#andfacedown fics

[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!!

[allylikethecat]

Hey Ally! I’m wondering if you have any recommendations for angsty gatty fics/authors? (I’ve personally coined you the queen of that very specific sub genre haha) and in general, did you have a favorite fic you read (regardless of fandom) in 2023?

Hi! Yes! There are many talented Gatty writers in this fandom and I am so grateful to get to share the same space as them!

Some of my favorites are:

Literally anything and everything that @lookedlikethebins who can be found on AO3 as andfacedown has written - everything hurts SO GOOD

I've also been really enjoying @sundrownsthehouse who can be found on AO3 under the same name.

It's Only Green Where You Water by an anonymous user has absolutely broken me in the best way and I am still obsessed with it even though it hasn't been updated since April - I hope the mystery author is okay! (They have a few other fics listed in the author's notes as well that are also incredible!!)

@0ceanxey3s is another author I really enjoy - and can be found on AO3 as 0ceanxeyes it's more of a general / friendship dynamic between Fictional!Matty and Fictional!George compared to a romantic one but wow do they manage to hurt me in the best way!

@betweenthings2 that can be found on AO3 with the same name has also written some lovely angsty fics!

As always, my all time favorite fic i read in 2023 was Poses by @vinylandcoffeecollection - this is literally my favorite fic in the entire Gatty tag and I have reread it way too many times.

There are SO MANY lovely talented writers in this fandom and this tag and I am sure that I've forgotten some as I just did a quick scroll through my bookmarks tag on AO3! I hope that you enjoy some of these if you haven't read them already! In addition to Gatty I read a lot of Hockey RPF - particularly Leon Draisaitl / Matthew Tkachuk - if that's something you're interested in let me know I can send you SO MANY recs lol Thank you for your kind words about MY writing and for your continued support! I'm so honored and grateful that you've been enjoying my little sub genre of pain and suffering 😂 I hope you have a great rest of your week and thank you again for reading!!

❤️Ally

#allylikethecat #anon ask #ask ally #fanfiction #keep it kind #matty fic #gatty #fanfic #Ally's Fic Recs #there are so many lovely authors in this fandom #and so many lovely wonderful gatty fics #these are just the ones that jump to the forefront of my mind #i hope you enjoy them as much as i did if you havent read them yet!

[lookedlikethebins]

holiday party (plus one)

surprise! have a (belated) holiday oneshot written on a whim because i was thinking about our producer george x TA matty this past break! just wanted to write something fun, something sweet, and see what came up! enjoy this little glimpse! [set ~4months since meeting each other] ~3k words xo

Technically, where Matty lived was considered student housing. He could have friends over for parties, could bring boyfriends back after dates—had brought quite a few boyfriends (and a few one-date-only boys) back—without issue. Matty just couldn’t bring George back after any of their dates. The new hire in the archeology department was more of a local celebrity—known for being the youngest professor on faculty, just a year older than Matty—and not the same as the international kind. Matty had assured George that it wasn’t particularly personal. Simply put (although few things Matty said were to George) if George wanted any bit of his private life to remain within his own control, be his story to tell, he couldn’t be seen wandering around campus, alone or with Matty.

With Matty’s flat off-limits, naturally, George never found it presumptuous when Matty would text George after his evening class to see if George would help grade papers that seemed to show a negative correlation between level of coherency and number of words. Actually, George sort of counted on it. He liked that Matty would invite himself over; never asking if it was okay if he spontaneously dropped by, instead wondering if George simply wanted to keep him company—to which the answer was always yes—then arriving an hour later and knocking on George's front door with said papers and a bottle of wine.

One night in mid-December, George was impatient waiting for Matty’s post-class text. He was nervous Matty would be too exhausted to come over and George would have to figure out another way, and fast, to ask Matty to join him his label event the following night. He didn't think he could face it alone—

But Matty texted, as he always did: last student just left. forgot something in my office but then i’ll be over? x

Matty arrived within the hour, standing outside his door with twice as many papers and wine bottles.

“Final essays.” Matty answered the question George hadn’t yet asked. He pecked George on the lips—George’s preferred form of hello, if he was being honest—and hurried inside from the cold.

Matty looked exhausted, as he had the past few weeks of the term, but at least he’d recently shaved. George was beginning to worry—not only about his general well-being, but Matty’s ability to grow the patchiest beard but the most solid moustache. Meanwhile, George had success with neither and was losing his own ability to grow hair on his head before thirty. Some guys just had all the luck: the looks, brains, sense of humor, charm—

“Which class is this for again? You had three of them.” George said, shutting and locking the door. He flicked off the porch lights, expecting and inviting no other visitors now that Matty was there. He followed after Matty.

Matty was back in his usual spot at George’s kitchen counter, placing one wine bottle down between the barstools before shouldering off his worn, nearly-beaten, leather briefcase onto his seat. Matty always claimed the stool closest to the wall. He began leaving—most likely forgetting—pencils and pens on the lip of the counter that extended up the wall. Even though they’d only been seeing each other for four months, George figured it wouldn’t be too much of a gesture to wordlessly replace his napkin holder with a pencil cup.

“This was the intro class. Other classes finished last week.”

“Right, right.” George nodded. This classifier helped him very little; every class Matty described to George felt introductory. Made him feel like he was sitting in the desks himself, green and confused, just trying to scramble together some foundational understanding.

