#Someone calling my birthday cursed because of the f/1 results that day was just the final straw on an already overloaded camel's back

[princelancey]

Bios stating "No HaTe In CoMmEnTs" and then the content being "omg I love rpm haha" and slurs towards lance just makes me want to never interact with f 1 online ever again 🫠 my lovely sweet mutuals genuinely keeping me sane and here icl

[qtlibehsun]

too much but too late

pairing: georgenotfound x f!reader [angst]

summary: your wedding day was meant to be the best day of your life, but unfortunately for you a certain man by the name of George ruins it

warnings: lots of cursing, alcohol, mentions of a sexy time, vomit

word count: 2.1k

a.n: hello everyone! i am back! with more angst cause i literally love writing it so damn much. thank you so much for the great feedback from my last post, made me very happy to see majority of you all like it. i promise more works will be published soon since i currently have nothing to do with my life - please feel free to send through requests i love looking at them and i get excited to write them! and now onto the request... i made it super dramatic LOL

You had dreamed of this day for years. Dreamed of it when you were learning to tie your shoelaces, learning to ride a bike, learning how to write. The particular day? The day of your wedding. A day where you were adorned in a pristine white gown, hair immaculate, the tears of joy in your parents faces as they told you how proud they were of you for finding such a partner.

It resulted in your heart sprinting, your hands shaking, and a series of bouncing on the balls of your feet as you squealed alongside your best friends. You were utterly and undeniably ecstatic.

So why couldn’t he be happy for you.

Maybe it was the fact you two were best friends. Maybe it was the countless times you played video games together, joined with discord calls that lasted for over five hours. Maybe it was the fact you two were best friends. Best friends since birth perhaps. The way that almost every day for the past twenty-four years of his life was spent with you.  

Or maybe it was because of that one night on your 18th birthday. Where alcohol poisoned both your systems and blinded your reality. That one night where you went back to his place, and he proceeded to gently touch and love every part of you. That one night where your shadows danced together in harmonious ways to the music of the crickets.

He knew for sure he couldn’t be happy for you because he loved you, copious amounts.

He would never forget the tear you ripped in his heart as you woke up beside him, eyes glossy, a strain in your voice as you told him word’s he never wanted to hear.

I’m sorry George, but it was a mistake. It never should’ve happened. I don’t like you like that.

God, it haunted him.

It was a mistake.

It never should’ve happened.

She doesn’t like you like that.

A mistake.

He wanted to disappear. Disappear to a time before then, where some nights he’d hold you close to his chest and wish upon empty stars that you were his more than platonically. However, no matter what he did, where he went, the images of your face, contorted in pleasure underneath him were stuck like glue in the back of his eyelids, and the whisper of his name that sounded like bells played persistently in his mind. He could not escape you.

And he wanted to disappear now more than ever. To withdraw from a day that made you so happy.

He looked so handsome. A crisp suit, a straight tie, hair fluffy as usual but more styled. However, his eyes were red and sunken, slight stubble on his chin, and a watery gaze that was not there from joy. He looked like a broken glass masterpiece kept together by masking tape.

And when you appeared at the end of aisle, fuck. He wanted to scream from how stunning you were. A complete replica of the most charming painting he’d ever laid eyes on.

There were gasps and murmurs from friends and family that surrounded him, but they fell upon deaf ears. He could not concentrate. And when you made eye contact with him, he wanted to throw up, for he had never been so utterly devastated in his entire life.

Because the man you were marrying was not him.

Your smile, your beauty, your kindness, your everything was not for him. It was the other man that stood at the other end of the room. Hands clasped, emotion swelling with pride. Then again why wouldn’t it, you were his wife to be.

Not George’s.

And when the priest announced speak now or forever hold your peace, he wanted to so bad. His knees jumped with anticipation, the raging urge to yell that he loved you, and you didn’t belong with this man, you belonged with him. But he couldn’t. Because he loved you. And what kind of man would he be to ruin a day you had been looking forward to for so long.

And the kiss. Your first kiss as a married woman. It made his fists clench and heart skip. He wanted nothing more than to have your lips locked with his in that moment.

Your mother in her burst of joy turned around in her seat and grabbed George by his collar, pushing him into the tightest embrace of his life, her face wet, leaving a damp section on his jacket.

“Aren’t you so proud! Our beautiful girl is all grown up!” She squeaked.

All he could do was force out a tight-lipped smile and nod his head that caused his brain to throb. She wasn’t his girl, she was someone else’s.

He shouldn’t have come.

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The expensive bourbon burned his eyes almost as much as his throat. He had had way too much to drink. Far too much for his best friend’s wedding day. His jacket had been forgotten, hung to the back of his chair, sleeves rolled, and tie loosened. He probably would’ve been picked up by a single lady if he didn’t look so miserable. George stayed seated, gaze hardened on the inside of his empty glass as everyone watched you and your husband dance. He refused to watch the smile of joy graced upon your face when you danced with him.

God why were you so fucking beautiful.

A man with fluffy hair and eyes as blue as the ocean however had spotted the dejected man. He sat down with a huff next to him.

