#best friend Matty

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Six

A/n: Hey! Finally giving you 26 alongside some answers! Not sure how I feel about this part just yet, it was difficult to write but I hope you enjoy it all the same:) Let me know I suppose!

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Lots of feelings, swearing but should be expected this far in, mentions of toxic relationships

Masterlist

And wouldn’t you just’ve guessed it. Ross was sat waiting on the steps of the villa for me when I finally returned. He watched me as I stepped out of a cab and ambled my way up the long drive, a cigarette pinched between his steady fingers.

It was quiet. Had been since I’d left Alvaro at the hospital.

I’d wandered around for a bit, unable to do much else other than think. He’d really given me a lot to think about. 

But then my migraine had started back up again and I’d suddenly felt sick to my stomach, I’d had to have this little old lady, working a stall, phone for a driver for me whilst I’d kept myself from spewing into the bath of a nearby fountain. It hadn’t been my finest moment but I’d made it back to the villa alive and the throbbing pain in my skull had dulled somewhat on the drive over. 

Ross was watching still as I walked closer and took perch on the step beside him, thankful for the small amount of shade the roof provided us with, the heat was doing nothing for my remaining nausea. He didn’t say anything for a long while, nor did he offer me a drag or a smoke of my own, which I wasn’t too fussed about. But even if I had been, I couldn’t have brought myself to ask, the sickness still there but getting easier with each deep breath I took. 

“Sent the lads out once we realised you were missing.” He murmured to me, eyes trained on the pebbled drive lain out before us.

I’d forgotten about them, the boys, in my hurry to escape. Just needing to unwind, desperate to forget, to get away. Matty had been asleep still, the others dotting about on their own. George… I had no idea, so I simply shook away the thought. 

“Knew you’d be back soon enough though.” Ross went on, taking a longer drag when he realised I wouldn’t be adding much to the conversation. “How’s the head?” He then asked me, changing the subject completely.

I swallowed, toying with a loose thread on my cardi. “Nearly chucked up in this pretty fountain down by the old town, gave the locals a right show.”

He didn’t laugh but I saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards, so easily amused by my sufferings. “Probably thought you were hung to hell, out on the piss ’til morning.”

I hummed around a tiny smile, tugging on the thread and enjoying the way it unraveled for me. “How’s the album coming?”

If Ross was surprised by my question he didn’t let it show, merely tilted his head then shrugged a shoulder lazily. “It’s not. Matt’s mind is elsewhere and G is… well, G is being G.”

That familiar guilt throbbed in me again, a reminder.

“Can’t be helped though.” Ross sighed, flicking away some remnant ash. “Can’t force this shit. It comes or it don’t.”

We were swept up by a breezy quiet then, both of us lost in our own heads. I kept finding myself opening my mouth to say something though, once, twice, then three times. There was this heated little knot of anxiety balled in the hollow of my ribs and someone just kept on tugging at it tighter and tighter until I finally begun to feel it fray and splinter.

“I kissed George.”

Ross’s head snapped in my direction at having heard my muted admission, but my eyes were trained still on the lit cigarette he held in his hand as though he’d forgotten it was even there. “What?”

But I knew he’d already heard me.

“You kissed George?” He breathed out once I made no move to repeat myself. 

I hummed again, swallowing down past the ache in my throat as I clung to my cardigan tighter. I glanced up at him when he didn’t say anything more, he was just staring back at me with these huge surprised eyes. I’d’ve smiled, it wasn’t every day you got to witness something like that, but couldn’t dim my anxiety.

“You kissed George.” Ross said again and I blew out a soft sigh whilst I let him internalise it. “When?” He asked me, unblinking. 

“’S’mornin’.” I mumbled in answer, those fraying threads of anxiety polluting the rest of my body now, like maggots infecting a soldier’s already dirtied wound. 

“Jesus Christ.” Ross breathed, shaking his head, and then he dragged a heavy hand down the length of his exhausted face. I suddenly felt like a chastised little kid getting ready to get told off. But Ross was better than that, he never rebuked the actions of the rest of us unless we took it a step too far- ‘Live and learn’ he’d often spout like the wise old man he truly was. “Explains why he had the face of a slapped arse then, don’t it?”

My brows rose but I didn’t push his reply. I didn’t want to know any more.

“What a way to start a holiday, hey?” He then added and we both had to laugh a little at his words, even if they were more depreciating than other. We shared another sigh and I watched on whilst he took one final drag before stumping the butt out, he glanced over to me after.

“I’m guessing the kiss is why you disappeared then?” Ross questioned, head tilted slightly as his eyes found mine. The smile I answered him with was wet and watery, and he could only lift an arm out towards me. “Oh, B…”

I let out a scoff of a cry at his pitiful words and fell limply into his side, feeling so incredibly lost. So stupid.

“It’s okay.” I heard him murmur above my head, both arms curling around my broken self to hold me better together. “It’ll be okay.”

Because it had to be, right?

—

I’d gone to bed after my impromptu sobbing session with Ross. How the man had yet to get sick of me and my onslaught of tears was beyond me- but I was thankful for it nevertheless. Especially when he brought a decent cuppa and a couple of biscuits to my bedside after.

That’d been a long while ago now though, long enough for the biscuits I hadn’t eaten to have gone stale and the tea discoloured and cold. I laid there, still, staring up at the ceiling. 

When I was little I used to paint stars up there with strokes of my eyes, imagine dark blue hues and gradient purples surrounding planets and glowing suns. But then I’d grown up and the dark had crept its way in, drowning my pretty stars in its shadows. 

I could still picture them sometimes though, mostly back when I’d been curled up in bed with George. I’d see them. Dimmer than the years before, but there, twinkling. They’d long since abandoned me again though. All I saw now was a blank ceiling staring back at me.

I sighed, forcing my eyes away from it and out towards the window where the sun had since set. I questioned how another day had so quickly slipped past me.

The boys had since returned too, I’d heard them stumble in an hour or two ago. Maybe even three. They’d wanted to check in, I’d seen their shadows dance beneath my closed bedroom door and heard their muted arguments. But my guess is that Ross somehow waylaid them, because they hadn’t pushed any further than that. Although, my phone had buzzed a couple dozen times.

It was somewhere on the floor, settled on the pile of clothes I’d stripped out of.

Quiet now though. The villa, I meant. My mind not so much. I still couldn’t work out for the life of me what the fuck I wanted. Scared and too fucking afraid to come to an actual decision. I didn’t want to be hurt again, but I also knew that either way I could be. So, I either push George further away and end up breaking my own heart, or risk everything and just have him do it for me, for the hundredth time.

Too many fucking thoughts. Too big a decision to make.

I wanted to bury myself in my pillow, burrow further away, but I could feel a headache coming on and so, in hopes to avoid it, I peeled myself from out under the safety of my covers and over to the door, figuring that a decent brew might just do the job.

The house was dimmed as I made my way down the stairs, only the outside porch lights were still on, though I could hear murmurs of movement as I passed by the guys’ rooms.

I kept the kitchen light off when I made my way over to the counter, instead opting to use the fridge as a lamp whilst I worked my way around the kettle, nicking one of the many Russian caravan teabags Matty so liked.

It was nice, down here alone, bare feet sliding across the chilled tiles as the evening air crept its way inside through the French doors. Peaceful almost. Once the tea was made I figured I’d make my way out there too and so I did, settled myself under the familiar peach tree I’d taken to seeing as it’d been a few days since I’d had the opportunity to hide out underneath it. 

I could see the ripples in the pool from here, as well as the shorts some of the boys had left out to dry, three pairs of them all slung over a sun-lounger, a damp puddle beneath. I sipped away at my tea and felt myself longing more and more for a cigarette, I hadn’t had one since the night spent with George, and even then it’d hardly been a drag. 

But what I wouldn’t do for another.

A small sigh escaped me and I settled my teacup down to the side so that I could pull my legs in closer, knees tucked up under my chin as the wind danced over my bare skin.

“What would you do then, hey?” I heard myself whisper out into it, eyes casted upwards towards the so-called heavens. “Probably wouldn’t say much. Just sort my mess out for me, yeah?”

I blew out a tiny wet chuckle, knowing I was dead right.

It was nights like these that I just found myself talking to him, my dad that is. Not often but enough. On days when things felt heavier, harder.

It had been a long time since I’d last done so. That fact alone also reminded me of how much time had passed since he’d been gone. Been gone longer than I’d ever known him. We’d never had enough time. But that was just life, wasn’t it?

I vividly remember the day he passed. I’d felt it long before they’d ever even told me. Sat on the bottom step of the staircase, phone pressed tightly to my ear. I’d felt it. I’d known something had happened. But he’d been at the hospital and she’d been there with him. So I’d phoned, and she’d said everything was fine. But I’d known. I’d felt it deep down. Something had shifted.

It made me wonder now, here in this pretty little garden, how many times a heart could shatter before it stopped letting you put it back together. Too many pieces lost in the explosion. Not enough parts to make it work the same.

My dad’s death had taken a few too many pieces, I think. The rest had just followed.

Now, he wasn’t much of a gambler, my old man, but I knew that he’d bet a pretty penny if he was here right now on my next decision. He’d always had a way of knowing my next move before I’d ever even thought it. Wise in his own way and not the traditional sort. Hated school but loved anything that could keep his hands and mind busy. Could read people better than he could most words. 

I was wired in a similar way.

And I couldn’t stop myself from wishing then that he could only hear me so that he’d just tell me what I was going to do next. 

It was hard, not having him here.

“You ever think they look back?”

My head jerked upwards like a horse dislodging a fly at the unexpected voice, only to find George stood there by the door, bare foot too with his hands tucked into his pockets. I gaped for a brief moment before I swallowed down my surprise and followed his nod over to where the stars were twinkling high above.

“Maybe.” I replied, unable to help myself.

George hummed and stepped closer, down off the step he was tittering on. I wondered how long he’d been there. “Always loved them though, you have. Remember you dragging me out into the fields late at night to watch them years back. Only ever loved London in the day because at night they were too hard to spot.”

I exhaled the heaviness I felt weigh on my chest. “They give me hope. Let me pretend that things last.”

“What d’you mean?” He questioned, both our voices far too quiet. Too careful. There were lines being tread now. 

I shrugged a single shoulder, chin digging deeper into my shin as I stared up at the well-lit sky. “They die, don’t they? Just like us. Give the illusion that they’re permanent, that they’ll never fade out. But they do, we just don’t see it. Don’t realise that they’re all just dying millions of miles away.”

“Biblical that.”

I snorted at his dry response, a soft sound I couldn’t quite help. “Far from.”

He merely hummed again, then took another step closer drawing my attention, I dipped my head once and then looked away when he pointed down to the ground beside me. I focused on keeping my breathing even as he settled there, stretching his legs out before us.

