please do it tonight. you won't regret it. they've done an amazing job at building such a beautiful, cozy world that makes you feel like you're part of it. ace, i'll never be able to thank you enough for this.

truth or dare by @abiiors

brother's best friend daniel my beloved. a first time fic will always get me and this one stuck in my mind since the first time i read it. the amount of time i've spent reading vee's work should be alarming, but i don't care. i cannot get enough of it.

the dress by @kennedy-brooke

i'm usually a matty girl (surprise to no one here) but this george fic is amazing. the text exchange between george and matty is golden, and the smut is just... yeah. another one i've read way too many times but will never get tired of it. thank you so much @kennedy-brooke for this piece of gold.

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if you have the time, make sure to check out their work if you haven't already. i assure you won't be disappointed.

there are so many other amazing writers in this community so i'll have to do a part 2 of this so it doesn't get too long.

thank you for reading!

#txt #rambles #fic recs

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romancingdaffodils · 8 months

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Drunken Monologues

And you’re draped on him, whilst you’re staring at me.

Remus Lupin x reader

You’re drunk. You’ve met a man with lovely hair and a lovely face, who also has an even lovelier friend. Turns out you’d end up going home with the lovelier friend - which causes the beginning of a rather long story. A story that hasn’t been written yet. PS. you weren’t really that drunk x(literally). Also sirius is a punk and u all need to accept he would hate Queen!!!!

haiii i love remus lupin

gender neutral reader as always!!!

it’s kinda long but also i met my best friend yesterday which is totally awesome love you alex so y should all be grateful u actually got this. it kinda sucks but also flip u so. (love you guys so much)

part two probably coming soon.

titles stolen from: No.1 Party Anthem - Arctic Monkeys Come Closer - Miles Kane

“Moony!” Sirius shouted, walking over to the lanky man. You were clinging onto Sirius’s arm, giggling over whatever joke he had just told about the Sex Pistols. “I’ve found my dream lover! Knows The Clash and Pistols. Even, Ramones I mean, come on it’s the way to my heart.” he stated, gesturing to you. Dragging your eyes away from Sirius, you peered up at Remus and your jaw went slack. He was your type to the tee. Tall, thin, soft brown locks and full lips. The scars only made him look even better. His everything was completely and utterly perfect in your not so humble opinion.

“Happy for you Pads.” Remus said, rolling his eyes. Then, he looked down at you and the worst happened - he caught you staring. Your open mouth, which you were practically drooling from, was a slight give away that Sirius was no longer your top priority. Only slight. “Oh, shit.” he muttered under his breath.

“Oi! What’re you staring at him like that for? You didn’t look at me like that.” Sirius whined, looking down at you.

“I like your music taste, and your hair. You’re fit. But, him? He’s fucking gorgeous.” you replied, pointing over at Remus. The vodka must’ve gone to your head because you never would’ve said that in a normal state. However, you didn’t remove your arm from Sirius’s. Mostly for balance, which was a little selfish, but desperate times. Remus cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to avoid Sirius’s gaze of pure disbelief.

“Not to be rude Remus or anything, but you seriously think he’s better looking than me? I know he’s fit, but I’m me.” the black haired boy argue, flicking his eyes between the two of you.

“You’re both good looking, he’s just more to my taste. Look at him, he’s so pretty. But, in a different way to you. See you’re all tidy and your hair is in better condition than mine. He’s so.. oh I just want to bite him. What’s his name again?” you rambled, never taking your own eyes from Remus. The taller man was trying desperately hard not to laugh at Sirius’s complete shock, which was an almost impossible task.

“Fine then, go hang off of his arm.” Sirius said, holding you out towards him. You immediately stumbled towards Remus, by your own choice.

“Gladly. Hiiiiii.” you cooed, using his shoulders for balance. “I’m really quite tired and— Oh. Shit. Think I need some air.” you added, holding onto Remus’s bicep for dear life. Your knees had buckled and the brown haired man barely caught you. However, his hands did reach your waist to keep you stood up straight.

“Think you need something more than air. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Remus replied, chuckling lightly at the way you were peering up at him “Think you hurt Sirius’s feelings.” he added, continuing on the conversation as he sat you down outside of the house.