“I told them: short and succinct. Six pages maximum. They don’t have to show off—I’ll know by how they write it if they are copying, bullshitting, or absolutely clueless. I took the same class—same professor—during my very first term. I know the subject and am their intended audience. I told them seven times last week the only person they were writing to was me. Not Dr. Wriley, not even each other; just me. And you know what they did?” Matty exclaimed. He threw his one empty hand up in exasperation as he looked at the top-most essay in his other hand. “They all wrote me dissertations on Euripides. Which means that I will have no time to work on my own. It’s like they heard I cancelled my trip home and thought I was just planning on fucking about.” Matty rolled his eyes. He paused, lifting his eyebrows in consideration before scowling again. “George, I swear, they gave me so much to read, I’m going to have to call my optometrist again by New Year’s. I'm going to be blind before I graduate."

“I’m sorry, love.” George said, trying to translate the regretful, apologetic look on his face into his voice; Matty hadn’t looked up at him since they greeted each other at the door. With every second that Matty stayed distracted and frazzled, George began to think his entire plan that evening was not a good idea. Not what Matty wanted to be asked after such a taxing day. "Is there anything I can do—”

“—and I know there’s no way you’ve studied the Murray and Woodruff translations so I can’t exactly ask you to read any of these for me so…” Matty paused and grumbled away alternatives to his sentence. “It’s just going to be a very long night. You can help by keeping me awake.”

“Do you have to read them all tonight? Pretty sure you can let yourself have an hour of sleep. Maybe actually have dinner with your boyfriend,” George said. “Think I can convince you of at least that?”

Matty let the full stack of essays thud onto the counter and sighed. His shoulders fell with his exhale as he finally looked back at George. Before he could respond with his usual, quick-witted quip his eyes fell from George’s face to his clothes: his pristine, pressed shirt and polished belt buckle visible just above the countertop; his necklace resting in the gap left by his intentionally neglected shirt buttons; his rings dressing the fingers wrapped around the two stemmed wine glasses; the silver earring George had accidentally taken from Matty’s spot at his bathroom sink—he only ever wore one of them anyway.

“Wait. You’re all dressed up.” Matty seemed startled by the realization. He looked down at his own clothes—a sweater, slacks, and polo combo he wore frequently when he was running on little sleep; comfort and professionalism without having to think too much—and looked back up at George with a look of panic and apology. “You’re all dressed up and I—”

“Look very handsome.” George assured him. He placed both glasses down before grabbing a bottle of wine. They were two different labels: end of term gifts from faculty or perhaps an older, friendlier student. “As you always do—usually I’m the one in slippers and joggers when you come over. Your jumper’s got buttons on it. That’s pretty sophisticated for this place, you know that.” George was hoping Matty would laugh, but concern kept his expression tight and furrowed.

“Are you supposed to be going out—am I interrupting something? Fuck! Oh, shit. Is your stupid little elbow-rubbing holiday party tonight?” Matty gasped as he looked at his watch—before gasping and swearing again. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s not stupid, George. I didn’t mean it like that—” His words began to gain speed and George held out a gentle hand to hopefully slow him back down.

“Don’t be sorry. Label holiday dinner parties are stupid little elbow-rubbing events. You’re completely right. Per usual.” George laughed. “But, if it makes you feel better, it’s tomorrow. I didn’t skip anything. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Oh. Okay.” Matty nodded.

George knew what Matty looked like when he understood something—his face relaxed and he slightly offset his jaw while he dipped his head in slow, steady nods, blinking each time. Standing in his kitchen, Matty’s eyebrows were still knitted together; his eyes were looking between his papers, his keys, his bag, and the door; and he was pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth so harshly George was afraid he’d draw blood.

“Let’s try another one: would you believe I was waiting for you?” George chose to focus on the corkscrew in his hands rather than Matty’s face as he spoke. George was being sincere and he had been waiting for Matty’s arrival since he’d texted him about his first class around noon that day, but George wasn’t sure he was ready for the look on Matty’s face when he admitted the gesture—or if he knew how to minimize the look on his own face in case the act was too much or too soppy when really Matty just wanted to come in and have a quick rant and a hasty glass or two of wine, before sinking deep into his work. George's only job then would be to make sure by midnight Matty was at least no longer in creased trousers and a belt, lounging next to George in bed while he continued to read.

“You didn’t have to do that, George. It was an exam day—and that’s always a crapshoot as to when the students all finish, you know that.”

“But exam day means end of the term, right? Well, minus the grading.” George winced as he waved the removed cork toward the stack of essays. “But that’s something to celebrate, right? You’re free—for at least a little while.”

“Oh, I see. Celebrate, huh?” Matty caught George’s attention again with a short, low laugh. He looked at George with lifted eyebrows. “You know, I’ll never understand your pretense to get dressed up when your main goal is to get undressed. You keep doing it, George. Just answer the door with about fifty percent of an outfit and I’ll get the idea a lot faster. I’m a smart man. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, because you come over after an exhausting day of teaching and dealing with end of year administrative hoop-jumping and the first thing you want to deal with is me practically steering you right to the couch.”

Matty seemed to mull the idea over. “You know, I wouldn’t hate that… But, I guess you’re right. Maybe answering the door fully clothed is a better idea. Perhaps you are sensible, George. I keep forgetting. Thank you.” Matty reached over to touch George’s forearm holding the wine bottle—and about to pour the contents all over the counter. Matty was looking at George with an expression that always took him by surprise. Made him freeze in place and thought. Made him feel in awe, for a split (hopefully) undetectable moment, of the life he’d found himself in.

