mattie is wonderful

Here’s a playlist that I decided to put together to share the type of music that I’m into. Enjoy :)

and - EDEN 

breath - Lauv

quit - LANY

a little death - The Neighbourhood 

cool blue - The Japanese House 

wait - M83

fallingforyou - The 1975

if i get high - Nothing but Thieves 

face like thunder - The Japanese House

heart hope - Oh Wonder

how to never stop being sad - Dandelion Hands 

fall harder - Fractures 

My other playlist that I made a few weeks back got 370+ notes so I thought I would make another for fun. If you haven’t seen my other playlist check it out here.

roman holiday - Halsey

lust for life - Lana Del Rey ft. The Weeknd 

used to love you - Yuna ft. Jhene Aiko  

reforget - Lauv

single - The Neighbourhood

ghosts - Halsey

hurricane love - L.A WOMEN

ultralife - Oh Wonder

I. pink toes - Childish Gambino 

hallucinations - dvsn

easier - Mansionair 


anonymous asked:

If you do another Matty fic, could it maybe be based on Change of Heart? To sort of mirror the Robbers fic?

Matty Healy Fic

From the day you laid eyes on Matty, you were absolutely infatuated with him. It was the most unromantic way to meet ever, drunk and giggly and flirty in a club, exchanging numbers and sloppy kisses throughout the night. You were obsessed with the way his red-rimmed eyes twinkled in mischief, and the way his cheeks were so flushed, and the way his chapped lips looked so kissable, it had to be a sin.

Matty didn’t remember much of that night, he had drank far too much alcohol than he would’ve cared to admit, which wasn’t unusual. And even if he did remember, he wouldn’t be able to say that was the day he fell in love with you. In fact, if he was being completely honest, it was mostly your breasts that caught his attention from the start. No, the first time Matty felt himself fall for you was your first official date. Everything about you was positively endearing, from the way you said his name, to the way that if you could describe yourself with any two words, they’d be punk rock—even though you were admittedly not very punk rock at all.  You reminded him of someone straight out of a magazine.  Like somehow you just already were the person that you were meant to be. Matty loved the way you always texted him back as soon as you got home, and how you were already going on a second date before the week was up.

You’d been together for almost three years now, and had always considered yourself nothing less than soul mates. Your twenties had essentially revolved around him, spending every free moment you had talking, breathing, thinking Matty.

Lately, you had felt the effects of the honeymoon phase fading.  Whether it was the stress of college weighing down or the fact that you were just growing up, it felt as though Matty’s once endearing behaviors were becoming more of a nuisance on your life.  

You felt guilty for the how irritated Matty’s presence was making you, particularly this evening.

You knew the minute you woke up that it wasn’t morning yet.  Your eyelids felt heavy.  As you peeled them open, the darkness only further proved your point. Everything inside the house was silent.  But from outside, you heard a car alarm going off.  You could feel your heart starting to beat along to the rhythm of the alarm, and your tongue felt numb with the inevitability of who had set it off.  You flip the comforter off from you and let your feet touch the soft carpet before padding out of the bedroom and down the stairs.  

The alarm still hadn’t gone off by the time you reached the kitchen, so you grudgingly grabbed your set of keys from the bowl on the counter, and slipped on a pair of sneakers before going outside to check on the commotion.

Sure enough, Matty wondered around outside of the car, tugging on the handle and banging on the windows drunkenly, as if that would stop the alarm.  

You watched for a moment, assessing just how shit faced he truly was, before snapping the alarm off.  

He let out what looked like a sigh of relief, thinking he did something to shut it off, before turning towards the door and making eye contact with you.

“Babe—“ he says surprised.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you mutter, almost to yourself, before turning on your heels and strutting back inside.  You hear him stumbling after you, knocking into the door before successfully entering the house.

“I thought the house was locked,” he slurs, “so I was gon’ sleep in the car for the night- but then that was locked too.”

In the light you can see the red outline rimmed around Matty’s eyes.  It reminds you of the first day you met him.  His pupils are bulging like a wild animal’s.  Instead of entrancing you and pulling you in for more, they just look pathetic.  Like the eyes of a sad, lost boy.  He’s trying his best to focus on you standing still.  But you begin toeing off your sneakers and decide you’re just too tired to care.