“Reckon he’ll get over it, he had a swarm of fans following him around. Got me absolutely pissed though. Not on purpose, I was just trying to keep up with him.” you said, rubbing your temples. Your speech was fine, but your legs were a little wobbly. Everything just felt slow. To be completely honest, you weren’t even that drunk, but if it meant spending more time with Remus? You’d pretend to be hammered all day everyday.

“Yeah, he tends to have that affect on people. What’s your name again?” he said, quoting you to you. He smirked down at you. It was a little comforting to know he was genuinely paying attention to you.

You mumbled your name to him and tried desperately hard not to imagine yourself wrapped up in Remus’s arms. Or tucked away asleep in his bed, kissing him or dancing with him in your living room. With alcohol still flowing in your system, you decided now was the perfect time to make another move. “Meant what I said about you before, by the way. You are- indescribable.” you stated, staring up at him once again.

“Yeah? Glad you think so, you’re also drunk.” he replied, sitting down beside you. His face flushed slightly and you saw, but decided that commenting on it might scare him off.

“Mmmhm, maybe you should give me your number and, and your home address. Then, the next time you’re free so I can show you the prettiest book shop. I’m just assuming you like books, you seem like the smart type. By that I mean you dress like and old man, don’t get me wrong I’m into it, but you do.” you rambled, eyes following him as he moved beside you.

“Really? I’ll give you my number and I do like books. Good assumption?” he chuckled and his hair flopped in front of his eyes. You wanted to eat him, which is an odd statement really, but it was the truth.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you,” you pointed to him as you spoke. “walk me” you continued, pointing at yourself “home.”. Your hand moved into the direction you thought home was and then it struck you. You didn’t have the slightest clue where you were.

“Oh? Right, you’re going to let me walk you to your home?” he taunted, trying desperately hard not to laugh. Disappointed, you frowned at him. “Sorry, ‘course I’ll walk you home, love.” he added, guilt spreading across his chest at the sight of your frown. You smiled; he smiled.

“Okay, so. My friends, kind of, dragged me here. And I don’t know where I am, or how to get home. So what if you walked me to your home? you offered, grinning over to him sheepishly. You felt a little guilty, dropping that on Remus all at once. But, you’d leap at the chance to spend anymore time with this man. Wanting to get to know him inside and out, you were desperate to continue talking to him.

“This you making a move on me?” he said, smirking once again. “You can come back to mine, by the way. Might as well go now, can’t see this party getting any better.” he added, standing up. Offering out his hand to help you stand, Remus gave you a half smile and you were sure you could’ve died in that moment. Taking his hand, you stumbled into his chest. ‘Typical’ you thought to yourself as you frowned at the cliche of the situation.

“Sorry. I want cookies, do you have cookies at yours?” you said, gripping his hand tightly as you walked. He smirked down at you, laughing slightly. Remus couldn’t quite believe his luck. Not only were you absolutely breathtaking, you were also quite infatuated with Remus. The situation ensuing was one he was sure he could get very used to.

The walk back to Remus’s apartment was filled with conversations of interests: music, books, films and hobbies. Hand in hand, the two of you discovered you had a lot more in common than expected. Even despite your contrasting opinions on certain topics. (Cough star wars cough). You ended up bonding over a love for classic novels and philosophy. Which does sound slightly nerdy, but you had already come to terms with that anyway.

Remus fumbled slightly with the key before unlocking the door to his apartment holding it open so you could walk in.

“It smells of you.” you stated, looking around at the warm hues which flooded the room. You moved into the lounge; you thought it was the cosiest room you’d ever seen. It screamed Remus. One couch and an arm chair, different pieces of furniture picked up from the side of the street and charity shops. Small coffee tables, shelves and a TV tucked into the corner all built up the atmosphere.

“Funnily enough, it’s where I live.” he said, sarcasm lacing his tone. His hand gently pressed against the small of your back, ushering you out of the living room’s doorway. He gently gripped your waist as he moved past you and into the kitchen. “Tea, coffee or hot chocolate?” he offered, looking over the breakfast bar at you. Currently, you were glazing your fingers across the spines of books stored on a shelf in the lounge.

“Hot chocolate please.” you mumbled in response, picking out ‘The picture of Dorian Gray’. “This is a bit beaten up.” you commented, giggling lightly as you flipped it over in your hands.