“Where’d you disappear to then?” After you kissed me… George questioned after a minute.

I wet my lower lip and let a hand slip from where it’d been curled around my leg to toy with the tea I’d brought out with me. It’d gone cold.

“I walked around for a bit. Just thinking.”

“Ah.” He replied, a very George like reaction if I did say so myself. So monosyllabic. “Anything good?”

I huffed a small amused chuckle, wrinkling the cup’s dark liquid. “Did I think of anything good?”

“Hm.”

I shook my head, flicking away the wetness I’d gathered on my fingertips. “Dunno. Not really. Just had a lot on my mind.”

“Thing with thinking, is that it’s dead useful, but only sometimes.” George retorted and I glanced over to find him fidgeting with the grass beneath us. “Most days I just wish everything would shut up. Gets too loud and I can’t even escape it, you know? ‘Cause it’s all in my head.”

I did know.

He looked up and caught me staring, gifted me the tinniest of smiles from beneath shadowed eyes and dark lashes. “Seen any shooting stars whilst you been out here then?”

I returned the sentiment, eyes lingering on the curve of his lips, remembering…

“No, but you know me, luck’s never been very fortunate to us.”

George’s gaze drifted between my own. “I don’t know about that,” He said, voice velvety and low. “You seem to do alright on your own.”

I scoffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, if you could call it that.”

George’s elbow nudged my side. “Come on, look at what you’ve got. A job you love, people you love, smile of an angel.”

I nudged him right back, mostly in retaliation for that last comment. Charmer, just like Nana had always claimed.

“Oh yeah, can’t complain me.” I joked, mind stuck on every bad thing that’d ever been thrown at me. And though I tried not to let it show, he still knew. 

He knew me better than I knew myself. And vice-versa. I’d almost forgotten that fact about us.

George was turned better towards me now, his stance a little more open, and in the haze of the moonlight I caught sight of his eye, my head shot out to really see it.

“Oh God,” I gasped mutedly, hand reaching out towards the welt on his face before I could think better of it. “Did I do that?”

George just laughed me off, hand catching mine before I could touch the injured eye, my attention snapped down towards it, though he didn’t release me. “It’s not that bad, just raised a bit, like you said it would. Go down in a day or two.” He assured and I could only mutter another quiet sorry before he was shaking his head at me and smiling. “It was an accident- and even if it weren’t, it’s the least I deserve, innit?”

He laughed whilst I simply scowled. “Don’t say that.”

“What? It’s true, ain’t it?” George replied, “Been so shit to you. Never fucked up more. So I wouldn’t blame you for it even if you did choose to batter me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, George.”

“Like I did you?” He quipped straight back, hard eyes trained on mine now, “‘Cause it’s the truth. I fucking promised no one would ever hurt you again, all those years ago. Remember that? And look at where we are now. I’ve broken that promise nine times over.”

I let go of a heavy sigh, “G, you haven’t-”

“The fuck I haven’t! I have! I have. And do you know what’s worse?” He asked me, hand still cradling mine, hold soft and gentle. “I have the fucking nerve to sit here and ask you to forgive me, to take me back.” He scoffed at himself and my breath caught when he finally dropped my hand. “The things I‘d do to take it all back.” He muttered deeply, clucking his tongue as he shook his head.

“I wouldn’t want you to.” I told him honestly, my reply surprising both him and I.

“How can you say that?” He looked back at me, his expression pinched.

I shrugged, casting a long glance out over towards the pool. “‘Cause you can’t take it back, can you? So there’s no real point in trying, or stressing about the things we’ll never be able to change. Life is shit, you deal with it.”

George released a shaky breath and dragged a rigid hand over the back of his head. “I really messed you up, didn’t I?”

That made me pause. It was too close to the truth. 

“No more than anyone else did.”

The sound that escaped him then shocked me to my core and my head snapped back over to where he was perched beside me, tears in his eyes, mouth strained to keep any other sound like it from falling out. He wouldn’t look at me, just kept on shaking his head. “And that’s what kills me.” He breathed, voice tight, cheeks hollowed. “God. That’s what fucking kills me.”

I didn’t know what to say. I could only stare at him, wind caught on the lump in my throat. 

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him cry, but I knew it’d never been like this.

“George-” I whispered out, unable to utter much else, but he just shook his head again, rubbing at his eyes.

“Nah, it’s fine.” He sniffed, chuckling at himself whilst he worked his jaw to keep from outwardly crying anymore. “It’s- well it’s like I said, ain’t it? No less than what I deserve. Fuck. I’m just so sorry. So fucking sorry. And I’m not sure if I’ve even told you that yet.”

“You have.” I reassured him in a croaky whisper, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. “You did.”

“I want to take it all back. I just want to do it all over.” He choked out, trying so very hard to avoid my gaze, to not let me see him cry. “I want so fucking much, but, there’s not much point in wanting, is there? I can’t take it back, I can’t make it make sense. And I can’t tell you how much I wish that I’d never fucking let you go in the first place. That I’d ever let myself fuck up the best thing I’ve ever had. No fucking point, no use!”

I untangled myself from my position to reach out towards him, fingers catching the side of his face like they had that very same morning. My mind flashed back to him in my bed, my lips against his. I forced his face towards me, coaxing him, “Look at me, will you? Just look at me. I need you to see. Okay? I need you to look at me and see the mess that I’ve become, the mess that I’ve always been, yeah? Because neither of us are fucking perfect, G, and, sure, you might’ve messed up, you might’ve hurt me, but that doesn’t just make me stop loving you, okay? That doesn’t erase our past and make everything that we’ve ever shared just go away. Alright? I need you to know that. I need you to understand that no matter what happens from here on out, that you will always be apart of my life. I need you to know that. I just- I need you to, okay?”

His dark and watery eyes were flitting back and forth, left then right, between my own, blatant shock staring me back in the face. I had to tell him though, he had to know. He had to.

“You hear me?” I shook his head in my hands and he raised his to cover my own, he nodded at me, just barely, and let his fingers rest against mine. My eyes were locked on his, I saw every emotion he’d ever felt flit through those brown eyes, because we were like magnets, George and I, when we collided nothing else on God’s green Earth could pull us apart, and in that moment I wanted it to always stay that way. With him beneath me, the stars in his eyes.

My forehead was pressing against his before I’d even felt myself lean in, knees hooked over either side of him, pressing deep into the soil. His hands stayed with mine, but his eyes were hooked on me so intensely that I had to let my own fall close. His fingers interlocked with mine. I felt his breath tickle my skin.

My heart ached like a hole that had been torn through my chest and it felt as though we were floating, far from the villa and its peach tree, from the Earth and all its noise. Like we’d just gone and switched the entire planet off.

I heard his swallow. And fuck, he was so shaky it almost felt like holding onto my very own earthquake.

“I’m right where you left me, Birdie.” George murmured into the blank space between us, that inch of air that separated us. And those words just rendered me helpless.

And who could really blame me? Blame me for being drawn in again. For reaching out and cupping his familiar face, for trailing a careful thumb over the curve of his cheek to the corner of his mouth. 

He made me so irrational. Made me forget. Had me faltering above him, even when I had the upper hand here, made my lips part on their own accord just as his nose lightly brushed my own. I couldn’t waste another second debating with myself, looking for answers that ceased to come; I slid my hand to the back of his neck and let him draw me in further, pausing only slightly for just a second before my lips found his.

It felt like coming home, kissing George. So familiar, with a vague sentiment of relief. The kiss was slow and delicate, probing almost, like we were both still trying to get over the fact that it was even happening. This kiss so unlike the one we’d shared before.

George responded in kind, let his lips fall open even more to savour it, his hands diving to my waist, fingers pressed into my sides.

I’d pictured this, made up so many scenarios in my head over the span of the last year that it was hard to rationalise the how and the why. But it was happening and I couldn’t bring myself to stop it, to pull apart. 

George was so tender this time around and I welcomed him in when he ran his tongue searchingly beneath my own. The softness of the kiss had me falling further into his embrace, and he didn’t even bat an eyelid, simply held me up. Like before. His touch grew more needy, fingers digging deeper into my waist when I pressed my chest up against his, teeth grazing lightly over my bottom lip enough for me to let out a soft moan, a moan that he then swallowed whole.

And it was then that I felt so overwhelmed, wanting more. Needing more than just this. But I couldn’t bring myself to shift any closer, to have him lay back, to lose myself in the madness that was him. His hands slipped to my hips, fingertips skimming the edge of my top, touching skin, it was that which made me stiffen, pull away.

I was breathing heavily, as was George when he quickly dropped his hands and allowed me to create some much needed space between us again. My head swimming.

“We can’t.” I attempted to say and he nodded, eyes taking in everything they could of my face. I must’ve looked a right picture as I inhaled shakily above him. “Not like this. I- we need to talk.”

George nodded again, I watched his chest rise and fall, watched him rub his lips together. Gaze trained on me.

“We can’t.” I whispered again, but I no longer knew who I was speaking to. 

“We can’t.” He parroted me, seeming to really understand the words now. He inhaled sharply and then glanced down. “But if we can’t, then you’ve really got to get off my lap now, B.”

I followed his gaze and blinked, realising my position. “Shit, yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

George blew out a faint chuckle, watching as I rolled off him. Warier still whilst rearranging himself, as though he was scared to take another wrong step. “No need to say sorry, always enjoy a lapful of you.” He gifted me a kind grin. “But you are right. We should talk.”

Talk. It felt like all we’d done since the night of my birthday is talk. We were talking and talking, saying an awful lot without saying much at all. But I had no idea where to start here.

Thankfully though, he did.

“I ended things.”

The air in my lungs froze as I moved to inhale, never having expected that to be the thing he’d start with. A truth, yes, but one I hadn’t thought he’d admit out loud, let alone to me. 

“You did.” I breathed, blowing the stilted air through my nose as I fought not to let the ground shift beneath me. Talk, we were finally talking.

“And I was a fucking idiot.”

I scoffed out a surprised laugh, “You are.”

He smiled at me, but it was hastily replaced by a melancholy I hadn’t much seen on him before.

“I should’ve just spoken to you. I realise that now, but I was so fucking lost, B. Like, I could hardly even think, let alone open up about how I was feeling.” He murmured to me, hands clasped tightly in his lap, I watched them whilst he watched the sky once more. “I was too scared. I was a fucking coward. And when I left, I realised I couldn’t go back. ‘Cause that look you had on your face.” He shook his head, inhaling deeply, “That look…” He blew out the breath. “God, I’d never hated myself more.”

I didn’t say anything in return. Whether it was due to my surprise at the pair of us finally hashing things out, or something other, I couldn’t be sure. 

