#gatty fic

[abouttofillhisshoes]

Twist around the lounge - George Daniel & Matty Healy

A/N: i've been writing since 10am also this is barely spellchecked @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff ur a legendary beta thank u for fixing the fuckass formatting xx

wc: 5k

content warnings: super gay, smut, fluff, kissing, power dynamics, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, begging, teasing, threesome, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, so gay, pain kink, cumplay, sub! matty, switch(?)! george, shy G oh my god, they get high moments before they fuck so tw for that, allusions to pegging (i reckon that isn't even a warning but better be safe xx)

“What happened to ‘girls don’t roll their own spliffs?’” George comments as you drag your tongue along the paper, the question directed at Matty. You roll your eyes dramatically, holding your hand as George passes you the lighter and you flick it on, rotating for an even burn. Matty shakes his head from across you, adjusting his legs under him he wipes his thumb on the glass of the coffee table.

“There's some things I'm willing to give up.” he settles on a vague answer, eyes darting over your face as you chuckle at the implication. Your legs shift over George’s lap to a more comfortable position as you take the first drag, letting the smoke curl around you in pretty patterns.

Passing the lit spliff to Matty, you pick at your nails as you let the hazy sensation take over your body, though it's not quite as strong as you’d like.

A soft breeze from the open window kisses your skin and you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling. George lets his arms splay out on either side in a relaxed manner, sucking in a deep breath as he watches Matty inhale the smoke, his eyes drooping closed when it hits him, a lazy smile spreading onto his face.  

Matty blows an O in your direction and you catch it like a kiss, shooting him a wink. Too distracted by you looking at him, Matty manages to fumble the spliff, letting it drop into the sliver of skin exposed by the mid-length black skirt he’s wearing.

“Fuck– shit, fucking bullshit-” he curses, brushing hot ash off his leg, hissing in discomfort. 

“Hm, I thought you liked pain?” you joke, eyeing him up and down in a teasing manner, giggling quietly. George perks up slightly at your words, his eyes darting between you and Matty.

“Not like that, you know well enough the type I enjoy.” he breathes, wiping his fingers on his skirt to rid them of the black residue from the ash, going to take another drag. 

You expect a fucked off groan from George, the typical annoyed expression you’re used to replaced by one of undeniable intrigue, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Matty looks up, a bit confused at the lack of conversation, a heavy silence falling over the three of you. George runs an unsteady hand through his hair as Matty blows smoke, his eyes getting visibly redder as the seconds tick by. 

The silence is broken by George’s deep voice, timid and unsure.

“What do you mean he likes… uhm- pain?” The end of his sentence is punctuated by an uncharacteristic voice crack, your eyes narrowing at the odd question. It takes a few seconds for the words to finally register as Matty hands George the spliff, their hands lingering in a way that could be labeled as more than platonic if you looked close enough.

The more you look, the faster the gears in your head turn. You can see a thousand thoughts running through Matty’s mind as George stares at both of you, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the obscenity of the question. It finally clicks for Matty when he sees him looking at the bit of skin visible over the collar of his shirt, littered with multicolored hickeys and bite marks.

“Oh you know, just like….” you trail off, moving your legs from their position on George’s lap, sitting up in a more normal position.

“I like it when she pulls my hair.” Matty’s bluntness almost makes you cringe, but the feeling of embarrassment is curbed by the look on George’s face, his lips parted in surprise at the answer. The curly haired boy smirks at you mischievously, eyes flicking between you and George, waiting for one of you to answer.

“Oh, uhm– thats-” George stutters, his voice incredibly meek right before Matty cuts him off.

“Really fucking hot? Yeah, mate, you wouldn't believe.” your eyes widen at the conversation being held right now, and you try to gather your words to steer it away from whatever this was, hoping and praying Matty hadn't spooked George into never wanting to speak to either of you ever again.

“Yeah, it is.” George breathes, no stutter in sight as Matty watches his every move, acting accordingly. In what feels like a fraction of a second, you suddenly feel the weight of a body in your lap, and it takes a moment to realize its Matty, straddling you like George isn’t sitting two fucking feet away from you.

His lips catch yours in a searing hot kiss, all tongue and teeth as our mouths work against each other, quiet wet sound filling the space as you feel George’s eyes on you, shamelessly staring. 

“See? I was right.” Matty murmurs against your lips, vaguely gesturing in the direction of an incredibly flustered George, his confidence unfaltering. You pull away for a few moments, cocking your head in confusion as you see him set the spliff down in the corner of your eye, bright pink ashtray glimmering in the dim light.

“Our little Georgie here,” he cuts himself off with another peck to your bruised lips before continuing. “likes to watch, don't you, love?” The pet name makes George visibly twitch, Matty’s sultry words evoking something primal in him, something he’d never felt before. You feel his hand trail down your chest, grazing over your nipples as he caresses your skin, his touch tantalizing. Turning your head slightly, you see a sight that will be ingrained into your frontal lobe until the day you die. Georges nods, confirming Matty’s suspicions and you gasp as curls brush under your jaw, hot lips pressed to your collarbones. 

The energy in the room shifts dramatically as George makes a move towards the two of you. He opens his mouth to speak once, twice, until he finally manages to force a string of words out.

“W-what else–” Matty stops, turning towards him with a look of encouragement, nodding at the clearly nervous blonde.

“What else does she– does she do..?” The question is directed at Matty, his eyes avoiding you at all costs, too shy to even look at you properly.

“Fuck, she makes me hurt so good, m’dizzy even thinking ‘bout it.”

George's breath hitches and you can tell he's turned on by the way Matty moans the words, grinning maniacally at the both of you, this whole situation like a dream come true for him.

“See this?” Matty hooks his fingers into the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal a myriad of bruises and marks, flaunting them to George. You can see a small part of him wish George would touch him, run the rough pads of his fingers over his pale skin, maybe even press down onto the fresh splotches of color.

“Got a bit too annoying so she put me in my place, marked me up all pretty.” Endless nights spent holding him down, murmuring into his ear, your mouth attached to his throat as he whines spin in your head, the memories going straight between your legs as you absentmindedly spread them, and action not going unnoticed by Matty.

“Fucking hell.” George mutters, entranced by the scene in front of him, trying to convince himself he was dreaming. You don't even notice how close he really is until Matty grabs the edge of his half unbuttoned shirt, smashing his lips against his. A startled gasp escapes George before he melts into the kiss and Matty moans, licking into his mouth at a dizzying pace. 

Your heart beats against your ribcage when George threads his dominant hand into his curls, tugging experimentally. The action is tentative, unsure, but Matty’s wanton groan spurs him on, a sudden rush of confidence making him pull harder, earning more sounds from him. A high pitched moan spills from Matty’s lips as George slips his tongue past them, the sight pornographic as you watch them, eyes darting between the two men. 

Letting out a groan of protest when Matty pulls away, you catch the beginnings of a smirk right before George presses his lips to yours, his stubble scratching along your chin roughly. It feels different yet so, so fucking good as he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck, that's so hot.” Matty breathes, running his fingers through his hair, still perched in your lap as George continues kissing you frantically, wanting to feel every inch of your lips. 

You barely notice Matty sinking to his knees while George keeps you busy, your eyes screwed shut tightly as a carnal desire takes over your body, lighting every fiber of it aflame. Both of them can visibly see how worked up you are the moment Matty slides your shorts down your thighs, your hips lifting to help him out. There's a visible wet patch on the front of your panties, one that makes George gasp when he sees it, breaking the kiss. 

“Oh, don't stop on my account.” Matty pouts, not liking this you-and-George-not-kissing turn of events. George catches your lips again, the kiss searing hot as his hand finds your jaw, his chest pressed up to the side of your body.

“Gorgeous, isn't she?” you giggle at Matty’s words, letting one of your hands thread through his hair as he mouths along your thigh, licking over your clothed cunt. His fingers play with the hem of the cotton, making you shiver at the coldness of his fingers against your skin. 

“You should see him in a bit of silk, takes your fucking breath away.” you whisper to George, quietly wondering if he did have a pretty little number on under that skirt of his.

“Fuck, seriously?” George says, almost to himself, looking down and locking eyes with Matty. Matty rests his cheek on your thigh, his fingers slowly pushing the fabric of your panties to the side.

“Shame I didn't have time to prepare, would've even gotten those pretty little garters out. Love those, don't you?” You nod, smiling at George as the mental image flickers in front of his eyes, fantasies running wild in his mind. 

You feel rough fingers against the skin of your stomach, and you realize what the blonde is hinting at.

“Can I..” he trails off before he can even finish his sentence and you nod, urging him to rid you of the unnecessary material. A choked gasp spills from his lips when he realizes the lack of bra under your top, his hands shamelessly groping your tits as you moan, fingers toying with your nipples meanly. 

His mouth finds the space between your tits, leaving aggressive marks in his wake as Matty watches the scene in front of him unfold, licking his bottom lip. Matty’s fingers dip under your underwear, applying pressure to your clit making your hips buck upward, searching for more pleasure as Matty grins up from below you.

“Fuck– you’re so tight.” he murmurs as his digits sink into you, stroking against your walls at a dizzying pace, your head spinning at the blinding ecstasy. 

A desperate moan escapes you as George feels you up, your chest looking eerily similar to Matty’s as your nails dig into the cushions of the sofa, your feeble attempt at grounding yourself. Matty presses soft kisses to the inside of your thigh as you writhe under his touch, sucking lightly and leaving similar marks to George, if not a bit less harsh. 

“Matty, please– m’so close.” you whine, cut off by George’s lips against yours, all the oxygen in your lungs being knocked out of them in a split second, leaving you feeling weightless. Your vision is blurry as your orgasm approaches, the coil in your belly winding impossibly tight as Matty’s hand reaches up to graze your stomach reassuringly. A rough hand grabs yours and you open your eyes fully to realize it's George’s, smiling softly as Matty brings you to that delicious edge.