“Where you going?” he asks innocently as you begin to climb the stairs.

“To bed,” you snap, not even bothering to turn back around.  The digital clock on your nightstand reads 2:47am and you lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, remembering the days when you and Matty would stay up well past 2:47pm together.  Matty was the one who introduced you to the concept of a night life.  Before him, you’d been content with going to bed at a normal hour.  You remember it being so exciting at first.  The parties, the alcohol, the drugs.  It was a foreign world that you delved head-first into, Matty by your side the entire time.  

You were twenty four when you met Matty.  You were young, excited, impressionable.  Now, three years later, the original glamor had worn off.  The health effects had caught up to you; things like huffing after climbing one flight of stairs, and building up an increasingly large tolerance for alcohol.  You’d cut back for your own good and you’d stopped attending so many parties with Matty.  The only problem was, you’d thought Matty would follow suit.  You’d thought that his late twenties and your sobriety would hit him with veracity and he’d grow up a bit.  You were wrong.

“You’re twenty seven,” you said to him, “Aren’t you a little old to be getting so stoned?”

Matty got defensive whenever you mentioned cutting back on all the dope he did or alcohol he drank.  So you left it alone.  It wasn’t worth the battle.  

A few moments later you heard Matty trudging up the stairs and into the bedroom.  His shadow moved around the room until he was on his side of the bed.  He collapsed onto the mattress beside you, his scent filling up the room.

You turned over on your side so you’d face him, hoping maybe you two might be able to talk  tonight.  You admitted to be a major contributor to the increasing distance between Matty and you, but you also wanted to make things better.  You felt like you were willing to put in an effort when the same wasn’t always said to be true on Matty’s end.  

He was already breathing steadily in and out by the time you rolled over.  His eyes were shut closed and his hand rested on his rising chest.  You let out a heavy sigh.  In earlier years, you would have rolled into his side, laying your head on his chest or nuzzling his neck, planting soft kisses over his exposed skin.  But tonight you looked at him and shook your head.  You were disgusted with the smell of vodka reeling off from him and instead, you curled as close to the edge as you could get and rolled over, your back facing him.

You’re woken by another alarm in just a few short hours.  This time the noise is coming from the phone charging on your nightstand.  You sigh before turning if off and sitting up.  You rub your eyes grudgingly before getting up to get ready.

You flip the light on as you hover outside your closet, starting the great debate of what to wear for the day.

Matty groans in the bed, pulling the sheets over his head and mumbling something incoherently.  

“What?” you ask.  

“I said shut the god damn light off,” he barks, his face makes a reappearance as he flashes the covers up briefly.

You roll your eyes.  “Just give me like fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus christ,” he snaps before flopping back down onto the mattress.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, “if you went to bed at a normal time, you wouldn’t be so pissy every morning.”

Matty shoots back up at that, “Don’t fucking start lecturing me.  I can’t take anymore of that shit.”

“I’m not lecturing you,” you explain, “I just wish you wouldn’t drink so much.”

“You sound like my fucking mum,” Matty says.  You gaze at his skinny figure hunched over in the bed.  He’s digging into his eyes with the heels of his palm, rubbing what you would assume is the itchiness, away.  

You think back to the first night you and Matty had slept together.  It wasn’t long after you met.  The third date.  He took you to a movie, and he had bought a popcorn for the two of you to share, but you ended up eating the entire thing yourself.  You remember dancing your way to the theater in parking lots and back streets, twirling under the lilac sky to nothing but each other’s laughter.  You knew then that you’d met your soulmate.  

He took you back to his apartment, nothing but a lumpy mattress on the floor and maroon sheets covered in lint.  He had no furniture or food or running water for all you knew.  But the way he cupped your cheek so softly and held you like the most delicate piece of art he’d ever seen, was enough.  It was enough for a lifetime.  

Or so you’d thought.  

You finally look down at your own hands in the mirror, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.  

You briefly contemplate shutting the light off and rushing back to bed.  You can imagine yourself tackling Matty down to the mattress and planting kisses all over his face and collarbones like you used to.  You’d blow off class and just stay in bed all day, limbs wrapped around limbs, breathing each other in.  Just like you used to.  