George continued on and I was confused by his next question, “You remember the week before it?”

I just had to nod, “Vaguely.” 

It’d been a normal week, him in the studio, me at work. Hadn’t seen much of each other but he still came home each night, we fell asleep together. Like always.

He huffed then sucked in a cheek, chewing on his lip in thought, eyes stuck on the horizon. “I’d leave early morning, walk around for a bit, then end up in the studio and not leave ’til late. I couldn’t sleep at night, so I’d just lie there with you. If I caught a couple hours then I’d be able to plaster on a smile for you, the guys. But my head was properly fucked. Couldn’t stop thinking. Phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Ended up drinking just to get through the days. All ‘cause I felt fucking sorry for myself.”

It didn’t make much sense. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask or to look away, sure that I’d see something in his next movement that would fill me in or maybe hear it in his words.

He toyed with the grass. “Mum phoned me a couple times before that week. She showed up the Friday before everything went to shit.”

I gave a slight nod again as I took it in, understanding a little better now. It explained his mood. How quiet he’d been. I’d reckoned he was just tired, drained from constantly working the way he did. But if his mum was involved, then I had no idea what could’ve gone down. Nothing good though. 

“I’d always kept her at a distance since we’d left Manchester.” He went on to say, “We spoke when needed, saw each other when she asked. Mostly for my dad’s sake though.”

But I already knew all this.

“She turned up that Friday ‘cause I’d kept on dodging her calls. No warning. Just turned up out of the blue. And I was mainly just thankful that she’d managed to catch me on the way out, instead of at the flat with you. Didn’t want you to see her, her to see you.” George admitted quietly, eyes flicking towards me for a split second before darting away again. “No clue how she’d known where to find me either, but she’d driven all night- or so she claimed. And I felt as though I owed it to her to hear her out, so we walked on over to that little cafe on the corner of our road and she told me she couldn’t take much more.”

I frowned. “Take much more of what?”

“Me.” He laughed, a hollow sound that made me still. “Had enough of me, of the papers, the headlines. People back home. She was embarrassed apparently. And I could understand somewhat, the drugs she’d never liked, the drinking too excessive, but then she reckoned she’d been told a couple stories, yeah?”

Confused, my frown only deepened. “Stories?”

He licked at the flesh of his lip, my eyes tracked the movement then dropped down to where he was drumming his thumb on his kneecap. He wouldn’t look back at me. 

“Stories. Just, gossip, you know. From the locals back home.” George stated, gaze jumping from one thing to the next. But never landing on me. “She’d hurt her hip the year before and so she’d stopped working remotely, decided to ease her hours down so that she could take things a bit easier. Dad seemed all for it when he’d let me know, having her back home. But, that meant she was actually there and I reckon that’s why people took note of her. She hadn’t been around much since the band started but you know how them lot are, they like to talk. To stick their noses in everybody else’s business but their own, wanted word on us lot down in London. If we were really making it big.”

George rolled his eyes then swiped a tongue across his front teeth. It angered him, irritated him when people felt as though they deserved to know the ins and outs of his entire life. He was a private person for the most. And I knew it agitated him more for the fact that his mum had been involved.

“What stories, George?” I asked, heart in my mouth. Because I already knew, didn’t I?

He worked his jaw, thumb still tapping relentlessly away. I wanted to reach out and still the movement, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bare to move.

“What stories?” I prodded again, firmer this time.

“About Matt and his family, him using. Rehab. If I were the same way. You know.” George replied hurriedly, jaw still tightly wound, and I titled my head at him wanting to hear the rest of it that was bound to come. “She said some vile things, yeah? And, I don’t know. I just, it, they pissed me off. I didn’t want to stay sat there and listen to her rant, just let her go on and fucking on-”

I cut him off. “What else did she say, George?”

He closed his eyes and then slowly turned his head towards me, I saw the guilt swimming in them when they reopened, the pain, the anger. “They told her all there was to know about you. They told her all about you, Birdie.”

Suddenly my tongue was too heavy to sit comfortably in my mouth and my eyes were stinging in time to match the swelling of my throat. They’d told her about me. And I wasn’t stupid enough not to realise exactly what that meant. What had been said. I knew what they all thought of me, what they’d always thought ever since that fucking night. Knew that they still let him walk around free, that they listened to his tales, to his lies. That they whispered about my mum, the neglect, the things I’d supposedly done to have survived living in that poor house. George knew I knew too. That’s why he’d been so reluctant to say. That’s why he’d-

“That why you fucking walked out then?” I spat at him, my anger misplaced but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he’d been the one to hold me through most of it, didn’t care for his previous claims, because he’d left, hadn’t he? And this was the fucking reason. 

George opened his mouth to speak, brow pinched, but I didn’t let him get a word in edgeways.

“What, was it too much for your big rockstar image then? To have a girlfriend as fucked as me? What, were you suddenly embarrassed, George? Did your mum make you finally see sense? Reason?” I laughed bitterly and moved to stand, to walk the fuck away from him and all the emotions he pulled so effortlessly out of me, but a firm hand caught my wrist and I snapped my gaze down towards him. “Don’t grab me like that.”

Immediately George released me and he looked apologetic for a brief moment, but that anger was still there and that only sent my guard up more. 

“You know fucking better than that!” He retorted heatedly, “Don’t just section me off with the rest of them, yeah? ‘Cause you know I don’t deserve that. I was fucking there! I never left. I was there through it all. And never once did you ever or have you ever embarrassed me! Not you, not your life, not your fucking story! So just don’t, eh. Don’t go and say shit like that to me. Not when we both know that it’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

“Then what am I supposed to believe, George!” I shouted back at him, tears welling in my eyes, hands fisted to keep from lashing out, to keep from breaking completely. “Because how can I not assume that, when you’ve treated me exact same way they have! When you pushed me out and fucking left without even a warning, without a reason! Tell me, what am I supposed to think!”

“I left to fucking protect you, you daft cow!” George shot back, bewildered with his face so open. “I left because there was no other fucking way to keep you safe from the rest of the fucking world! I left ‘cause she threatened to tell people, to sell it all to the tabloids or whoever the fuck would listen, if I didn’t get my act together, if I didn’t-”

“If you didn’t leave me.” I finished for him. 

All the fight seemed to drain out of the two of us then. George’s head dropped in acknowledgment and I pressed my lips tightly together as I casted a blurry glance out over the rest of the garden to keep from outwardly sobbing. If I cried now, I didn’t know if I would ever stop.

“And you listened.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, rubbing at my strained eyes, the headache that had been tittering was a full blown minefield now, exploding across the length of my skull. “You listened.” I repeated and heard the way my voice cracked, how dry my throat felt. 

“Of course I listened. There was nowt else I could do! You were fine being in the background, watching us. You didn’t want anything else! If I’d’ve let her leave, she would’ve told everyone. She’s fucking spiteful if nothing else, can’t stand to see me happy, would be better off seeing me skint on my arse and working in a factory than have any of this. This life. She hates it!”

“And what does she think of me now, hey? Must reckon I’m some cheap skank dirtying you up, dragging you down with me.” I scoffed at the very thought, but mostly because it felt much too close to the truth. I had been dragging him down with me and it hurt to realise that he’d probably be better off never having even laid eyes on me. 

He pointed a finger towards me hotly which counteracted the way he shook his head so sadly. “Don’t say shit like that, okay? ‘Cause I know exactly what you’re thinking. I know it, because I know you. Not once have you ever, ever made me feel that way. When I’m with you-” George blew out a breathy laugh, “With you it’s like there is no one else. Don’t you get that? Didn’t you see the fucking state you left me in? I was a mess! You were the only thing ever keeping me on track. How can you not see that?”

“George, look at where you are!” I argued with him, “Look at the life you’ve built for yourself. The places you’ve been, the people you’ve met! And yet here you are, still sat with me, a florist who can hardly tie a ribbon, a girl sick beyond help, asking for another chance. You could do better, George, you know it. ”

“Fuck you.” He was angry again, but more sad than angry this time, his nose flared and his eyes were cut towards me. “Nah, honestly fuck you for saying that. For thinking it at all! ‘Cause I’m the one who left you, B. Not just once, no, not just fucking once, but twice. Twice! I should’ve manned the hell up! Pulled myself together and been there for you after that accident. Not walked away when you needed me most and left you in that ambulance! On your own! With fucking strangers there instead of me! Me! I’m not the one who deserves better, Birdie, that’s all you.”

He chuckled, though not one full of humour. One of mourning regret, the kind that seemed to catch you dizzyingly and make it so you couldn’t make any other sound. I stared at him, chest rising and falling with each trembling breath.

“And what life would I actually have if hadn’t been for you, eh? What life?” George added, prodding further, and I saw that he was crying too, silently like me, eyes shinning with unshed tears. “Because if I remember rightly, it was you that gave this all to me. You who walked in and changed everything.”

“How the fuck did I do all this then?” I laughed, more of a broken sob than anything else though, shaking my head at him with a pitiful smile. “How is this all down to me!”

“You don’t see it, do you?” He whispered to me quietly in reply and it made me realise how loud we must’ve been, screaming at the top of our lungs. “You’re the one who gave me the boys, the band. You’re the person who gave me a fucking escape, Birdie. ‘Cause you might claim to be screwed up, B. But I’m exactly that, only twice as bad.”

“You’d have gotten here in the end, G. You’re too talented not to’ve.” I told him in a defeated tone, too tired to continue on with this pissing contest anymore, to scream and shout and claim to be the worser person. He’d left me. And yeah, he’d left me more than once, but who could blame him? Who could honestly put up with the likes of me? “We all make choices and, yeah, the ones you’ve been making as of late have been shit. But we live with them. We learn. You’d’ve made something of yourself, George, with or without me.”

George sighed heavily and forced his head back to stare up at the dark night sky, whilst I wiped helplessly at my tear stained cheeks and the wetness which clung to my chin.

“But I did it with you, B.” He finally spoke before he released another breath and dropped his head down to look back at me. “And I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world. I did it with you. I did it all for you. So that me and you could leave that fucking town. So that I could keep my promise.”

My heart broke just as his voice did on that very last word.

“I love you. And I don’t care how long I have to spend proving that to you. But if it takes me the rest of my fucking life, then I’ll do it without complaint. Because you are it for me, Birdie. I’ve lived without you, and I didn’t like it much. You are the only thing I need.”

I stared at him. 

“What about your mum, the fans?” I voiced the hushed question into the otherwise silent garden.

He licked at his lower lip and I watched the way his eyes flickered when he sucked in another long breath. “That’s down to you. I can’t protect you from the world, I should’ve listened when you told me that all those years ago, but I’ve learnt now. And maybe, maybe I’m scared too. Maybe I’m terrified to hurt you all over again, or for you to just give up on me. But I’m asking for a chance, and with it, I’m prepared to give up everything else.”