You cum with a whimper of his name, gripping the blonde’s hand so tightly you might've cut off the blood supply to his fingertips, pleasure washing over you in tidal waves, your hips unabashedly grinding down onto Matty’s fingers.  

It takes a few minutes for you to properly come to, your chest heaving with effort as Matty kisses your thighs sweetly, gazing up into your eyes. A beat of silence passes between the three of you as you and Matty exchange silent conversation, George blinking rapidly at what he had just witnessed. He still felt like he was dreaming, his whole body floating above the mortal plane as you move to get up, Matty shuffling to the side to make his way between George’s legs, giving you space to do the same.

“You don't have to– I can just-” he stutters, so unsure of himself it's adorable, his face flushed a deep shade of red. You smile to yourself as Matty speaks, his confident tone having a visible effect on the boy above you.

“Do you want us to? Because I want you both so fucking bad.” Matty’s hands grope George's thighs, playing with the buckle of his belt cheekily as he peers up at him, his eyes dancing with desire. 

“Let him take these off you, hm?” You trace your fingers over his stomach where his shirt had ridden up slightly, making him twitch. The movement reminds you of Matty, yet still starkly different.

“Yeah, okay– fuck.” he groans as delicate hands unbuckle his belt, the clinking of metal making your heart thrum in your chest in anticipation. Matty’s fingers start unbuttoning his jeans, stealing a glance at your face, signaling you to take over. George’s cock is hard, precum leaking from his tip as he strains against his grey boxers, a sight you commit to memory

Matty’s now free hands grip the back of your head, pulling you into a messy kiss, so clearly for show it makes your head spin at the mere implication that George was getting turned on from watching you. Your hand finds the front of George’s boxers, palming his cock through them as soft groans fill the room, his legs shaking at the sudden stimulation.

“So ready for us, hm? Should've done this earlier if it got me that.” Matty gestures to the blonde's face, scrunched up in ecstasy as you take him out of the confines of his underwear, fisting the base of his cock. Settling into a more comfortable position on your knees, you take the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as George gasps, screwing his eyes shut in pleasure. 

Matty takes the few spare seconds to grab at the hem of his shirt, sliding it off of him to reveal his bare chest, glistening with sweat and adorned in tattoos. The sight of him half naked never ceases to make you stutter, the low rise of his skirt only adding to the inherent erotic energy surrounding him.

It takes effort to take all of him into your mouth, Matty watching intently as you choke, sputtering on his cock with spit dribbling down your chin obscenely.

“Look how well she’s taking you, feels so fucking good I bet.” Matty reaches down to touch himself to the scene in front of him, letting his face fall onto one of George's thighs. Soft whimpers and moans spill from his lips, barely audible over George’s masculine groans, the juxtaposition making you feel lightheaded as one of his hands finds its way to the top of your head, resting there. 

“Please– fuck, feels so good. Keep doing tha- ohhh shit, fuck.” The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag. Matty presses an encouraging hand to your lower back. One glance up makes your breath hitch. George isn’t looking at you, but at Matty, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his velvety skirt, squeezing himself through his underwear. The air is charged with lust, the eye contact between the two men so intense you can feel it in your bones. 

Matty’s eyes are glazed over with desperation, the sight of you getting George off fulfilling every fantasy he’s ever had. He’s sure nothing could ever top this, silently begging this wouldn't be the last time it would happen. Matty brushes strands of hair out of your face, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek as you deepthroat George, tears threatening to spill at the effort.

You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, a low groan following as his hand goes slack in your hair, his hips bucking involuntarily. Sincere apologies spill from his lips and you pull off him, wiping your mouth and assuring him everything was alright, offering him a sickeningly sweet smile like you didn't just have his cock down your throat. 

“Make him cum, darling, I wanna see him cum– shit.” Matty whines, eyes begging you. You nod, a smirk spreading onto your face as you take George back into your mouth, his immediate groans of pleasure letting you know just how close he really is. Matty watches as you manage to not gag, making George throw his head back in ecstasy, moaning your name like a prayer. 

The thing that finally does him in? Matty’s hand grazing over the skin of his arm, making him spill into your mouth with a cry, the musky taste of his cum filling your senses. George shakes, actually shakes at the force of his orgasm, hair sticking to his forehead. An idea pops into your head moments before you swallow, and you turn your head to Matty, tapping his bottom lip with your index finger.

Matty’s eyes widen as he realizes what you want to do, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he opens it. You let cum drop into his mouth, some of it missing and hitting his lips, a pornographic moan ripping itself from Matty’s throat at the salty, distinct taste of George.

“Love tasting you on my tongue, shit.” Matty mutters at George, growing impossibly harder at the eroticism of it all, his cock visibly tenting his skirt. 

You lick a stripe up the side of his neck, bringing your wet lips to his ear and whispering into it.

“Get up on the sofa for me baby, let's get you off.” you speak, your words sultry and coated with thick honey, making both Matty and George shiver. 

The curly haired boy nods frantically at your request, scrambling up to find his seat next to George, still panting from his recent orgasm, and the proximity to Matty definitely not helping his current state. You let out a sigh Matty knows all too well, searching your expression to decode what you really meant. It clicks for him when your eyes flicker over to George’s lap, grinning wildly as he clocks it, draping one of his legs over George in a heartbeat. 

Using his body weight to hoist himself to a sitting position, he relishes in the surprised sounds George makes, stuttering over his words while trying to process the events unfolding. Something shifts when Matty makes direct eye contact with him, that sight probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“God, you’re so pretty.” George mutters, his lips inches away from Matty’s as they both breathe heavily.

“He is, isn't he?” you grin, your thoughts running wild as your eyes dart around the space, your breath hitching when they land on the discarded leather belt right in front of you, innocent and unassuming.   

Matty is the one who initiates the kiss, immediately taking George’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down meanly as the blonde gasps into his mouth, pupils completely blown out. Both of them are completely breathless, too caught up in each other to notice you get up and circle around to stand behind Matty, leather in hand.

Matty’s eyes fly open when he feels you grab his arms suddenly, the belt clamped between your teeth as you pull them back, a small yelp spilling from his lips. George notices your movements, knitting his eyebrows in confusion before he realizes that you’re restraining him, the thought making his heart race. The metal clinking is deafeningly loud as his movement is restricted, a high-pitched whine leaving Matty.

“He loves this, look at how hard he is.” you say, your lips pressed to George’s ear as Matty’s hips twitch, bucking up against nothing, desperate for any kind of friction. He’s been hard for the better part of an hour now, watching and talking but never getting off. You see George hesitate, his hand ghosting over the bulge under his skirt while Matty yearns for his touch, eyes pleading with both of you simultaneously.  

“Touch him baby, promise he doesn't bite.” you coo, letting your fingers linger on the leather, tracing the small designs of the belt.

“Unless you want me to.” he bites his lip at George, earning a chuckle from both you and him. The lip bite, despite being ironic, still made something in you stir. 

“I don’t know how– i’ve never-” George whispers, deathly afraid of messing up, afraid of ruining this perfect moment.

“It's alright love, just–” Matty speaks, cocking his head in a sweet manner as George looks at him, red dusting his otherwise pale cheeks.

“Do what you do to yourself when you’re alone, yeah?” Matty reassures him, writhing against the restraints as George tentatively palms his cock over the velvety material.

The thought of George getting himself off is something you file away for later, the mental imagine making the heat between your legs grow exponentially, and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of that pressure.  

“Ah, fuck.” Matty whimpers, and you see the blonde flipping the fabric of his skirt up against his stomach, the clothing bunching up at his waist.

“Look how much he wants you, basically begging for you to get him off.” you speak slowly, drinking in the scene in front of you with a primal hunger, the bulge in Matty’s boxers adorned with a wet patch on the front of them. 

“So responsive, isn’t he?” 

Matty whimpers as George finally reaches into his boxers, taking him out and wrapping a hand around his leaking cock, beads of precum bubbling at the tip. George mirrors the movements he uses on himself, eyes searching the other boy’s expression for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he’s met with a blissed out Matty, face contorting in pleasure as George’s hand works him, using his precum as lube.

“Hear that?” you speak, taking in Matty writhing against George, wet lips parted as his eyes droop shut in ecstasy, wanton whines filling the room. You can see abandoned spliff in the ashtray across from you, last remnants of smoke curling in the air as the weed goes to waste, reminding you of how this situation even came to be.

“Those are the same noises he makes when I fuck him.” Your inflection makes the sentence all the more erotic as George stares at both of you wide-eyed, scenes playing out in his mind like a film.

“Y-you-” He stutters and you nod, Matty’s face flushing in a way you don't quite recognise. He’s embarrassed. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as you realize this, finally finding his Achilles heel. That spot was George.

“Yeah, and he takes it, takes whatever I give him. He’ll take whatever you give him, too.” A choked whine leaves Matty’s lips as you speak about him like he isnt even there. He leans forward, resting his cheek in the crook of George’s neck as he makes eye contact with you, fucking panting like a dog in heat. 

“Shit, your hand feels so fucking good.” Matty whimpers, his cock twitching in George's grip as he speeds up his movements, basking in the curly haired boy's praise. Sweat makes Matty’s curls stick to his forehead, his bare chest glistening in the dim light of the living room. You watch as George gets him off, so blatantly turned on by the boy in his lap that it's genuinely laughable. 

“Let me see you, wanna see your pretty face.” George mutters against Matty’s hair, catching you both by surprise. Matty pulls back, a clear look of arousal at the boy’s words, his lips parted in a way that shows you he’s so, so close to the edge it's physically painful for him. 

“Make me cum, please– i’m so fucking close, feels so good, G, fuckk.” Matty braces himself as you trail your fingers up and down his spine, shivers blooming through his whole body as his orgasm rushes at him full throttle. George’s hand squeezes his cock roughly, the slight note of pain sending white-hot pleasure straight to Matty’s lower half, making him moan desperately as George murmurs against his jaw.