“Dorian’s had a lot of love, what can I say.” he said, smiling over at you as he pulled the mugs down from the cupboard. Then, he filled and began boiling the kettle - a very mundane task. You quickly put the book back and began admiring the rest of his collection. Carefully, you read the blurbs of books you didn’t recognise You tried to ignore the feeling of Remus’s eyes following you. Truthfully, he was admiring you and wondering how Sirius of all people had been the reason you met. You didn’t seem like the type for Sirius at all, which sort of explains why you were in his apartment now. He needed to ask you out and soon, Remus told himself. Maybe it was all in the wrong order, but he didn’t care. He was in fact just as desperate to get to know you as you were for him.

“Clearly.” you replied, smiling over at him. Little did you know you were in for more than you bargained for.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus x you #remus lupin x you #sirius black #punk!sirius #marauders era #marauders

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artistmarchalius · 10 months

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British Police Slang! 🇬🇧

As promised, here is a post all about British police slang! The police are intrinsically tied to Spider-Man’s story, especially for Hobie as an anarchist arachnid, fascist punching, punk rebel fighting against a corrupt government and police force.

So let’s get started!

My main inspiration for compiling this list is because of how often I’ve read the phrase “bottle and stopper” from Hobie in fics. I thought I could help inform writers about the many options that they might not have known about when it comes to British police slang. And since I’ve seen it used so much, I thought this would be a good place to start!

Bottle and stopper - Cockney rhyming slang for copper/a police officer (as mentioned in my Cockney Rhyming Slang post, here). It’s more commonly shortened to “Bottle” or adapted to “Bluebottle” or “Mr Bluebottle” due to the colour of their uniforms. Also, “bluebottle mob” can be used to mean the police force.

To be perfectly honest, I’d never heard an officer referred to as a bottle and stopper before reading Spider-Verse fanfics, though that’s not to say others don’t use it or that it’s not a good or accurate phrase. I’ve just personally heard most of the following terms used more.

Other slang terms for the police:

Sweeney/Sweeney Todd - Cockney rhyming slang for Flying Squad (the police). The Flying Squad is a branch of the Serious and Organised Crime Command within Londons Metropolitan Police Service. They investigate robberies.

E.g. “Here come the Sweeney!”

Bobby - a police officer. Originating from Sir Robert Peel who established the force in 1829.

E.g. “We had bobbies knocking on our door this morning looking for you.”

Peeler - a police officer. Also originating from Sir Robert Peel.

E.g “Watch out for the peelers.”

Copper - a police officer. Originating from the word “cop” which meant “to capture”, so a copper is someone who captures. I know “cop” is used commonly in America too but I still thought it was worth noting the use of “copper” in the UK.

E.g. “Alright, copper?”

The Bill/The Old Bill- the police. This became a nickname for the Met police after the Great War when it was fashionable to wear one’s moustache like the cartoon soldier character Old Bill, by George Bairnsfather.

E.g. “They won’t talk to the Old Bill but they might talk to you.”

Filth - derogatory slang for the police.

E.g. “Watch out, the filth are behind us.”

Dibble - derogatory slang for a police officer, originating from the character Officer Dibble from the cartoon Top Cat.

E.g. “Good afternoon, Dibble!”

Fuzz - the police. I believe it comes from a mispronunciation of “the force”. Most commonly known from the movie Hot Fuzz.

E.g. “Look, there’s the fuzz!”

Plod/PC Plod - a police officer. Originates from Mr Plod, a police character in books by children’s author Enid Blyton.

E.g. “I was enjoying my day, then PC Plod over here had to go and ruin it!”

Pig - derogatory term for a police officer or informer. It’s a bit unclear about the origins of this word being used to mean police, but some people believe it’s an allusion to early detectives sniffing out crime like pigs with truffles. It could also just be something insulting to call them or perhaps relates to another police slang term, “filth”?

E.g. “There’s pigs crawling all over London.”

Slang words relating to the police or to crime:

Booked/nicked - to be arrested/to get in trouble.

E.g. “They got nicked last night.”

Nick - police station or prison. Also means to steal something.

E.g. “Alex nicked a packet of Monster Much and a bottle of vodka, got nicked and now they’ve spent a night in the nick.”