Matty’s eyes were locked on George’s, not moving even as their moment of connection drug on into an extended silence while George scrambled for his next charming response—just trying to keep up. Matty’s smile was subtle, almost timid, compared to what George knew to be his full, squinted grin. It was all in Matty’s cheeks, in the subtle roundness at their peaks, just under his eyes. A small hint for George; the single location that was a giveaway to George, in an otherwise seemingly neutral expression to everyone else, he was being seen in a startling private and intimate way, even when they were alone.

George knew, once he handed over the full wine glass, he had a limited amount of time before his window of opportunity would close and the night would shift over to a blur of Matty growing chatty and trying to explain the faults of his students papers—and hopefully a few successes—while George gulped down his own wine and sounds of confusion; both of them giggling as the papers were forgotten and empty wine glasses nearly clattering to the floor as Matty climbed to sit on the edge of the counter, legs on either side of George and feet resting on the horizontal back rung of George’s chair; George only wanting to listen to the way his name sounded when being gasped and sucked in through clenched teeth—

“Actually," George began speaking before he could talk himself out of it. "there is a reason—there’s something I wanted to ask you.” George came around and sat down in his chair at the counter. Matty moved his bag and joined George, taking the other wine glass with a quiet thank you.

“Oh, yeah?” Matty kept the subtlety to his smile but let his eyes change from even and gentle to intense and direct. George was going to lose his courage—because he definitely didn’t have the will to resist Matty, sitting in his kitchen without any early classes the next morning, looking sharp and clever in his work clothes, freshly shaved, and looking at George like that without even a drop of wine in him. “What else is there you could ask me to do, George? If you’ve thought of it and I haven’t tried it, you’ll really surprise me.”

“Would you like to go with me tomorrow?” George said. He took a gulp of wine from his glass. “Be my date to my stupid little elbow-rubbing dinner.”

Matty’s confusion returned faster than before. “Wait—to the label holiday party? W-Work? You want me to go to a work function with you?”

“You asked me if I wanted to go to a faculty dinner the other week.”

“Yeah, because half the department is over sixty-five, doesn’t actually know my name, and hasn’t listened to any music that came out after the year they first started getting laid. They probably would’ve thought you taught there too! But your work… that’s a real dinner, George. Those are important people.”

“And so are you.” George said. He hated how immediate his response was, if only for how canned it sounded. He’d already thought of each of Matty’s arguments; he wanted to bring Matty to a party filled with people that pretended to know him best. If they were going to market him and his personal work (and personal life), they could at least know just who that involved. “My work is important to me, but you are too, equally so. I don’t see the issue. Sort of a natural combination, I’d think.”

“George,” Matty said with a quiet sigh of pity. “I barely knew who you were when we met. I-I should not be in a room with… with… pioneers of culture. I will make a fool out of myself, and worse, you.”

“You won’t make a fool out of me, Matty. You forget I’ve been attending these things for ten years. I used to bring ‘girlfriends’ with me. Absolutely no one has made me look more like an idiot than me at important, career-defining label functions, let me assure you.” George said with a laugh. He reached over to place a hand on Matty’s leg. “I know this is a big ask though, coming to something like this. But it’s a close-door dinner party—just, well, I guess they’re my co-workers. The boys will be there, definitely. But if you don’t want to—”

“I didn’t say that. Never said I didn’t want to go, but...” Matty placed his hand on top of George’s, his finger mindlessly tracing the ring on George’s pinky. “Am I really the person you want to bring along and introduce to... genuinely your entire social circle? Social and work circle? Talk about pissing where you eat, George.”

“Matty, I’m pretty sure everyone on the label being my friends is the example of pissing where I eat. Not bringing you to a party.” George said, shaking his head. “People asked me if you were coming, if you must know.”

“Probably because they don’t want me to be there—” Matty cut himself off with a long sip of wine.

“Matty,” With two fingers, George carefully grabbed the stem of his glass and eased it away from his mouth—without spilling it down the front of him. “First off, even if someone didn’t want you to be there—for whatever reason: you’re new, you’re not industry, you’re a man—I’d still like you to be there. Me. As my date. Not theirs... If you wanted, of course.”

Matty paused and began to bite his thumbnail. “Are you sure no one’s going to mind if I’m just… sitting there in the corner, awkward and quiet?”

“Babe, what do you think I do at these things?” George laughed. He waited for Matty to smile, his mouth preoccupied and unable to chew his cuticle, before using one finger to lower Matty's hand back down to his own lap, where George was holding his other hand. “It’ll be nice to finally have someone join me in the corner.”

Matty inhaled slowly, squeezing George’s hand before speaking again. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?” George’s relief—his joy—came out as incredulity. As the immediate questioning of Matty’s decision—and accidental chance to rescind his response. George held his breath but didn't have to wait very long.

“Yes! Yes, I want to go with you. Corner and all.” Matty managed to say before George kissed him.

In a breathless giggle, hands resting on George’s shoulders, Matty said he was very lucky there was a wall behind him.

#gatty #gatty fanfic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #producer george and TA matty fic #andfacedown fics #this isn't going on ao3 (yet) so shhh just for you guys #enjoy and thank you for indulging this au that happened bc of my stretch of listening to abiior interviews while copyediting #producer george oneshot

[lookedlikethebins]

i can't exist within my own head

After failing to make any progress on a solo project (again), George turns in early. Matty had been so supportive and kind to him all day, and George feels bad turning away from him, but he can't stand his own ineffectiveness. His own shortcomings. His obvious, involuntary flaws. When Matty finally comes to bed, George feels the need to apologize. But for what, Matty isn't sure…

Short 1.3k oneshot based on the text post, "Sex is cool but has anyone stayed awake with you just because you are feeling low?" [sent by a lovely mutual so everyone say thank you for such great accidental inspo] also on ao3.