But Matty acts first.  His voice cuts through the air like a knife being thrown straight into your chest, “Are you ever gonna pick something out or am I gonna be blinding by the goddamn light all morning?”

You can feel the pressure of tears coming on, but you let the anger blink them back.  You glare at him through the mirror for a moment before grabbing a sweatshirt and pair of pants from your closet, and snapping the light off.  

Neither of you say ‘goodbye’ or ‘I love you’ like you used to.  The only noise of departure is the slamming door and your footsteps trudging down the hall.  

You walked through the door that evening after the busiest day of your college career to a bouquet of flowers sitting in the center of the counter.  The assortment of carnations and roses was intricately placed and woven between one another.  Your favorite.  

Matty was always buying you flowers as a way to apologize.  He knew how happy they made you feel.  But tonight, you stared at the beautiful red pedals and felt nothing.

You never considered the possibility of falling out of love with Matty.  You knew from the first time you met him, that he was your soulmate.  The one who made you feel most alive.  He was the light of your dark tunnel of a life.  The one who picked you up and spun you around.  Matty was everything.  

But you put extra emphasis on the past tense part of that statement.  

“Where do you wanna eat?” Matty asks.  He’s driving around downtown, one hand holding the steering wheel, the other a cigarette.  He knew how much you hated him smoking in the car.

You shook your head and continued to stare out into the dark night.  “I don’t care.”

“Helpful,” he muttered.

Instead of commenting back, you just leaned forward and turned up the music.

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that all the time!”

“Don’t be like th- Don’t be be like that all the time? Excuse me? Who is being a pain in the ass all the time lately, huh?”

“Well it for sure isn’t me!”

“Oh yeah, true. Because you’re never around.”

“Don’t even go there!”

“Oh I will go there! When was the last time you didn’t go out drinking with George? Or shooting up with fucking who knows who?”

“If I remember correctly, you used to love going out with us.  Wasn’t so bad back then when you were the one getting high all the time!”

You took a deep breath as you turned away from Matty. You used to absolutely hate fighting with him, it’d make you cry and feel guilty and awful for hours.  But lately all they did was fight, and you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad about it. You had genuinely come to hate the time that you spent with him.  And if you were being honest with yourself, you had genuinely come to start to hate him.

“I think we should break up.”  You blurt the words out without processing them in your mind, but the minute you do, you feel a wave of relief washing over you.  You hadn’t been thinking about the specific phrase “break up”, but the concept of a life without him had become your reality.

If it had been years before, you would have broke down crying. You were never good at confrontation, but over the last few months of your life, you had learned to suck it up and compose yourself.

You realized immediately that you should have just walked out then and there without even looking at Matty. It would have been easier, and you’d already be packing the car up by now. But instead, you were facing him, and you knew it was going to be too hard.

His face had fallen.  And he was crying.


His small, tattooed chest was heaving with such force, that you thought his ribcage might burst open.


You shook your head, closing your eyes and breathing out deeply through his nose. You can do this. You can do this. No you couldn’t-

“Babe, I love you.”

You start shaking your head, sympathetically, your heart beating heavily in your chest. You stared at Matty, whose lips were quivering like a child who wasn’t getting what he wanted, and you felt the sting in your eyes that had been missing earlier. And you became suddenly aware that you, yourself, were crying, and knew that you had to leave right now or you would never be able to.

“Matty.” you said, voice cracking from the emotion bubbling behind your throat. Your hands shook.

“I mean it. Please, for the love of God, don’t leave. I’ll change, I can be better, I-I can love you more than anything and take care of you..” Matty pleaded, fingers wringing around your wrists then, something you knew meant he was nervous. Your heart clenched then, as you realized how much that you knew about him.

“I can’t.” you said.

“Please don’t leave me..” Matty cried, eyes closing as more tears fell down his cheeks. “You’re the love of my life. I can’t live without you.”

You felt your entire body start to shake as Matty’s soft words washing over you.  This wasn’t how you wanted to hear all of this. You wanted to have the words said in a different environment, to know that they were real. You closed your eyes, and the first thing that popped into your mind was Matty wrapping his arms around you after your first date.  He planted a sloppy kiss on your lips and told you that he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life memorizing the color of your eyes and for the first time, you felt so, so loved.