The audible sounds of frustration as Matty pulls at the belt restraining his arms is incredibly hot, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe along his throat as he gasps, the stimulation feeling like pure heaven

“That's it, baby, let go for us, doing so well.” George groans, his commanding tone of voice sending Matty hurling over the edge, his orgasm crashing over him so violently tears start to stream down his face as he cums all over George’s stomach and his own, panting their skin as you watch, a soft noise slipping past your lips.

George works Matty through his high, watching every reaction, expression, and movement he offers him, his hand steadily slowing down as Matty’s full body twitches subside, high.pitched pants and whines spilling from his lips as he closes his eyes, basking in the afterglow.

“Fuck- that was.”    

“The hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” You smirk, finishing his sentence for him with a cheeky wink. It takes a few beats for George to fully come down from his power trip, eyes darting between you and Matty as he registers the compromising position he is currently in. You notice his slight panic, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, acting as his tether to reality. 

“Is this going to happen again?” The question is heavy on the three of you for a moment, but eye contact with Matty tells you he already has an answer.

“Do you want it to?” Though he is still restrained, Matty is as cocky as ever, raising his eyebrows at George in a teasing manner. You watch as George gathers his words, your heart thrumming against your ribcage in anticipation. 

“That depends,” George says, sounding confident. 

“Depends on what?” Matty cocks his head and you mirror the movement, equally as confused at his statement. The curly haired boy is still out of breath, his panting ruining the calm and collected demeanor he tries so desperately to portray.   

“Depends if you take it as well as she says you do.” he gestures to you, your smirk growing as Matty flushes a deep shade of crimson, squirming under George’s touch as he rests his hands on his velvet covered hips. You chuckle quietly before answering, making deliberate eye contact with George and George only.

“Oh trust me, my sweet G, he does.”  

#hi guys #this is what ive been building up to all day xx #clap. #nah im jokes just #enjoy if u want!!!! #this is a gatty wet dream if u cant tell #dont like dont read!!! #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #matty healy fanfiction #george daniel fanfiction #matty healy x george daniel #mpind matty #mpind george #matty healy smut #george daniel smut #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfiction #drive like i do #gatty fic #gatty smut #george daniel x matty healy x you #george daniel x reader #matty healy x reader #the 1975 x reader

[lookedlikethebins]

i'll say it twice

Finally! The long awaited Valentine's Day producer george x TA matty oneshot! I'm so sorry for taking as long as I did. Thank you for being patient AND a big thank you to the anon that inspired this fic with the prompt about matty coming to a club/one of george's dj gigs! [set ~6 months since meeting each other] ~5.8k words xo side note: i know nothing about being a DJ but a lot about cyclical anxiety and epic poems so i compensated xo

George had been semi-confident—and a bit overprepared—in his upcoming set, until Matty showed George the readings he’d suggested for the next week of class: Lover’s Discourse. The date of his set hadn’t registered until that moment, sitting with his arm around Matty and feeling embarrassed by his own obliviousness.

Valentine’s Day. Of course, the club wasn’t just holding an event to sell more drinks on a cold, mid-February Friday night; they were hoping to max their margins for the first quarter. For every one patron, there would undoubtedly be another—their date. George included.

The set had to be a bit beyond perfect.

For the next two weeks, each time Matty stopped by after his classes and office hours, George had been closed up in his studio. He would've been there most of the day, starting early in the morning (right after Matty left, if he’d stayed the night) and blowing past every mental stopping point in favor of fixing just this one last thing.

After Matty was left waiting outside for the third time, knocking and trying to ring George—phone on silent and face down on his desk—George gave him the spare key. Each time, Matty let himself in with a loud shout, letting the door slam shut; they’d learned George startled easily when he was working. When he was worried.

While Matty shouldered off his bag—as well as coat, scarf, sweater, and unbuttoned and rolled his cuffs—George would unplug his headphones and continue his work out loud. Matty often settled onto the loveseat beside George’s desk and leaned forward to best see George’s screens without hovering over his shoulder. Despite sometimes getting up to dance, Matty would never grow (outwardly) irritated when George would have to stop and adjust, redo, or take note of an idea for later. The only time Matty spoke during George’s work was to exclaim that a certain part of a song was his fucking favorite.

Most times, Matty’s excitable commentary was the reason George had to stop and make slight changes.

It would be Matty’s first time coming to see George work. Matty had asked if he could before—about other gigs and recent shows George was playing with the boys too—but George struggled to say yes. And thankfully Matty never pushed back or took offense when George stumbled over his answer. Granted, George had taken Matty to his label’s holiday party—and he’d been a hit—but his club set wasn’t for a closed group. There would be a room packed with people looking for the smallest pinhole in George’s quiet (misunderstood to be “stoic”) exterior, hoping to peep in on his private life.

But, even with all that fear and discomfort with the unfamiliar, it truly was sort of time for it, wasn’t it?

---

“Oh, fuck,” Matty said with a burst of laughter that seemed to surprise even him. “it’s loud.”

They had entered the club through the back entrance meant for employees. George made sure to pull around to the parking lot purposefully obscured by bins and out-of-place planted shrubs. They used the side streets and alleys of nearby buildings to get in without being seen by the group of patrons lined up outside, waiting to get in.

While George had been getting his bag out of the car, Matty stood by the hood, tapping his foot to the muffled beat sneaking through the club’s opening doors and sparse windows. But now, inside and standing on the farthest edge of the dance floor, Matty didn’t need to move his feet to the music; the floor was nearly moving for him.

It was what George loved the most: how the room, the physical space, came alive when music was loud—almost too loud. The air felt like it was breathing on its own from the shear pulse of the speakers.

It terrified George to think Matty might not like that feeling. The encasement of music. The ever-shrinking proximity to other people, while verbal communication became impossible and almost moot. All George ever had in those moments was the same unavoidable and inarguable beat moving him to keep time with the other bodies around him. That feeling of sharing the same heartbeat. He could live in the same suspended moment with someone, just a few minutes at a time.

“Is that… okay?” George said. He had steered Matty toward the back lounge for the invited guests and hired talent. Once George closed the door behind Matty, the wall of sound became a void, ringing white noise. “Do you want earplugs or something? I, uh, I probably have a pair somewhere. I’m sure I do.”

“No, no—I don’t mind that it’s loud. Just sort of forgot. Can’t tell you last time I’ve been to a proper club.” Matty placed his hand on George’s arm, gently squeezing it, before leading him further into the room and away from the door.

“Not a fan?” George asked. He immediately grabbed a bottle of water from the oblong coffee table. He twisted off the cap and handed it to Matty. It was Friday; he’d had his early and late classes.

“Just prefer a place I can sit down,” Matty shrugged. “And if I’m feeling wild: hear my friends talk.”

“You’re really not supposed to chitchat at a club.”

“Name another time I’ve been quiet that long, George.”

George paused. “Okay, so you might actually hate it here.” He was trying to tell a joke, but his chest tightened and twisted into a knot. Like he forgot how to create a laugh. He couldn’t.

“George, love, stop fretting—please? I’m starting to think I’m making you worse.” Matty swung his hand out to playfully hit George on the arm. The open water bottle made a small damp spot on his sleeve; luckily, he was only wearing a short sleeve, cotton shirt. “Pretty sure you’ve been doing all this before I ever showed up. You know what you’re up to—you’re very talented. I’m just here to listen, take a vow of silence, have a drink or two.”

“Oh, I should go get you one, shouldn’t I?” George muttered, looking at his watch and then the clock on the wall—they were a minute apart: George’s watch a minute behind. He was already floundering. The first time he brought Matty—any boyfriend at all for that matter—to one of his shows and everything felt like it was developing into a disappointment. A stumble. Two left feet. George could hear the music muffled in the other room; he just wanted to stand submerged in it.

“That—No, George. That’s not why I said that. I’m not angling for you to go and—Look, I just want to drink after I had to listen to someone wedge Ecstasy of Influence into our discussion for the third class in a row.”

“But I should go get them—they won’t charge me.”

“Oh, so it’s about showing off, not chivalry…” Matty said, offsetting his jaw as he crossed his arms and smirked at George.

“No! I—Matty, it’s Valentine’s Day," George said, taking out his phone. His phone matched his watch but not the wall clock.

“And you’re already going to get laid. I’m not sure why you think you have to butter me up—"

George sputtered in surprise and embarrassment as he heard someone talking just outside the door. “I meant, it’s Valentine’s Day so they’re going to be up-charging, I’m sure. Let me get you a drink. They don’t charge the people they hire.”

“You must not know what happens when a cute guy like me goes up to most bars,” Matty said, lifting one eyebrow. “I won’t pay for anything; Fuck, I’ll barely even need to be paying attention.”

George had never considered how Matty was as a single guy. He’d never really told him. Or maybe George had never asked. There wasn’t much for George to tell Matty, so maybe he’d forgotten people had dating histories that weren’t accidentally shallow or convenient. Had first loves before their late twenties.

The club owner opened the door while still finishing the tail end of his hallway conversation. “—on in twenty, okay? Yeah—George! Good to see you, early as always. What I like to see. JJ walked in five minutes before she was supposed to go on. Again.”

“She likes the spontaneity,” George said with a shrug, placing his bag down in one of the mismatched armchairs. “I can’t argue her style. She’s always great.”

“I just wish she could be spontaneous and not raise my blood pressure,” he said. “You ready to go on in half an hour?” George nodded, checking all three times again. “Great. Anything you need—you can go out and float around JJ when you’re ready. Get either of you a drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Matty said. He placed a hand between George’s shoulders as he hunched down to look in his bag. George’s nervous energy was never something Matty could ignore. “George, did you want something? Or do you want me to get it for you.” Matty was teasing, probably feeling the tension in the muscles of George’s back. Maybe hoping for a laugh.

Instead, Matty’s kind and gentle smile—eyes following George’s hands as they continued to jostle everything in every pocket—was distracted by the owner’s follow up question: “I’m sorry—and I mean no disrespect—but who are you again? George, if this is a new label rep, I’m sorry I’ve forgotten again—”

“Label rep?” George turned toward Matty, who was still touching his back with one hand and had begun to hold his bicep lightly with the other. It was certainly no way to represent a professional relationship.