---

George needed to remove the clock from their bedroom.

He’d never noticed the ticking before. Despite each second making the exact same sound—the same mechanical click into the next position—there was an imagined sense of rising tension, increasing volume. A countdown. Or the past-due count forward after time has run out. The inventory of borrowed time. And George could account for every second of it.

George had gone to bed early. He spent most of the afternoon working on a project he thought he would’ve had presentable weeks ago but continued to fiddle with nearly every day to no actual progress. The only thing that stopped him—made him decide to give up—was Matty’s quiet interruption to tell him dinner was ready:

A gentle knock on the door George had thought—through his headphones—was the sound of his coffee mug resting back on his coaster; a gentle, familiar hand running along George’s shoulders as Matty entered his peripherals with a silent hello; those same hands nudging off George’s headphones as Matty sat across his lap, kissing the wrinkles of his furrowed brow; kissing his lips, slow and full, as George rested one hand along Matty’s waist and the other over his legs; Matty breaking the kiss to tell George, again, that dinner was downstairs and he should take a break to eat with his husband.

After cleaning up, George went straight upstairs. Dinner had been wonderful, as it always was with Matty, but even the simple time alone washing dishes gave his self-doubt and loitering insecurity the chance to gain their ground and lay claim to George’s mood once again. He left Matty to finish his post-dinner cigarette and evening reading alone in the living room as he lay in their bed, staring at the ceiling. Watching the slivers of light from the setting sun on the ceiling change to the glow of the moon.

Finally noticing that fucking clock.

Matty came into their bedroom when it was fully dark outside. George didn’t know how long it had been—although he should have, considering he was conscious of every second that went by. The sound of the doorknob turning and light from the hallway casting over the room startled George. He felt like he’d lost track of something, suddenly uneasy by the company. His self-criticism hated an audience.

George had left Matty’s bedside lamp on for him. The big light was off, leaving George in only partial, borrowed light. Matty was able to find his way to their bathroom, leaving the door open and casting more light into their bedroom and over George—in the shape of the door—as he brushed his teeth.

Matty’s brushing, gargling, and spitting drowned out the sound of the clock. But even when George couldn’t hear it, he still felt an ongoing pulse in anticipation for another second passed. George was still borrowing time. Or, as maybe Matty thought, wasting it.

“What’re you still doing awake? Thought you went to sleep ages ago.” Matty slid under the blankets while still tossing aside his shirt. The warmth of Matty’s body, a faint echo beside George’s, was immediate. A rejection to the cold clutches of self-imposed isolation.

“Tried to.”

“Can’t sleep in this bed alone, can you?” Matty said with a wink, lowering his head to rest on George’s shoulder. Matty placed his hand over George’s chest and made him aware of his own heartbeat, feeling it jolt against his ribs and up toward the body, warmth, touch that wasn’t his own.

“You know me too well.” George said, trying not to make it sound like a curse.

“Well, you know I feel the same way about you.” Matty continued, gently patting George’s chest. “Being alone in bed just always seems to remind me what I’m missing—even if I do get all the blankets finally. They’re not as warm as you are.”

George turned to smile at Matty but knew he had nothing left in him to match Matty’s aching sincerity and open joy. George looked dejected and uninterested, he knew it. After the dinner Matty had made him and generously open-ended questions he always asked about George’s projects, wanting to let him work on things solo and with his own “genius,” but still asking with enough specificity to gather his own insight; the way he hurried to his side, pleased to see him while George was feeling shrouded in a frustration and guilt so thick Matty’s touch to his chest and kiss on his shoulder felt like accidental grazes.

The room was quiet. George could hear the clock again. He could feel Matty’s nose against his neck. The weight of his arm, heavy across his chest. The faint flicker of Matty’s eyelashes against his skin as he blinked.

He was awake. He was staying awake.

Guilt coated George’s insides and made even his words drag out of his mouth, reluctant and stunted. “Matty, I-I don’t think—Tomorrow, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I don’t really want to do anything tonight.” George closed his eyes to limit the input of disappointment he’d have to endure; he already heard his own voice; he didn’t want to see Matty’s face too. “Sorry.”

He felt Matty pull away from him. The warmth on George’s neck was gone and the hand previously on his ribs pushed the mattress down as Matty held himself over George. He didn’t want to look.

George couldn’t stand himself. All Matty had done for him, and he still slipped deep into a dark and broken mood. It was as if saying Matty wasn’t enough to ever stop it from taking over. But Matty was always enough.

Although, “enough” implied Matty to be a certain amount of something when, really, he was the something. He was everything. And George just wished, in that moment and in their bed, he could give his own everything to Matty.

“George, look at me.” Matty whispered. George braced himself for a furrowed look of confusion or maybe worry—Matty thinking he’d done something wrong—but instead saw a softer, more concerned look weighing down Matty’s features. “You don't have to apologize for that. We never have to do anything.”

“But you let me work all afternoon, even when I’m pretty sure I’m just making that whole project worse at this point. And you made dinner and—”

“Which I did because I love you. Because you would do those things for me. Not because I wanted to cash in on anything.” Matty said. He was stating the obvious, but with the kindness of establishing it for the first time. For the insecure part of George that was, in a way, always hearing it for the first time. “I can tell you’re not feeling alright. Could tell the moment I saw you working. I would never expect—never, never, George. I just want to be here and make sure you don’t think you’re holding any of it alone. Whatever it is.”