“You’re just saying that.” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“No, no, no.” Matty tittered, and you sucked in a gasp as you felt Matty suddenly right in front of you.

“Baby, you’re my everything. I love you more than anything.” Matty’s breath was warm across your cheek as he spoke, it smelled of cigarettes and wine.

His calloused fingers ran over your cheeks, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to do this.

“Y/N..” Matty mumbled, face closer than it had been in so long.

A tear fell down your face just as Matty pressed his wet lips against your own.

More tears fell from your eyes as you closed them again, letting yourself fall back into the kiss and the vicious cycle of being in love with Matty Healy.

singer/songwriters born under each sign

aries: matty healy (of The 1975)

You’re cold and I burn, I guess I’ll never learn. 

taurus: stevie wonder

The many sounds that meet our ears, the sights our eyes behold will open up our merging hearts, and feed our empty souls. I believe when I fall in love with you, it will be forever.

gemini: bob dylan

Once upon a time you dressed so fine, you threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn’t you? People’d call, say, “beware doll, you’re bound to fall.”

cancer: beck

When a moon is throwing shadows, you can’t save the ones you’ve caught in battle. Oh, don’t leave me on my own.

leo: mick jagger (of The Rolling Stones) 

If I could stick my pen in my heart and spill it all over the stage

virgo: florence welch (of Florence + the Machine) 

And I don’t need the birds, let them fly away; and I don’t want the clouds, they never seem to stay. I don’t want no future, I don’t need no past; one bright moment is all I ask.

libra: marina diamandis (of Marina and the Diamonds) 

I’m your carnal flower, I’m your bloody rose, pick my petals off and make my heart explode. I’m your deadly nightshade, I’m your cherry tree, you’re my one true love, I’m your destiny. 

scorpio: lorde 

There’s a humming in the restless summer air and we’re slipping off the course that we prepared. But in all chaos, there is calculation; dropping glasses just to hear them break. 

sagittarius: taylor swift

We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet. Baby we’re the new romantics, the best people in life are free. 

capricorn: alex turner (of Arctic Monkeys)

I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck, or I did last time I checked. Not shy of a spark, a knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark. 

aquarius: conor oberst (of Bright Eyes) 

I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you.

pisces: grimes 

Dreams, they feel like memories when I dream of you. Time won’t stay, it’ll stretch itself out from a minute to days, and I’d like to think that we don’t dream to wipe it off. 


…it’s not a bad idea to be out of the house.

HUMANS s02 e05: mattie + odi.

Chris Martin and Zane Lowe on One Direction
BBC Radio 1
Chris Martin and Zane Lowe on One Direction

The One Direction mentions from Zane Lowe’s In Conversation with Chris Martin…, video soon to be uploaded to the Radio 1 youtube account. (28.04.2014)

Chris calls 1D brilliant, says he saw their movie and talks about getting flustered when he met Harry.


My goal for 2014 is to make this guy famous or to give him the chance to live from his passion!

We went to London and heard this little guy, his name is Matty Fletcher and he’s from Yorkshire. His voice is one of the best I’ve ever heard live!! (And I’ve heard quite a lot)

This guy deserves it, he was totally overwhelmed just because 30-40 people were listening to him in total silence in the middle of London. He was just so happy and smiley because of it, his voice is incredible and he truly loves it!

We got late bc even our teacher wanted to listen to him, a few videos of his videos got a little success…

PLEASE REBLOG AND CHECK HIS YOUTUBE CHANNEL TO GIVE THIS GUY A CHANCE!! we managed to get a fluffy chicken to a girl let’s make someone’s dream come true

My fave cover he did: (Ed Sheeran -Lego House)

More videos to come bc every single person of my class recorded the songs he sang.

July - 3:54pm

“But a question of etiquette - are you a crunchy or smooth peanut butter kind of girl?” - Matty, raising a jar in each hand, a glint in his eye accompanied with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. And you can only assume he’s making some sort of innuendo.

You blink, passively - an exasperated sigh, “Matty, I don’t know what that means.” 

Taking his hand - tugging him from the aisle, impatiently. Grocery shopping with Matty was basically grocery shopping with a five year old. Cursing George for leaving you alone to do it. You and Matty had spent the weekend at his Mum’s, and George had asked you pick up stuff for dinner on your way home.