Matty looked down at himself. “I just came from teaching—Dammit, George, why didn’t you tell me I look like a corporate drone? Is it the tie? It is, isn't it?”

Finally, George smiled. The plane of his back under Matty’s hand relaxing as he laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t look like a drone, okay? And Matty isn’t my PR guy. He’s—” George had never actually called him his boyfriend in front of anyone before; at the holiday party, the moment everyone saw Matty walk in with George, they knew this was The Date George had after studio sessions so often. “He’s just here with me. No business.”

George couldn’t hear the music as clearly anymore, blood rushing in his ears. Matty moved his hand along George’s shoulder blades, slowly and soothingly. Finally, George’s fingers found the loose pair of foam earplugs in the front pocket of his bag. The last place left. He righted himself and held them out to Matty. He ignored the conversation he’d left paused with the owner for as long as it took Matty to tire from arguing he didn’t need them. He dropped his hand from George’s bicep to take them, his other hand not leaving George’s back.

The clock on the wall kept ticking, faster than the one on his wrist.

“Matty’s going to uh… he’s going to be up there with me.” George pointed loosely toward the door; he didn’t know what was out there, technically. Without being sure where the music was coming from, without being able to feel it faintly pulsing in his chest, he didn’t even know where the dancefloor was.

“Up where?” Matty asked.

“The stage. When I’m doing my set.”

“I didn’t think I would be allowed.” Matty shot the owner a quick look before adjusting his tie.

“Of course you are! But only if you want to. I won’t be offended if you’d much rather... not.” George wanted to give Matty the option to pick how he wanted to spend his evening. How to make it better without George intervening, even by accident, and making things worse—

“George,” Matty said softly. George blinked and realized the owner had already left the room; no commotion, no remark, no insistence Matty become part of the monolithic, pulsing, impersonal crowd. No pushback. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, you know that, right?” Matty said. He stood in front of George and placed both hands on his shoulders, as if keeping him planted on the ground. George didn’t know he’d been feeling an urge to pace until then. Until he couldn’t. “What’s got you this upset?”

“I always get nervous before I perform anything. You know that. You know me.”

Matty had been sitting on that studio couch every day for those two weeks. He’d been over when George accepted calls for other gigs and immediately interrupted his own train of thought to jot down his immediate thoughts and plans—afraid he’d forget the “genius” of the impulse. Afraid his instincts weren’t really instincts at all, just moments when inspiration would take pity on him.

While talking about his students’ coursework, Matty had told George about the idea of ancient Greek poets praying at the beginning of their works. Of asking the gods of inspiration—the muses, actually; George remembered feeling embarrassed by his own surprise and sense of clarity by this fact and connection—before embarking on their epics. The invocation, Matty had called it with a flourish of his hand.

Matty described it as if the idea was antiquated; no one thought creativity or inspiration was so out of their hands that it had to be requested at the beginning of every project. But sometimes, when George could feel expectations compounding and very separate things interconnecting into one daunting and terrifying moment, he wished there was someone he could hand things off to. Trust he had solid instincts when he was mid-set and suddenly becoming aware of his own hands and expression and body and position with the person next to him—the new DJ that just arrived and hovering too close and asking too many questions, but being so polite and was someone George should be very eager to show the ropes because he never had that... To trust he would have no need to second guess, critiquing himself for too long and missing the window to execute his plan. The swing of his set broken while George was left standing in horrifying, reverberating silence and—

“This isn’t nerves, George. You look like you might pass the fuck out. Or throw up. Maybe both.” Matty ran his hands across George’s shoulders and laced them together behind his neck, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s not me making you this anxious, is it?”

“No, of course not,” George said quickly. “I just want everything to be perfect—”

“Well, it can’t be.”

“I-I know. I know. Nothing can be perfect,” George mumbled, trying to echo Matty’s frequent and always kind encouragement. What George tried to remember when he was feeling his anxiety bind tighter with the feeling things were slipping out of his control. George had invoked Matty’s words a lot in the past week in particular. “Best-case scenario, then. I want the very best-case scenario. For you. I want you to have a good time and—”

“Do you not think I’m having a good time?”

“My set isn’t for another,” George looked at the clock on the wall only. “fifteen minutes. We’ve just gotten here and… literally stood in a room while I’m…” trying not to freak out or throw up or just blurt out that I— “That’s nothing very exciting.”

“Hey, that’s not all we did today; you picked me up from class, we had dinner, you let me read to you that botched essay intro, you told me about that tour invite and the boys, you invited me to see you do your job. George,” Matty stopped to reset his worried expression with another warm smile. “George, you do know you’re the reason I came, right? Not to experience the best DJ set of my life or have one too many and convince your band to dance with me, or even know any of the songs you’re going to play. I just came here because it meant spending time with you. And that’s why I’m having a good time. That’s it. This isn’t a performance review. I am not qualified for that in the slightest.”

“But—”

“George,”

“I’m not trying to argue,” George said. Matty nodded, moving both of their heads. Matty carefully ran one hand up and down the back of George’s neck, encouraging him to continue. “But… this is sort of your first… event with me. Next to me. Associated with me.”

“… And? We talked about this, right? It’s not industry people who know you, so I’ll have to be more… aware of what I’m doing. But just at first, like you said—I get it, George. I really do.”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with that… Or maybe it does. Fuck,” George stopped to take a breath, forcing it out through his pursed lips. “I want to do something you can be proud of. Be someone you don’t mind admitting is your date. I don’t want to embarrass you—"

“Embarrass?” Matty repeated with a soft but tense laugh. He cleared his throat and George could hear a sudden wetness sink his words. “What a preposterous fucking idea. And, actually, even more so: the idea I didn’t come here already proud of you. That I’m not already more than willing to walk out there and tell everyone who’s even remotely paying attention to me—free fucking drinks or not—” Matty gave them both the chance to laugh, the thickness falling away from Matty’s voice and some of the weight shaking off from George’s shoulders. “That I came here with you. I’ll go anywhere with you—anywhere you’re willing to have me.”

George dipped his head down to kiss Matty, quickly and without invitation for any lengthier response, considering the moment and environment. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell Matty right then—without the expectation of anything in return. Just simply say. But that was sort of the point of the set. George hoped he could say it without the words; without the direct chance of rejection.

Matty kissed George on the cheek, hands sliding from his neck to smooth his collar and flip his silver earring so the engraving of the dagger’s hilt faced outward. His knuckle grazed George’s jaw as he stilled the jewelry from swinging.

“You’re going to be incredible—as you always are.” Matty said, holding the sides of George’s face. “Like, that’s not me setting a ridiculous bar. That’s actually sort of the baseline for you. Anything beyond that will just be genius—which, also very possible, I’m finding.”

George leaned against one of Matty’s hands—warm and firm and unflinching from the request for support—and sighed, a sense of relief hitting him.

George remembered what he was doing there. He could feel the music in the other room. He smiled. And Matty, the central reason for the tailoring of the next hour of George’s night, smiled back.

They waited in silence, George not trusting himself to say anything else. Not wanting to spoil it.

---

The music was too loud. But that was sort of the point. George was up on stage, feeling the rolling pulse of the room and the music, and didn’t have the space or sense in his head to hear himself think about anything other than just that.

The lights, flickering and flashing and swirling.  The faces in the crowd—at least those he could make out—lighting up and excitedly reacting to the change in song, speaking to the person beside them—the only person who could hope to hear them.

The person beside him, waiting until George lowered his headphones to lean in to talk to him. Both of Matty's hands gently holding George's forearm. Matty's chest pressed against George's bicep and shoulder as he leaned in, trying to shout in his ear over the music coming from the speakers on all sides of them.

“I’m going to go get a drink, okay?” Matty said. George only understood when Matty pointed at the blue backlit bar directly across the dance floor. He’d been standing next to George for the entire first half of his set, enthusiastic and smiling. Bouncing and dancing. Trying to get George to do more than his usual simple sway to the music—Oh, come on! I know you know how to move your hips a bit better than that, love.

George gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Matty held up two fingers and lifted his eyebrows. He pointed to George’s empty glass resting on the low railing surrounding the raised stage platform. It had been a vodka soda that, thankfully, had barely had much of the first ingredient. George shook his head and nodded toward the bar with his continued smile.

Matty stepped down from the platform and began weaving his way around the dance floor. He avoided all the clueless drunk dancers, almost bodies possessed by the music, and nosey patrons that bothered to look up at the DJ and see the new face now walking among them, but managed to bump directly into Adam. Which meant within seconds, and a silent cheer of surprise, Matty had also found the rest of the band that had come: Ross, John, and Polly.

As if discussed beforehand, the moment they all saw Matty they collectively looked up at George and waved. As if they knew George would be watching Matty from the slightly higher vantage point. Because of course George was. He answered them all with a quick grin so they would turn away again. After a moment of gesturing and over-enunciated (but mostly unheard) sentences, Ross walked with Matty to the bar. The other three migrated to the side of the dance floor with a cementing nod and lift of a hand: We’ll wait right here.

Watching Matty struggle to get through the crowd to the bar, George quickly rearranged his mental lineup of songs. What use was Matty knowing—dating—the DJ if George played all his favorite songs while he stood in line, cramped in his reach for the bartender between Ross and the back of a guy with shoulders practically as wide as Matty was tall.

For a moment, being able to see Matty from a distance was sort of romantic. It was a thrill to be able to take all of Matty in at once—when most of their romance typically happened up close, barely enough distance for George to see the lips he was about to kiss. From his vantage point, George could watch Matty lean forward on the bar, his weight shifting onto his left foot with his right hovering just above the ground. Could watch as Matty began bouncing his foot with an unknown pulse of anxiety, impatience, or anticipation; George couldn’t see Matty’s expression to know.

George looked back at the decks, needing to focus to ensure his secondary ordering of songs transitioned smoothly. He looked back up at Matty—to see if he’d have to sub in another song before he was back on the dance floor—and saw him angled back toward the rest of the room, smiling and chatting, his face more in view. The only face George couldn’t see was that of the man talking to Matty, one hand braced against the bar railing and the other quickly—and so smoothly George barely noticed—fiddling with the end of Matty’s tie.