George lifted his head from his pillow and met Matty halfway for a kiss—partly hesitant and apologetic, partly relieved that even through his grimace his lips still fit the same against Matty’s. He still had something to give, something complementary to the everything in Matty.

When George said I love you, Matty said it back but never with the obligatory “too.” Never I love you, too. His love was separate and independent from George’s offering. His was its own constant. A special way of loving George that wasn’t reciprocal to the way George adored and loved and cherished all of Matty. He wasn’t returning any favors or learning by example. This love was his own, something he had—made—within himself and wanted to give, proud and willing, to George. And George was always grateful to accept, to have, to hold against him: flush and warm, giggling and squirming from George’s cold hands on his back, chin resting on his chest. Never having to speak to feel understood.

I love you.

And I love you.

#gatty fanfiction #gatty #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #matty x george #was sent this post during a dinner party and held all the fragmented sentences i had in my head until the MINUTE i got home #and then wrote this #so that was a nice little burst of creativity!! hope you enjoy thank youuu #also i listened to haunt bed the ENTIRE time i wrote this in case anyone needed to know that

[lookedlikethebins]

arriving home 04:17:43

just a little blurb of george arriving home from a trip away and being greeted at the door, despite the early hour. ~590 words (on ao3)

George tried to be as quiet as possible while unlocking the front door. He left his luggage in the car to avoid hitting the wheels on the door jamb and waking—or worse, scaring—Matty at four in the morning. He was supposed to be home around dinnertime, the entire evening ahead of them to catch up and unpack George’s suitcase and pretend they were going to start doing a load of laundry before falling back on the bed, giggling and smiling and no longer missing each other.

The foyer light shone through the small window in the front door. George appreciated Matty always leaving the light on and, without even being there, helping guide him upstairs rather than stumbling around in the dark.

Except that when he opened the door and stepped inside, Matty was. He was sitting on the stairs, elbows resting on his knees and holding up his head. Matty's eyes were half-lidded but still trying to focus on George standing, shocked and delighted, in front of him. His hair was flat on one side, collar of his (George's) oversized shirt skewed over his shoulder, and only one sock on.

“Matty, what are you doing?”

“Waitin’. For you.” Matty paused as if a three-word sentence was beyond his capacity. And at that hour, it probably was.

“You never have to do that,” George said. “I’d much rather come in and find you in our bed than half-asleep on the fucking stairs.” George had never been more thankful his hands were empty. He held them out to Matty, waiting as Matty registered the offer to be pulled to his feet.

“But,” Matty ran one hand over his face before returning it to George’s. “But I wanted to welcome you home. At the door. Homecomin'.”

“Well, now you’ve greeted me. Why don’t we get you back to bed, yeah?”

“You sound awake,” Matty said. He followed George’s gentle push to begin climbing the stairs. “You fell asleep on the flight, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t help it.” George sighed.

The exhaustion of getting to the airport, thinking he was going to miss his flight—and having to tell Matty he was sorry he wasn’t paying attention to the time—to then having to scramble and find another flight after his first was cancelled and the next flight filled up and was overbooked—then still having to call Matty to tell him, again, he was sorry and he wouldn’t be home until much later—crashed over George the moment he sat down in his seat. He knew he didn’t have to do anything else for the next seven hours, and his body was going to make sure of it.

“Still come and lay with me for a little?” Matty asked, starting to rub his eyes as he walked back into their room. He could do it without looking.

Usually, George liked to shower after he traveled. He liked the feeling of wiping clean his day; starting fresh from the top and reestablishing all his routines, even if they weren’t at their typical times. It was a way to be welcomed back to his life.

But, then again, what other life did George really want if not this?

“Of course, love.” George placed a kiss on a flattened patch of Matty’s curls. “Let me just change and I’m all yours.”

He'd be Matty's to curl around, muttering into the fabric of his shirt how much Matty had missed him—loved him, needed him, thought about him—and unable to get up any time soon.

He'd be home.

#gatty #gatty fic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #this feels too short and silly to post on ao3 #but i do really like this idea so maybe it will expand into an Actual piece of writing

[lookedlikethebins]

do you need me? (you're all i need) [aka the shirt fic!] - 13k

It's not easy getting used to life back on tour. Matty's body is sore and exhausted more often than not. He knows it's a good thing, focusing on getting and staying healthy, but sometimes he just wants things to go back to how they used to be—especially with George. He wants to be able to be close with George again without losing his breath or getting sore knees or throbbing back pain. George is understanding but Matty still struggles to find ways back to feeling like himself again. While getting ready for an interview at a radio station, George tries to give and allow Matty to be close in other ways.

#gatty #gatty fanfic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #not going to lie guys it's been really Bad over here and finishing this fic was not REALLY about finishing it #i just really needed to Make Something with the very limited bandwidth that i had left after my day #so finishing this feels monumental despite it not being magnificently long or anything #i'm just really happy with how it FINALLY turned out #and i hope you are too xo happy new year everyone! #the shirt fic

[lookedlikethebins]

Where We Are Together - 7k

It was always Matty&George, George&Matty; inviting one anywhere meant inviting the other. Through the years, the only thing that ever changed was who was driving the car. Once George became the set driver between them, the car became the established, shared space for them. A way to be together and not overheard, a way to be alone and never found, a way to bring home wherever they went. Four moments of their developing relationship—from self-titled to bfiafl—that all center around the safety, consistency, and reliability of being in George's car together. That feeling of "you’re in a car with a beautiful boy..."