Of course - Matty had grumbled, asking why George couldn’t just do it himself, he was the designated chef, after all. And what had he even been doing all weekend anyway, apart from smoking and having an hourly wank. 

But - Matty was easily tamed with a mention of tequila and wine, and the promise to make sangria tonight. 

Now, Matty’s dragging you down the confectionery aisle, dropping Haribo jellies, M&M’s, marshmallows, an array of other sweets into the basket. An actual five year old. He’s whining now about how you should’ve gotten a trolley, you roll your eyes. Habitually, when the three of you went food shopping - it would be in the later hours of the night, when the store was basically vacant. Matty would clamber into the bottom of trolley, letting you and George pile everything on top of him. 

“Matthew, I’m not pushing you around in a trolley in the middle of the fucking day - you’re a fully grown man,” - A pout, you smirk, your gaze drifting over him, struggling to reach a bottle of chocolate syrup on the top shelf, giving himself a boost from the lower shelf. “okay, a shorter than average, but still a fully grown man.”

An incredulous look, scoffing, eyes narrowing, pointing the bottle at you - “I’ll have you know, darling, that I am five fucking eleven,” Lips curving, a smirk, “and there is nothing smaller than average about me.”

A laugh, shaking your head, tugging him along, a teasing tone - “Alright, shrimpy.”

A defiant sound, hand flying out in matty-esque outrage, “Shrimpy? I am not a fucking shrimp, you just wait - oh shit, m’sorry, love.

Cutting himself off, hand knocking a box of baby formula milk out of a passing woman’s grip. She’s sighing, insisting it’s okay, too busy trying to quieten her seemingly distraught baby girl sat in the front of her trolley. Matty ducking down to retrieve the container, the baby grabbing a fistful of his curls - screeches of despair turning to delight. 

“Oh my, aren’t you a cute little idiot.” - straightening back up, cooing, pulling faces, eliciting more screeches, bubbles of laughter - her hands outstretched, reaching for his hair again. 

The mother - the young, blonde, looks-like-she-could-be-a-part-time-victoria’s-secret-model mother, looks on, doe eyed. Her hand on his upper arm, profusely thanking him, speech heavily accented. A loud laugh at whatever he’s just said, your eyes narrowing slightly - okay, hop off blondie. 

Engaging in conversation with her for a few minutes, eyes wandering back to you, calling your name - telling you to come look at the “cutest fuc - fudging baby he’s ever seen.” - Scandinavian Victoria Secret model wannabe giggling at his save on the curse word. 

Her eyes meeting yours as you approach, all warm smiles, gushing about how lucky you were, how much of a lifesaver Matty was - because Audrey, the baby, hadn’t settled down since she stepped foot inside the supermarket. And you nod and try to smile, hoping it’s not coming out as a grimace. 

Mah - Mah,” - the baby pipes up, sudden - a change from her non consistent babbling, and it’s when she repeats it again that Matty looks down in wonderment, adornment. “Did she - is she trying to say my name?”

He’s attempting to coax it out of her, sounding out his name. Not properly, with his accent he’s completely missing the t’s - “Ma-hee”  and he’s nodding his head each time he says it, curls bouncing. Her hands reaching for his hair, legs kicking in excitement - shrieks, “Mah.. Mah.. Ma-eeee!

A triumph grin splitting across Matty’s face, he’s clapping, Scandinavian blondie is clapping, eyes alight - shifting between Matty and her kid, the baby clapping, animated giggles, repeating, “Ma-eeeee!”

And you’re clapping along, because the scene is too unbearably cute, and also the fact that you’ve never seen Matty cooing over anything other than puppies or George.

Blondie is gushing about what an excellent dad Matty would make someday, shooting him a wink and warning to to keep a hold on him, when her phone buzzes. Announcing it’s her husband here to pick her up, giving your arm a squeeze, thanking Matty once more and telling Audrey to say bye to him. 

Ma-eeee.” - a final shriek, Matty waving as they round the corner. Turning back to you,still in a doting tone, “She was well cute.”

You, quirking a brow, an amused smirk - “The baby, or the mum?”

A chuckle, arm draping around your shoulders - “C’mon babe, you have to admit, she was proper fit.”

