alright, so my birthday is in a week (which is weird to think about) but i wanted to do something fun to celebrate by inviting y’all to submit requests for tiny blurbs!
to send one in, just submit an ask where you choose one option from each category below (au, genre, mood, place, item) and i’ll write a little 100-200 word blurb based on your picks 💌
1. au (choose 1)
young bf matty
bf matty
give me a moment / stylist au matty
messages au / postmatty
messages au / postmatty dad
a different arrangement matty
2. genre (choose 1)
fluff
smut
angst
hurt + comfort
3. mood (choose 1)
jealous
tender
desperate
tipsy
barely touching
awkward
domestic
secretive
nostalgic
proud
4. place (choose 1)
friend’s bathroom during a house party
airport gate at an ungodly hour
photo booth in a too-loud bar
hotel hallway at 3 am
bookstore floor between the romance shelves
balcony of a small apartment in the rain
taxi stuck in traffic
art gallery right before closing
crowded festival field on a blanket
the line outside a club in the cold
5. item (choose 1)
heart-shaped sunglasses
his oversized leather jacket
disposable camera with only one shot left
chipped mug of tea or coffee
perfect engagement ring
beat up lighter
key to his place on your keyring
shared cigarette with lipstick on the filter
playlist written on a torn scrap of paper
your tights with a tiny rip
will start working on them around my birthday so you have some time to submit. thank you for being the best and enabling my delusion! ♥️
Happy happy birthday! 🥳 PostMatty dad/fluff/domestic/crowded festival field/disposable camera
from the b-day fic roulette prompts :)
matty healy x reader
au masterlist here
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you are on a picnic blanket that has been steadily gathering crumbs all day. your shoes are off, toes pressed into the cool side of the grass. matty is stretched out next to you, one arm behind his head, sunglasses pushed up into his curls. avey is standing a few feet away, with his little noise cancelling headphones slightly crooked, disposable camera clutched tight and pointing it at the clouds hoping he might catch them doing something interesting if he waits long enough.
he has already taken pictures of everything. the ferris wheel. the dog in sunglasses by the bar. matty’s guitar leaning against an amp side of stage. you halfway through a mouthful of fries, which he swears will be “so funny, mum, i promise.” and about fifteen attempts at capturing a butterfly that never cooperated.
matty had watched him checking the counter earlier and laughed. “you are reckless with your art, little man,” he told him. “you only get, what, twenty seven of these? choose wisely.”
which of course made avey immediately not choose wisely at all, later squinting at the tiny red number and announcing with grave importance, “only one click left!”
avey looks back for a second and waves at you, the kind of enthusiastic whole arm wave that makes his wristband slide up and down his forearm. he shouts something but you cannot make it out. you wave back and mime taking a photo. he grins, then turns his attention to something over by the vendor tents.
you see the exact moment he notices the stall. his whole body goes still, then he gasps, points with all his might. “mummy!” you see his lips form, even if you cannot hear it. then he kicks his sneakers into gear and barrels across the grass towards you.
“here we go,” matty murmurs, pushing himself up on his elbows.
avey stops so suddenly at the edge of the blanket that he almost topples forward. you catch him by the shoulders. “whoa, hey. what’s up?” you ask.
“look, look, look,” he points again, eyes huge. his headphones have slipped down around his neck now, curls damp with sweat. “faces. can i? please? please, mummy. please dad. pleeeeease!”
you follow his pointing finger. the tent is bright and messy, all boards painted with examples of tigers and rainbows and superheroes. there is a small queue of children and a teen with glitter all over her cheeks painting clouds on a young kid’s forehead.
“faces,” he repeats. “can i have one. please. please, mummy, i want a face.”
you bite back a smile. “you want a face? you sure?”
“a painted face,” he clarifies, “like a lion. or bear. or… or… spiderman!”
matty shifts up to sit, brushing grass off his jeans. “that sounds neat, ave. c’mon i’ll take you.”
avey whips his head around to him. “really?”
“yeah, really.” matty puts on his glasses properly and grabs his own empty paper cup. “your mum can guard the fort.”
“and the last photo,” you remind, taking the disposable camera from avey. “we’ll think of something good,” your promise, leaning over to kiss his cheek. avey launches himself at you for a quick hug, sticky fingers on your neck.
“come on, bug. let us go get you turned into something terrifying.”
“i am not a bug,” avey informs him, but he is already wriggling out of your arms, tugging matty by the wrist and then he’s off again, holding his hand as they weave through the crowd.
you do not know how much time passes. a song you sort of recognize drifts from the stage, someone nearby pops open a can, kids shriek somewhere to your left. you check your phone, then tuck it away only to look up and finally see them again.
“oh my god,” you almost laugh out loud.
avey is stomping towards you like a tiny, furious superhero. the entire top half of his face is painted bright green, with spiky black lines and glitter over his cheekbones. his nose is smeared darker, like a reptile snout and there are tiny white fangs painted at the corners of his mouth. he looks absolutely delighted with himself.
matty, walking beside him, looks both amused and a little bit emotional.
“what are you?” you ask, opening your arms.
avey plops down in your lap, already spilling words. “i’m a dinosaur. no, a lizard. no, a… a monster. she said i could be any of them. i said i wanted all.”
“of course you did,” you murmur, kissing his painted forehead carefully while avey wriggles and thrusts his arm towards you. “and look, mummy”
you blink, because you had been busy staring at his face. his right forearm is a canvas of water based ink. tiny, careful versions of somewhat familiar shapes marching up his limb. a dragon. a rectangle. some numbers. your brain catches up. you look over at matty.
his eyes flick down to his own arms, then back to you. “he, um,” matty starts, scratching the back of his neck. “he asked if she could do tattoos. like mine.”
avey wiggles his arm again impatiently. “tell mummy,” he orders.