#gatty #gatty fanfic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #all my current fics are sort of like Projects and Long Hauls i forgot i can also just write short fun fics too?? #i really loved the actual process of writing this one #it was a warm up that roped in a lot of old old old wip ideas that were floating out there #so i'm very happy with it and i hope you enjoy xo

[lookedlikethebins]

Matty is looking for George, hoping to find that his low, sunken mood has improved since soundcheck, when a crew member needs his help: would he mind watching her daughter while she's needed back out onstage to fix the House? Matty tries to balance watching a child, trying to find his husband, not getting lost in the large venue's backstage, as well as convincing George the washed-out gray world he woke up to isn't real, isn't true. Families love each other, right? And sometimes families are just two people holding each other together.

I wanted to give you some parent matty & george without really giving you parent matty & george... so instead we have babysitter matty and very exhausted george. a wonderful combo that was meant to be entirely comical but still somehow ended up being a little emotional, sweet, and romantic. enjoy! x

#gatty #george daniel x matty healy #matty x george #gatty fanfiction #andfacedown fics #welcome to the last fic written pre-first 1975 show... #enjoy and get ready for some of the Inspired stuff :)) #ily all thank you for a great night. even if you weren't there y'all online here help curate a vibe at the shows even just a personal one x

[lookedlikethebins]

🪻 fic masterlist 🪻

howdy! links go to my ao3 (andfacedown) with full tags/descriptions/warnings. thank you for reading!

[updated April 24, 2024]

✤ ongoing producer george & TA matty AU: oneshots (2)

arriving home 04:17:43: ~590 words; george arriving home from a trip away and being greeted at the door, despite the early hour.

Where We Are Together: self titled—bfiafl era; four moments of Matty and George's developing relationship—from self-titled to bfiafl—that all center around the safety, consistency, and reliability of being in George's car together; that feeling of "you’re in a car with a beautiful boy..." (but this time he always loves you back)

do you need me? (you're all i need): early abiior/mfc tour; Matty hasn't entirely caught up to the speed of touring again (yet). His body is tired and his bones creak and his clothes don't fit in any way that feels particularly nice. George lends him his own shirt before a radio interview on their day off and Matty remembers just how it feels to be so wholly loved, and want to love in return (in any way his body can).

i can't exist inside my own head: post-bfiafl/atvb era; married George & Matty. George isn't feeling his best and feels the need to apologize to Matty for ruining their night. Based on the post "Sex is cool but has anyone stayed awake with you just because you are feeling low?"

Someone to Watch You: backstage atvb, Matty is trying to comfort George and lift his sunken, sad mood (if he could find him first...) when a crew member needs Matty to quickly watch her daughter visiting for a Mummy at Work day. Matty is definitely not her mother and definitely still needs to find George. Laughs and child-logic aside, love is the center that will always hold.

if it was you that made my body: abiior era, during their time at the country house recording studio. Matty has a (slow, almost unnoticed) panic about whether God created him, or if he was left untouched while others around him were made divine. Like George. Always his George. Matty couldn't be the only one left to struggle like this, could he?

The Hours of the Left Behind: a meditation about George's POV in the hours right after dropping Matty off at the airport for Barbados. With Ross and Adam, he just tries to remember how to function and feel and process something so difficult and complicated. Character study-type fic with a hopeful ending and plenty of best friends supporting each other.

(Be My) God and Country (2/2): the proposal/wedding fic! bfiafl/right before atvb era; Matty realizes during therapy a previous (ignored) conversation with George, about the engagement of their old neighbors, was his very subtle attempt to ask if Matty would marry him. Matty promptly resolves the misunderstanding with none of the finesse but all of the sincerity. Chapter 2 is all wedding, baby!

and we go ‘round and ‘round: the Anobrain lyric fic! Self titled era; George and Matty going for their usual, undefined drive to the outside of town. Matty says, as the song goes... "man I'm so high, I think I love you." and things go from there...

#from my pen #andfacedown fics

[lookedlikethebins]

The hours following George taking Matty to the airport to go to Barbados. He doesn't know how he wanted to feel about dropping Matty off, about driving home alone or having to sit with Ross and Adam and have the "them" be only be a count of three for a short period of time. George doesn't know what to do with himself—or all the empty space in their house, their bed. He isn't even sure he remembers how to cry. Was that something a person could forget?

We got a sort of sad one, ladies and gentlemen! (Don't worry it has a very hopeful ending!) This one was more so a route of catharsis for me and when it started to form I wasn't going to fight it. So now we have this George-centered fic that's all about loving and being loved by some very best friends, and knowing that sometimes surviving is a team effort.

ty for reading x

#gatty #gatty fanfic #george daniel fanfiction #matty x george #andfacedown fics #love how i said SO much last night about this and now i'm suddenly sparing with my words lol #i just am not going to worry about this it's a different one but HEY it's for fun it's to heal it's to just write and be read ya know? #have a great day no matter if you read this or not!! <3 <3 <3 #george daniel x matty healy

[lookedlikethebins]

(Be My) God and Country - Chapter 2/2

Matty and George get their spring backyard wedding, just as they wanted it… But not before trying to plan a wedding on the road and keeping vicious self-criticism from convincing Matty he wasn't "marriage material" in the first place. But, have no fear, there are joyful friends and family; tearful love declarations (both romantic and platonic); sudden realizations that allow Matty to be (feel) loved and adored, and love George more openly in return; and both boys no longer fearing lost or wasted time!

WE DID IT! IT'S DONE! This chapter tapped out at about 18k which I did not expect so I'm so sorry it took me... so goddamn long. But now it's here and now it's yours.