George checked his watch, trying to give himself somewhere else to look. He lowered his head and gave himself the chance to hide his flushing and crimson embarrassment. He didn’t mind someone else flirting with Matty—George couldn’t be upset with other men that fell under the very same spell he did after their first introduction. No, George felt embarrassed he’d seen them, that he had been watching at all. That he was observing when maybe Matty had no such idea. Exposing a moment perhaps Matty would rather not have George see; invading Matty’s privacy and knowing something Matty would always think George didn’t know. What a terrible basis for lo—

Finally, George looked back up. Resisting to do so almost like telling himself not to think of something—and only prompting further rumination. George saw Matty shaking his head, hand resting on his own chest, as if holding his heart. When the man nudged Matty’s foot with his own—yet something else George felt he should never have seen—Matty lifted his hand to point at George.

Four sets of eyes were now on him: Ross, Matty, the stranger, and now the bartender returning with Matty’s drink. George froze. He didn’t know what Matty had said about him in their conversation; he didn’t want to betray his point by doing the wrong thing. George had told Matty to keep things lowkey for the night while George acclimated to (very subtly) exposing his personal life, but with someone flirting with him why else would he be pointing at George? Surely, it was romantic sort of point—literal romantic gesture—right?

But how could George ensure Matty knew it was okay he brought it up, that he was happy and so proud to be up there but if only because it meant Matty could turn and point and mouth something that looked a hell of a lot like: that’s my boyfriend.

Before George could short-circuit much further, Matty put his fingers to his lips and blew George a kiss. He then folded his hand at the knuckles in a flapping wave. Almost like a joke. A tease. A giddy gesture that had George feeling like he was growing sunburnt under the minimal, flashing lights. A youthful, almost teenage, motion done with complete honesty and infatuation. For a moment, George felt relief, felt certain for a moment that his very ridiculous and overthought plan would work...

With his drink in hand—and small black straw between his lips—Matty started going back toward the rest of the group. His eyes were busy searching each face he passed for Adam or Polly he didn’t look back up at George at first. It was just as well; George was already so anxious, he was sure if Matty looked directly at him as the next song started, his entire heart would’ve dropped into his shoes. Maybe bruised, maybe shattered, maybe resilient enough to bounce back up.

Although, as the song started, George felt like his heart had stopped. Its internal pulse absent from his ears as the beat around them took over, pounding against his chest, ribs, temples. George dissolved into the music; hoping that the joy and repeatedly expressed excitement Matty had shown listening to it in George’s studio would appear on the dance floor in front of him.

Just one more time, George. Play that part just one more time… For me?

After a deep breath, George forewent any subtlety and made no effort to hide he was watching for Matty’s reaction. He pulled his headphones down around his neck. The sound diluted into the vastness of the room, in comparison to being fed directly into George’s ears, but he preferred it. He wanted the space and breathing room. At least for the moment.

Matty stopped his gesticulating and conversation with John, pausing as he registered the song. His pivot from speaking to emphatically starting to sing along was split-second. Adam stood sort of confused, amused, and dumbfounded as Matty’s apparently dire point faded away and he started dancing: swaying mostly his hips with the beat and holding his one arm up, while the other steadily held his drink in front of him.

Matty lowered his arm and went to take another sip just as the chorus was about to hit again, his usual stopping point when listening with George, but the song swung back around to the start of the verse. Just that part, one more time. For him.

Matty’s declared favorite, all over again. Right on time—jumping to that exact thump of the brutally danceable kick drum. George wasn’t sure Matty would even notice; he probably hadn’t heard the song that many times to know its structure the way George had to. Oh, maybe it was all a bit ridiculous to think—

But Matty had stopped dancing. His lips still moved along to the lyrics, but now like trying to whisper across the cacophony to George. The lyrics almost being stripped and returned to its poetic form. Spoken with slight disbelief.

While everyone else seemed slightly confused—feeling more betrayed by their memory than upset about any music decision or direction—Matty continued to melt right back into the song. Dancing just as he had, holding the back of George’s chair with gleeful distraction.

As George began to fade between the songs—no threat of the verse cycling a third time—Matty pushed his empty glass into Ross’s hands and began hurriedly snaking back through the crowd to the platform. Despite his evident excitement—shifting and shuffling his feet while he pulled at his sleeves—Matty still stood and waited for George to give a cue he was finished with his task at hand.

Admittedly, George wanted to stay in the momentary reprieve between his gesture, the reaction, and his direct confession—the purpose of it all. In that moment, he could only be relieved that he’d done it in the first place. He hadn’t yet had enough time to worry or feel embarrassed by his own ornately constructed vulnerability.

But if George stayed in that moment forever, he’d never hear Matty’s reaction. Good or bad, it would still be Matty. And that sure as hell beat a solitary moment of acquiescing to fear.

George lowered his headphones again and turned to Matty with the very best look of neutrality and obliviousness he could. Matty was looking back with that minute, timid smile: the one meant for George and almost undetectable by onlookers. A glimpse at the joy thrumming inside of him; almost too full to even attempt to express; settling for an undersell rather than falling short.

“Need something, Matty?”

“I love that song!” Matty leaned in toward George’s ear. His hand gently curled around George’s hanging safely under the table and out of view. He tugged and pulled George toward him, able to slightly lower—soften—his voice. “You know I love that song—thank you.”

“I-I wanted you to have a good time! A chance to know some songs—your favorites!”

“You didn’t have to do that—what about everyone else here?”

George pulled back to better see Matty’s entire face. “Yeah? What about them?”

Matty’s smile faltered as he lowered his eyes to George’s earring, now swinging in the air after being pressed down by his headphones. His lips parted as if he was going to speak but then pressed them back together.

“Matty,” George said, although not loud enough. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Hm?” Matty moved his fingers behind his ear—as if his hair was even remotely long enough—to politely hint he couldn’t hear George.

“I…” George cleared his throat, hoping it would still be there even if he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear anything but the music flooding his body just like the flush creeping up his chest and over his cheeks. “I love you.”

“What?” Matty cupped his ear and leaned forward toward George.

George found himself repeating the sentence, but far softer. “I—I love you.”

Matty lowered his hand and looked at George with a furrowed brow. “I-I’m sorry, George. I can’t hear you!” He gestured toward his ears with splayed out hands, mimicking the pulsing, pounding soundwaves thudding against him from the surrounding speakers. “Don’t forget though, okay? Tell me later?"

George nodded, smiling. Like he could ever forget.

"Sure, yeah. Later!"

Like he was ever thinking about anything else.

---

After his set, despite the band congratulating him and offering a few rounds on them, George wanted to go home. Wanted to get out of the noise. He was beginning to feel spoken over, crowded, and pushed out by the thumping music—then even more so when it was no longer him behind the decks.

Thankfully—and once again forgetting the holiday—no one teased George for turning in earlier than them. He and Matty were able to be back in his car, sitting in the parking lot, thirty minutes after his set finished.

“George, you’re incredible, you know that right?” Matty was speaking too loudly, but George didn’t mind; his ears were ringing too. And it also meant Matty laughed a bit louder than he usually did, too. “I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a very long time.”

“I’m glad you came,” George smiled, his own laugh sounding muffled to his ears but feeling stronger in his chest. Matty lifted himself from his seat to lean over the console and kiss George, quickly but firmly.

“Thank you for inviting me, George. I was happy to be there with you not on business,” he said. “Happy to be your date tonight. Proud to be—even if we’re still the only people here that really know I was.”

George thought about saying it again—a third time—but he didn't think he could stomach the trade of an oblivious, neutral response to his intended confession for open, undeniable, almost amplified (possible) rejection.

Instead, he kissed Matty again. He braced his hand on the console and caught Matty's lips again before he moved all the way back into the passenger seat. Matty broke the kiss—without pulling away—with a near-muffled, definitely mumbled confession of his own:

“I heard you, you know,�� Matty said when George inquisitively pulled away at the sound spoken against his lips. “After you played my song—what I told you not to forget; I heard you. I-I just wanted to see if you’d say it again. If you wanted to—If you meant it.”

“Do—would you like me to... say it again?” George asked. It was a nicer response than quietly pleading, please don’t break my heart. I’m sorry if I—

“No, no, you don’t owe me another one," Matty held the sides of George's face, anticipating his emotional and physical retreat and apology. "Especially since I still haven’t answered.”

“You don’t have to right now. Let's just go home and—"

“George, I think I should tell the man I’m in love with that I do love him, don’t you? Seems like a reasonable thing to do.”

George reached for Matty's face, holding him and trying to get a good look at the man in love with him. Trying to spot the moment Matty would break, would maybe lie and soften what he'd admitted to. Matty held his joyful—and increasingly teary—look at George.

"You do?"

"Yes! Yes, George. I love you! Of course I do." Matty laughed and pulled George in again. His hands dropped from holding George's face to rest flat on his chest. Feel the beat of his heart.

"Wait," George muttered, turning his face to break the kiss but not pull away. "Say it one more time... For me?"

#gatty #gatty fic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #producer george and TA matty fic #andfacedown fics #(not yet i know but shh) #producer george oneshot #THANK YOU for waiting & enjoy MWAH!!

[102matthew]

Don't Worry

Matty shook his head; he didn’t want to let anyone down. He was scared too. He didn’t want anyone to think he was using again, or that he was having problems eating again either.

aka Matty doesn't want to worry people, in turn, he collapses on stage.

#102matthew #gatty #gatty fic #matty x george #matty healy #george daniel #the 1975 fic

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 18/25 Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: George Daniel, Matthew Healy, Ross MacDonald, Adam Hann, Carly Holt, Jamie Oborne, Charli XCX (Musician) Additional Tags: Equestrian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Past Drug Addiction Summary:

“Why the hell is Matthew Healy riding Carly Hann’s horse?!” George exclaimed, flinging open the door to storm into Jamie’s office, taking care to make sure the door was shut again behind him. He was surprised Jamie was even out so early, sitting in front of the computer with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “He’s bad fucking news, Matthew Healy?!” George said, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his close cropped, bleached hair.