Bluntness, you scowl, his lips tilt, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and middle finger - pressing a chaste kiss to your pouted lips.  Humming in thought, chucking celery, an avocado into the basket, “But you know she did get me thinking,” he pauses - carrots in hand, eyes meeting yours, a playful glint - “that we’d make pretty fucking cute babies. We should have a baby.”

A laugh, shaking your head. “Babe, I wouldn’t leave a child in your presence for five minutes, you -”

“Hungarian Sports Illustrated model mommy disagrees,” a singing smug tone interrupting. “she seems to believe I’d be an excellent father so shut up you.” - Pointing the carrots at you.

Rolling your eye, his arm back around your shoulders - “No, listen - think about it, the basic rules of physics, biology, whatever - science, prove that incredibly cute babies come with one stunningly, other worldly attractive, Beyonce complex parent, aka me,” bringing the hand holding the carrots to his chest before tossing them back to the shelf. “and the other parent is mildly, borderline fit, aka you. It’s the perfect balance.” 

Pinching your cheeks between his fingers again when you try to protest. Digging an elbow into his ribs instead, drawing a hiss from him, “Jesus! Why and how are your elbows so fucking sharp? Fucking hell, bloody weapons. Why are you constantly battering me?”

“Why are you constantly an arsehole?” you, retaliating. Walking towards the checkouts, you look into the basket for the first time, a frown. It’s filled with sweets, chocolate, crisps, red wine, brandy, tequila, and little to no actual food. 

“Matty, we were supposed to get actual food for dinner, what the fuck is this?” - an aggravated expression, because Matty was the one who had loaded the basket up with utter junk crap.

A scoff - “What are you on about? There’s plenty of fucking actual food, look we have an avocado, cheese, peanut butter, a lemon - wait no that’s for the sangria - okay, celery, garlic bread… bloody hell, stop looking at me like that - George is the self acclaimed chef, he can sort something out - we have a baby to make.”

You glare - “Matty, we are not having a baby!”

And he’s shrugging, getting in the queue for the checkout, “Well shit we might, I’m like.. 95 percent sure we’re out of condoms, and it’s not like I can even rob any off G, ‘cause he’s apparently gone celibate now and all.”

Defiant, you cross your arms over your chest, “Then I guess we’re joining him on the celibacy front.”

Matty’s matching your glare, lips attempting to suppress an amused smirk, rolling his eyes and stalking off to go grab some condoms - muttering under his breath, something about how he only came to have a good time and he’s feeling so attacked right now.

Skipping across the car park, in pursuit of Matty, carrying one of the shopping bags, he carries the other. A low wolf whistle as you approach, lips tilting at the shorts he’s wearing, ending just above his knees - Louis’. You had only ever seen Matty wearing shorts a handful of times. Matty had only brought one pair of jeans with him to his Mum’s, and he had managed to spill gravy all over them at dinner yesterday.  Leaving him to have to borrow something off of his little brother. 

He turns upon hearing your whistle, jaw set, cigarette between his lips, holding up a finger to you - “Do not..”

And you laugh, shrugging, a wink - pressing into his side, singing into his ear, “And he’s got his shorts on - she says babe, you look like a twat, you look-”

A chuckle, arm slinging around your shoulders, “You’re a right little bitch sometimes, y’know that?” pulling the sunglasses from atop your head and putting them on himself, “But you’re my bitch, and I love you, bitch.”

“I ain’t never gonna stop loving you, shrimpy.” - taunting, hooking an arm around his waist. He scowls, giving your ponytail a yank. 

Honey, we’re home!” 

Matty, bursting through the front door of the flat. And it’s almost comical the way he stands in the living room, arms outstretched, waiting for the usual George tackle welcome - taking a few seconds to realise it’s not happening - George is nowhere to be seen. A frown, dropping the shopping bags onto the couch - calling out, G? - Disappearing into the kitchen.

Your brow furrows, walking past his bedroom door, noticing it’s shut tight, stopping. Listening, a faint groan from the other side of the door - a brief streak of panic shooting through you, initially thinking something had happened and it was a groan of pain. Until you hear it again, and a third time - accompanied, intertwined with a softer sound this time round. And you gasp, the sounds suddenly clicking, a whispered, “No fucking way.”