Grass - a police informer/to tell the police/narc. Originates from the rhyming slang “grasshopper” meaning “copper”. The “grass” or “grasser” tells the “copper”.

E.g. “You grassed me up!” Or “He’s a grass!” Or “Don’t be a grass.”

Dob in - to tell someone about something someone else has done wrong.

E.g. “You dobbed me in to the police!”

Porridge - a prison sentence. Originates from the 1950’s when porridge was a large part of a prisoners diet in Britain.

E.g. “Just do your porridge and keep your head down.” Or “She’s serving porridge.”

And there you go, a selection of British police slang! By no means am I saying that these words are only said in the UK, but these are either very common here or have historical origins in the UK. As mentioned in my Cockney post, I’m not an expert on the subject and I can only speak from one perspective of British culture (white British); there are many cultures and social groups here that may have other slang terms that I either have forgotten about or have never heard of. I’m just sharing the knowledge that I have in the hopes that it will helpful, informative, or at the very least entertaining to someone. And hopefully it’ll help give all you Hobie fanfic writers a new choice of slang vocabulary to pick and choose from!

I might make another post about general British slang words. Let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in or if there’s a specific area that you’d like to know about!

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its-your-mind · 2 months

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Everyone who has immediately assumed that Gerry’s hair is no longer dyed and he doesn’t have any piercings or tatts and wears pastel instead of black is SO VALID and I comPLETELY understand the desire to lean into the visible change but also you need to understand that the most goth/punk-looking people I know are also some of the happiest people I know bc they have allowed themselves to lean fully into who they want to be and they are relatively safe and stable enough to afford to do that.

also he is actively involved in his local artist scene there is no way he does not have at Least five piercings and two tattoos.

OMG MAYBE HE KNOWS (or knows someone who knows) INK5OUL

anyway in my head he still owns an obnoxious leather trenchcoat (he thrifted it), he STILL primarily wears punk rock band tshirts and black skinny jeans (but theyre like. artfully paint splattered. he did it on purpose.), his hair is STILL very poorly dyed black (but maybe he’s had some fun and added some colorful streaks) (the roots growing in are just cuz he can’t be fucked to bother with them until he has the Urge to fuck with his hair again), he’s still full of metal (but he’s gotten most of them done at a professional parlor), and he Does still have tattoos (eyes or not will be determined by whether or not we learn more about him) (jonny and alex plsplsplspls tell us more about him pls give me more gerry)

#tmagp #the magnus protocol #magp 08 #tmagp spoilers #gerry kaey #bonus note: I have thrifted both a long black leather coat AND skinny jeans that I bought specifically to cover in artful paint splatters #I get many complements on both

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dejwrites · 2 years

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❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ explicit ⠀ 〳 ⠀ gangsta ‵

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) explicit headcanons for the gangsta men. ft worick, nicolas, delico, & marco

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reader discretion is advised: female reader, female anatomy, canon verse, headcanon format, oral (m.receiving), worick calls you princess, submissive!delico, missionary position, enemies to lovers trope, soft smut, choking kink, marking kink, reader is mr monroe's daughter in delico's part (adopted, blood, stepdaughter, whatever floats your rootbeer float), breeding kink, spanking

NICOLAS BROWN

― 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒

YOU AND NICOLAS NEVER GOT ALONG. You were positive he hated your guts as soon as you joined Worick, himself, and Alex. You weren't sure why he disliked you, but you gave him as much heat back. You weren't a punk, so you weren't going to let some Twilight boss you around. Especially one whose ranking only became so high because he overuses cerebret. And Nicolas knew you hated him just as much caused of the way you rolled your eyes as soon as you saw him in the room. He even would let a profanity word or two when you would come into the room. The one thing that Worick did notice was that you two actually worked pretty well together when you put your mind to it. Both you and Nicolas could argue all morning, but when it was time to get shit done—Worick could only choose you to be sure Nicolas is good.

Only cause within two enemies who hate each other so much—deep down it's some form of romantic tension between the two. Every night, as you tiptoe into Nicolas's room, proved this. You've lost count on the number of times, you'll cover the bite marks and hickeys that decored your delicate skin simply because Nicolas got off at the sight of you panicking to cover them.