#allylikethecat #all the king's horses #equestrian au #atkh #matty fic #gatty #gatty fic #happy tuesday!! #happy tuesday! #it is still tuesday in my time zone #better late than never right? #that you for your patience as my body fell apart on me this past week #i know this chapter was supposed to be posted friday #and also probably isnt what anyone wanted today #but i hope you still enjoy it #its not 100% how i wanted it to be #but i needed to just emotionally move on #let me know what you think though!! #im feeling all insecure since i fell off the face of the earth there #thank you for the kindness and support!!

[inmyrentedapartment]

ctteoyam part 3 (the prequel) is officially over twenty pages long I don't know how we got here but we're still not done lol

#me: i can pop into this fandom and drop a couple of little fics and it'll be fine i can leave whenever i want #guys i don't think i'm going anywhere #this is the most drive to write i've had in literally years #i've got maybe. three more big scenes to write for this one? then it's just the process of fitting the pieces together #ellie writes #ctteoyam #gatty fic

[drinkurkombucha]

New fic: Relinquish (Prologue and Part I live)

It brings me great joy to inflict my newest fic Relinquish on you all today. This has been in my head for ages and I'm buzzing to share it. Following on from the events of Catharsis, this is NSFW AF.

You can read the Prologue and Part I by clicking here. Enjoy ❤️

#relinquish #catharsis 2 #Gatty #the 1975 fic #the 1975 smut

[sundrownsthehouse]

Take This Pain And Give It A Name, Part Four

Posted to AO3 (I much prefer the formatting there)

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Summary: George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.

Words: 4.2k

AN: Much love to my bestie (you know who you are), to @allylikethecat, and to @lookedlikethebins for all the moral support- you're all amazing.

The faded grey light of the city filtered in from the windows where they’d forgotten to draw the curtains closed, casting streaky shadows across the ceiling. There was a gentle hush over the hotel room broken only by the muted hum of the aircon. George gazed up into the darkness. Comfortably cocooned in cool, plush blankets, with a warm body at his side, it should have been easy for him to fall asleep; this was the exact kind of quiet stillness he craved whilst on tour. And yet.

His eyes flicked down to the top of Matty’s head where it lay heavily on his chest, dark curls spilling across his skin. He could tell that Matty was still awake by the cadence of his breathing. Despite himself, George was hyperaware of the fact that Matty must be able to hear his heart hammering out a steady rhythm against his ribs. That notion alone threatened to send it racing.

And that’s sort of strange, George thought as he stared at the ceiling, because they’d done this so many times. Matty’s presence at his side was so familiar, it really shouldn’t provoke much of a reaction at all. Then again, it was unusual to lie awake together, entangled like this, without feigning ignorance; the cuddling wasn’t something they’d ever acknowledged openly in the past. It had never bothered him before, the way they’d always danced around it— it hadn’t really mattered— but to think about it now made him inexplicably sad. He didn’t know why they tried to pretend that they didn’t want the same things.

Over and over the night replayed itself in George’s mind, the gravity of it all weighing on him. In the span of only forty-eight hours, everything he thought he knew and felt about his relationship with Matty had changed. It was confusing, overwhelming, and slightly terrifying. There was so much he still didn’t understand, and the unspoken questions permeated the air between them like a thick fog. What did it mean, exactly, that they both seemed to want something more? Did it have to mean anything at all?

And what if it did?

As much as George wanted to pretend that everything was fine, the degree of Matty’s distress had seriously shaken him; they needed to talk about this. In the morning, he told himself firmly. Now wasn’t the time, not when they were both utterly exhausted. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually read Matty’s mind; even seeing Matty’s expression would give him some idea of where they stood. Nevertheless, he was secretly grateful they weren’t face-to-face. He was a little afraid of what he might find, and somehow, more intimidated by what Matty might see.

The bed shifted slightly. Matty sighed. The puff of breath fell hot on George’s skin, already sensitized by the tiny brush of Matty’s lashes as he blinked, gazing out at a city still aglow despite the late hour. George shivered curiously at the feeling. An unexpected wave of shame that he couldn’t reconcile burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbled. He was compelled to break the silence, if only to distract from the noise inside his own head.

Matty exhaled softly through his nose. “No.”

His arm was draped across George’s waist, absentmindedly drawing small circles into his hip with his thumb. Whether it was an indication of contentment or anxiety, George couldn’t tell. “Are you alright?” he asked hesitantly.

Matty didn’t respond at first. George lightly stroked his shoulder, aching to comfort him in whatever way possible after having seen him in such a state earlier. Matty shrugged eventually, his voice a whisper as he admitted: “No. Not really.”

George’s heart sank— what was he supposed to do with that?

He tried to sit up, struggling to right himself as the mattress dipped. Suddenly, Matty surged toward him. The weight of his body knocked George off balance and sent him toppling backwards, landing hard on the bed. Fire seared through his shoulder, tearing the breath from his lungs. Matty’s voice rose in a panic, but only when the pain began to ebb could George make sense of what he was saying: “….fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry, Christ….”

Though his head was spinning, George reached for Matty, still fretting, and pulled him in. He gently thread his fingers through his hair, playing with the curls— something he knew Matty loved, but would never ask for. Placated, Matty trailed off with another low sigh.

“Fuck, I… just don’t go,” he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion.

George’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’m not—”

Matty pressed impossibly closer, burying his face into the side of George’s neck. It was sort of startling; he didn’t know what to make of the way Matty was clinging to him. “M’not going anywhere,” George vowed. His fingers traced the smooth expanse of Matty’s back in slow, soothing motions, as if to show him:

I’m right here. I’m not running away. I’ve got you.

Matty sagged with relief, letting some of the tension bleed from his body. He turned his head, his parted lips coming to rest softly at the base of George’s throat.

It felt a bit like a kiss.

It wasn’t.

Breathe.

Clutching one another in the dark, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. At some point, Matty went lax and began to snore quietly. Utterly captivated by the places where their skin met, George gazed up at the shadows on the ceiling, and wondered why on earth that was.

Before he even opened his eyes he knew that Matty was gone.

George could feel the absence of him in the bed even on the barest edge of consciousness. Half awake, he raised himself up onto his good arm and squinted at the sunlit room, only to find it empty. The balcony was similarly vacant. George strained his ears, hoping to catch the sound of the shower running, footsteps, anything, but it was all for naught; Matty had vanished. The only evidence he’d been there at all was the crumpled pillow on the other side of the bed. It was cool to the touch.

Fuck. George curled up into the sheets, mentally berating himself. He should’ve expected this; it’s not like Matty ever stayed when they were at home, either. The thought was tinged with bitterness. If Matty were to disappear on him again, the way he did yesterday, he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. They had to fix this. Whatever happened, whatever was still going on between them, they couldn’t keep avoiding it forever— if not for their own sakes, then for the sake of the band. So much was on the line, and George didn’t want to think about what could happen to them if they handled this poorly. A series of horrible scenarios flashed behind his eyes anyway, filling him with a sickening sense of dread.

Lost in a grim, imaginary reality where he’d been abandoned in Wilmslow to shovel Chinese takeout into styrofoam for the rest of his miserable life, George barely registered the subtle metallic snick of the door as it was unlocked.

Matty strode into the room humming softly to himself, fresh-faced and vibrant. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a gauzy black blouse (pilfered from the women’s section, surely), he balanced two paper cups precariously in one hand and carried a nondescript takeaway bag in the other. He caught George’s startled expression out of the corner of his eye. “Oh— you’re awake!” Kicking off his boots, he crossed the room to set one of the steaming cups down on the bedside table next to George, flashing a warm smile: “Rise and shine, love.”

George gazed up at Matty, a little stunned by his presence. He had so many thoughts racing through his head, he couldn’t actually grasp onto any of them in order to form a coherent sentence. He shook himself internally, feeling like an idiot; it’s only Matty.The same messy curls forever falling in his eyes, that familiar gangly frame (too thin these days…), the dark ink peeking out from under his shirt, hinting at tattoos George knew like the back of his hand… and yet something wasdifferent. The early morning sun pouring in through the open window cast Matty in a strange, golden light. Somehow, George felt like he was seeing him properly for the first time.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

George felt the tips of his ears burn hot at the amused quirk of Matty’s brow. He quickly averted his eyes, training them on the takeaway bag instead.

“The buffet was closing for the morning,” Matty explained, unpacking fruit, yoghurt, and a couple of sugared pastries. “I mean, it’s only closing just now, but you were proper dead to the world when I left— there was no way you were gonna make it. So I searched ‘round online and figured I’d pop out to this little café down the street instead, cos there’s a Starbucks a few blocks over but I just couldn’t be arsed to go that far, and this place was really nice actually, had great reviews and…” He trailed off self-consciously. “I mean, it might be shit,” he warned, holding his hands up in surrender.

George sat back against the headboard, adjusting his sling with care. He took a small sip of the tea— definitely not shit, and just the way he liked it. He hummed happily.

“Alright?” Matty asked, plopping down on the loveseat by the balcony.

George shot him a grateful smile: “S’good— thanks.”

Pleased, Matty dug in whilst George sipped on his tea. It was remarkable how easily they slipped back into their usual routine of spending the morning together, as if nothing ever happened. Though George was more the cook between the two of them, at home, Matty took care of breakfast. He was almost always up first, usually on account of not sleeping very well, and more often than not had something burning by the time George dragged himself out of bed. Waking up to the smell of coffee and charred toast was, strangely, one of the things he missed most about being in London. The little gesture of familiar domesticity… well, it meant more to him than he really wanted to admit.