I cocked my head at him, confused. “What do you mean? Give what up?”

“This.” He told me plainly and I knew, my lips parted and I could only shake my head in return.

“No. No, I’d never ask you to do that, and fuck you for even thinking I would.”

George reached out to me then, hands carefully taking my forearms, an attempt to soothe me. Like old times, I thought. I wondered if he thought the same, or if it was just instinctual.

“You wouldn’t have to ask, B. And I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you now that I don’t care what I have to lose. This? This life? It means nothing without you in it. It means nothing if you aren’t here to share it all with me. I’ve lived it. I suffered through it, felt nothing but fucking regret.” He murmured and it was then that I felt the first few drops of summer rain. “A chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“A chance.” I mimicked, blinking at him from under wet lashes whilst raindrops came down heavier around us.

“Just a chance.” He assured me before he wiped the dampening hair from off my cheek, hands resting either side of my face. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Part Twenty-seven>

[wreckedandpolemic]

thinking white & gold thoughts (as per usual). thinking about surprising matty while he’s traveling for work by waiting in his hotel room and the rest of the thoughts are not innocent and i’m afraid will have me put down😀😀😀😀😀

FIRST OF ALL any and all horny thoughts are welcome here!!!! but i Suppose i will bear the burden of finishing the thought for you…

you were expecting getting into his room to be a mission, armed with a stack of cash to slide a concierge’s way, but the girl at the front desk just giggled and waved you up with a conspiratorial grin. which, mildly concerning, but not your problem. you let yourself into his suite and sprawl on the bed in your underwear, a pastel-pink number that you know he loves, your sheer, lacy stockings clipped to a garter.

you start getting bored waiting for him and snap some photos of yourself, careful to crop out anything that might give you away before you send them to him. thinking about you, you add to the last picture, your hand in your panties, your fingers buried deep in your cunt. matty’s groan is practically audible through his reply, had to cut dinner short because of you, brat. better make it worth it.

you shudder excitedly hearing him unlock the suite door, but he only wanders onto the couch before your phone starts ringing. “hi,” you giggle breathlessly, heart thudding. whether from being found or getting away with it for a while, you’re not sure. “everything ok?”

matty growls. “you fucking know what you did. my slutty girl can’t keep her hands off, can you, darling?”

“maybe i just wanted you to come see me quicker.”

“soon, princess, i promise. just a few more days.” you can practically hear the pout in his voice.

smirking to yourself, you fan your hair out on the pillow and arrange your face into the picture of innocence. “maybe sooner than you think. on the couch, daddy?” you can’t resist teasing. “so dirty.”

matty gets to his feet so fast he’s probably lightheaded, hanging up the phone and striding into the bedroom, his jaw going slack at the sight of you. “oh, my god,” he says, laughing in disbelief. “you’re here.”

you arch your back and slide a provocative hand down your body, playing with your waistband. “couldn’t wait any longer to see you. s’not the same, i’m going crazy.” you dip your fingers into your panties and toy with your clit. “please help me, daddy,” you pout up at him.

he’s on you in seconds, attacking your lips with breathless savagery, the familiar taste of him finally soothing the dull ache of loneliness. tearing out of his clothes as fast as possible, he doesn’t even take your panties off, just pulls them to the side and slides home. “god, missed you so much, princess,” he murmurs into your neck, your cunt fluttering around him. “missed filling up this needy little pussy.” he kisses over your heart. “missed my sweet girl.”

you thread a hand into his curls, moaning as his teeth graze your skin. “missed you too. so much. missed this, missed being your little slut, taking my daddy’s cock like a good girl,” the filth pours freely from your mouth, too long pent up to fall victim to your brain-to-mouth filter.

“it’s okay, princess. daddy’s got you, now. i’m gonna take care of you.”

[r3dr0pe]

The Unknown: "Have you seen my dog?"

The dog in question:

[abiiors]

truth or dare 🌙 // george daniel x reader

a/n: this is based on a few requests and also loosely a sequel to first time and midnight, car lights. so the ages are 18 and 20! i tried to make this as realistic as possible so it's not perhaps the hottest thing ever but it's weirdly sweet haha

cw: brother's best friend, loss of virginity, smut in general, fingering. they talk :)) so much :)), the use of "good girl", female reader

wc: 6.3k

the room is buzzing with energy. loud and boisterous sounds of people having fun and whooping along to a silly game of truth or dare. matty already has his tongue down someone’s throat—as a “dare” of course. you cringe internally. 

it’s one thing to sit and play a game of truth or dare with your brother’s friends and potentially spill embarrassing secrets, it’s another to sit there and watch your brother practically dry hump some girl you’ve never seen before. 

and then there’s andrew who keeps looking at you like he wants them to do the same. 

you stifle the urge to retch. 

“alright, alright,�� ross puts his hands up, “we get it, let’s move on.”

matty and the girl pull away amidst boyish whoops and giggles. the girl hides her mouth behind her hand, coy and flirty, and matty, ever the little shit, throws her a wink. 

“okay, okay, right. good luck to whoever who has to sleep near matty’s bedroom tonight,” one of the people jokes and another roar of laughter goes up. great, yeah, fucking hilarious. because once again, that would be you. 

“next up!” andrew picks up the bottle, wiggling it at the crowd of people and building up excitement. 

it spins and spins and spins in dizzying circles and for a moment you wonder if it will ever stop or slow down. it’s a silly thought. of course, the bottle slows dows, going past you once before losing some more momentum, then past you again and you breathe a sigh of relief. not you…

until somehow, the bottle gets second wind, spinning way past what it should have been able to, its nozzle coming closer and closer and closer before it stops right on you. 

when the next cheer goes up, it sounds like it’s coming from under water. 

you look aroud at the faces of the people gathered. the growing sense of dread climbs up your spine, manifests in visible goosebumps that you resist rubbing away. fuck this, fuck your brother and fuck his friends. 

matty is utterly useless when you glance at him for any kind of help. all he does is grin mischievously, clearly relishing the idea of you being at the center of attention. next to him, george sits with an unreadable expression. but you know looking at him is not a good idea…

looking at him only makes you think about the kiss and how you have not spoken since…

andrew, who had spun the bottle, wears a sly smile, his eyes still fixed on you. you know him well enough to understand that he's been angling for this moment. the rest of your brother's friends exchange knowing glances, anticipating some juicy revelation or an embarrassing dare;.

ross, trying to keep the game moving, speaks up, "alright, truth or dare?"

you briefly consider choosing dare, thinking you might be able to dodge a potentially embarrassing truth. but you know these guys—they're relentless when it comes to dares, especially when it's your turn. besides, you don't give a shit if you appear cowardly in front of them.

taking a deep breath, you muster some courage. "truth."

a couple boos ring out. matty makes an exaggerated “pfft” and goes back to his makeout. george just stares at you with a raised eyebrow. 

but there’s one person in the room whose attention doesn’t waver. andrew still has that persistent look in his eyes, clearly brainstorming something devious.

“your most interesting sex story. go,” he grins, staring at you with the utmost interest. 

you roll your eyes and groan audibly. “really, andrew? couldn’t think of something original?”

“yes, really,” he counters, sounding like a fucking knobhead. “and i wanna know. the rules are the rules.”

you look around the room, trying not to panic. everyone has gone from looking bored at you picking truth to back to looking at you with wide eyes. and no amount of trying stops the heat from creeping up your neck. 

“i don’t–it’s not interesting,” you stammer out. trying to make up something on the spot. “they’ve been pretty basic. just regular stuff.”

you hope it’s enough for them to lose interest again, to call you boring and vanilla and move on to the next person. but fuck andrew and fuck his lecherous curiosity. 

“what’s ‘pretty basic’?” he pokes a tongue in his cheek, eating up the subsequent oooohs with a big smile. 

you look around the room, first at matty only to find that he and the girl are already halfway out the door, heading up to his room (gag). then you look at the next best person. 

george. stoic george with his arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring at andrew as if he could kill him with his stare alone. 

“your usual stuff, andrew…” you grit out, staring at a spot behind him. you should have just stopped this, should have told him that truth entails one question and one question only and it’s none of his business but you’ve always let matty’s friends strong arm you. 

“so describe it, little healy—”

“don’t call her that.” 

to your surprise, it’s george who speaks up before you do. his entire body vibrates with tension, jaw clenched and arms taut. 

“move on, andrew,” his voice has an edge of warning. “she clearly doesn’t want to discuss it.”

you stare at him in awe, about to nod as a silent thank you when george stares directly at you. “besides, why do you want to know something so boring and vanilla?”

the people snicker and you feel your face drop. his tone is not cruel, it’s just matter of fact which somehow hurts more. a faint buzzing fills your ears, increasing by the second. 

this is too much. you need peace and quiet and the comfort of your own room, not this stupid party with all these idiots. you should have never agreed to it. 

the bottle spins again, you do not wait to see who it lands on. instead, you do the cowardly thing of running up to your bedroom.

“the last time i checked, the game was called truth or dare,” george drawls behind you just as you’re about to open the door to your bedroom. 

you barely even wait for him, rolling your eyes to yourself and opening the door in a huff. he’s just like the rest of them—an idiot. an idiot you were stupid enough to kiss and have a crush on. 

of course, george doesn’t back away too easily. 

pushing his way into your room behind you, he closes the door, acting as if this is his space. deja vu hits you like a tonne of bricks. 

“it’s none of their business,” you retort. 

“shoulda picked dare then…”

“and what? make out with andrew? you and i both know that’s what he was hoping for.”

the serious expression on his face crumbles for a moment, replaced by an annoying little smirk. 

“character development, little healy,” he teases, once again crossing his arms in front of him and leaning against the door. 

you don’t know how you always end up like this—george in your room without anyone’s knowledge, looking like the boy of your dreams while you fume at him for one thing or the other. 

“shut up,” you mumble petulantly. 

george doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead choosing to look around him nonchalantly. all you can replay in your head is the kiss, and his stupid little smile after. and then the fact that he seemed to vanish into thin air for two weeks.

you can't help but feel a mixture of irritation and curiosity. he's always been a puzzle to you—maddeningly frustrating yet undeniably intriguing and despite your attempts to resist his charm, there's a part of you that can't help but be drawn to him.

you decide to break the tense silence that has settled between you two. "what are you even doing here, george?" you demand, your voice laced with annoyance.

frustratingly enough, he chooses to answer it with a question of his own. 

“why is sex such a touchy topic?” george toys with his bracelet, “you’re only 18. most people your age haven’t done it yet.”