Every night where you two argued through harsh sign language ended with you croaking out Nicolas's name as if he could even hear you. He was really good at reading your body language and your facial expressions to know that he was fuckin' you just right. With your face buried into his pillow and your back arched perfectly, Nicolas had you completely trapped from running from his harsh thrusts. Every time your hand went back from interrupting his actions of pleasing you, his large hands would come down to slap you on your ass cheeks gaining a yelp from you.

Although the flesh on your butt stung with each spanking, you grew wetter for Nicolas's cock to brush against your tight walls effortlessly. You could feel your essence staining the inside of your thighs and your thighs were beginning to quiver before Nicolas bottomed down inside you fully.

The Twilight just enjoyed fucking the hate for him out of you.

WORICK ARCANGELO

― 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐗𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

DATING ONE OF 'THE HANDYMEN' OF ERGASTULUM WAS NEVER EASY. Especially when dating the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, eye patch-wearing Worick Arcangelo. It consisted of waking up in the morning and finding him and Nicolas in your living room sleep because after their dangerous task you didn't have the energy to question, they'll crash at your place because it was closer (and you cooked some pretty good pancakes according to what was signed to you by Nicolas). Or it was the seething feeling of jealousy because of the women from his past occupation. Obviously, it also consisted of the poor attempt to scrub blood out of Worick's shirt, you insisting you burn it—but it's his favorite shirt. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you could tell the relationship was taking a toll on both of you.

You knew Worick did his all to be sure to keep you out of the deadly things he and Nicolas usually have themselves tangled in. However, that didn't stop him from bringing it to your doorstep after a long day of tasks. His body was completely exhausted. His fingertips were stained with the scent of gunpowder and bullets. And you hated to want to admit that he actually looked even more attractive in this state.

It was always the same routine when he came over after a long day. If he had the energy, he'll eat what you cooked for dinner. If not he's tugging off his dirty clothes to take a shower immediately and crashing right in the middle of your bed. But tonight was a bit different as you could tell how stressed he was.

You took it upon yourself to get on your knees and smother Worick's cock with kitten licks until his hips are jerking forward urging you to finally put it in your wet mouth. When he felt the wetness of your mouth, you could hear him let out an exhausted sigh of relief. His head instantly falls back to meet with the back of your cream-colored sofa. His hands found comfort on the back of your head to help guide your soaked licks and sucks upon his thick cock.

Occasionally you're perking yourself forward just to shove Worick down your throat some more. With pornographic gags bouncing off your living room walls, you could only take it due to Worick's hand being pressed on the back of your hip. His hips bucking forward just so his swollen tip could brush against the back of your throat.

"There we go princess, take it all in your mouth." Worick praised you while being your personal hairstylist with the way he was holding your hair.

MARCO ADRIANO

― 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

MARCO'S JOB HAS ALWAYS BEEN DANGEROUS. No matter what, you found yourself sitting up late praying that he returns in one piece. You've lost count of how many bloody shirts you tossed or ice packs you've placed upon his ribcage—and you hated to admit that you were slowly growing tired of it. You weren't sure if you could handle the emotions of one day Marco not returning home to you. You feared that one day Loretta and Galahad would come knocking on your door with a look of sorrow.

But one night when Marco came home, you didn't want to worry that something was up with him. You couldn't particularly put your finger on it, but you knew that something was on his mind. He looked pretty banged up with small cuts on his arms and a bruise on his cheek, but you could have chalked that up as a typical shift with the Cristiano family.

He didn't say much, he just let his lips crash upon yours and his arms bring you closer. With each nibble on your lower lip and his tongue tasting the wine you sipped on during the night, a piece of clothing was removed from both of your bodies. Seconds turned into minutes before the both of you are intertwined with each other naked in bed. Delico toned statured cowering over your body while his hips rocked forward with his cock inside of you. The intense feeling of your pussy clutching around Marco only allowed him to let out a string of groans. His grip on your body trapping you from running from his thrusts tightened and he had a goal to be sure you felt every thrust he put his all in.

By the way, your kiss swollen lips were parted apart to whine out his name, Marco could tell he was doing just that. He didn't want to admit to you that he had a close call during a task for Loretta. A bullet was perhaps three inches away from his life being taken away, so tonight he dedicated the evening to making sure his soul was intertwined with yours. The mere thought of you leaving behind on this planet caused his heart to feel happy, so he couldn't help but fuck you a little more passionate tonight. His kisses on your heated skin were so soft that if he kissed hard enough, he would break you.