While there's a little angst, there is so much love in here (between them, and from me to you hehe)

Thank you for reading... Be back with more (shorter) stuff soon lol

xx

#gatty #gatty fanfic #gatty fanfiction #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #be my god and country fic #thank you for hanging in there i'm sorry for the wait #ily every single reader kiss kiss... okay time to sleep now #andfacedown fics

[lookedlikethebins]

if it was you that made my body (~7k)

While living in the countryside residential recording studio, Matty has a lot of time to think. Unsurprisingly, considering the year he's had, Matty's mind drifts to God. God as the entity meant to grant him the serenity, courage, and wisdom to live in this new (clean) phase of his life. God was, after all, the creator of good things. But, of course, Matty does not consider himself one of those things. But Matty believes George is. George is divine. And Matty just... is. This, of course, terrifies Matty; how does something untouched by God love someone who was created by Him?

#gatty #gatty fanfic #matty x george #matty healy fanfiction #george daniel x matty healy #andfacedown fics #ooof today was a DOOZY so i'm just really proud she's up :) i hope you enjoy!! #happier fics to come soon i promise i promise #(especially after the earring chat today....)

[lookedlikethebins]

George picks Matty up for one of their usual late-night drives around town. Eventually, they park just off the main road out of town. They end up getting high and fumbling around in the back seat, yet another usual thing for them. In fact, the entire night looks like it's going to be another typical hookup until Matty accidentally opens his mouth and admits his feelings for George are beyond the casual hookup. [Based on lyrics to Anobrain! Essentially, I thought about "Man, I'm so high/I think I love you" and took off running.]

My first (posted) fic here! I don't usually do song-driven (ha!) fics but there was something so contained about Anobrain that I just wanted to have fun with it. Hope you like it & feel free to send any other ideas my way!

ty ily x

#gatty #gatty fanfic #matty x george #matty healy fanfiction #forced myself to stop trying to revise and edit and tweak and revise and just wanted it out there we're having fun babes!! #andfacedown fics

[lookedlikethebins]

(Be My) God and Country - chapter 1

They've been together ten years and yet Matty completely misses the hint George wants to marry him. In Matty’s defense (because of course he has one; he’s not just a complete asshole), it wasn’t like George came right out and asked him. And besides, what's the point of something as predictable and performative as a wedding? Why did the presence of other people for a declaration of their love make any of it more real? George was the only person Matty cared to tell how he felt... What Matty thinks is a throwaway comment during therapy unfolds and finally shows Matty that sometimes loving someone can mean accepting the way they are trying to love him. He wants to not only accept George’s own sign of love and commitment but offer it in return—to ask him outright, goddammit.

Finally, Chapter 1 (and 2 coming very soon)! Thank you so so much to everyone who left a comment, kudos, or messaged me and were so kind and encouraging. It made revising actually sort of enjoyable-- I knew there were good faith readers waiting on the other side! You are all incredible, I can't say it enough. I hope you enjoy this one!

ty ily x

#gatty #gatty fanfic #gatty fanfiction #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #* #be my god and country fic #this will probably turn into a collection or series beyond just the wedding so... i'm getting out in front now lol #andfacedown fics

[lookedlikethebins]

Could you tell us about all the wips you have planned cus I can't keep track anymore 👀

omg i'm so so sorry i really do talk about a bunch don't i? i've always got a bunch of fics going at once so no matter what i feel like writing i have something i can jump into... which must make keeping track a nightmare. so yes! let me recap for you:

in no particular order we have:

shirt-sharing fic: this one keeps changing (and taking longer to write than i wanted lol) but essentially the bare bones idea is matty borrows a shirt from george before a interview with the whole band and it Doesn't Go Unnoticed.

new parents fic: a brief glimpse/collection of glimpses into the life & times of new parents george and matty!

the "if i believe you" fic: based on a line in a poem: "God did a very good job with you." it's in the country recording studio/abiior-era and matty just has a lot of thoughts about how God makes good things-- of course He does-- but he, himself, is not one of those things. but george is. george is divine, matty just is. (very prose/internal monologue heavy and i'm loving writing it tbh.)

non-famous!matty fic: george, ross, and adam are still (a version of) the 1975. waughy has this really nice officemate at the uni he's teaching at that's a TA/PhD candidate for the lit dept. george has to pick waughy up for rehearsal one day and the rest is history... we just get to see matty being The Biggest Fan of the 1975 and also, entirely by coincidence, being bespectacled and having hot takes on books (that i'm reading...)

the gatty ft. raughy fic: matty is apparently the last person to know that two of his closest friends/bandmates are dating and he's confused that 1. he missed it completely 2. everyone else (including his own husband) seemed to know but him and 3. they let him just Be That Oblivious for years. he starts paying closer attention and enjoys seeing his friends happy (with the correct context now)

camera roll collection: basically i found a bunch of candids (taken by the band/jordan) of matty and/or george and said, context be damned, i'm using this as a photo prompt like i'm in middle school and this is a timed essay. first picture is this 2019 pic of matty at the airport.

the hours of the left behind part ii: this fic was originally intended to be a standalone of the hours right after george drops matty off to fly to barbados. but now part ii is when george picks him up and tries to help matty readjust to being home. but also matty begins to sees how george was while he was away (having put on a brave smile every time matty called).

(be my) god and country ch 3/epilogue: not sure how i want to expand this universe bc i really love the foundations that fic has for timelines/ideas on certain aspects of their relationship that i want to keep returning to and building on (and not rewriting again and again lol) BUT i have ideas for a honeymoon maybe, a wintering-type fic where they go home for christmas, they talk about having kids... it's a whole world of possibilities!! open to suggestions...