“Hey George.” “Hey Karl.”

“What’s up with ya’ buddy? Why you so down.” Karl asked as he wrapped an arm around the back of George’s chair, scooting closer. The brunette just shrugged.

“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” He pried, trying to get any response out of the British man.

For the first time since you started dancing George looked at you. Head thrown back in laughter; eyes crinkled at the corner. He had always made fun of you for that.

What had he done wrong? He must’ve done something for God to punish him so cruelly. He shouldn’t have made fun of the wrinkles in your eyes, they were beautiful. He shouldn’t have put the chewed-up gum in your hair, he just wanted your attention. He should’ve remembered your fourteenth birthday party. Why did he have to go off with that other stupid girl he met. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He felt so fucking stupid.

All the reasons as to why you weren’t his flew threw his head, making him so overwhelmed he thought as though if he were to stand up, he would fall back on his arse again.

“Try not to think about it George, its done now, nothing you can do,” and with that Karl stood up to join the rest of the guests, now dispersing to sit back down or join the two newlyweds for a dance.

That was it. He had to get out of there. Karl’s words had struck a nerve him in. Although drunk and clearly not thinking straight he was right. There was nothing he could do. So why was he still here?

Shooting up and grabbing his jacket George made a swift bolt to the exit of the reception.

Unfortunately for him, you saw your best friend leaving, and with a quick kiss on the cheek and a I’ll be right back, you left your husband by himself and ran after your best friend.

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He heard you call his name in the deserted hallway and was almost tempted to break out in a sprint. He couldn’t talk to you. He loved you like you were a drug. So bad for him but yet he was so addicted. So, against his better judgement he turned around to face you.

“Where are you going?” You asked, cheerfulness dripping in your tone. You clearly didn’t catch on to his deprived state, you were too far away.

“I’m going home.”

Your smile dropped. “Oh, why?”

It was too late now. The alcohol in his system was blinding, and although his brain was screaming at him to turn around, don’t ruin her night, his heart was screaming tell her you love her, make her yours, it’s not too late, Karl was wrong. And detrimentally, for him he went with the latter.

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, he strode forward, grabbed your face ferociously and went in for a kiss. But before George could feel the sweetness of your lips on his once again you pushed him away, two hard hands on his chest causing him too stumble.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You screamed, fury circling your body and resounding your reality. It was now when you were face to face with him you smelt the repulsive hard liquor on his breath. You noticed his red rimmed eyes and the smattering of stubble he wore. He looked almost sick.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N fuck please I’m sorry,” he whined, words slurring together. He was so drunk.

“Why did you do that? What evil thing literally possessed you to try and kiss me? And on my wedding night you sick bastard.” You were so frustrated and disappointed in your best friend you started to cry.

George was so desperate. You were standing so close to him, looking so beautiful, smelling heavenly. But now you were crying, and your perfect makeup was dripping in flawed lines down your face.

Oh no, he thought to himself. I caused that. Let me fix it.

He reached out to wipe away your tears, but you only pushed him away again. He choked on a sob that was threatening to leave so fast. You were breaking his heart so quickly. Why did he do that, he shouldn’t have done that.

“George why?” You whispered to him, wiping away your own tears. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t a mistake for me Y/N. It wasn’t.” You stood there quietly, paralysed with shock at the information that thudded your heart. He took it as an invitation to continue speaking.

“For as long as I can remember Y/N I have been wholly and devotedly in love with you. Holy fuck you fucking kill me. And not just because of the night we shared on your 18th birthday, but every other night. Where I got to hold you in my arms, and just pretend that for a second that you were mine. Mine to hold, to kiss, to protect, to love.”

He almost seemed sober from the passion that leaked through his words.

“And I understand you love this man, I mean why else would you be marrying him, but fuck I can’t lie anymore. I can’t sit here and pretend that I didn’t wish that man was me. What did I do wrong?” Now he was seriously crying. “Why was I not good enough for you darling? I did everything for you.”

You were flustered and pissed and crying so much you could only sob out a small “cause I’m just not in love with you George. I never was and I don’t think I ever will be.”

George became overrun with jealousy and rage, the bourbon only adding fuel to the fire.

“God damnit girl. You’re fucking breaking my heart. I hope your happy with him, but I also hope you know how far I would’ve gone for you. Anything you fucking wanted I would’ve got you. Fuck!” He was yelling by the end, the liquid courage turning him into a toxic beast. He would be so disappointed in himself if he were sober.

“Fuck you George! You’ve ruined what was meant to be the best day of my life!” You huffed picking up your dress and turning to run away, your cries following you, haunting the hallways making him shiver.

With the knowledge of him ruining a day you had been looking forward to for so long, and quite possibly losing something he loved so much, he ran to the nearest restroom, knees buckling when he entered the stall as he hurled the dangerous amounts of liquor into the toilet.

He sobbed and cried in between emptying his entire stomach, hands plastered so roughly and deeply into his hair.

He ruined everything.

He was such a mistake.

And it was something that ruined a perfect friendship, a guilt that plagued him for years until the grave.