Haunt || Matty Healy
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Fan fiction // Matty Healy The 1975 // Horror // "I can't exist within my own head, so I insist in haunting your bed."
Cover by @21duns
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#4
the1975fanfic
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So far, it's alright.
You're in New York, loud, hungry, impossible New York, where everything's moving too fast and nothing ever really lands. Your best friend drags you out to some half-legal speakeasy, a hidden gem from people in the industry, swears it'll change your life like he always does, and maybe you let him. Maybe because it's easier than sitting at home with your own silence. You don't go looking for Matty Healy. You just find him, or maybe he finds you. Cigarette between his teeth, knuckles tattooed and jaw shadowed, half-drunk on something expensive and godlike without even trying. He's all sharp lines and soft ruin, the kind of man who speaks in riddles and sings like he's bleeding. You're a photographer...freelance, half-known, half-hungry..and you've made a career out of capturing chaos, but nothing prepares you for him. You shouldn't want him, you know that. But want doesn't ask permission. And once you fall in, it's like being dragged under by a current you didn't know was there. This isn't just a love story. It's about the wreckage you carry and the parts of you that music drags back to life. It's about grief that doesn't knock, about needing too much and trying to want less. You lose yourself in his world, in the green rooms and red lights, the 3 a.m. truths, the hangover confessions. The fame, the heat, the damage. And him, always him, in the eye of it all. It's not tidy, nor clean. It's real. Once it starts, there's no going back. So far, it's alright.
T H R E E W I S H E S { Matty Healy }
C O M P L E T E D "'I'd love it if we made it, Matty.' - Frankie suddenly sighed to herself and proceeded to close her textbooks. 'I'd love it if I made it.' Matty looked at her and squinted his eyes. He couldn't figure out what she meant by that but ignored the burning sensation in his stomach, deciding that she was just joking dramatically." A jigsaw puzzle-like story in 13 chapters. 3rd person narration only, occasional mature content/language, the 1975 lyric/meme references, non-canon, realistic approach. Frankie's & Matty's journey towards maturity, truth, compassion, soberity and trust.Concluída
i think you think too much of me (Matty Healy/George Daniel)
This isn't love. This is just sex. This is just attention. Matty tells himself that's just what he needs. Just moments in which he can forget, in which the world blurs out and he doesn't have to focus on everything so very wrong with both his mind and his body. It's like getting drunk without the hangover, in his mind it's the perfect solution to the boy who could never love him back. He's just not quite sure whether that boy is just George, or himself too. No kind of high, physical or emotional, could possibly take all his problems away, but he's content enough with those moments, even if he always loses much more of himself than just the worst kind of thoughts. [Genderfluid Matty] [Warnings for mentions/refrences to drug abuse, manipulative relationships, dysphoria, drunk sex, dubious consent, and very bad self care] [Those things don't relate to matty and george's relationship btw] [Cover art drawn by me]Concluída
talk! | matty healy
both endlessly denying what's wrong to make each other right. **contains smut, some violence and swearing, drug use (lower case intended)Concluída
lostmyhead ( ✓ )
in which matty healy is dying and in love - two of the worst combinations a person could be, and he wishes to spend his time lost within his own head. and who is george to stop him? © 2016 ↯ plebeians- a the 1975 fanfictionConcluída
Lover I Don't Have To Love
Los Angeles, 2013. The 1975 are on the edge of fame, and Matty Healy is unraveling as quickly as he's rising. In a sweat-soaked dive bar, he meets an aspiring actress with fire in her eyes and loneliness in her bones. Their connection is instant - cigarettes, bruised laughter, late-night confessions - but it isn't love. What begins as hunger and escape spirals into a ritual of destruction: hotel rooms, empty bottles, whispered promises, and the needle that binds them tighter than desire ever could. This is not a happy love story. It's a fever dream - two souls chasing oblivion, desperate to feel everything and nothing all at once.
𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾
Wary of the decadence and skewed morals that her burgeoning music career might impose upon her, Joanna feels out of place at the rite-of-passage Notting Hill party her new manager has invited her to, until she encounters Matty - practically an old hand in the business, but sweetly untouched by their strange surroundings. The instincts and values Joanna used to cling to don't guide her now as well as they used to, and as the venues get bigger and the radio plays rack up, it becomes increasingly difficult to know what her friendship with Matty is really about. 'My ability to stay awake was waning, and I could feel myself dropping off, the darkness and warmth enveloping me. But somewhere in that liminal space, between consciousness and a blank stupor, I vaguely registered a hand finding mine across the sheets, fingers interlinking and holding it there, in the space between our faces.' (((* = mature content))) COMPLETED 19/11/20.Concluída
𝐍𝐎𝐍-𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒
«Tenderness is forbidden with you. Sometimes I feel like your only desire is to be shattered» Language EN March 13 2020 - June 15 2020Concluída
matty healy, falling in love over night
when you're 17 and not looking for love you find it in the most unexpected places at least that's the case for grace. meeting a stranger at 3am with dark eyes and curly hair could either be the best thing to happen to her or the worstConcluída
opia; matty healy.
#7 in Matty Healy and The 1975. about a cynical boy who makes inappropriate comments at the worst of times, and a girl who wishes he kept his mouth shut but doesn't mind when he wraps his arm around her shoulders each morning. © alienharrry 2016Concluída
You're in New York, loud, hungry, impossible New York, where everything's moving too fast and nothing ever really lands. Your best friend drags you out to some half-legal speakeasy, a hidden gem from people in the industry, swears it'll change your life like he always does, and maybe you let him. Maybe because it's easier than sitting at home with your own silence. You don't go looking for Matty Healy. You just find him, or maybe he finds you. Cigarette between his teeth, knuckles tattooed and jaw shadowed, half-drunk on something expensive and godlike without even trying. He's all sharp lines and soft ruin, the kind of man who speaks in riddles and sings like he's bleeding. You're a photographer...freelance, half-known, half-hungry..and you've made a career out of capturing chaos, but nothing prepares you for him. You shouldn't want him, you know that. But want doesn't ask permission. And once you fall in, it's like being dragged under by a current you didn't know was there. This isn't just a love story. It's about the wreckage you carry and the parts of you that music drags back to life. It's about grief that doesn't knock, about needing too much and trying to want less. You lose yourself in his world, in the green rooms and red lights, the 3 a.m. truths, the hangover confessions. The fame, the heat, the damage. And him, always him, in the eye of it all. It's not tidy, nor clean. It's real. Once it starts, there's no going back. So far, it's alright.
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