And when it was time for the two of you to be tugged off the passionate toe-curling cloud of cumming, Marco didn't bother to pull out. His thrusting turned a little sloppy and slow and his cute whines echoed in your ear.

"I love you Y/N."

DELICO

― 𝐌𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐄❜𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

THE MOON SHINED THROUGH THE SHEER WHITE CURTAINS, COMPLETELY ILLUMINATING YOUR SWEAT-COATED SKIN. Your hips rocked back aggressively and your mouth gasped open to let out soft whimpers that combated with the sound of your headboard clashing against your nude-colored walls. Delico's fingers bruised the soft flesh upon your waist as his heterochromia eyes stared up at you in a complete trance. Completely pussy drunk for the woman above him whose pussy was clutching around him like a perfectly fit glove.

He was D-ranked Twilight who has done so many bad things within his time of being a bodyguard for a man like Mr. Monroe, but the actions he was committing tonight were just as bad. But, it felt so right. His head sank further into the pillow under his head, his white strands of hair stuck to his forehead due to the sweat. It took him by shock when he felt your hand grasp his neck. Although the grasp didn't hurt him—he still felt his body heat up by the action. Completely turned on at the sight of the way your head fell back in complete bliss while stuttering out his name.

Through coherent groans, Delico's attempt to praise how beautiful you look was interrupted by the tumultuous knocks on your room door. Your hand covered Delico's mouth to muffle any hush words that were about to tumble off his lips, you could hear your father's words behind the closed door. "I know you're still upset at me, but it's for your protection. Just please let me come in t—" Mr. Monroe's words were interrupted by you.

"I'm fine, completely over the situation father. We can discuss this in the morning." You hissed out feeling Delico's hold on your waist tighten before he's rolling your hips.

Your breath hitched in your throat while attempting to form a proper sentence. The sound of your room door knob began to jiggle aggressively, despite being fully grown—your father still thought it was okay to barge in your room. The drastic feeling of Delico's cock twitching inside you felt like your orgasm was clawing you to the edge. You wanted to moan out his name so badly, but you couldn't know how much trouble that would put both of you in. Mostly the D-ranked Twilight that was below your bare body at the moment, but you couldn't tarnish that perfect image your father had of you.

"We can talk about this tomorrow! I'm—uh handling something right now." You said through soft moans, hips still rolling like a cat in heat.

TAGS — @aasouthteranoswife @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @berranurates @@caribbeanwifey19 @weasleytwins-41 @chaos-night @allukanezuko @chubbyblackthottie @shamelesshoefairy @poohbea @chickentendieboi @kuinaswrld @jeanappetit @@bunniieboo @angrybirdxx @stunnababyyabyyy @islascafe @dior-f4iry @bookluvur @1eversecowgirl @ladiesloveluxury @sleepy3 @daichisbunny @glxssyhexrts @myron300

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#gangsta x reader #anime smut #anime x reader #gangsta smut #female reader #gangsta fanfic #gangsta headcanons #nicolas brown x reader #worick arcangelo x reader #delico x reader #marco adriano x reader #gangsta #fem reader

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danielfuckingricciardo · 5 months

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Let’s go with 99 and Lando 💜

Hi bestie!!! Thank you so much for the request! 💚

Song 99 - Sweet Child O Mine // Guns N Roses

I’ve never written Lando before, so I hope I do him justice and you enjoy this little fic written from his POV featuring a goth reader!

Lando didn’t realise he had dragged his mates into a rock club until it was too late. He suggested that they leave, go find somewhere a little more mainstream, but George, as always, thought it’d be a laugh to do something different for once.

And so, he found himself stood on the edge of the dance floor, a half-empty pint of watered-down lager in hand, as he watched George and Alex successfully chatting up some emo girls.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” He hears a voice say, and he turns to face you for the first time, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“How could you tell?” He asks, and you laugh, shaking your head at him.

“You stick out like a sore thumb in that shirt and those awful shorts,” You chuckle, and Lando looks down at his outfit, jokingly outraged.

“What do you mean awful? I just bought these!” He says with a laugh as he places his hands in the pockets.