“you’re joking, right?” you laugh, unable to hide your incredulity. “and what does it matter to you if i have or haven’t done it.”

“it doesn’t,” he shrugs, “not to me. but clearly it matters to you… wouldn’t have been so defensive otherwise.”

“i wasn’t defensive—”

“shup up, george,” he says in a high pitched voice, a crude imitation of you presumably. and it is nothing what you sound like. yet he continues. “i have seen photos, george, i have seen videos!” then he shakes his head, one irresistible lock of hair falling in his face. “isn’t that what you said last time? about the weed?”

“it bothers you, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” he continues when you refuse to speak. “why not ask someone. you’re a pretty girl. any boy your age would say yes.”

“so you do it then,” you challenge. it’s only when the sentence has fully slipped out, beyond your control, that you realise what you just said. it’s only then that your heart starts hammering in your chest.

your back is pressed against the wall of your room. faint music and chatter slips in through the cracks of the door and yet you swear you can hear the loud beat of your heat echoing all around the room. george stills in place. 

“i’m asking you; since you think i have such a problem with being a virgin,” you continue. no point backing out now, no point pretending you didn’t offer to let him fuck you. for the first time. “it’s long overdue anyway. i don’t want candles and flowers and a picnic under the stars. i just want to get it over with.”

“don’t say things you don’t mean, little healy.” his voice has gone hoarse as if it strains him to speak normally. you watch as he swallows roughly, the hollow of his throat becomes prominent for a brief moment and you wonder what it would feel like to get a taste of his skin. 

“who says i didn’t mean it,” you push yourself off the wall, taking one daring step closer. george stays where he is, still looking at you intently, still watching. his lips part as he tries to subtly take in a shaky breath. 

“your brother—”

“doesn’t care,” you finish for him. “someone else has his attention tonight.”

“this is so wrong…”

“why?” 

george scrutinises you, rolling his tongue in his mouth. you follow the line of it, wondering how it would feel in your mouth—its weight and its texture. how it would feel on your body, to be touched like that for the first time. 

“why is it wrong, george? i am old enough. i want this, i am consenting to it.” george stands straighter as you stop right in front of him. 

to an untrained eye, he looks casual and cool as always, effortlessly carrying all 6’4 inches of him, effortlessly beautiful and irresistible. but the vein standing taut on his arm says otherwise. he’s anything but cool and casual. if anything, he’s as charged as a live wire. 

“unless you don’t… unless that’s not something…”

“stop.”

it’s your turn to freeze and gawk up at him wordlessly. george closes the gap between you, stepping towards you until you’re back in your original place; against the wall with his hand resting next to your head. his mouth is so close as he leans down—pink and full and just…filthy. 

“you have no idea… you don’t–fuck. okay.” he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. his face is a mask of something. almost something you recognise. but it passes just as quickly as it appears. 

“you have never done this before, any of it, have you? you couldn’t even look people in the eye while saying it, bushing and flustered like a schoolgirl.”

“i have!” you burst out, indignant and angry now. “i have done…things. i have kissed and made out with people, i have…people have seen me without a top on.”

george laughs roughly at that and swallows again. the hollow of his throat appears again, right there, tauntingly close. all you have to do is get on your tip toes and you’ll be kissing it. but then there’s the way his other arm snakes around your waist. 

you are pressed flush against the wall with barely an inch between the two of you. and even though he still hasn’t touched you, if anyone walked in on you in this position…

“so you haven’t done shit. tell me something…have you ever been touched like you touch yourself? have you ever had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced? someone ever go down on you? make you see stars and blackout?”

the questions come out like rapid fire; each one making your blood run faster and your heart pound all over your body. heat courses through you. it’s undeniable that you want him to do all those things to you, want him to be the first. 

by the time he’s finished, his mouth is parted. his pupils are so dilated that his eyes might as well be black and you can feel the warmth of his breaths on your face. so you decide to take matters into your own hands, say fuck it and pull him down, crashing your mouth onto his. 

both his hands are on your waist instantly, holding you tightly as his mouth moves against yours. it’s rough and hot, full of want. his body is pressed against yours, his hard chest and the bulge in his jeans against the softness of your body. this is so much different than the first kiss. it’s all hardness and intensity and hot searing kisses. 

you’re vaguely aware of jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his middle, vaguely aware of george moving across the room and placing you on the bed. 

george barely breaks the kiss when he takes his top off, warm skin pressed against yours. your head spins. 

this is happening. this is happening with george. with GEORGE. 

there’s a part of you that wants to run around the room and hyperventilate. another part of you—the much bigger one—decides to be bold again, copying his moments as you take your top off too, silently thanking the patron gods of teenage sex that you chose to wear a good bra. 

“you really…” he pants, struggling to catch his breath for a second. “you really want this? with me?”

your hair sticks to his jaw a you pull back slightly, just enough to be able to speak. 

“i do, i—” a rough swallow, “i want you.”

“okay then,” he leans forward again, then stops, trying to fight off the massive smile making its way onto his face. you didn’t think there would be something to find endearing in the middle of a one night stand. yet here you are, fighting a big goofy smile of your own.

“show me what you do,” george sits at the end of your bed, watching you with hooded eyes. his chest glistens with sweat—so does yours, you imagine—making his tattoos stand out in the warm light of your bedroom. “when you touch yourself, how do you do it.”

heat creeps up your cheeks at the prospect of being entirely naked and vulnerable in front of him. shyness floods your body making you avert your gaze and bite your lip nervously. not that you don’t trust him enough, but you don’t want to be ogled at so blatantly. 

“uh–um, i don’t–that’s…” it’s frustrating that you can’t even get a proper sentence out, stuttering and stammering like a fucking child but george clocks it instantly. 

“what is it?” this time his voice is gentle, curious. “is it too much? do you want to stop—”

“no! no, i just…” you keep your eyes averted building the courage to tell him exactly what you want. there’s no denying the fact that george makes you nervous; he always has but you have to remind yourself what he said—practically drilled into you—at the beginning. 

you are in control of everything. all of it. 

“i don’t want to be stared at, that–that’s too much.”

his features soften as realisation dawns on him. you wonder if you’ve put him off—sex should go both ways, after all. what’s the point if only one of you enjoys yourself? 

“right then…” silently, george moves from the foot of the bed to right next to you. 

the movement makes the bed dip and your breath quivers in anticipation the closer he comes. is he going to put a stop to it? break it to you gently that he’s not interested anymore. maybe you should have sucked it up and done what he told you to do, he’s the one with more experience after all…

“what are you…”

he settles himself right next to you, legs spread open just wide enough for—

“come here,” he instructs and pats the space in front of him. “how about you show me some other way. guide my hand, if that’s okay.”

for a moment, the idea stuns you. of course you knew what sex entailed but it’s just…it’s so much happening all at once. so much that requires being vulnerable. 

but you trust george. so you nod and do as he’s told you. 

you close your eyes once you settle yourself between his legs, fully immersing yourself in the feeling of him all around you—his cologne and cigarettes and the hint of sweat that’s somehow the most perfect combination ever. your hand is so much smaller on top of his, guiding him down starting just at your navel. his other hand is on your breasts, kneading and rolling your nipples between his fingers expertly. 

george doesn’t need you to guide him, judging by the gasps and moans that he draws out of you, you know he can make you feel good either way. but this is more for you than him, more so you would feel in control, and that adds to the thrill of it all the more. 

“does this feel good, sweetheart? is this okay?” his voice is all around you, skittering over your bones and sending a shiver down your spine. all you can do is nod and whimper. all you want to do is guide his hand further down. 

george lets you. 

the callouses on the pad of his fingers leave electric tingles in their wake as they brush your pelvis. a gasp echoes around the room, sharp and sudden. 

“that’s it,” he coaxes, “show me how you like it.”

his fingers graze the inside of your thighs and right above the waistband of your underwear, leaving goosebumps wherever they trail. 

“take these off me?” you breathe out into the stillness of your room. he takes no time in obliging—hooking a finger in them and lifting your hips off the bed to slide the delicate fabric down your thighs and past your knees until they’re discarded somewhere on the floor with the rest of your clothes. this is it, you, here, fully naked and at his mercy. 

“better?” he asks.

you nod, leaning your head back onto his collarbone. george nips at your skin, making you giggle and loosening some of the tension filling your body. his fingers hover over your clit, waiting for you to show him what you want. 

“fuck, george,” you breathe as soon as you feel his touch—it’s just the right pressure, the right pace as he circles your clit. your hand falls slack, back arching off his chest lightly as you bite your lips to stifle a loud moan. 

this is nothing like you’ve felt before, nothing like your own hands make you feel. this is like tiny fireworks right under your skin. 

“shit, that–that feels so good.”

george hums behind you, keeping up with the pace you set. his fingers dip between your folds, teasing and inching towards your opening—keeping you on edge. the sheets are bunched between your fingers, sweaty back pressed to his chest. george nibbles at your neck, right over your pulse point as his fingers play with your nipples; stimulating, sending jolts through your whole body. 

“so wet,” he breathes, peppering kisses down your shoulder. his finger circles your entrance, rough and thicker than your own, better than you’re used to. “so perfect for me.”

it’s enough for you to cry out—whine really. because you want him, need to feel him. but he’s taking his own sweet time. 

“what was that for, huh? needy little thing,” he taunts, “what do you want?”

between the words and his gruff voice, all thoughts fly out of your head for a second. he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet and your head is already starting to feel like mush. 

“you, please,” you all but beg, “want your fingers in me, please george…”

“think you’re ready to take it?”

nodding nervously, you spread your legs wider. your hand reaches back, caressing the nape of neck, scratching it in slow sensual circles. hearing him groan is enough to calm your nerves. sure, the effect you have on him is minuscule compared to what he’s doing to you, but it’s a small victory regardless. 

george falters for a brief moment, head thrown back as you feel the spike in his heartbeat. it makes your own skip a beat. but he recovers quickly, teasing your folds a bit more, finger circling your entrance.

“tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?” 

your stomach churns from a mix of anxiety and excitement—this is happening, this is really happening. george tuts when you nod on auto-pilot. 

“need you to say it, love. use your words.”

“y–yes, yes, i will.”

“good girl,” he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. 

before you even have the time to react to that, he slides a finger in, just the tip first. he goes slow, takes just enough time to gague your reaction.

it’s a strange sensation—a good sensation. his finger is noticeably thicker than yours, and longer, the pad of it scratches against your insides, making you gasp. george stops once he’s all in. 

“good?”

“fuck–yes!” 

all you need to do is give him that little nudge before he pulling the finger out again, and thrusting it in, this time faster, rougher. your insides feel like liquid, melting further and further with each graze of his callouses, with each thrust, and oh the rhythm…

you knew he would know how to set a pace but somehow he gets it right on the first try, going just slow enough to give your body time to adjust but fast enough for a familiar knot to build in your stomach. his thumb presses against your clit each time. 