You hiss for Matty, trying to stay as quiet as possible. He reappears in the kitchen entrance, chewing on a strawberry lace, you - holding a finger to your lips and motioning for him to come here. He just gives you a look, raising a brow. You sigh, forming a circle with your pointer finger and thumb with one hand, then repeated shoving your index finger of your other hand through the circle, jerking your head towards George’s door.  

Again, it’s almost comical how fast his eyebrows shoot up once he understands what’s going on, and how quick he’s across the room, ear pressed to George’s door, mouth falling agape once he hears the same noises you had. Except they’re growing louder now. You both exchange a glance, eyes wide. And Matty’s mumbling - “Oh thank God, finally - yes G baby, get in there.”

You or Matty for the life of you, couldn’t even remember the last time George had brought a girl round, let alone get laid in the flat. And George had blamed you two for that, Matty declaring that that was bollocks, insisting George was just afraid of sex. 

The noises - groans, moans, whimpers, mattress squeaking - are growing louder, you managing to pry Matty away from the door, holding his hand to his heart and muttering about how proud he was. 

The novelty of George finally getting laid, however, wears off after a few minutes. Now you and Matty are sat on the living room floor, backs against George’s bean bag,shoulder to shoulder, Attempting to suppress giggles, passing the bottle of tequila Matty had opened in celebration, back and forth. Shoving M&M’s into each other’s mouths, mocking the noises drifting from George’s room. 

“Yes! George.. Harder!” - Matty, accentuating shrill moans, head falling back against the bean bag. Lips curving, giggles. You’re mimicking George’s deep, guttural groans - lips by Matty’s ear  - “Fuck, s’good, baby.. so tight.” 

And it continues, echoing their noises between the two of you - and it’s when a crescendo starts to build, screams, and George refers to himself as Daddy, that Matty’s head falls against your shoulder, spluttering tequila over your shirt. Silent laughter raking through the both of you, gripping onto each other.

A few seconds later - it’s quiet, you and Matty calming, footsteps from the room, you both scramble for the kitchen - knowing George would be pissed once he found out. Matty pushing you against the wall beside the entrance of the kitchen, finger to your lips telling you to shush, and you’re telling him to shut up because he’s the one giggling. 

He peers around the entrance frame once he hears George’s door creak open, nodding in approval as he watches the girl walking across to the bathroom, adorned in George’s shirt. “She’s fit.” - he informs, and you’re craning your neck to get a glimpse, when George exits his room. Matty squeaks, you both snapping your heads back, silent giggles. 

George’s brow creases, standing at the foot of his door when he notices the living room floor, littered with scattered M&M’s, a half empty bottle of tequila, and it clicks immediately, a grimace appearing over George’s features as he calls out for the two of you.

Matty’s shaking his head, the two of you barely able to breath, and it’s when George pokes his head though the doorway an crosses his arms over his chest once he finds you both, an impassive glare - is when the cackles start, on the verge of tears. Matty managing to get out a choked - “Hey, Daddy.”

A/N: I’m really not sure what this is - it started as a prompt from an anon wanting Matty and his girl to overhear G with another girl and this is apparently what happened. 


Matt Bomer & Liv Tyler as Ted & Jessica in Space Station 76

look-me-im-sad  asked:

10 facts about Matty

1. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

2. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

3. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

4. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

5. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

6. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

7. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

8. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

9. he’s the most wonderful person in the world

10. and finally, something no one knows… he’s the most wonderful person in the world

Halloween Hangover

[Sequel to Halloween Handcuffs]

Alfred woke up Halloween afternoon with a pounding headache and a vague sense that he had done something stupid the night before.

Squinting in the bright light, he glanced around his bedroom and tried to piece his fragmented memories together. He remembered propositioning an entire house full of hot guys, but he had woken up alone. There was no one else in his bed and the only discarded clothing on the floor was his chaps, vest, and cowboy hat.

Wincing as he lifted himself onto his elbows, Alfred saw a glass of water on his nightstand and chugged it down greedily. That told him it was Matthew who had helped him into bed. His other friends weren’t quite so considerate. Matt had even left a note:

I have to go to work. Call me if you get arrested.

Keep reading