“i am telling her,” matty confirms but he is already half laughing. he turns his own arm so you can see the real tattoos, the ones etched into his skin. “he pointed at all of them. kept saying ‘that one, and that one, and that one.’ just… absolutely went for it.”
your throat tightens. you trace one of the painted shapes on avey’s arm with your fingertip. it is still slightly tacky, the black not quite solid.
“these are so cool,” you tell him. “they look just like daddy’s.”
“yeah,” he’s so proud. “this one is the… is the big lizard.” he points to a smudged version of the mortal kombat logo. “and this one is the… the…” he glances at matty for help.
“the anchor,” matty supplies, tapping the spot. “that’s the anchor one.”
“yeah.” avey nods, satisfied. “the anchor.”
you feel something hot and thick sit in the back of your throat. you blink a few times and sniff, blaming it on the dust in the air. matty notices anyway. he always does. his free hand finds your knee and squeezes gently. he does not say anything about your eyes getting shiny, just leans in and presses a quick kiss to your shoulder and then clears his throat.
“and then,” he continues, “he asked her about this one.”
he taps the outside of his own wrist, where the neat capitalized letters spell out DAD.
you look down at avey’s arm again. sure enough, in the same spot, in slightly shakier handwriting, it says AVEY.
“he told her,” matty goes on quietly, eyes on your son, “that mine says dad so his should say avey. so everyone knows.”
your vision blurs hard. you blink hard and laugh weakly because your body does not know what else to do with the feeling.
“avey,” you tuck a curl behind his ear, taking care not to smudge the paint. “you did that?”
he shrugs, suddenly shy now that you are looking at him that way. “daddy’s is a dad tattoo,” he mumbles, picking at the hem of his shirt. “so mine is a me tattoo too.”
matty exhales a tiny, shaky sound, like he has been punched in the chest and is playing it off as nothing. he looks away, sunglasses dangling uselessly from his fingers now.
that’s the same moment your son suddenly remembers he has a mission. he lifts the camera, almost dropping it in his haste. “mum,” he is nearly vibrating. “the last click.” he shoves the camera into your hands, backing up a step so he can look between you and matty. “i want it to be our tattoos,” he explains, like he has been planning this for hours. “mine and dad’s. like this.” he holds his arm out again doing his best to flex, little bicep straining. “we do strong arms!”
“strong arms,” matty echoes, lips twitching. “alright. we can do that.”
he drops to one knee so their heights match more, then turns slightly so the tattooed arms face you. very carefully, he flexes his arm, bringing his fist up. avey copies him immediately, tiny face screwed up in concentration. there is almost no muscle to speak of but he is absolutely giving it everything.
you lift the camera, bringing it to your eye, “okay,” you tell them, trying to steady your hand. “ready.”
“look at mum, bug,” he says quietly. “this is our very serious tattoo photo.”
avey grits his teeth and flexes even harder. “am i strong?” he asks through it, not daring to look away from his own arm.
“strongest boy in the world,” matty confirms.
the picture is already perfect before you even press the shutter. the grass stained on matty’s jeans, the scuffed toes of avey’s shoes. their arms together, ink and paint, DAD and AVEY. matty’s profile, half turned towards his son, mouth curved in a fond little smile he probably thinks you cannot see.
“on three,” you tell them. “one… two…”
you pause just long enough to watch matty lean slightly closer to avey, their cheeks now touching.
and as far as what’s happening this valentine’s day in other au’s:
postmatty dad is trying not to spit out his coffee from laughing at the mug he’s currently sipping from, which was his gift from girlie: a custom red cup with “property of m.t.healy #1 dilf” in bold white letters alongside half dozen photos of him shirtless during different occasions. him in his joggers leaning against the fridge. him postshower with a towel around his hips. him in shorts, glistening in sweat after a run. and one of her favourites, a selfie he sent shortly after they started dating. him obviously naked in bed, camera above him only showing his torso but her always wishing she could see the further down. but luckily she now can and anytime she wants to. and he’s obviously not wearing a shirt right at that moment as he drinks his coffee and carries little baby avey in his other arm.
in a different arrangement, girlie and matty are at his flat and he’s planned out the night where they end up watching a couple hopeless romance artsy movies that matty loves. but obviously, he just ends up nerding out about the cinematography, writing and what not, sometimes with girlie not being able to follow because he gets so damn technical. so she has no option but to shut him up by straddling and kissing him which he definitely welcomes, completely losing his train of thought but who cares when his beautiful girlfriend is on top of him, unbuttoning her dress.
and in stylist au (before them getting together), matthew has to endure seeing her look fucking stunning in a short, skin tight dress as she makes out with some guy at the corner of a bar. he cannot peel his eyes away from them that he completely ignores his own date thus she ends up leaving, telling him he’s a fucking jerk. to which he responds “thanks for the reminder” while he watches girlie drag the other guy away and exit the bar, hand in hand. he can’t stop himself from picking up his phone and texting her hoping to dear god she leaves that other fucking idiot high and dry. but no such luck. or perhaps just enough that when he ends up making his way to the bus, he finds her smoking and walks towards her. they stand there in silence, her sharing her cig with him, neither making eye contact. and just as matty is about to finally talk, she presses her finger against his lips because she doesn’t want him to say something stupid right now and break her heart even more. instead she grabs his hand and pulls him so they get into the bus, making their way to her bunk, where they obviously spend the night together because they cannot help themselves, matty so eager to please her so she can forget the guy she just slept with hours prior.