“oh my god–oh god…” you can’t remember the last time you’ve chanted it so thoroughly, reciting it like a prayer and chasing your high. 

“need to add another finger, sweetheart. need to stretch you out, that okay?”

his voice makes you jolt. it’s all around you, deep and scratchy and almost a growl—teeming with lust. of course it is, you can feel his hard on pressed against the small of your back, can feel the way his heart is thumping in his chest. you can hear his audible swallows and groans each time you dig your nails into his thighs, every time you grind against him when the pleasure becomes too much. 

“mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, “yes… need more…”

it’s frankly a surprise that you still have the ability to speak because every single part of your body feels like it’s melting, blood zapping through your body, pushing your heart into overdrive.

this time when george thrusts in, it’s with two fingers. you cry out at the sudden stretch, the burn that accompanies it. george falters when you jolt forward.

“shit–shit did i hurt you?”

hurt?? 

“no, i—” it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, and to take the whiney edge off your voice. “that felt good… better than before. keep going, please, just—”

george doesn’t let you finish, pushing his fingers inside you again. the hilt of his palm crashes against your clit, rougher than before and your body trembles from all of it.

“such a perfect girl, taking me so well.” his words add to the heady intoxication. 

your head spins, completely blanking out on anything else. all that matters right now is george and his hands and his voice. his lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your sweet spot and peppering kissing and this time the buzzing that fills your ears is nothing like before. 

now as your legs shake and spasm, you know you’re close. 

“gonna cum, george, fuck…keep going…” it’s a whine, you don’t know where it just came from but now is not the time to care about that. 

his fingers keep moving in and out, plunging into you, drawing out wet and obscene sounds until you feel them hooking inside you, without warning. when george parts his fingers inside you, stretching you more, it’s enough to push you over the edge. 

with a cry, you slump against him, gushing onto his hand, incapable of doing anything else as waves of pleasure crash onto you, blinding you almost. this has never happened before… never. not with your own hand, or the tiny white bullet in your drawer. something about his body makes your blood sing.

facing george after that feels like a daunting task. he did just witness you completely falling apart on his hand and who knows what kinds of sounds you made in the heat of the moment…

a flush creeps up your face when george turns you around.

“fuck…” he breathes, panting, his heavy breaths mixing with yours. “that was so hot, fuck!”

for a second you don’t know what to say so you sit there, trying not to nervously bite on your lip, averting his eyes. because that was just the foreplay… the main part is yet to come. 

“did you enjoy that?” he asks tentatively. another second ticks by before you feel a hand under your chin, tilting it up. 

“sweetheart…” george begins. his eyes are soft—blown out and hooded with lust, sure, but somewhere in there, there’s a tenderness you haven’t seen before. “do you want to stop? it’s alright, if that’s all you want to do tonight. i promise…”

you contemplate it. you want him, you want his closeness and you want his body and if sex feels anything like what you just felt then you absolutely can’t wait for it.

“i want to keep going,” you reply. 

this time, george leans forward, hand still on your chin, holding it in place as he goes in for a kiss. something soft and sweet. a stolen moment of leisure amidst all the burning passion and hormone filled lust. 

“are you in your head?” he asks after a minute. 

you know the answer is yes. it shouldn’t be this difficult, he has done nothing to make you feel uncomfortable. on the contrary, you have never felt so safe with another boy. 

“i think so…yeah. i just, i don’t know how to stop overthinking it.”

he contemplates it for a long time, at least it feels like a long time. you’re aware of the wetness between your legs, of the little fire in your stomach that still hasn’t gone out. you’re aware of how hard he is and yet how he hasn’t even talked about himself yet. 

“can i touch you?” 

it’s an unsure question; your voice sounds small to your ears but there’s an undertone of curiosity. his eyes widen. 

george nods, moving to take off his brief. when he’s done, george settles on his knees, now fully naked. 

your breath catches in your throat. it’s not like you haven’t seen a dick before. you’ve watched porn. the first guy who made out with you and got to third base had you feel him over his jeans. and although it was more unsettling than it was fascinating, it was a new experience. 

but watching george is a mesmerising thing. he’s not shy about his body, if anything, his bold confidence makes him hotter than any other boy you’ve ever known. 

“please.” he breathes in deeply, trying to stay still as your hand inches between his thighs. 

he’s big, at least to you he is, thick and hard. george groans loudly when you trace his length with a finger, running it along his red tip that already leaks with precum. the sound is throaty, almost a growl. so this is what a man looks like when he’s fighting to stay in control. 

his eyes are closed, a string of curses falling from his lips as you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, moving it tentatively—slow strokes from the base to his tip and back again. his body shudders, the hollow of his throat moves. 

“i’m gonna cum if you keep doing that, love.” his voice is a throaty whisper, his nails dig into the flesh of his thighs even as he so clearly struggles not to thrust his hips into your hand. 

it’s the small, impulsive movement that fills you up with some confidence. a tiny thrill of pride shoots through you, thoroughly pleased at the way his body responds to your touch. some of the tension in your body dissipates. 

“well, isn’t that the goal here? to make you cum?” 

george clicks his tongue, “not before you. tonight is about you. my pleasure is just a byproduct.”

george moves before you have the time to respond, grabbing his jeans from the foot of the bed to look for his wallet. and there, inside, as expected is a small, silver square. 

“you ready for it?” 

“yes,” you say and this time, there’s not a hint of doubt in it. “yes i am.”

george tears the foil with his teeth, spitting it out to one side and taking the condom out. you watch unabashedly as he rolls onto his dick. his fingers work deftly—practiced, sure movements; small things that make you aware once again of how inexperienced you are. 

but that’s about to change. 

his mouth is back on yours, hand back between your legs, drawing rough eight figures on your clit. you barely even registers as george lays you down on your back. all you can focus on are his fingers dipping in and out of you once again, quick and expert thrusts that have you on the edge again in no time. 

“lift your hips for me, love. just like that.” his voice is soft, his eyes are softer. there’s a tenderness to his face that you’ve never seen before; a stillness that’s gentle and comforting. 

poised on top of you, you can feel his tip brushing against your entrance. nerves flood your body as you do what he’s asked.

“george…” it surprises you how shaky your voice sounds. for all your bravado before, your mouth feels dry. “please just…go slow, please.”

he pauses for a moment and you marvel at his self-control once again. he could so easily just chase his orgasm somewhere else, fuck someone else at the party. yet here he is, pausing every two minutes to make sure you’re alright and enjoying yourself. 

he cups your face, gently running a thumb along your lower lip. 

“i will. as slow as you want.”

his hand is back between your legs, teasing and brushing against your clit, melting your moans into small bursts of ecstasy. his fingers keep moving, building up pleasure again, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until a second orgasm hits you. 

as you writhe under george, trying to ride out your high by grinding against his hand, he kisses you again, tongue licking the inside of your mouth, teeth clashing against teeth. 

“tell me if you want me to stop,” he pants. his voice is strained. you imagine he’s being pushed to his limits. 

“yes, just–just do it, i am ready.”

lining himself against your entrance, george pushes in. the first few seconds are completely normal. he moves slowly, sticking to your limits and pressing small kisses on your face. the stretch you feel is fine, exactly how it was when you were riding his fingers. a moans slips out, full of lust. and that’s when the burn starts. 

tears well up on your bottom lashline the more he pushes in. you feel too full, more than you ever have, too stretched out. 

“are you in?” your voice quivers and george pauses. 

“not yet, sweetheart. but almost.”

another nod from you and he moves again, the burn intensifies, turning your moans of pleasure into whimpers of pain until george bottoms out and stills in place. 

“you okay? does it hurt?” his voice is hushed, words coming out rapidly as he tries to make sure everything is alright. despite everything, the concern in his voice melts your heart. 

“hurts a little. can you just–just stay still for a bit?”

he nods again. george lowers his forehead, resting it onto yours. the moments stands suspended in time. by the time, the burn subsides, you’re kissing again—slow and sweet, fingers intertwined.

“okay,” you nod into the crook of his neck, “okay you can move.”

the stinging is back when he starts moving back and forth. he’s going as slow as possible, you know it, yet it takes you body a bit longer to adjust, for sparks of pleasure to come through between the pain. 

when you open your eyes, you find him already looking at you, a soft pink flush visible on his cheeks. to your surprise george averts his eyes quickly. 

“i–uh,” he stammers a little, “i’m–um, i’m not gonna last long.” the last part is whispered, like a shameful confession. “you’re really tight and–fuck! fuck, baby it feels so good…”

“george,” you interrupt before he has the chance to keep going. he thrusts in again just then, a bit harder than before. this time, the pleasure is much stronger than the pain. all thoughts fly out the window momentarily, but you cradle his face in your hands. brush your fingers on his cheek. 

“you’re already making me feel so good. shit, george, don’t apologise. just–you can go a bit harder if you want.” another gasp gets struck in your throat, another little broken moan. 

george moves faster, hips bucking, slamming into yours lightly. the friction, the stretch, all of it is better than you could have ever imagined. you couldn’t care less how long he lasts. it’s your body that makes him go crazy, you that’s currently making him losing it. that thought alone is enough to send bolts of lightning all throughout your body. 

feeling a little bold, you do the thing you’ve only watched girls in porn do. you wrap your legs around his waist and it’s like something clicks in place. suddenly he’s sliding in much deeper than he was before, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your mind go blank and your jaw go slack. 

“fuck fuck fuck,” george curses. his pace increases. whatever control he had on himself has finally snapped, whatever leash he had kept on himself, finally gone. 

maybe your eyes roll back in pleasure, maybe your legs tighten around his waist, the only thing you remember is clenching around him, telling him over and over again how good it feels. 

“so good for me, baby, so perfect,” he coos, hand snaking down between your joined bodies. he finds your clit again, swollen and wet and so sensative, it’s like a thunderstorm just under the surface of your skin.

“gonna cum, sweetheart,” george grunts out. “cum with me, can you do that? hmm?”

you nod, or you think you do. all you remember is grinding on his pelvis and mewling when he flicks your clit. it’s the sound that gets to him, that pushes him over the edge. when his orgasm hits, you feel him twitch inside you. somewhere in the haze, a third orgasm washes over you. 

you watch him mesmerised, desperately trying to keep your eyes open, to memorise the look of pure bliss on his face as he fucks into you, riding out his orgasm, letting you ride out yours. his thrusts slow down, eventually coming to a stop. 

george doesn’t pull out instantly, instead, he collapses on top of you, breathing hard, panting into your neck. your sweaty bodies stick to each other, still locked in together. 

it takes him a minute to gather himself. a minute until he can say, “gonna pull out okay? it might hurt.”

it does a little but the tingles in your body take over and all you feel is a slight sting. 