#thank you for asking!!!!!! #i try to tell myself there's no glory in the process so i don't like to talk about my wips TOO much until they're done #but sometimes talking about them helps me get and stay excited and also i can see which ones y'all are into (and finish those first hehe) #answered #asks #andfacedown fics in progress #also yes i know thats a lot of wips im 1. chaotic and 2. just got out of an mfa program where i worked on the same thing for two years #i love variety now....

[lookedlikethebins]

if it was you that made my body (preview!)

hey all! i've decided to give a little preview bc honestly i've been having a bit of a rough time recently and i'm trying to keep my Creative Gears turning so i don't find myself in a rut. so here we are! to be posted on my ao3 very soon (literally the moment the denouement cooperates lol).

basic summary: takes places during the months recording abiior in the residential studio; matty ruminating on his ideas of God and maybe being someone born without any holy supervision. [~900 words]

It was Matty’s turn to do the laundry. Part of him dreaded the return of the chore—how many clothes could four guys go through in just a week?—but another part of him liked the physicality of the task: using both arms to carry the clothes down the stairs to the washing machine; the repetitive back and forth of sorting the heap into the correct color-oriented piles; the extra heft when pulling the soaked clothes from the washer to take outside; the up and down from basket to clothesline; the focused grip of the plastic clothespins with his slightly damp hands, hoping it didn’t slip out from between his pinched fingers again; the echo of fabric, now wet and coarse, remaining on his palms as he walked back inside.

Once the weather tipped toward spring, Matty began putting their wash outside to dry. Climbing into bed Sunday night after all the beds had been remade and sleep shirts returned to their correct owners, it was a small pleasure to smell the slow, soothing breeze and lingering feeling of light and warmth of the day just passed. One last memory of another day alive and spent with the people Matty loved most.

Matty’s therapist, assigned to him as part of his discharge process, frequently advised Matty to search for such small, simple pleasures of life. Not the silver lining—which acknowledged a little too much that everything sucked and only a small outline was redeemable—but that there was a complete moment of beauty to be found in everything.

To Matty, the entire idea felt too much like his therapist was trying to describe the act of acknowledging divinity, of finding God in the mundane—just as He created it. Matty knew many sobriety programs leaned on the idea or shape of a higher power to which people could offer up their life (and, to him, the idea of autonomy). As if it was a comfort to believe Matty’s ability to remain clean was in the hands of something he occasionally humored the idea of believing in.

But while God couldn’t quite be a comfort to Matty, those simple pleasures and joys could be. Remembering each one created a sort of calendar; something easy to peer back on and balance out Matty’s habit of consistently remembering, without fail, when days were bad and when they were worse, and seemingly never when they were good. Even when they were just survived.

The day previous, Saturday: playing cards with Adam, but stopping after only playing a hand so he could teach Matty how to shuffle the deck like he was some sort of casino worker.

Friday: chopping vegetables for George when he volunteered to cook them dinner and realizing George actually knew how to julienne vegetables properly.

Thursday: Ross showing both concern and care when he knocked on the bathroom door to check on Matty in the bath. Matty had fallen asleep—his book now completely waterlogged—and had no idea it had almost been an hour. Ross hadn’t been upset with Matty, nor did he spread his worry to the other two guys, but he knocked loudly and firmly, asking Matty to please answer him. The real simple joy was Ross’s soft thank you and do you need a towel? once he heard Matty answer. He never asked him to open the door.

Wednesday: George, without a word and without being asked, getting up to make Matty a cup of tea in the middle of the night to try and soothe him after another nightmare of withdrawal. Of retching, coughing, shaking, and suffering at the hand of a body desperate for something Matty no longer wanted, no longer needed.

Tuesday: being asked if he wanted another jumper when he began trembling from a sudden drop in his body temperature—a byproduct of his change in metabolism and body weight—and Ross ignoring Matty’s decline and pulling his own to push over Matty’s head. Adam helping force Matty’s arms through the sleeves.

Monday: waking up to George’s hand gently resting on his stomach and head resting on Matty’s shoulder. Matty was still able to smell the whispers of the tall grass on his pillowcase beside the smell of George’s new rosemary shampoo.

From the clothesline, Matty could see the dining area through the large, square, single-paned window. To the right was a smaller, porthole-like window that hovered above the sink and currently framed Ross as he did the washing up. George was sitting at the dining table, leaning on both his elbows, and Adam was sitting in the chair opposite George but turned to face the kitchen.

All the windows were closed and Matty couldn’t hear them, but he knew the look of joy and comfort well enough on his friends’ faces to still be able to track the conversation.To know the way George’s shoulders shook with each choppy laugh, only growing louder—Ross or Adam continuing to riff and getting him to lean back in his chair or tip forward and fall to the side. To hear the steady bubble of Ross’s laughter that, with the warmth of his happiness, sometimes sounded like it was muffled orunderwater. To track the body language of his friends—across two windowpanes—and see the exhales of spent laughter and know that was the moment Adam was going to slip in another joke and get them going again.

Now, Matty had Sunday: observing joy from the outside and realizing it wasn’t as foreign to him as he once thought; Matty’s brain didn’t process it as a possibility of social torture or discomfort—or disappointment.

#andfacedown fic preview #if i believe you fic #gatty fic #gatty #thank you pnl for your support cheerleading and (most recently) title help ur a star xo gift basket on the way