“Well, I hope you kept the receipt,” You laugh, and Lando can’t help but laugh along with you.

“You always this mean to guys you just met?” He asks, and you bite your lip to suppress a smile.

“Usually, yeah, I am,” you reply, and it’s Lando’s turn to laugh.

It was refreshing to talk to someone like you. To have a conversation with a girl who isn’t worried about what he thinks of her. He liked it.

“I’m guessing the two guys who look like they just strolled out of the country club are your mates then, yeah?” You ask, pointing to Alex and George who were really getting into the metal song playing that Lando was sure he’d never heard before.

Lando laughs, “Yeah. They’re idiots.”

“They look like they’re having fun! Unlike you!” You say with a smile as you jab him playfully in the shoulder.

“I guess I’m not used to being this far out of my comfort zone,” Lando says, before taking another sip of his disgusting lager.

“Let me help you have some fun then, yeah?” You say as you grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor.

Lando didn’t even have time to protest as you dragged him towards the centre of the dancefloor. He could feel the bass from the music vibrating through the ground and up into his body.

His eyes return to you once again, and he watches as you dance along to the beat, shaking your hair back and forth to the sound of guitars and drumming.

Lando wonders exactly how he was meant to dance to this kind of music, and, almost as if you could hear his thoughts, you take his hands in your own and begin to guide him.

You can’t help but giggle as you gaze upon his slightly shocked expression, and just like that, he throws his hang ups out of the window, and just goes for it.

———

For the rest of the evening, you spend your time with Lando, George and Alex, teaching them your best gothic dance moves and showing them how to pogo to pop-punk tunes like a pro. When you were finally kicked out at 4am, you felt sad to see your new friends go.

“So, will I see you here again sometime?” You ask as the four of you emerge into the cold morning air.

“Maybe. I think George especially has got a taste for it now,” Lando laughs as he looks over at George who was still humming the tune of some song you told him was by Guns N Roses.

“Well, it’d be cool to see you again. Just… don’t wear those awful shorts next time.” You tease, and Lando smiles.

“Yeah, don’t want to cramp your style again,” he chuckles, as he watches you scrunch your nose as you smile. It was cute.

“Well, I gotta go. It’s been super sick! See ya!” You say as you turn on your heels to walk away.

Lando takes a deep breath, before doing something he never expected to be doing after wandering into a rock club.

“Wait!” He calls out, and you turn again.

He takes a few hurried steps towards you, takes another breath, before kissing you.

It only lasts a moment, but for Lando, it was like eternity. He’d never felt so much in something as simple as a quick kiss.

As he pulls away, you chuckle slightly, and your cheeks burn red in the cold of the morning air.

“Whooo! Lando pulled!” You hear a drunken George exclaim from behind Lando, and you watch as Alex slaps him on the arm, clearly not wanting him to ruin the moment for the two of you.

Lando whips around and flips the bird at George as you chuckle at them. He then turns back to face you with a small smile on his lips.

“Hey, you got a little… uh…” you say as you reach out to gently touch his lips, wiping away the remnants of black lipstick you had marked him with when he had kissed you.

“Thanks,” he says, and it’s Lando’s turn to blush.

“Let me give you my number, no pressure or anything, just… I’d love to hear from you, and maybe party with you and your crazy country club friends again?” You say as you take Lando’s phone from his hand and add yourself as a contact.

“Yeah, sounds good. Maybe I can take you to one of my favourite clubs sometime?” He says, and you laugh.

“Maybe I’d subject myself to that for you. Maybe,” you say, and Lando laughs.

“Okay, I really gotta go now,” you say, before kissing his cheek and running for the one taxi remaining in the taxi rank.

———

When Lando finally returns to the hotel, he steps into his bathroom to do the bare minimum of self care before collapsing into bed.

It was almost 6am, practically time to get up anyway, but his energy was still high after his encounter with you.

He rests his hands on the sink and looks up at himself in the mirror. The room seemed to spin, and yet one feature of his face was unmistakeable.

His left hand raises to touch his cheek gently, running his fingers over the black lipstick mark you had left behind before running away like some kind of gothic Cinderella.

He laughs to himself as he trudges over to his bed, sliding in between the sheets, and making a mental note to text you in the morning when he could once again see clearly.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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