“that was—” you start and stop again, completely at a loss for words. 

“yeah?” he laughs a little, lying next to you and pulling you into his chest. 

he’s warm and a bit sticky but this is nice, you think, the way his body envelopes yours entirely. 

“was i good?”

he hums. “you were perfect.”

the butterflies in your stomach intensify. perfect. it’s nice to hear that word. especially nice to hear it from him.

"you might be a bit sore tomorrow," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "but don't worry, sweetheart. i'll stay and take care of you."

lemme know what you think <33

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add yourself to the taglist

[insidemymind19]

I’ve been struggling to think of the words to describe how I’m feeling right now but, the 1975 you truly not only changed my life but saved me and for that I will be forever thankful, the community of strong, intelligent people that I have met through this app and band who mean more to me than I can ever say I just love you all so much ❤️❤️

I am so unbelievably sorry if I forget someone but anyone that has ever interacted with me I love you ❤️

@automaticllamacycle @all-things-fic @abiiorren @abiiors @controlmyfeet @emogirl69420401 @everythingdenied @finkinthisfrew @goldrushgoingunder @got-zofran @heavenfalls @hypersonic04 @heyidkyay @iregretbeingherewheniwas10 @justanamesstuff @justlikemebutsixfootthree @kate-inhaler-1975 @nowshesdoingitallthetime @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @ohcaroline @partoftheairforce @poisonmedaddy13 @procrastinatinglikeapro @ros3chu @robbersinaforeignlanguage @straightouttamagazineface @sofaritsalrightsposts @tillthelandslide @think0fmehigh @thefrontofmymind @toomuchracket @the1975attheirverybest @ughgoaway @wrestletotheground @x-a-black-winged-dove-x @you-muppet @zzzhealy @3terna15unshin3

How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard❤️

I love you all so much ❤️

[ma3dity]

soulmates ♡

[bedforddanes75]

saw someone say this was a year ago what do you mean it was a year ago it was WHAT

[meandthemist]

matty, george, and matty being dramatic and meta on stage (ATVB tour)

[squanxh]

“Hi friends. Hello friends. My friends, my parasocial besties in the house.”

— Matty Healy

[martyrbat]

one of these days im going to get a tattoo of something that involves the hit short story perpetual mourning from forever famous to me batman black and white (1996) #1 and then im going to immediately fall over dead because i accomplished everything i needed to do in life

[heyidkyay]

Oh my god now you’ve got the image of G and Birdie with a little baby girl into my head… you can’t not write it now! I’d love to see maybe them introducing their baby girl to the rest of the band… or anything else you can come up with 🤣

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name | The aftermath

A little snippet:)

--

My due date was March 23rd. Which meant that George would be getting quite the birthday present (if the baby had perfect timing) and that they’d most definitely be an Aries, which were two things I couldn’t quite get behind, but something G was ecstatic over. 

Matty had been hoping the little one would arrive a little late, two weeks late to be precise, just so that he could get one over on George and have the baby share something in common with him instead. He really had been an absolute sweetheart throughout the entire pregnancy, but my God was he pushing it trying to get me to extend the absolute hell I’d endured. 

I’d gone through almost every symptom pregnancy had to offer, from day one I’d felt absolutely vile and then when my second trimester had rolled round I’d had to deal with Braxton Hicks, an undeniable appetite (I’d felt like an actual monster), and dizziness that rivalled anything I’d ever felt before. Including the time when I’d been hit by a fucking car. 

Still, all of Matty’s efforts appeared in vain now seeing as though I went into labour on February 13th, five whole weeks before I was even due. 

To say I’d shit myself would have been an absolute understatement. I was fucking terrified to give birth, let alone that early, and to make matters worse, George had been set to play a show, which meant that he’d had no idea my water had broken until I was high as a kite on fucking gas and air, and he was finally off stage. But thankfully, I’d also been at work and Delia had been the one to walk me through the whole process, we’d headed straight to hospital, due to the fact that I should not have been going into labour this prematurely, but also because she was afraid I was going to give myself a sodding aneurysm simply down to the amount I was panicking. 

But who could blame me?

Anywho, the whole thing seemed a bit small in comparison to when I finally did give birth. We’d been blessed with a tiny, little baby girl- 7 lbs 4 ounces and with a head of thick unruly hair. But before George and I could even get a look in the doctor had told me to start pushing- again.

“They’re coming along quite quickly now, just a few more deep breaths.” 

“You what?” I ask the man in scrubs settled between my legs. Baffled wasn’t even a word I’d begin to use to describe the emotions that hit me right then, having thought I’d heard him wrong until I saw the alarming look on George’s face.

“We need you to push, you can already see baby’s head.” A midwife informs me, ushering George to once again take my hand, to comfort me. He does but he’s caught in a daze. 

“But, but I just did that bit.” I say, mostly stunned, delirious almost for a moment. 

“I know, and you did wonderfully. But baby two isn’t too far behind.” She replies, smiling down at me sincerely even as her attention diverts between a handful of other people stood in the delivery room. 

Her words seem to startle G back into reality, “Baby two? As in twins?”

“Twins! What the hell do you mean, twins?” I feel dizzy once more, head darting between the nurse beside me, G, and the doctor who’s seen a little too much of my insides for my liking. I think I start mumbling then, rambling off a ton of questions, a mile a minute, to anyone and everyone who will listen. Twins. “Are you sure? Twins?”

The nurse laughs, not unkindly, then nods, “Definitely sure, even saw it for myself.”

I’m still not really pushing, too confused, too stunned to really do much, in truth. “Are you having me on? Is this a prank?”

She appears to realise G and I aren’t messing about here and I watch on, frozen, as her whole demeanour shifts before my eyes, “Yes, sweetheart, twins. You really didn’t know?”

I shake my head and am just beyond grateful that George is here with me, holding my hand so tightly that I can truly feel it start to numb- because, what?

Things seem to take a turn then, the entire atmosphere in the room drops when beeping starts up and lights start flashing worryingly. The doctor at the other end of my bed is coaching me through it again, his voice high and harried almost, and I know then that something’s wrong and that it’s all my fault.

“What’s going on?” I ask, eyes immediately snapping over towards the nurse standing beside me but she’s gone, fiddling with the oxygen machine behind my head and then the heart monitor. “G, what- what’s happening? Are they okay? The baby. Are they?”

“You need to push. The baby is losing oxygen, we need to get them out as quickly as possible.”

My heart plummets. I start to panic. It’s my fault. My fault. I’m doing it wrong. I’m to blame. It’s all my fault. I’m messing up and they’re not even really here yet. I’m doing it all wrong.

“We need you to push harder.”

“Breathe.”

“Come on, mum. We need you to really push now.”

“That’s it.”

“Birdie, it’s alright. You’re okay, love. The baby is okay. You just need to push a bit more. Just a little longer, okay?”

I feel my head move- nod?- but the room is spinning, I reckon I’m screaming too. Sobbing, even. My mind so focused on the baby I hadn’t even known I’d been housing, let alone created. My baby. 

Two babies! Two.

I let out a loud groan. Barely even aware of the careful fingers on my temple. 

“Good girl, B.” George whispers to me, lips pressed against my cheek as he brushes hair from out of my face. “You’re doing so well. So good.”

I cry harder, I push harder.

Time seems to have stilled in its entirety, the minutes won’t move, the seconds don’t count. I am lost in this moment, my mind screaming at me to just try harder. 

“And it’s a boy!” I finally hear and then I’m weeping again, crying and clinging to George before he too is dragged away from me by nurses to cut the umbilical cords. I stare up at the ceiling, unable to do much else, chest heaving, thick tears streaming down my cheeks, and all I hear is an overwhelming buzz. The kind I’d grown so used to, starting in my left ear before it soon echos in my right. Jumping, back and forth.

“A boy, Birdie. A boy and a girl.”

I blink and George is there again, hovering over me. He takes my face in his careful hands and holds me so close that we are nose to nose. I realise then he’s crying too.

“Twins.” I whisper breathlessly, every inch of me burns, but I itch to get up, to move and see them.

“Twins.” George repeats with just as much disbelief. “Twins, B. Ours.”

A baby boy, he’d told me. A tiny thing, so full of surprises. He was born smaller than his sister, an even 6 lbs and only ten minutes behind, but his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen, huge and so very innocent, placed between a scattering constellation of tawny freckles that dot his cheeks and kiss his lids. 

A girl and a boy. All ours. 

I’d been taken with them both the moment I’d set my sights on them, ‘the twins' people had dubbed them. ‘Let’s go see the twins!’ ‘The twins are finally crawling!’ ‘Somebody grab a camera, the twins are being cute again!’

Never did I ever believe I’d have a family of my own, let alone a husband or these two beautiful beings that always seemed to stare back up at me with an incredible amount of innocence. It stirs something deep within me each time they do, both the thought and the very sight of them, and when their tiny little hands wrap their way around my fingers I know that I’ll never feel this type of love again. I don’t think I could even begin to describe it.

They are beautiful and they are ours, and I know from the very bottom of my heart that I will protect them until the day that I die. Because, how could I not?

How could anyone not?

[allylikethecat]

⋆˚࿔ october prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The best part of going out with friends that have kids, is that when I forget / run out of time to finish the day's prompt before I leave, I know I'll be back at a reasonable time and able to get it done. On that note, I am sleepy and have to be up early tomorrow to go see Pop before work so I didn't really proof this one so bare with me. Even with the prompts being a little all over the place, I am super proud of myself for making it this long without missing a day!

²³⁾ glitter dusted across bare skin

George was transfixed, watching as Matty moved, swaying in time to the music. He was drunk, they both were, off of the brightly colored, fruity cocktails, lingerie clad bottle girls were carrying on trays. They went down easily, and George didn’t care in the moment, even though he knew that they were going to come back up a lot less easily the next morning. The hangovers hurt more and more now that they were on the wrong side of thirty. 

He hadn’t wanted to go to the party, but he hadn’t had a good enough excuse not to go, especially after Matty had come downstairs dressed and ready, his curls artfully mused and his eyes accented with dark kohl. George had licked his lips, his jeans feeling tight. Matty hadn’t dabbled in makeup in ages. He was wearing a sheer black button down, a black blouse, really, George was almost positive it had come from the women’s section. It was unbuttoned nearly down to his navel showing off the bright, bold lines of his tattoos and the sharp jut of his collarbone, glitter dusted across bare skin sparkling in the flashing lights. 