Seeming so much more like himself than the night prior, Matty rambled at length in a stream of consciousness: he talked about the show (“don’t get me wrong, it was wicked, but I hate that you weren’t there”), the redundant nature of interviews (“honestly George, they could’ve just Googled most of that shit”), Ross’s determination to hit up the pool (“don’t suppose you know what vitamin D’s for, d’you?”), and Adam’s blatant refusal to go out for drinks later in favour of an early night (“but I’ll bet you twenty quid— don’t laugh, you know I’m right!— I’ll bet you twenty quid he’s off his face by ten”).

George smiled into his tea, content. Matty always had a thousand thoughts racing around in his head, and he’d jump from one to the next so quickly that people who didn’t know him often found it overwhelming, if not abjectly infuriating. “Does he ever shut up?” was a question that had been leveled at George more than a few times, accompanied by long-suffering sighs and rolled eyes— but George had never been bothered. Matty’s mind fascinated him, and besides, he’d long since mastered the ability to interject here and there in the gaps.

Even so, when the topic inevitably turned to George’s shoulder, the conversation grew stilted.

“I’m fine,” George insisted, hating the concern painted all over Matty’s face. “Really. It’s not so bad. Just strange not being able to use my arm, is all.”

It wasn’t an outright lie; the pain wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been that first day. Instead, it had morphed into a persistent, dull ache that never really went away, and flared sharply with the slightest insult. Paracetamol didn’t touch it much, but George found himself leery of the narcotics. He’d left them behind on the bus.

Matty searched his face knowingly. George couldn’t help but feel exposed under his gaze. He forgot, sometimes, that their connection went both ways; Matty knew him better than anyone, and was as attuned to George as George was to him. The stretch of silence wasn’t awkward, exactly— it couldn’t be, after all these years— but there was an element of strain. Apprehension.

“Where were y—”

“I wanted to—”

They both paused.

“You first,” Matty conceded. His expression was carefully blank as he set his coffee down on the table. George took a breath to steady himself. Now or never.

“Where were you yesterday?”

He posed the question gently, but Matty fidgeted in discomfort, his hands fluttering in his lap. “Right, that’s what I… I wanna talk to you about that.” He seemed quite small all of the sudden. Shy, even. Shy was a rare look for Matty. “Honestly George, I was freaking the fuck out. I really thought I’d…” He turned away to gaze out at the balcony, the muscles in his jaw tense.

“Matty—”

“And I don’t know why I did that, the other night,” he confessed in a rush, as if he couldn’t stop the words from spilling forth. “I wasn’t planning on it, it just sort of… happened.” George opened his mouth again to speak, but Matty pressed on. “I think— I think I was a bit drunk, and I’d been worried about you, and I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

George shook his head. “You never had anything to be sorry for in the first place. I—”

“Good,” Matty interrupted. “Good, cos I really didn’t mean… I’d like to just forget that it ever happened, if that’s alright.” He offered a small, lopsided smile, but his eyes were hard. Pleading.

Oh. George found himself nodding automatically.

Visibly relieved, Matty leaned back into the cushions and propped his feet up on the coffee table— the very picture of ease to anyone who didn’t know him better. “Though I am flattered,” he teased with a wink.

George snorted and rubbed a hand across his face, lips quirked feebly in an attempt to mask the profound sense of disappointment washing over him. He couldn’t seem to find the right words; the questions that had plagued him all night got caught and died in his throat.

Matty laughed. “I think you need to get laid,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair— another nervous tick that George would recognize anywhere. “Fuck man, I need to get laid.” George felt himself chuckle weakly at the joke, small huffs of breath that left his lungs against his conscious will, but he wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear.

This was a good thing; this is what you wanted, he would remind himself. Matty was fine. He wasn’t mad or upset. He wanted things to go back to normal. Best case scenario.

Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, it would eventually start to feel like it.

***

“WANKER!”

George peaked one eye open from behind his shades as an errant spray of cold water splashed his legs. Waughy surfaced roughly in the center of the pool, sputtering as he flipped off Ross, who was standing on the deck with a suspicious, shit-eating grin. The others howled and scrambled to swim out of the way as Ross landed a cannonball that drenched Waughy (and George’s legs) all over again. Scattered bursts of laughter rose and echoed across the deck.

To Ross’s credit, the pool was a massive hit. He’d gotten word out to the rest of their crew, and by the early afternoon, they had something of a party going. They were being a bit rowdy, but the hotel was evidently letting it slide— one of the perks of being minor celebrities, apparently. Touring was demanding work, and full days off were precious.

George stretched on the lounger where he’d been laying out for the better part of the afternoon, lazy and content. The weather was perfect; the sun was hot, but there was a cool spring breeze that kept the humidity blessedly at bay. Nervous that swimming would mess with his shoulder too much, and unwilling to take any risks, he’d set himself up poolside with earbuds and a book hours ago. A warm glow of deep relaxation had settled into his bones. He yawned, pleasantly drowsy.

Just as he began to nod off, a flash of skin caught his eye.

Matty was lifting himself out of the pool, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting with the effort of it. He pulled himself up to sit on the side of the deck, letting his legs dangle over the edge as beads of water dripped from his hair to stream in little rivulets down his skin. Hidden behind his sunglasses, George dragged his gaze away from Matty’s upturned mouth only to get caught on the slope of his neck. He traced the delicate dip of his collarbone, following it to the black and grey marking Matty’s sternum— the heart over his heart, the tattoo he knew Matty was proudest of. He roamed over the hard plane of Matty’s stomach, lingering as it flexed with his laughter. From there, it was far too easy to drop down, down, down, following a small trail of hair to the top of his waistband, where a glimpse of blue ink peeked out near his hip like a suggestion.

George shut his eyes, swallowing thickly. Stop it.

He didn’t think he’d ever really noticed Matty’s body before. It had never mattered; like background noise, it was irrelevant. And yet as the afternoon trudged on, George found that it was slowly becoming all he could think about. Matty was surprisingly strong for being so slender, all lean muscle and sinew, but there was a softness about his waist… an almost feminine sort of grace in the way he moved. Now that he thought about it, Matty really was quite pretty for a man, wasn’t he? The recognition of it had George’s mind growing hazy. He found himself searching for the tattoos, moles, and scars that marked Matty’s skin, cataloging what he was familiar with and fighting a strange thrill whenever he noticed something new. He’d resisted the temptation at first, fully aware that it was wildly inappropriate to be ogling his best friend— not to mention the little voice inside telling him that he shouldn’t— but Matty had somehow become this new, exciting, mysterious thing that George couldn’t help but be captivated by.

It made no fucking sense.

Matty’s voice rang out across the pool. George couldn’t quite make out what he and Ross were giggling about over the music, but whatever it was, it made Matty grin, animating his features in a boyish sort of way. His stomach flipped. He shut his eyes in some desperate attempt to reason with himself; he was only watching Matty because he was still anxious about everything that had happened between them… he was just keeping an eye on his body language, seeking reassurance that everything was alright. Though that didn’t explain why his blood was humming with electricity, alive with something delicious and traitorous that he couldn’t quite name, elicited by— Christ, of all things— the sight of Matty nearly naked and dripping wet. Just like…

No. He shouldn’t think about it. He’d been trying very hard not to think about it. The way their bodies felt sliding against one another in the steam… the little ghosts of breath on his skin… the careful, feather-light fingertips tracing his hip… the gentle press of impossibly soft lips to his shoulder. To his throat.

“You’re gonna burn.”

A sharp spike of adrenaline sent George’s heart racing as cool, wet fingers prodded the warm skin of his tricep. “I’m fine,” he choked out, gazing up at Matty’s silhouette against the sun. He’d been so distracted by his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Matty walking right up to him until it was too late.

Matty snorted and shook his head, little droplets of water flying from his hair. “M’not gonna listen to you whine all night cos you’re burnt on top of everything else.” He jabbed at George’s arm pointedly, watching the tanned skin blanch and then turn pink.

“Won’t be. Haven’t got your delicate Northern complexion.”

“Yeah, that’d be clever if you weren’t blistering as we speak.” Matty reached for a bottle of sun lotion and flipped the cap. “Here, budge up.” He made to sit on the edge of the lounger. George didn’t move.

“You don’t have to do that— seriously mate, it’s fine.”

A hint of irritation crossed Matty’s face. “Don’t be stupid. C’mere,” he insisted, drawing closer.

Too close.

George shot up and took a careful step back, shaking his head. “I can do it myself,” he blurted, holding his hand out for the bottle. A nervous energy snaked up his spine, setting him on edge.

Matty stared in disbelief for a moment, eventually scoffing. “You literally can’t,” he said, squeezing lotion into his hand.

Panic bloomed in earnest, immediate and terrifying. George only knew that— no matter what— he couldn’t bear for Matty to touch him. He waved his hands dismissively and spun around, making a beeline for the changing room. He didn’t care how fucking bizarre it must seem; he had to get away. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He was vaguely aware of his name being called, of the exasperated tone in Matty’s voice, but it was all secondary to the buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the second as his feet blindly carried him away.

The men’s room was empty. George huffed a shaky sigh of relief, leaning up against the wall to steady himself. A fresh wave of dizziness had his stomach rolling; for one horrible moment, he thought he might actually black out. He pressed his forehead into the faded blue tile, letting it leach the heat from his skin. It was all just too much. He couldn’t— he didn’t want to face it, whatever this was, whatever was happening to him. As his awareness slowly returned to his body, he noticed that his hands were trembling, among other things.

Please stop, he begged— as if contrition alone would change anything at all. Fear and hunger, shame and desire, it all tangled in his mind, fighting with the conflicting sensations of his body. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, and God, why was his cock throbbing? He shuddered violently at the feeling, enthralled by the heady rush of endorphins mixed with adrenaline and latent frustration. Slowly, mindlessly, he pressed his hips into the wall to abate the pressure in his groin, only to gasp at the sheer relief of it. Out of that hazy cloud of sensation, clarity struck like lightning— sudden, brilliant, and terrible.

It was difficult to know how long he’d been gone. It could have been minutes; it felt like hours. But when he emerged from the men’s room half-dazed, George glanced around to find the others staring at him strangely— as if they could tell that something fundamental within him had shifted.