One of the bottle girls bumped into George, and started quickly apologizing, shouting to be heard over the pulsing bass. George was a DJ at heart, and he felt untethered and off balance being in the crowd while someone else was behind the table. His fingers itched, he didn’t know who was DJing but he knew that he could do better. He wanted to do better. He liked being above the crowd, controlling their bodies with the beat. It was the same reason he liked being a drummer, he was the one in control, he was the one counting everyone in.

“Come dance with me!” Matty slurred, suddenly pushing his way into George’s space, pulling him from his melancholy, standing on his tiptoes to throw his arms around George’s shoulders. He leaned on him with all of his weight trusting without having to ask that George would hold him up. 

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” George teased, letting his hands fall to Matty’s hips, rucking up his blouse, untucking it so that he could dig his fingers into the bare meat of Matty’s flank, savoring the warmth, the softness that he found there. He loved Matty so fucking much. 

Matty giggled, burying his face into the crook of George’s neck. He was most likely getting the glitter all over George’s own patterned button down but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He liked touching Matty, he liked being close and he didn’t care that they were making a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor. They were two halves of the same whole, and George ached when they were apart. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” George asked, leaning down to whisper into Matty’s ear, his breath hot against his ear. 

Matty pulled away, looking up at George with wide eyes, his pupils dilated from both the alcohol and arousal. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 |

[healyh8ter]

Still, at their very best.

[man-im-so-high]

just found out matty healy and dean norris share a brithday

happy birthday my guys

[abiiors]

request time 👀

george teaching reader how to smoke a joint for the first time, at the same time she’s matty’s little sister so is a secret relationship. I love a bit of drama

first time

some amazing blogs on here, @ughgoaway and @shinycollarboneapologist have already done the brother's best friend trope so i really urge you to go check out their fics as well. in the meantime... have fun 🤭💕

warning: weed obv and that's it i guess.

oh, btw... this is who you are thinking about. this is who this fic is about <33 (both gifs by @pleasedontbenaked i genuinely fucking hope the credit thing works 😭)

“andrew? really?” george stands at the bottom of the stairs looking down at her, one perfect eyebrow raised high. “you went to that twat for weed?”

oh. 

her eyes widen at the mention of the w word. george is a fucking idiot—she knew that obviously, all her brother’s friends are idiots—but she didn’t know he would be stupid enough to just blurt it out in the house with her parents within earshot. 

involuntarily she moves, slapping her hand on his mouth and harshly tugging on his wrist. “shut up! not here!”

george does nothing but raise the other eyebrow while slowly lowering his gaze to her hand. it’s on his mouth. touching his lips. mortifyingly enough, she comes to that realisation a second after he does and yanks her hand away as if he’s burned it. 

george smirks. because what else do insufferable 20 year old boys do? but he lets her tug him to her bedroom and slam the door shut. 

“yes. andrew.” she glares at him once she’s sure there’s no one eavesdropping. “are you gonna tell matty?”

because he would tell her brother as if she were a child. she’s 18, has been an adult for 2 months now but of course, to george (and ross and adam) she will always be their best friend’s little sister. the thought stings a bit when she looks up at george who’s cavalierly leaning against her door. 

his arms are crossed in front of his chest, biceps and colourful tattoos on full display because of the tank top he’s wearing. she would never admit to this out loud, but she has certainly looked at the tattoos (and the arms) on more than one more occasion. 

still the fact remains. george is insufferable—just like his little all-knowing smirk. 

“now why would i snitch?” he drawls out and then pushes himself off the door. something has piqued his interest. “what do you want it for?”

she can’t help the snark and sass that rises up within her at that. “for a science experiment. what do you think i want it for?”

george rolls his eyes. “okay, smartarse. maybe i should go tell—”

she tugs on his arm a second time to stop him, effectively stopping him mid-sentence. like an idiot, she’s taken the bait. 

george laughs when she groans into her hands. it’s a deep and rich sound; one that skitters down her spine… no! stop. focus. 

“if you simply must know…” she glares, “my friends and i are trying it for the first time. at a sleepover. they asked if i could get some since, you know, matty’s practically a stoner at this point. but he’s also a little shit.” then she raises her chin primly, “i would never buy from him.”

“and so you went to andrew…” 

“and so i went to andrew.”

george snickers. “you know he keeps his little baggies in his pants, right? like literally in his pants?”

she, in fact, did not know that. and judging by some more snickering, she can tell her face has turned a nasty shade of green. brief as it may have been, she absolutely did touch the little baggie andrew had discretely shoved into her hands. and now she needs to immediately dunk herself into a vat of sanitizer. 

george seems to have taken pity on her, though, because his features soften and the smirk turns into a small smile. 

“so you’re all planning to get high together for the first time?”

is this an attempt at small talk? why would he even try? still, if he’s trying to be civil, she can respond in kind. 

“...yes. for the first time.”

“do you even know what to expect?”

that makes her roll her eyes. it might be her first time, sure, but she’s not fully oblivious. “i have seen all of you blitzed out of your mind, george. i think i know what to expect.”

“so you don’t actually know what you’re doing.”

she's about to protest but he's already on the move. she watches with her mouth agape as george saunters towards her bed, examining all her little trinkets on the way. he runs his hands on the books on her bedside table, on the cds she neatly keeps on her shelves. there are posters on her walls—bowie, queen, the rolling stones, among others. then there are photos with her friends and her parents, another one where matty is 15 and she’s 12, in pigtails and grinning at the camera while matty does his edgy, angsty teenager grimace. 

there’s also a polaroid she took of the band rehearsing. matty looks like he’s in the middle of tuning his guitar. adam is looking off-camera and ross is texting on his phone. but george…george is sitting against the wall. arms behind his head and drumsticks still in his hands. his jaw is slightly tilted up, jawline sharp enough to cut. he looks like he’s trying to figure something out while the rest of them goof around. 

she remembers that day so clearly; remembers how excited matty was to show her a song they’d been working on. she remembers george smiling at her when she complimented the song. 

george throws himself onto her bed, yanking her out of her thoughts. 

“sit,” he motions at a spot next to him as if this weren’t her room and her bed. 

“what…”

“i said, sit,” he repeats, “i’m not going to let you walk into the unknown with your idiot friends.”

several questions rise up, along with indignation at him for calling her friends idiots. she’s about to ask them all in one breath but he shuts her up with one look and takes his wallet out. 

oh no… oh no no no. 

“absolutely fucking not!” it almost comes out as a shout but she manages to turn it into a whisper at the last minute. “are you insane, george? my brother is literally in his bedroom!”

“relax, darling,” he drawls out as if none of this is concerning to him. and continues taking out a bit of rolling paper and a baggie of weed from his wallet. “your brother thinks i’ve gone home.” 

this is somehow even more concerning information. what happens when matty hears them and barges into her room to check—it’s not like he knows the concept of knocking anyway. 

also he’s just called her darling…

“but—”

“you’re overthinking,” he interrupts. “focus now. i’m teaching you how to roll a joint.”

times like these, she wishes she could simply whack him on the head, preferably with one of her hardcovers. but the rolling paper in front of her is intriguing, to say the least. and as much as she wants to be annoyed, she knows she can at least trust him to guide her through her first time. 

“if you get me in trouble, george, i swear…”

“i won’t,” he places a hand on his chest and looks at her intently, “i promise.”

gingerly, tentatively, she sits in front of him; legs crossed and eyes firmly on the things in front of her. 

“now this is what you want to do…” he picks up the paper and curves it slightly between his fingers. his forehead is creased in concentration, lips parted slightly while he continues to talk about the joint. her focus, however, has already wandered. 

his fingers are deftly working away—adding in a good amount of weed and putting the tip in. her eyes wander over his hands—knuckles in the process of healing still like they always are. she used to think he got into a lot of fights until she found out that they were a result of the drumming. and then she couldn’t stop thinking about him, sweaty and tank top clinging to him…maybe even shirtless…as he worked on the latest song. 

god she was a fucking cliche for thinking about her brother’s best friend like this. utterly basic and unoriginal. 

george snaps his fingers in front of her face. 

“where d’you wander off to?”

“um–ah…what? sorry,” she mumbles quickly and averts her gaze to where he’s half-sprawled on her bed. long, graceful limbs and all. 

“focus, darling,” he chastises in a stern voice and the neurons in her brain instantly misfire. “now look.”

he picks up the paper with the weed in it and expertly rolls it while leaving some space at the end, twists the top and then as if it’s nothing, he licks the end—slow and deliberate and keeping his eyes on her—before finally sticking it shut. 

if the neurons had misfired before, they have completely shut down now. she doesn’t even register it when she swallows roughly, eyes wide and trained on his mouth which slowly curls into a smirk once again. 

“like what you see?” he asks and then cheekily adds, “the joint, i mean. it’s pretty perfect, isn’t it?”

“mm-hmm”

“should we smoke it?” 

“uhh…” her voice is barely even a whisper, thoughts hardly coherent. he wants to smoke it with her? “now?”

“no time like the present.” then he sits up properly. “wait, have you at least smoked a fag before?”

she nods mutely and clears her throat, “once.”

“ooohhh. thought you were a good girl, healy…”

she blushes deeply then; absolutely unable to meet his eyes after that. heat spreads over her face and fuck it...but there’s no coming back from this now. god, he’s going to know about her embarrassing teenage crush and he’s going to tell matty about it and matty will not let her live it down. 

she almost wants to cry out but he’s not done torturing her. because a second later he takes his lighter out and holds it under the joint. 

“want to shotgun first?”

“um…uh…”

speak, you fucking idiot, her brain screams at her but unfortunately, it does not seem connected to her mouth at the moment. he’s going to know that she’s short-circuiting. he’s going to know how flustered he makes her. 

fuck fuck fuck 

“unless you don’t want—”

“yes,” she interrupts quickly. because the thought of not doing it is so much worse than shotgunning george. 

“come closer, then. and open your mouth.”

he curves his palm around the flame to stop it from going out; joint resting lazily between his lips before he hollows his cheeks and takes a drag of it. the smoke rests in his mouth for a second or two before he leans forward; almost as if he’s about to kiss her. 

the blood in her veins flows at the speed of light, her heart is thumping so fast that it’s a surprise he hasn’t heard it yet. he’s so close… he’s never been this close before. she’s never seen the exact colour of his eyes this clearly before or felt his hair tickle her face. 

then he parts his lips and blows out the smoke in her mouth. a long exhale and a sharp intake of breath from her. his gaze dips to her lips before returning to her eyes. she imagines she’s done the same because a moment later his eyes are back on her mouth. 

the smoke spreads through her body, warm and earthy, and slowly makes its way to her head. there’s a brief flash of panic and hesitation but she pushes it away. 

then she leans closer.  

----

(yes i'm ending it there for evil reasons)

[partoftheairforce]

happy 1st ❤️