***

In the evening they separated off the elevator, Ross and Adam heading to their respective rooms, George trailing behind Matty towards their own.

Matty chatted casually about something banal as he dug through his bag, preoccupied with putting together an outfit. Something about dinner… the restaurant, George recognized dimly. He was grateful, really, that Matty hadn’t brought up their strained encounter at the pool, but he couldn’t pretend to care about their reservation at the best sushi restaurant in Austin, George, it won a James Beard award last year, did you know?

Perched on the edge of the bed, George nodded and hummed in agreement here and there to fill the gaps, but he struggled to follow the one-sided conversation. He was hopelessly distracted, and growing ever more certain by the minute that he’d been ignoring what was right in front of him for years.

“Gonna rinse off,” Matty announced as he walked toward the bathroom, clutching fresh clothes and his toiletry kit to his chest.

“Can I come?”

Matty froze, whipping his head to stare at George with wide eyes.

Fuck.

“Erm— I mean, my hair… the chlorine… makes it dry odd…” he trailed off feebly.

A dozen different emotions flit across Matty’s face. It seemed to take him a moment to find the words— and Matty always had the right words. When he did speak, his voice was soft. Apologetic. “You didn’t swim, George,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I mean, I got splashed a bit by you lot, didn’t I.” George tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. He’d thought… he didn’t know what he thought.

Matty’s expression was inscrutable. He went to speak, then hesitated, swallowing hard. “There’s not a lot of time… m’gonna be quick,” he replied thickly.

George nodded. Shame burned through him. “Yeah, right. Okay.”

“Okay.”

He flinched when Matty shut the door behind him.

#matty healy #george daneil #the 1975 #take this pain and give it a name #matty x george #the 1975 fic #matty healy fic #george daniel fic #gatty

[vinylandcoffeecollection]

Matty’s bathroom selfies: a series

#my partner’ll be stanning his bathroom tiling in a hot min #I’ll be stanning other things #bathroom selfie love #the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 smut #gatty

[19emma75]

sketch of a scene from my fav fic :0)

#extremely niche and self indulgent post #srsly read the fic even if u don’t know the fandom lol #matty x george #the 1975 fic #gatty #my art

[betweenthings2]

gatty and “playfully shying away from them because of their "morning breath"” ❤️

Thank you for the ask!! The prompt list this is from is here if anyone else wants to see it =) I'm very sorry this took my so long to write. I have no good excuse.

Early morning things- playfully shying away from them because of their 'morning breath'

Matty is warm and cozy and just barely conscious. He could go back to sleep. It would be so easy. It would be so, so easy to just go back to sleep, if only George would leave him alone. Matty loves him, but George has a habit of waking Matty up far too early. Were Matty more conscious and more willing to engage, he would admit that George waking him up is one of the few reasons they're mostly on time for things in the morning, but he's not very conscious nor is he willing to engage.

Matty doesn't know what they're supposed to be doing to do or where they're supposed to be, which means it can't actually be that important. That's not really true--Matty has forgotten about plenty of important things--but he likes to think it's true. George is still rubbing his shoulder and saying something, though, so maybe he has actually forgotten about something important.

"Matty," George murmurs. "You've gotta wake up, love."

Matty would very much like to not wake up right now. He's sleepy and if George could resign himself to being late and lay back down, they'd be warm and cozy again.

"C'mon, Matty," George continues. "We've places to be."

"'m 'sleep," Matty mumbles.

George chuckles. "I know, but we made commitments."

"Can be late," Matty tries, eyes still closed.

"We shouldn't be," George counters.

Matty blinks his eyes open and rolls over to face George, who clearly hasn't gotten up yet, either, and asks, "Fifteen more minutes?"

"Probably best not."

Matty groans. "Please? What are we even supposed to be doing today?"

George can't help but laugh again and says, "We're supposed to be in the studio. We already pushed things back 'cause you didn't wanna be up early."

"It is early, George," Matty argues. "I wanna sleep."

George brushes curls out of Matty's face and says, "You're very cute, but we do have to get up," before shifting closer in an attempt to kiss Matty.

Matty shys away with a mock glare, saying, "You have morning breath."

"And you don't?"

Matty shakes his head. "Nope, 'cause I'm perfect."

"See, I was gonna lay here and kiss you, but I guess I could just get up."

Matty does his very best to look very sad and closes the distance between them for a kiss. George lets Matty have it, though he's half tempted to pull back just as Matty had. He's never been good at denying Matty anything. He's pretty sure Matty is perfect.

Matty tucks his head under George's chin when they separate and asks, "Are you sure I can't go back to sleep?"

"Best not," George answers, but he's really not all that interested in getting up either. Matty is close and warm and wonderful and George would be hard pressed to end that.

Matty shifts a little bit closer and drapes his arm over George's waist, like he's daring George to do anything but stay exactly where he is.

"We're going to be late," George tries.

"Who is actually going to be upset?" Matty asks.

"Ross? Hann? We can't just not turn up. We don't even have a good excuse."

"Yeah, we do. I wanna go back to sleep and you wanna stay here with me."

George presses a kiss into Matty's curls and agrees, "Yeah, I do, but we have obligations."

"I hate obligations."

"Yeah."

Matty lets out a breath, warm against George's chest, and asks, "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes," George agrees.

#my fic #matty healy #george daniel #matty x george #gatty

[abouttofillhisshoes]

thinking abt matty / girlie casually kissing g outside of a sexual sitaution for the first time before they properly define things and its mutually like oh. oh.

i am blushing

Alright so up until this point, none of you had really talked about labels or anything, i mean you and Matty are barely defined as something let alone you and George or George and Matty.

So when he does come over, alone, just to sit and hangout and eat food, you sense the air shift dramatically. This isn't just platonic, it cant be in any sense of the word. You first notice this when Matty and George are in the kitchen together, in direct view of you, plating food (and by food its frozen fries and fillets, nothing fancy). Stood shoulder to shoulder, you can see Matty tense up whenever George touched him, his whole body rigid.

Its when they both turn to bring the plates, two plates in George's hands and one in Matty's that Matty stops in his tracks, the eye contact between his and the blond as intense as ever. You could feel the tension radiating off the pair as Matty turned his head upwards to press his lips to George's, the kiss chaste as he closes his eyes, giving into the sensation.

When they do pull away, they stare at each other for longer than necessary, and George nods in response to Matty's silent question. He couldn't quite define the question, but somehow, he knew what Matty was asking, not a single word leaving his lips. You eat your food together, in your normal positions, if only a bit closer to G this time.

-

The first time you kiss George outside of a sexual setting happens not even a few hours later, while you're sprawled across the sofa, your back against George's chest and you can feel his heartbeat under his ribs, low and rhythic. Matty sits on your legs, the pressure limiting but not stopping your movement as you look up at George, who instead of paying attention to the show is staring straight at you, eyes flicking over each of your features, taking you in in your entirety.

You can feel Matty's eyes on the two of you, just like yours were on them that moment in the kitchen. George kisses you sweetly, no ulterior motives and in a way that is inherently pure, your lips barely brushing against each other. Your heart beats at a million miles a minute, making you feel dizzy as he does it again, his hand resting right above your chest as you neck cranes to kiss him.

Matty just stares, enjoying the sight of the two people he loves most in this world kissing, his heart swelling up with adoration.

Now labels? There's never a "what are we?" conversation, the three of you just know. George starts spending most of his days in your house, cooking edible meals and teaching you how to properly make cocktails. It feels right, domestic even, how every night is spent in your shared bed, George on the left, you on the right, and Matty facedown in the middle, his soft snores prompting loving gazes from both of you.

#aweeee #its so sappy someone take my laptop away from me #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #mpind matty #mpind george #mpind gatty #gatty fic #gatty smut #gatty fluff #matty healy fanfiction #george daniel fanfiction #matty healy x reader #george daniel x reader #the 1975 x reader #drive like i do

[lookedlikethebins]

the way you know me [E, 8k]

Matty returns home from a horribly unproductive day helping out in the studio. He feels exhausted, overstimulated, and disconnected from home—from George. He asks George, silently and then with words, to remind him of what it feels like to be home, to be loved, to be taken care of.

#gatty #gatty fic #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #gonna just say Nothing

[soil-just-needs-water-to-be]

Had to post this because my fanfiction is not vibing with me and it’s named after this song so I had toooo just to vibe to feel like I could post something to do with it

#matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #ross macdonald #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #gatty #smut #the 1975 fic #heart out

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 25/? Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: Matthew Healy, George Daniel, Ross Macdonald, Adam Hann, Jamie Oborne Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Past Drug Addiction, Mpreg Summary:

Matty lied, which was probably a mistake since he was a shit liar on a good day, and today wasn’t a good day. He was much better at just, not saying anything, even though his therapist had told him that was really just lying by omission. He couldn’t meet Jamie’s eyes, and knew he was sweating nervously. He was hyper aware that he could feel the wand in his back pocket.

.

Just like in the bathroom after the show, two parallel lines stared back at him, confirming deep down what he already knew. The test was positive.

#allylikethecat #make way for ducklings #mpreg #matty fic #gatty #gatty fic #fanfic #fanfiction #happy tuesday! #Happy Tuesday!! #happy tuesday part 2!! #when i was being all like what if i do something unhinged #my being silly and unhinged was updating two fics today lol #i was worried that people werent going to like the on a friday update #so i was like i will come prepared #with a ducklings update as well #just in case #so here she is!

[inmyrentedapartment]

Question: do you guys prefer one long-ish story (maybe 25-30k words) or shorter chapters? Either way, the whole thing will be completed before I start posting it, but some of these sections are getting out of hand haha

#ctteoyam #75blr #the 1975 fanfic #gatty fic #matty x george #ellie writes #it'll still be a few days either way-just looking at formatting

[drinkurkombucha]

Final chapter!

The final chapter of Living with George is NSFW and has just gone live. You can read it here. Enjoy! ❤️

#living with George #talking to George #Gatty #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic