#george daniel fanfiction

[toomuchracket]

dancing like she way out (george daniel x reader smut)

shag the dj shag the dj shag the dj, or whatever the smiths said. basically - a night out takes a turn for the better when you hook up with the hot dj. won't lie, there's use of the d word in here. and choking, because we've all seen that man's hands. enjoy <3

all your friends are wasted, and you hate this club.

no, really - three of them are currently spewing their guts up in the toilets after going too hard on the tequila rose, while the rest flail wildly on the dancefloor in between queuing at the bar to buy yet another round of overpriced jagerbombs. meanwhile, you're doing your best to dodge the extremely persistent man you first swerved about an hour ago, some palm angels-clad twat with shit hair and an inability to take no for an answer, and also doing your best not to spill your vodka cranberry all over yourself in the process.

in short, you're having a shitter of a night.

at least the dj's fit, though. really fit. and, to be fair, he’s spinning some decent stuff. the one saving grace of the night, you'd say.

you watch him from the edge of the dancefloor, empty cup in hand. he's quite focused, more so than some of the wankers you've been dragged to see in this club in the past, only looking up to signal to the bar staff that he needs a refill and to check the vibe of the room. he has pretty eyes, you notice, sharp and dark and clear; eyes that could definitely get you to commit a multitude of sins, quite frankly.

and now? they're looking right at you.

looking isn't a strong enough word, actually. they drag slowly down your body - locking with your own, then travel to your pouty, brown-lined lips, and shamelessly over the curves of your body onto your legs - leaving a trail of thrill-induced goosebumps across your skin in their wake. suddenly, they flick back up to your face, and one closes in a wink. you smirk, and the dj does too.

interesting.

one of your more sober friends nudges you, handing you another vodka. you accept it without breaking eye contact with the dj, wrapping your lips around the straw and smiling with it between your teeth. he raises his eyebrows, still smirking, and you wink; your friend notices, and leans round so you can see her. “are you eye-fucking the dj?”

“maybe,” you reluctantly tear your eyes from him to look at her. “in my defence, he started eye-fucking me first.”

she laughs, tugging you onto the floor and motioning for you to dance. “i think we should keep him looking at you, then.”

“alright,” you down your drink and set down the cup. “let's dance.”

and so, you do, pulling out all the stops. your hair flows behind you as you swing your hips, body twisting and turning and stretching as you lose yourself under the lights and amidst the beat, and you laugh excitedly with your friend as she twirls you. the dancefloor is so empty that you can spin to your heart's content, but that doesn't bother you at all - it means there's less for the object of your efforts to be distracted by, more chance that his attention is on you.

it seems to be completely on you, actually; every time you catch a glimpse of him, his eyes are on you again, and your friend attests to that in your ear as she pulls you in for a hug. “he hasn't stopped looking at you, for even a second. that man wants you, babe.”

you angle your body towards the deck so you can see him. the club lighting is simultaneously sheering out his black shirt and throwing both his stubbled face and tattooed arms into focus - fuck, his arms. 

and he's still looking at you.

“i think you might be right,” you turn back to your friend so she can hear you, deliberately leaning forward and shaking your ass slightly in his direction. “and i want him too.”

she shoves you towards the deck. “go and get him, then.”

with a giggle, you set off, swinging your hips as you all but skip towards the extremely sexy man behind the music. unfortunately for you, some arsey man in too-tight chinos gets to the deck first; folding your arms, you stand behind him, miffed, and wait your turn to speak.

luckily, you only have to do that for a couple of seconds. the guy isn't particularly drunk, but he's annoying. “hey, bro,” he says to the dj, whose handsome face is set in an expression full of what can only be described as ennui. you assume he sees this kind of thing all the time. “can you play some, like, chainsmokers? that would be so sound of you.”

chainsmokers? christ.

clearly, your distaste is showing, because the dj's face slips into a tiny smirk as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye; it disappears, though, before he replies. “‘fraid not, mate…”

his fucking voice. dear god. who is this man, and where has he been all your life?

“...i don't take requests.”

you believe it. everything about the dj screams control, and with every passing second your want to submit to that control is growing. it's not want you have for him any more, but sheer fucking need.

the other guy shrugs and wanders off, and the attention is all on you again. leaning over the mixing board towards you, the dj smirks again. “you, however, can ask me for anything you like.”

fuck. keep it together, bitch.

“anything?” you smile, saccharine, carefully leaning on the side of the deck in such a way that it pushes your boobs up. “even cascada?”

he rolls his eyes. “and here i thought you had taste.”

“whatever made you think that?”

“you picked out that dress to wear tonight, yeah?”

christ. “yeah. you like it?”

he nods, taking a sip of his drink. “it's gorgeous on you. but i think most things would be.”

you blush, revelling in the compliment before shooting your shot. “present company included?”

“jesus,” he shakes his head, and for the briefest of moments you worry that you've lost him. but then he looks up, hunger in those fucking eyes of his, and smirks again. “is that what you want, angel? to go somewhere together and find out?”

the ease with which the pet name falls from his lips is staggering, so much so that you can merely nod. that's not good enough for him, though - “need you to talk to me, beautiful.”

“sorry, sorry,” you compose yourself (with great difficulty). “yes, that's what i want.”

“s'reciprocated,” he smiles, genuinely. “i’m george, by the way.”

you smile in response, and introduce yourself. george says your name, slowly, and you fear that your legs might give way. “pretty,” he replies. “i like how you feel on my tongue.”

the words practically shoot straight into the scrap of fabric you call panties, and your jaw drops. george giggles. “you're cute when you're flustered, angel.”

“shame. i don't tend to make a habit of that.”

“hmmm,”  he clicks his tongue. “i'll need to work on that, then.”

you smile, radiant. “promise?”

“promise,” george smiles. he checks his watch, and you try not to drool at the way his arms flex. or his hands - god, look at his hands! “s'almost closing time. meet me back here in half an hour?”

“looking forward to it,” you blow him a kiss, preening at the way he blushes. “see you in a bit, gorgeous.”

he winks again. you turn and walk back to your friends, who have gathered along the edge of the dancefloor to watch your exchange with the dj. they huddle around you like a rugby scrum when you near them, a cacophony of slurred voices asking what and where and who and when and how; you gesture for them to follow you to the smoking area, where - to much excitement - you relay the details to them in the breaks between nicotine hits, and hug them all goodnight before you have to go back inside, them to the cloakroom and you to the dj.

your wingwoman friend is the last one you bid farewell to - she links arms with you to walk back into the sweaty club, doing the pre-prepared spiel you give each other when you pull. “have fun, but don't be stupid. if it's his place you end up at, then send me your location. i'll phone you in the morning, alright?”

“yeah,” you kiss her cheek. “thanks for all your help.”

“no problem. stay safe, have the best time,” she grins. “and i want details at the pub quiz on tuesday.”

“noted,” you hug her again as you reach the place to part ways. “love you. goodnight.”

“get it, bitch!” she shouts after you; you turn to salute her and giggle, and then she's gone. with a deep breath and a shake of your hair, you dart past the people starting to head towards the cloakroom, butterflies starting to emerge again as you get closer to george.

he smiles when he sees you, eyes raking over your body once again. “you know,” he says, as you reach the deck. “you really are beautiful.”

“i'm already leaving with you, george, you can drop the flattery,” you roll your eyes, then beam at him. “thank you, though.”

“just stating facts,” george turns some sort of dial, and the music fades to silence. as the club staff usher everyone from the room, he sighs happily. “been waiting to do that since you came up to me earlier.”

“really?”

“yeah,” he unplugs his laptop from the deck, sliding it into a backpack. “you're very distracting, you know, looking so good and dancing like that.”

“well, i try,” you hold out a hand. “ready to go?”

george nods, stepping down beside you - you gawk at the the height of him, towering over you. “fuck me, you're tall.”

he laughs, taking your hand in his. again, the size difference is insane, and you find yourself momentarily nervous to get into bed with him; that soon passes in favour of excitement, though. “don't worry, i'll even out the height thing by getting on my knees soon enough.”

the speed with which you tug him toward the exit at that is almost comical. george only giggles and lets you drag him to the door - he stops when you’re out in the cold air, though. “hold on, angel, i need a cig.”

you nod, standing on the step beside the door while he moves down a few to light his cigarette in peace. his hands, so big, are surprisingly nimble as he pulls a fag from the packet and flicks the lighter on; again, it does something to your core, and you lean against the brick wall to keep yourself steady.

after a few (erotic) drags of the cig, george holds it out to you. wordlessly, you accept, holding eye contact as you take a drag and exhale it in his direction. george's eyes flick to your lips, then back to your own - suddenly, he's kissing you, a hand in your hair and one on the small of your back, your arms looped around his neck. it's not a polite kiss, by any means; george kisses like he’s trying to devour you in the best possible way, stealing all the air from your lungs and inhibitions from your brain, tongue and teeth working against your mouth to get you to give in to him.

like you need any convincing.

a trail of spit connects you as he breaks the sloppy kiss, forehead resting against yours as you both breathe deeply. “fuck, angel,” george sighs, kissing you quickly again. “your place or mine?”

“we can be at my flat in five minutes if we walk quickly.”

“shit. lead the way.”

***

your front door hasn't even fully closed behind you before george is pressing you up against it, grabbing handfuls of your ass and lifting you so he can kiss your lips and neck while he grinds into you. every time his hips meet yours, you feel your eyes roll back into your head and the need for him inside you growing. his teeth meet the skin of your collarbone, and you swear you see stars. “george.”

his head shoots up immediately. “no marks?”

“no, leave as many as you want. it's just,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin. “i really want you to take me to bed. please?”

he groans at that, peeling you off the wall as he turns. “where…?”

“second door on the left.”

no sooner than the words have left your lips, george is kicking your bedroom door open and all but throwing you onto your bed. hands shaking, you do your best to undo your heels and throw them into a corner as george rids himself of backpack and shirt; you mewl at the sight of him, muscles hardened in the moonlight, and sit up on your knees to clumsily undo his belt.

he shakes his head, moving your hands from him. “you first, angel. arms up, come on, let's get that pathetic excuse for a dress off you.”

“i thought you liked this dress?” you frown, even as you oblige and let him peel the dress up your body.

“i do, but - oh, fuck,” george moans as your almost-bare body is revealed to him. “it was doing an awful job of stopping me thinking about you like this.”

his gaze on you is almost predatory, so much so that it makes you sink back onto your knees in submission, legs slightly open and chest forward. “do i live up to your daydreams, sir? no, wait,” you squint, assessing george to see if you can figure him out. “do i live up to your daydreams, daddy?”

you've hit the nail on the head; george’s eyes close as he swears and undoes his belt, kicking his trousers and shoes off before climbing onto the bed, onto you. he pulls you slowly onto his lap, and rocks you back and forth even more slowly. “does this answer your question, baby?” he murmurs, the gravel in his voice liquifying your insides and sending them straight into your underwear. the friction against his hardness is incredible, and all you can do is whine as you look into those obsidian eyes - again, that's not good enough for george, who delivers a sharp smack to your ass. “words, angel. tell daddy what you think.”

“i - ooh,” you whimper, as george changes angle to one that manages to catch your clit with every grind. “i think i live up to them, yes, daddy. think you wanna fuck me, and - shit - i want that too.”

“my smart girl,” he kisses you again, another head-melter that has you moaning into his mouth. “what else do you want, hmmm? want me to go down on you?”

as tempting as having that mouth between your legs sounds… that isn’t what you want right now. “wake me up like that tomorrow, please,” you savour the way george whines into your neck at the thought. “but right now, i just need you to fill me up, daddy.”

“well, i did say you could ask me for anything you liked,” he grins against you, kissing you quickly before softly laying you down. “fuck, look at you, angel, so fucking beautiful. where have they been keeping you from me all this time?” 

your cheeks burn at the way he bites his lip, trailing his hands over your bare chest and all the way down to your panties. “i mean, seriously,” he hums. “i've never wanted to fuck someone more in my life.”

“so do it. please,” you open your legs, showing him the surely-visible wet patch on your silky underwear. “need you inside me, daddy.”

“alright, alright,” george huffs out a laugh, one of disbelief, as he trails a finger up your clothed slit. “jesus, you’re soaked already. can i take these off?”

“please.”

he smiles, dragging the material down your legs and his fingers through your wetness; evilly, he slides the same hand beneath his boxers to palm himself, groaning. when you protest, he laughs. “just making sure we're both ready, baby. speaking of… protection?”

you say nothing, and just reach across to grab your pill packet from the bedside table and wave it at him.

“noted,” he leans forward to kiss you, before moving back onto his knees to slide his boxers off. as the fabric drops, so does your jaw: you knew from the feeling of him under you that you weren't dealing with something compact, here, but george is fucking huge. like, slightly terror-inducing huge. that said, though, you begin to salivate at the sight of him - he notices this, and giggles. “like what you see?”

“yeah,” wide eyed, you look up at his face, your own breaking into an anticipated smile; tentatively, you reach out to touch his cock, both of you gasping in tandem when you wrap your hand (as best you can) around him, manicured thumb flicking over the pre-cum soaked tip. neither of you break eye contact as you pump him a few times, the sexual tension in the room too magnetic to do so, and when you speak it comes out in a whisper. “how do you want me?”

“how don’t i want you?” george smirks, tapping your wrist to make you let go of him. he shuffles forward, big hands meeting your chest and squeezing gently, and beams when you whine. “fucking love that sound. lie back for me, angel, wanna watch these tits while i make you feel good. that alright?”

“mhmm,” you do as asked, fanning your hair across the pillow and spreading your legs - george can't seem to decide where to look, eyes darting between your face and chest and glistening cunt, and it makes you feel incredible. “like this, daddy?”

he nods. “perfect,” his lips find yours again  as he settles above you, resting his weight on one hand while the other slides between your thighs again. two long fingers tentatively dip into your cunt, and george groans while you gasp at the fullness. christ, if this is how you react to his fingers, then what on earth will it be like when he's actually fucking you? “jesus, baby, you're so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyes heavy as he looks down into yours. “want me to get you off with my hand first, before you take my cock? i mean, you're wet enough that you should be alright, but… i want you to feel good. comfortable. s'all about you, angel.”

shit. you have a sneaking suspicion that this man might genuinely be the death of you. but at least you'll die happy, yeah?

smiling, slightly dazed, you shake your head. “just want you to fuck me, daddy. need it, needed your cock all night.”

“you're sure?” george caresses your cheek.

“i'm sure,” you nod, humming happily as you watch him pump himself and drag his length through your wetness. “put it in, please.”

“sweet girl,” he kisses you, deep and slow, and pushes into you, the same. “oh my god.”

you're speechless, breathless, completely fucking brainless - all you can think about is the utterly delicious way george is stretching you out. nobody you've ever fucked before has really made you relate to the metaphor “rearranging your guts”, but with him it's crystal clear; he's so gentle and you're so turned on that it isn't painful, but he's definitely ruined any other man for you already and he's - you look down to check - not even fully inside you yet.

you giggle, slightly delirious, at that realisation. george smiles at you, groaning as he bottoms out and stills inside you. “feeling good?”

“so fucking good,” you lean up to kiss him, whining against his lips at the slight change in angle. fuck, he’s deep. “fuck me, please.”

he smirks. “magic word?”

“fuck me, please,” you kiss him again, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip then pulling back and whispering. “daddy.”

“good girl,” george pulls your legs around his waist, slowly sliding out of you and back in; you both moan in harmony as he does. “jesus, you feel incredible.”

you preen, beaming up at him - the smile is knocked from your face as he speeds up, though, in favour of your jaw dropping in pleasure. “yeah, that's it. fucking me so good, don't stop, please.”

“not stopping until i get you off, angel, don't worry,” he shifts slightly again, his next thrust hitting a spot inside you that you didn't think existed; when he does, you whimper, the contact sending another gush to your core and shockwaves throughout your body. “oh, you liked that, didn't you, sweet girl? shall i do it again? yeah, i think i will.”

he does, ripping a cry from your throat in the process. your legs quiver around his waist, the repeated hits to the area sparking them into movement, and you clutch desperately at his forearm beside your head. “daddy…”

“what is it, angel?” george leans down to kiss you, still fucking you relentlessly. “tell me what you want.”

your brain is growing hazier by the second, dopamine and serotonin and god knows what else overpowering all your motor functions, but you still manage to oblige. “want - fuck - want you to choke me.”

“fuck,” george’s eyes roll back slightly. “you're sure?”

you nod, stomach contracting in ecstasy. “need it, need you.”

“you're so fucking cute,” he grins, incongruous with the way his big hand wraps around your neck and presses, just enough for you to sigh happily and clench around him. “think you really might be an angel, by the way,” he pants out, never letting the rhythm of his hips drop. “you feel like heaven. look like it, too. and trust me, later on,” he kisses your neck, dragging his tongue up so he can whisper in your ear. “i am going to get on my knees and worship you for hours.”

okay, it's settled - he's perfect. you can never fuck anyone else ever again. “please.”

“‘please’ what, sweet girl? please do that?” he coos, sucking another mark just under your jaw. “or please make you cum?”

“cum,” you choke out from under his hand, legs practically thrashing from how good you feel. “please, daddy.”

“gonna be a good girl and help me, then?” george looks you straight in the eye, his almost completely shut in pleasure. “touch yourself for me. show me what you're gonna do every time you think about this, about me.”

christ alive. you obey (you're not sure that you'd be unable to resist that voice even if you wanted to), grabbing one of your tits in one hand and sliding the other between your bodies to your clit. as soon as you touch the bundle of nerves, the shockwaves pulsing through your body increase tenfold; if not for george above you, grounding you, you reckon you'd have shot off the mattress by now. through a quivering jaw, you talk to him. “m'so close, so fucking close.”

“me too, angel,” george’s eyelids flutter as he talks. “don't fight it - cum for me, my good girl, cum on my fucking cock.”

your body does as it’s told, a final surge of pleasure flowing through your body so strongly that you actually black out for a second; your fuse is relit by george groaning, gravel and guttural, in your ear, imminent climax signalled by his hips falling out of rhythm for the first time so far and his hand slackening on your neck. “oh, fuck, i'm there. can i… inside?”

“yeah,” you breathe out. “fill me up, daddy.”

“shit!”

with a moan of your name, george buries himself to the hilt inside you one final time, thrusting shallow and kissing you fiercely as he paints your insides white. once he’s done, he carefully lies down on top of you and rests his head in the crook of your neck, still inside you as you both catch your breath. despite finishing last, he’s the first to speak, moving to hover over you and kiss you again. “i'm so glad you decided to go out tonight.”

“me too,” you giggle. “same again next week?”

“absolutely. i'll be the one waiting by the speakers.”

#and yes i DID crop matthew out of the pic thank you for asking #mads muses #mads does writing #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #george daniel fic #george daniel x reader #george x reader #george daniel smut

[alovesreading]

Nice Kind Of Messy

Summary: Your friends set you up on a blind date, one that you aren't really looking forward to at all but when you find George Daniel there waiting outside the restaurant, there is no doubt it'll be a date to remember.

Word Count: 16.7k 

Warnings: smut.

A/N: So I wrote this as part of my Alex series but I figured I should turn it into a one shot so my George girlies could read it without having to commit to a long Alex Turner fic lol It took me a while to get it ready on one shot form but I hope you enjoy now that it's here hehehe xx

Masterlist

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You wake up that morning quite nervous. Your excitement makes you shiver in anticipation but the feeling brushes the line of anxiety and it’s rather overwhelming.

You’ve not been really looking to date lately, there hasn’t been any type of enthusiasm when hinted about putting yourself out there again since you got cheated on by your ex boyfriend. You couldn’t be arsed about it—the whole process of actively trying to look for a person that you felt was right and suited what you at least felt was the bare minimum was exhausting just to think about.

Going out with your friends was almost always a failed mission. They tried to get you out on the pull with them but you ended up straying back to the table and waving them goodbye when they came back with someone hanging from their arm, winking at them as if to wish them a good night.

They had only been lucky to send you off with someone a handful of times, but despite their best efforts to push you to pursue those who you had spent a night with, you had left them as that: a one night stand.

So they had used a new method this time, which entailed the fact that they had apparently been scheming about behind your back for a few weeks. You had only found out when you were having a wine night with them over at your flat, your jaw dropping and brows furrowing when they let you know they had made a reservation at a certain restaurant in Covent Garden so that you could meet up with someone they swore was the perfect match for you.

“It’s a blind date, we can’t tell you,” said one of your friends with a wicked grin on her face, sipping on her wine as you took the time to glare at your other two friends sitting on your settee.

They only offered you gallic shrugs and giggles, bubbly and high pitched which unfortunately managed to tug at the corners of your lips until they formed a smile.

A happy, “You’re excited then?” made you realize what you were doing, so you took a gulp of your wine and shook your head in disagreement as you swallowed.

“No, I’m just confused.” You really were, it was worse you didn’t have a clue who it could be because there wasn’t really anyone you think had shown interest towards you that you all knew. “Am I allowed to back out?”

You hoped you could, even if a meal at a restaurant you had been dying to go to for ages paid by one of them was on the cards here, but you were truly wary about throwing yourself into a situation where you actually had to put yourself in the dating mindset.

As you cursed your stupid cheating scum of an ex for ruining the prospect of dating for you, your friends shook their heads and said, “No.” in unison.

And they unfortunately went on to explain how your date knew about it already and had cleared their schedule for it to happen, and since you were an awful people pleaser, you sighed in defeat and agreed to go.

So there you are, slowly making your way to your kitchen to make yourself breakfast, despite the nerves making your stomach flip constantly and making you nauseous. Slowly you eat, slowly you wash your dishes and put them away.

You do everything slowly that day, taking a long shower and lounging in bed, still in your robe and letting your hair air dry. The date wasn’t until four so you still had time, and you figured if you went about it at a steady pace, then by the time you were fully ready you would have to leave and there wouldn’t really be a long space of time for you to bail out at the last minute.

By the time it hits noon, you’re doing your hair. Straightening it and curling the ends leisurely, humming along the music you’re playing on your speakers which is interrupted by a call.

“Good afternoon Miss Y/L/N, are you ready for today?” One of your friends greets you with a chipper tone in her voice, you could practically see the beaming smile on her face just from her voice.

Biting on your bottom lip, you let the phone rest on your lap as you continue with the next section of hair and shyly admit, “I’m actually nervous…”

The way she coos at you makes you roll your eyes but there’s a wave of consolation that comes over you when she says, “Good but also don’t be. He’s an absolute dream.”

The tiny piece of information actually makes you more curious about who he is, so you try your chances again as you ask, “Are you finally gonna tell me who it is?”

You had been trying all week to get anything out of your friends but they had been surprisingly good at keeping this one secret under a lock. And this time wouldn’t be different since you only get a vague, “All you have to know is that he’s fit and I know you’ll get on with him perfectly well.”

At least the reassurance that you and him would get on well eases your nerves a little. Not as much as you would like though, but that’s because you know yourself and when you first meet anyone, you get shy and a bit awkward, so you’re praying that you'll be able to get a bit of courage not to make a fool out of yourself.

Thankfully your friend stays on the phone with you as you finish doing your hair and you actually facetime her when you’re doing your makeup. She keeps making you laugh throughout it all and somehow makes you forget about how tense you had been for a bit.

Her boyfriend, Matty, comes back to her flat from a meeting right as you’re showing your friend the dress you’re wearing for the date and, to her dismay, he almost slips and tells you who it is that you’re seeing in merely an hour from now.

“Matthew!” She exclaims loudly before the name can fall from his lips and he quickly throws his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

His honest, “I’m so sorry.” sounds muffled behind his hand and it only gets an eye roll from your friend which makes you laugh.

But you are gutted that your only chance to find out is gone that way. You whine as you complain, “Why do you react so quickly?”

Your friend takes her boyfriend’s close mishap as a sign to let you go though, completely ignoring your complaint to remind you, “You’re gonna have to get faster Miss, it’s quarter past three and it’s a twenty five minute walk over there.”

“Shit, right.” You curse under your breath, realizing you need to get dressed already and leave as soon as you can so you aren't late.

“You look fucking stunning, babe.” She states with confidence, reassuring you since you seem to start growing panicky, “I’m gonna leave you now so you can change but you have the best time Y/N/N, alright?”

You purse your lips at the camera and clutch your chest, “Thanks hun, love you.”

She grins sweetly at you and reciprocates, “Love you too. And let me know how it goes, alright?”

“Will do, but I don’t promise anything too interesting.” You make sure to make that point clear, you don’t have much expectations for the date just so you don’t end up feeling defeated for it not meeting whatever you could imagine it to be if you allowed yourself to.

But your friend is in heavy doubt of it not being interesting considering she knows who you are meeting with. So she shrugs as she smirks, “Yeah, well… We shall see about that.”

It’s the way that she looks like she’s trying not to laugh that has you narrowing your eyes at her, “What?”

Question that isn’t answered because she plays dumb and simply says, “Okay byeee! Love you!” loudly, blowing you a kiss before hanging up the phone.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You walk the best you can in your high heeled boots which were not a great pick when mixed with how nervous you are and how far you had to walk. You had debated getting a taxi when you were locking up your flat but decided against it when you realized that if you did, you’d get there quicker and you wanted to stall as much as you could.

You aren’t even late yet, ten minutes left for the clocks to strike four in the afternoon and you are merely five minutes away. The whole walk, you had been practicing in your head whatever you could say to the guy you were meeting with, just to prevent embarrassing yourself. If anything went wrong though, you had brought your camera with you and a few rolls were stuffed in your pocket so that you could at least take the opportunity to take pictures.

In your head, you had gone from any topics you could come up with about yourself, deciding against being the one to mention your tragic love life and picking a few questions that could be interesting to ask your date.

But all the inquiries and words you had been rehearsing die in your throat when you round the corner at the end of the restaurant’s street and you see the tall dirty blonde smoking a cigarette, leaning on a lamppost right by the entrance of the establishment.

You think of making a run back to your building, hesitating which way would be easiest to go and how it would work with your long dress but his eyes fall on you before you can make up your mind and when he smiles sweetly at you, cigarette perched between his lips, you know it’s too late.

On your face a shy smile breaks and you give him a little wave before approaching him, faking confidence as you get closer until he’s only a few feet away so you say, “Oh hi, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Your face is burning up and you know he can see your flustered demeanor because he smirks down at you, and cheekily asks, “Were you hoping for someone else?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you smile harder at his playfulness and in a rush of bravery you choose to play along, “Do you really want to know the answer?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke out steadily as he shakes his head, “I’m just hoping you remember my name.”

And how could you forget, “Of course I remember you, George.”

George hums, taking one last drag of his smoke as he takes in your appearance and he’s grinning mischievously when seeing the dark satin and lace of your dress contrasting on your skin, your leather jacket making you look even more stunning and coincidentally matching the one he’s wearing.

“Glad you haven’t, Y/N.” The drummer replies with a wink, dropping the bud on the ground and stepping on it before taking something out of the pocket of his dark jeans, “Y/F/N sent this for you.”

An involuntary “Oh.” falls from your lips, entirely intrigued by what it can be that your friend had wanted to tell you that couldn’t be said on the phone because George hands you a folded piece of paper that only says Y/N/N x on the front.

You carefully open it, trying your best to avoid George seeing it—which is a bit of an issue since he’s so tall he can easily read if he looks down—and you instantly blush harder when you read Get the nice kind of messy ;) x

A flashback of the moment at Glastonbury when you had been gawking at George and you had let slip how fit you found him comes to the forefront of your mind and you can’t help yourself getting a little flustered at the mere thought of it.

“He’s fit as fuck.” Your eyes are unable to move from his figure, the way his muscles contract and define with every hit of the drums and the facial expressions he makes as he plays.

Your friend snorts in laughter and leans in to ask further, “Oh, so you fancy George then?”

You stutter as you try to come up with a response, “I mean… Look at him!” You’re entirely entranced by it all and it doesn’t help that he’s covered in a thin coat of sweat already, only three songs into their set, so his white top is slowly becoming translucent and sticking to his body.

It’s like your brain is shutting down and all that it can register is the look of the drummer because it takes you a few long seconds to realize your friend has teasingly said, “I’ll make sure to relay that message.”

“Oh, no, don’t.” The panic of that happening is the one thing that helps you snap out of your trance.

You watch as your friend’s face contorts in confusion and she fights your answer, “Why?! You need to get back out there and who better than George?”

But you shake your head, “No, that’d be so messy!” You can’t think of anything worse than trying to get with your friend’s boyfriend’s best friend—you cringe just imagining how that going wrong would cause a horrendous change in the group’s dynamic.

All of your worries come to a halt and you choke on your own spit when your friend smirks as her eyes fall on George, “That’d be messy, alright. The nice kind of messy.”

In an attempt to try and play it cool, you fold the note and shove it in one of the pockets of your leather jacket, clearing your throat, adjusting the strap of your camera on your shoulder and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like it’s all fine and normal.

But George can see the way you’re pursing your lips and how you hid the note so hastily so your behavior completely betrays your attempts to be secretive about it. “What did you say?” He kept his promise that he wouldn’t open the note when Matty gave it to him earlier that day, even though he’s been really tempted too, especially when he realized Matty knew what it said because he was giggling when his girlfriend handed it to him.

You don’t give him an answer though, only a little cough that acts as a coverup of you avoiding his gaze and a subtle shrug, “Just a little joke.”

“Can you share?” He tries further, his hand coming to nudge you softly in the arm.

Not even that helps your answer change. You shake your head and say a shy, “Not really.”

“I see how it is.” George narrows his eyes at you and adds, “S’alright, I’ll remember that.” which is a promise that has you biting your tongue.

“Shall we go inside?” The drummer says then, watching you struggling to come up with a response to his previous statement.

The new question is much easier to reply to, a soft “Yes.” falling from your lips, breathlessly.

And he takes your breath even more when he lets you walk ahead, only to rest his hand on your lower back delicately and casually comment, “You look beautiful by the way. Really like that we’re matching with the leather jackets.”

The opportunity to not acknowledge the compliment is perfect because you feel like you’re going to explode under George’s attention. You giggle and nod, “What a great coincidence huh?”

His answer being, “Hot coincidence.” accompanied by a wink doesn’t make it easy for you though and you find out then that being on a date with George Daniel means blushing every five minutes even if the chat is about mundane topics.

You talk about your hometowns and the differences between your upbringings, how different it was that you’d stayed in the same city for your entire life while he lived moving around for a good part of his childhood until his family settled in Manchester. You tell each other how you had ended up doing what you were doing currently and you end up cooing constantly when George tells you how the guys became friends and how the band had come together. You exchange stories about your jobs, finally having the opportunity to ask all that came to your mind about producing music which you had always found fascinating ever since you’d gotten closer to the band. George being fascinated about your knowledge on films and everything to do with photography and cinematography, which really comes with your job as a photographer and videographer.

Then he asks about your hand tattoo—the ‘Pure Desire’ written on the back of your hand is rather enticing—smirking when he rubs his thumb over it and asks if you have any more which ends up in you both sharing the amount of ink you have on your bodies which George beat you to by an incredible amount. You end up taking your jackets off and showing each other each piece you have on your skin.

Eventually, the chat comes back to the band and you ask him whereabouts The 1975 has toured so far. Your jaw drops the more his list continues and you genuinely have a hard time wrapping your head around them being relatively new to the mainstream scene when they are already going to all those places.

“I don’t even remember the last time I went on holiday, fucking hell.” You chuckle out in awe at the information he’s just given you.

And George turns your innocent amusement into a mess of heated cheeks, pressed lips and eye rolls when he suggests how that could be easily fixed, “We just have to take you on tour with us next time, don’t we?”

“Think it’ll be crowded enough now that Matty is taking Y/F/N with him.” Your eyebrows are raised to accentuate how serious you are trying to be about it, it’s so hard to conceal how flustered you are at his insinuation.

But he makes it difficult for you to play it cool when he shrugs, “We can share a bunk then.”

“You’re such a flirt. Bet you say that to all the girls.” It almost sounds like you’re scolding him and he likes seeing the reactions he can get out of you, but there’s one thing that has been constant in the back of his mind and he decides to bring it up.

Taking his glass up to his lips, he takes a sip and gulps softly to start saying, “Surprised me when Y/F/N called me and asked if I wanted to go on a date with you.”

“God, that’s embarrassing.” You wince at the information, hating the way it looks for your friends to be asking people around if they want to go out with you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die in a ditch.

George smirks playfully, “Going on a date with me?”

You laugh in response to that, shaking your head before clearing up, “Y/F/N asking if you wanted to go out with me. You know you could’ve said no.”

He frowns at you, like you’ve just said the most outrageous thing and he wholeheartedly asks, “But why would I?”

“Oh George, stop it.” You warn him, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” George reaches his hand out to touch yours and you almost shiver under it.

You let your fork down beside your plate and fan yourself with your hand as you admit, “You’re making me blush.”

But that’s not something that will keep him quiet, because he confesses, “Yeah and I quite enjoy doing it.”

The rest of the date is spent between good food, good wine, laughter, a picture you take of George when he asks about your camera, and chatter that has been really entertaining and entirely not awkward like you’d been expecting. Getting to know George in a deeper way is like a breath of fresh air and that’s why, when you leave the restaurant and the drummer offers to walk you back home, you don’t even hesitate to accept.

He takes a few detours on the way, taking you around places where he had hilarious and very wholesome stories of his childhood and teenage years when he would come around to London with the lads and other friends just to mess about. You’re so grateful for the anecdotes because you’re making sure to capture each place in its unique beauty and you know now that behind each shot you’d have the memory of what George had shared with you.

George watches you closely every time you take a picture, taking in every little thing you do before and after you press the shutter. You’re so adorable to him, the way your face lights up when you press the shutter and look at him excitedly when you roll the film.

You guide the both of you back to the way to your flat and as you walk, you’re smoking cigarettes and chatting. It’s so easy to carry a conversation with George, he exudes such an energy that just makes you feel free talking about whatever comes to your mind without having to think for a split second about what you should say or shouldn’t.

And just as easy comes laughter, because not only is his laugh hilariously contagious, he is funny himself and he has you struggling to catch your breath multiple times at his quips and comments.

There is something about this evening that you just feel the need to remember as best as you can so he catches you sneakily trying to take candids of him, every time he’s called you out on it and you shamelessly lie about the frame being focused on just what was behind him—every time something mundane and boring—but by the fifth time, instead of calling you out and have you grumpily change the focus of your lenses, he allows you to take a picture of him and even smiles for you; he doesn’t miss how your eyes twinkle after you’ve pressed the shutter.

The way you smile to yourself and proudly state, “I’m really gonna like that one.” makes George’s chest swell and in a lack of any more self control, he stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you into him, your chest hitting his chest eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips.

“Oh hi.” You giggle at the sudden action, your hands subconsciously resting on his chest after that, but any other words die in your throat when he dips his head and traps your lips with his.

You hum into the kiss, which is a dizzying combination between sweet and determined. His left arm stays wrapped around your waist, pulling your flush into his chest but the other one comes up to cup your jaw and he keeps you at the perfect angle for him to kiss you just how he wants.

Your arms slowly move up until they are wrapped around the back of his neck and you let your fingers tangle in his hair. It’s soft and long on the top of his head which you really like. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, his fingers clutching your tighter and you let your mouth open so you can taste each other.

You completely forget where you are until someone walks past you and whistles at the two of you, startling you out of the kiss. You really enjoyed that kiss, and it shows in the way you look up at George with burning cheeks and something written on your face.

“I liked that.” George cheekily states, getting ahold of your hand and resuming your walk.

You hum, trying not to giggle when he intertwines your fingers and a feeling you can easily recognize starts bubbling inside you. “Yeah, I liked that too.”

You felt like a teenager. Blushing to yourself while you walked hand in hand with the person you had a crush on, and it’s so ridiculous but so relieving at the same time to feel this kind of pathetic elation instead of despair and heartache for once.

Your conversation resumed from whichever point you last remember it being left at but after that kiss it only gets more and more flirty, and you like where it is going but soon enough you reach your building and you have to slowly come to a stop with a pout.

“This is me.” You mumble, squeezing his hand in yours but he doesn’t let go.

He hums as if hesitant of believing what you’ve just said and instead he suggests, “Don’t you wanna take another walk around the block?”

“George, my feet hurt.” They had been hurting for a while but you hadn’t said anything just to not ruin things, and because you were enjoying his company so much that you were willing to endure the pain for a while longer.

The drummer comes to a quick solution, “I’ll carry you.”

Which makes you chuckle, “Sure you would.” You genuinely don’t want the date to end so in a bit of a rushed decision, you bargain, “Don’t you… Do you wanna come upstairs?”

He gets a kick of excitement inside him but he wants to play it cool, so he jokes, “What, are you gonna take my picture?”

You hold back a snort of laughter, and shrug as if it was fine by you that he only wanted that. “If that’s what you want.” There’s a little voice in your head that tells you not to but there is another one that purely encourages you to have fun.

“Yeah, that works.” George casually says, like he isn’t praying that he gets lucky to even get another kiss out of you.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Where’d you want me?” George turns to look at you as you drop your camera on your bedside tables and take your jacket off to perch on the back of a loveseat you have in the corner of your room.

You take one of the new rolls out of your pocket and change it for the one you’d almost fully used earlier that day. “Wherever you’re comfortable.” you tell him, focusing on perfectly lining the roll before you can turn to him.

“Bed’s quite comfy.'' You hear George say from behind you and when you look up to see him, you find him lying on his side, head perched on his hand and a smirk on his face. “Paint me like one of your french girls.” He teases, resting his other hand dramatically on his forehead.

All you do is giggle at his antics, “You’re such an idiot.” Shaking your head, you come up to the bed and try looking at the scene through your lenses but you aren't quite convinced by the shot.

George watches you struggle, stepping backwards and forwards, to the sides before sighing. He reminds you with a soft smile, “I’m not used to being the one to pose for the camera. You’re gonna have to guide me.”

“Okay.” Silently, you think about it as you bite on your thumb and once a vision comes to your mind, you start instructing him, “Lean into your forearms, sideways so you fit in the bed.” But you find what’s bothering you and it’s that his legs are half hanging off the bed.

“Why are you so tall? Oh my god.” You go over to the drummer and prompt him to go further into the bed, perching one of his sock-clad feet up on the bed and the other leg staying stretched on the bed. “There, now look at me.”

George looks at you with a blank face first to which you complain about but when he actually shows you a smile he starts giggling, and if there had been something you had learned about George quite early into your date was that his laugh was incredibly contagious, so you find yourself shaking with laughter as you try to take his pictures and you end up having to call him out for it.

“Don’t laugh! You’re making me laugh!” You scorn him, struggling to sound serious between your giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes halfheartedly, swallowing his laughter until he goes back to a stoic face and he gives you the perfect soft smolder.

You hum in satisfaction at the result of that frame and then you move onto instructing him to do the next pose, “Throw your head back a bit and close your eyes.” He silently listens and does as you say which earns him a sweet, “Just like that.” from you.

Of course, your words make George give you a look, one that had you lightly blushing and since you know he can recognize the way you get flustered, you hide behind your camera.

“What?” You say behind the device, inquiry thrown out into the air, and warn him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

George chuckles to himself, wondering if you are this naive or if you are playing dumb. So when you take another picture of him, he purposely complains, “My leg’s cramping.” to then throw himself back on the bed, ending up completely splayed over the duvet and breaking the pose.

“George!” You scold him yet again, a bit of amusement sneaking through your words.

He groans in response and without moving, tells you to “Just take a picture like this.”

You kiss your teeth to exaggerate your disapproval and shake your head, “I can’t even see your face.”

“Come here so you can see it.” He resolves easily for you, waving you over to come close to the side of the bed instead of taking pictures by the end of it. You roll your eyes at him in amusement, not moving at first but since he actually doesn’t plan on moving, you have to do as he says.

But attempting to get a picture from above while standing beside the bed is an actual failure, “That’s an awkward angle, look at me.” You try to get him to turn to his side again but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Need you on your side.” You say explicitly this time but he doesn’t let up either.

Instead he suggests, “Why don’t you just get up here?” He pats the bed, right next to his hip and you blush just thinking about it. At your silence, he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to encourage you with a “C’mon.”

He offers his hand so you can use it as leverage to kneel on the bed on each side of his hips and hover above him. You struggle as you do so because you’re growing nervous and therefore clumsy.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse under your breath, seeing him from above is an angle that you don’t really know if you can handle.

“What?” George bites his bottom lip to not let a smirk break on his face.

Yet, not even that keeps you from knowing that he knows just what he was doing but you won’t say anything, because you’re enjoying this a lot more than you are supposed to. So you stick to just replying, “Nothing.” as you take yet another picture of him.

Remembering his tattoos, you bit your bottom lip for a few seconds before hesitatingly asking, “Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

George lets his hands rest right above your knees and squeezes your legs as he teases, “Is that code for something?”

You hoped your flustered state wasn’t obvious so you can play off your nonchalant, “For ‘I want to see your tattoos’, yes.”

It goes right over his head though, because he keeps smirking as he sarcastically replies, “Right, right.”

You move so he can take the piece of clothing off without you hovering over him but when he’s done and laying on the bed again, he pats his right side so you can move your left leg there and have you hover over him properly again.

“How’s that look?” He asks cheekily as his hands go to touch your legs again, the skin up to your mid thighs showing because your dress slit allows it to open and rise up in the position you’re in.

“Amazing.” You breathlessly compliment, making him raise an eyebrow at you.

The shutter goes off again and, as you roll the film, he tests the waters, “Do you want to see them all?”

“Sure.” The word comes out so soft it could’ve gone with the wind, his hands leave your thighs for a second to grab the bottom of his shirt.

“Top’s coming off next then, is that alright?” He asks for confirmation first and you nod eagerly, your pupils dilating in anticipation.

He sheds himself off his shirt in the constricted space he had, you’re so spaced out that you don’t move but it isn’t a problem for George. If anything, his smirk grows at your inability to act and it gets bigger when he throws his shirt somewhere across the room and you’re left shamelessly gawking at his naked top half.

After a minute of your eyes wandering everywhere, George brings your back to reality by letting his hands come over your thighs again. You tremble at the same time as the drummer says, “Y/N/N?”

“Yeah?” You ask, slowly coming back to reality. Your brain has been completely taken over by the view of the taut muscles of his arms littered by colorful ink, a pair of symmetric ‘broken’ tattoos on both sides of his collarbones and his torso beautifully chiseled with a defined six pack.

“When are you taking the picture?” He reminds you, trying not to smirk too hard as to not put you off.

“Shit, sorry.” You say under your breath and, after quickly focusing the shot, finally take a picture of him like that.

There was a heavy silence that hung over you two, the trail of his fingers making your skin grow hot and your throat going dry at the growing need for anything at all. So you find yourself surprised when he breaks the silence to ask you, “Can I take your picture?”

“Mine?” You repeated like you’d heard wrong.

George nods and lets you know, “You look really pretty from here.”

In a feeble attempt not to have him do that, you remind him, “You don’t know how to.”

“Matty had a film camera a few years ago, I know how to.” George surprises you even further when he explains and just to try a bit harder, he pouts at you and says, almost begging, “Please?”

“Okay.” You let yourself accept, your mind too distracted by the view beneath you to even fight.

Once you hand him the camera, he lifts it up to his eyes and lets out a chipper, “Smile.” as an instruction, which you follow only just a bit shyly.

You’re about to get the device back from him when he pulls it away from your grasp and pleads, “Another one please?”

You sigh at the drummer’s exaggerated pout until it turns into a giggle and that’s when the shutter goes off. Your cheeks burn again when he compliments as he rolls the film, “Stunning.”

Letting the camera rest beside him, George tries his luck and lets his hands rub on the skin of your thighs a bit further up. You don’t refuse it, he can clearly see the growing hunger in your eyes as you look down at him so he continues, letting his gaze trail down your body to drink in all of your but when he reaches down to your legs is when he catches a slight glimpse of red ink on your left thigh that makes him ask, “Do you have more tattoos?”

He doesn’t remember your mentioning any other tattoos than the ones you’d shown him at the restaurant. So when you nod, he can’t help but ask, “Where?”

“One, right here.” You grab his right hand so he can touch over the fabric of your dress where the one on your rib is. Your eyes looking right into his and his lips opening further when you continue, “And this one here.” lifting the fabric up to show the ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

George lets his right hand fall until it reaches the one on your thigh, you’re still clutching the satin in your first so he can fully see it. He rubs on the red ink on your skin as he stares at it, eliciting goosebumps to break on your entire body.

He looks up and asks with a low voice about the only one he hasn’t seen yet but you had just let him touch over your dress, “What’s the other one?”

“A word.” You vaguely say, as if encouraging him to continue asking about it.

“Which word?” His fingers trail further up, making your knees go completely weak. They had been hurting from hovering over him for so long but his touch is the thing to finally have you finally sit on his lap.

And that’s when you feel him growing hard in his jeans.

His fingers had already been making your every thought go straight down to your core so you’re entirely driven by lust when you fully lift the satin up and shed the dress off your body, leaving you only in your underwear and in full show for George.

It’s involuntary, his hips jerking forward and pressing on your center, his mouth agape at the sight and he grows even more breathless when you roll your center against his hardening cock.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, taking one quick look at the strange word on your rib before perching himself up on his left forearm to wrap his right hand around your neck and pull you in for a hungry kiss.

You lean further into him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and digging into his hair to pull on it as your lips move with each other. Your fingers tugging on his hair made him groan into your mouth and, as payback, he tightens his fingers around your neck, earning a loud moan out of you.

George pushes himself up with his left hand until he’s sitting on the bed, his right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you flush against him. Your tongues taste each other and your breaths grow heavy when you start rolling your hips in sync, meeting in the middle and creating a delicious friction that soon enough forces you to break the kiss only to gasp in pleasure into each other's mouths.

His fingers come to graze the ink on your left rib, your desperate side having you sink your hips down to roll against him and turn his, “What does it mean?” into a gorgeous moan.

Your lips brush as he moans and you respond to his sound with a mewl of your own and when that reaches his ears, George forgets ever asking anything for he can’t wait any longer to feel your lips on his again.

The kiss grows needy then. His hand goes from your ribs down to knead the flesh of your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and encouraging you to move against him. Your clit was getting so stimulated from only being covered by the thin material of your lace thong against his jeans which means you can’t kiss him any longer.

A string of moans falls from you as you quicken your pace, getting louder as you go but your actions are interrupted when George clutches you tightly by your middle and swiftly flips the two of you around so it you’re resting on your back on the bed with him hovering right over you.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden change of positions, your hand flying to cup his face and bring his lips back on yours and wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his hips into your core in a desperate attempt to have the friction back.

The feeling of his hard on coming down to rub harshly against you every time he bucks his hips forward makes your head spin. He starts off by teasing you with the friction and leaving you hanging for a few seconds before going back in but when you start gasping into his mouth, he keeps himself close to you and relentlessly rolls his hips on yours, hard cock pressing deliciously against your throbbing clit.

The pace grows faster, making it impossible for you to continue moving your lips with his so he takes it as a sign to continue on with what he wants to do first. Unfortunately, that means his hips stop moving and leave you throbbing and clenching around nothing but he makes it up to you with his lips all over your skin.

Wet kisses trail down your neck, his lips taking their time to give every bit of your skin attention on the way down. Kissing, sucking, licking. His fingers run down your sides until they clutch tightly on your hips, fingers pressing hard on the skin there and making your cry out in pleasure even louder.

Your breath is heavy by the time he stops sucking bruises all over your chest and abdomen, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on it so he can come back up but instead his tongue runs flat from just above your belly button agonizingly slowly up until his nose bumps against the hem of your bra.

George looks up at you through his lashes, teeth coming to bite on the fabric and tugging them the slightest bit down so you know what he wants to do and you desperately nod.

Without much of a proper attempt to take the piece of clothing off, he just tugs down the lace cups on it and lets your tits spill out freely for him. He groans from the pits of his chest at the sight, hips bucking forwards into the mattress harshly in search of some relief for himself.

But not letting any more seconds go by, George dives to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Groaning around it, the vibrations of the noise causing white heat to run straight down to your throbbing wet cunt.

He switches the sucking for flicking it with his tongue, blowing cold air and smirking as your nipple hardens at his actions, ending with a soft bite and tug that have you loudly saying his name in call for mercy.

You needed something, anything. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing and it’s almost torturous. But your cries fall on deaf ears for he moves onto your other nipple and repeats his process. You’re only ruining your underwear further, so wet you feel uncomfortably sticky with your thong still on.

“George, baby, please–” You plead in anguish when he starts sucking bruises on your tits, biting them until you whimper loudly under him.

“What do you need Y/N/N?” He asks sweetly, a stark contrast to his vicious attack on your chest.

“Anything. Just–” You try to say, your words catching up in your throat as your desperation for release clouds your logic and makes you sound stupid.

So you rely on grabbing one of his hands from your hips and guiding it down to where you’re aching. The simple graze of one of his fingertips on your swollen clit eliciting a pathetic mewl out of you.

“Oh sweetheart,” George tuts “Made quite a mess, haven’t you?” His pointer finger runs up and down your clothed core slowly and so faintly you don’t even know if you are imagining it.

Applying a bit more pressure assures him to hear every one of your needy sounds and feeling like you had waited enough, he leaves a light feather kiss over your center.

“Need help cleaning up this mess, yeah?” His words are sweet, like he’s finally taking pity on you. The thought of him doing absolutely anything at that moment sounds so fucking good your hum in agreement sounds more like a whine, barely able to make eye contact with him in your hazy mind.

His long tongue runs flat over your underwear, wetting even more than it already is and he moans at the taste of your slick soaking through it. His fingers tug the fabric down your legs and throw it somewhere behind him in record time. He finds himself almost drooling at the sight of you completely exposed to him.

If you had any hint of inhibitions left in you, you would’ve tried to close your legs under his attentive gaze but he’s entranced and you’d had it with waiting any longer so you prop your legs wide open and squirm in your place.

“George, please.”

Your pleading is so sweet, so desperate, he can’t deny you any longer. So he dips his head in between your legs and starts lapping at you like a starved man. At the first proper taste he has of you, he moans loudly, tongue running up and down your slit to gather as much of you as he can and enjoying every drop of your arousal on his tongue.

“Are you not gonna continue taking my picture?” George interrupts his task to tauntingly ask, going back to using his tongue on you, this time flicking it up and down quickly on your clit and making you shiver.

Your words are caught in your throat when he doesn’t relent his actions but still looks at you expectantly through his lashes, “Right– F-fuck! Right now?”

He only allows himself to stop for the amount of seconds it takes him to nod and say, “Yes baby, be a good girl and take my picture.”

That ‘good girl’ makes you roll your eyes in utter pleasure, and all you can think of is doing as he’s telling you to earn his praise; because you want more, you need more.

Your head turns quickly to see where he’s left the camera, and you bring it to your eyes to take a picture as fast as you can. Your thoughts are already becoming clouded by the tightening coil in your lower belly.

His disheveled dirty blonde hair in between your legs, his arms underneath your legs and hands clutching your thighs in place is all that you captured in that frame. The shutter goes off letting George know you have done as he’d said and he congratulates you by praising you with a proud, “Such a good fucking girl.” and a few kisses to your clit which make you jolt.

He goes back down, trying to clean up the mess of slick and saliva that’s dripping down your inner thighs and onto the duvet, but you’re so desperate so you start rocking your hips against his face, trying to steer him back to where you wanted him to be and, to your satisfaction, he follows the silent instruction by going back to your center and this time pointing his tongue and dipping it inside your sopping hole.

Your legs instinctively close around his head, eliciting a breathy laugh from him that hits your core as he continues tongue fucking you. His hands come to spread your legs open again, holding your limbs down on the bed strongly, not allowing you to move any longer.

The feeling of his wet tongue dipping in and out of you has you growing increasingly louder, begging and pleading with him not to stop, your orgasm so close you can feel it.

But despite your words, he stops.

At that very moment, you swear you can cry, knowing you had just been about to come undone on his tongue. But just before you can pathetically let your frustrated tears roll down your cheeks, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit and he sucks on it. The perfect amount of pressure for you to thrash around beneath him as your pleasure resumes and hits you with an incredible force, making you let out a string of moans of his name and then a bunch of “Yes! Fuck yes!”, hands flying down to tangle your fingers in his hair and keep him in his place.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yell out loud, eyes shutting tightly since the pleasure impedes you from keeping them open, and when George starts humming as he sucks your clit, you are done for.

Your legs tremble under his hold, toes curling and your fingers tugging his hair tighter than you had been before. You black out as your orgasm hits you hard, the oxygen in your lungs leaving you entirely as your back arches off the bed and you only come back from your high when his incessant sucking becomes too much for your oversensitive self so you pull him away from you.

He giggles, completely entranced by your fucked out state. Watching you cum had been an experience but god don’t you look beautiful with your chest heaving, bruises looming on your skin, a flush to your face and chest, a thin coat of sweat making your body and face shine.

But before he can give you any more attention, his gaze falls back to your cunt and it’s glistening with arousal. You taste so fucking good to him that he wastes no more time to lick you clean. Your legs tremble at the resumed contact of his tongue on your sensitive core, whimpers stubbornly leaving you as he goes.

Your fingers leave his hair alone but your left hand cradles his head as he laps up at everything you have given him, and after a whole minute of him meticulously licking clean every inch of skin that had been wet with your arousal, he starts a trail of kisses from your mound until he reaches your belly button.

Flashing a smile up at you, George rests his chin on your lower stomach and you can’t hold yourself back from brushing his messy hair back almost adoringly, post orgasm haze making you extra appreciative of him and his skilled tongue work.

His fingers rub circles on the top of your thighs, “Feel good?” He asks before leaving more soft kisses on your lower stomach.

“Very.” You answered with a smile, fingers brushing through his hair.

He hums at the feeling of your touch, “Good to know, gorgeous.”

Turning to see where you’d left it, you reach out to grab your discarded camera. Melting into the duvet under George’s gentle touch and his lips pressing on your skin leisurely, you really make an effort as you lean on your forearms so that you can get a better look at him to take a picture. He looks up at you with a dizzying smirk that you manage to capture, and you know that you’ll adore that picture no matter the outcome of this day.

His lips tickle the skin of your lower stomach when he points out, “Didn’t even have to tell you this time.”

Putting the device back down on the bed, you shrug with a grin sneaking onto your lips, “You look good.”

“Do I, now?” He teases, dropping his hands from your thighs and pressing them on the mattress so he can slowly push himself up and crawl his way up to hover over you again.

“You always do.” Your words come laced with lust, his eyes darkening as he gets closer and you just can’t wait any longer to have him in more ways. “Come here.” You instruct by wrapping a hand around his neck, fingers pressing on the sides of it until he groans loudly in pleasure and when he lets the sound leave his lips, you smirk and warn, “My turn.”

Pulling him in by his neck means that your tongues meet instantly when you start the kiss, and when you taste yourself on his tongue, you moan so loudly George growls just as loud in response.

The kiss is all teeth clashing, spit dribbling down to your chins, noses bumping, deep exhales sounding loudly and trying to overpower the sounds of your swollen lips moving together.

It’s George the one to grow louder when your hand drops from his neck, down his naked torso to the button of his jeans, which you undo with quick fingers and pull the zip down before you can palm him over the fabric of his boxers.

“F-fuck…” He lets out when your nimble fingers squeeze him and stroke him up and down. He’s so hard that your touch makes him shiver.

You can feel him so swollen and heavy under your hand, your mind already spinning about how big he is but you want to have him unravel under you so badly, you push any worries about his size to the back of your head.

His hips move slowly, helping with your movements, clearly wanting to reach his high but you want to taste him and you want it now. So you leave his cock alone to instruct him, “Lay down, baby.”

You switch positions, George laying on his back and you’re kneeling between his legs. He pants as he watches you shamelessly gawk at him, your mouth going dry at the clear outline of his cock.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse as you tug on the top of his jeans so he can lift his hips up for you to take them off him.

He does as instructed and you’re just too impatient to wait any more, you want to feel him heavy on your tongue already. His boxers come off quickly after his jeans, his hard cock springing up to touch right by his navel.

You gulp. He’s thick, angry red tip already leaking from how aroused he is. Intimidating but so inviting.

Dipping your head down, you start kissing his hips. Leaving kisses that go from sweet to wet and messy the more he squirmed under you.

“You…” George pleads, hand coming down to cradle your head. Not to push it towards where he wanted you but to have you look up at him and see just how fucking desperate he is for you.

You feel that look go down straight to your core, clenching your legs together at the feeling. “I know baby, I know.” You say in a coo.

Your fingers wrap around him, the pressure of them making George huff in pleasure with his lips pressed together. He feels so heavy in your hand, veins popping for you to see how pained he is.

“You’re so big.” You trail off, a bit of wander in your voice. You have no idea how he’s going to fit in your mouth, he’s by far the biggest cock you have ever come across but you like a challenge.

Your tongue licks a bold strip from base to tip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you taste the salty arousal that has already been leaking from him. He curses under his breath at the feeling of your wet tongue on his cock, but the breathy words turn into a loud moan when you wrap your lips around him and sink your mouth down onto him.

Barely able to fit half of him in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat, you pull back to catch a breath, your hand taking over for a few seconds as you inhale deeply and go back in. You gag around him when you manage to get him deeper, George moans loudly as you do so, trying his hardest not to buck his hips upwards into your tight throat.

His hand goes back to hold your head but this time, his fingers tangle in your hair, only to pull you up so you can breathe. But you don’t want to have it easy, you want to see how much of him you can take and hear every one of his pretty moans.

So you go against his hold, sinking your mouth further down and gagging around him again. Your hand stays at the base of his cock, stroking the rest you can’t get to, as you continue bobbing your head up and down on him.

George is a mess of groans and moans, whimpering whenever you gag and moan around him, your throat tightening around him driving him insane.

He lifts his head up slightly to look down at you, pulling on your hair so you come off him and meet his eyes. George is met with you panting, pink wet swollen lips, saliva dripping down your chin and neck, tears falling out of the corner of your eyes, hair disheveled but pupils dilated and a satisfied smirk at it all.

Your hand keep stroking him up and down, fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure and he moans at the combination of your touch and the glorious view of you like this, “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

The praise only encourages you more, so you lean back down and lick a strip up his cock again, this time looking up at him through your lashes. An innocent look in your eyes as you lap at the tip of his cock eagerly.

He exhales in awe, “Look at you– Shit!” He curses loudly when you sink slowly back down until again he reaches your throat, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily and making you gag loudly.

You gasp out for air for a mere second before you do it again, until you manage to control your gagging a bit better and encourage George to fuck your mouth with a simple squeeze to his hip.

“Oh fuck– Such a pretty filthy girl.” He praises as he obeys the silent instructions and rocks his hips forwards slowly and ever so slightly. “You like it when I fuck your throat?” His question is thrown out into the air in between groans.

You answer with a hum that vibrates around him and that’s when George starts feeling like he’s losing control. His hips grow erratic and you notice so you hum and moan around him even more, causing him to get closer to his high.

“Y/N/N m’gonna cum!” He warns you loudly, the wet squelching sounds of him going in and out of your mouth and your moans bouncing off the walls in a pornographic symphony that makes the scene even better.

And when your hand drops from around the base of his cock to play with his balls, he’s sent over the edge. He pushes his hips forwards and stills then as he comes, cock twitching in your mouth and his cum coating the walls of your throat with a warmth you appreciated with another low moan.

His hips fall back on the bed but you don’t relent just yet, sucking him off for a little longer to take everything you can. But he has to pull you off him by your hair when he can't take it anymore, cursing and calling out your name like he was scolding you.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles, still dizzy from his orgasm but completely entranced by the way you come off him with a whimper and a satisfied smirk.

You wipe the drool off your chin with the back of your hand and slowly crawl up until you are laying on your side right beside him, staring right into his eyes with hunger still darkening yours.

“Feel good?” You ask, just what he’d asked you after he made you cum but in a mocking manner.

It gets you a chuckle in response before one of his big hands comes to cup your jaw and crashes your lips together.

Kissing George has you dazed. His lips are soft but firm when moving along with yours, they’re wet and swollen, warm exhales leaving his parted lips for your to swallow, tongue peeking through them to meet yours. He whimpers so loud when he tastes himself on your tongue, fingers digging into your cheek and making you mewl in response.

Your skin grows hot the more you kiss. He doesn’t even let you get a proper breath whenever he pulls back for a brief second, because he’s back on your mouth with desperation—lips smacking and tongues licking at each other.

Your hands go on a path from his face to his head, the back of his neck, his shoulders, and eventually to his back, nails digging into it when he starts nipping at your bottom lip, at the same time as his right hand drops from your jaw down to pinch your nipples, eliciting gasps out of you.

“George…” You let out in a gasp when he has your nipple pinched and twisted between his thumb and index finger.

He’s smirking right over your parted lips, amused at the way you shiver every time he goes from one nipple to the other. Your nails claw at his back when you feel the electric shocks that his touch gives you travel all the way down to your center, feeling yourself growing wetter and that familiar knot in your lower stomach forming.

His lips slot between yours again, distracting you from his touch going from your tits down to tease your cunt.

With his thumb, George starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you pull back from the kiss with a loud gasp that turns into a cry of pleasure. You could feel yourself throbbing already, and it gets worse when he picks up his pace.

He isn’t going too fast but not slow either, the speed in which his thumb rubs at your clit has you writhing your hips in response, subconsciously trying your best to get closer and closer to your high.

“George! Fuck!” You yell when he slides a finger inside you. It’s thick and long, curling inside you and making you see stars already, half lidded eyes catching him smirking at you and his breaths growing shallow when taking in your reactions.

“You like that?” He asks you teasingly, pecking your lips as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

You manage to hum in response, but he finds that not good enough, so he adds another finger, stretching you out easily and making your back arch as you moan loudly. “Yes! Yes!” You encourage, and when he curls his fingers again, knuckle deep inside your cunt, you felt yourself be completely overcome by pleasure and your words slip past your lips without even thinking of them first, “Oh my– Fuck! George, your fingers feel so fucking good.”

His fingers are slipping in and out of you with ease from how wet you are, your hips erratically moving as he thrusts them inside you to meet him in the middle. “That’s it, cum on them baby.”

The dirty talk has you completely fucked over, “George, I’m so– Fuckkkk!” You can’t help but scream out when he pushes a third finger inside you, feeling completely stuffed with him.

It feels so good how much he’s opening you up, and he’s loving the way whenever he pulls his fingers back your walls push him off so he has to slowly sink his fingers deep inside your cunt again. “I know, I can feel you clenching hard around them.” You’re squeezing his fingers so tight, his throat goes dry just thinking about how good you’re gonna feel milking his cock, “Can’t wait to fill you up and feel how tight you’re around my cock baby.”

You agree, so drunk in pleasure you just want to feel even more of him, “I need you. George, I need–”

But he tuts before you can complete your mumbled sentence, “You’re cumming on my fingers first.” You’re about to cry out like a brat, about to beg for him to stuff you up with his big cock but his words beat yours, “Come on baby, give it to me like the good girl you are.”

His voice is low in your ear, so sultry and inviting you feel it deep in your core and you just can’t say no. Not when you’re gonna earn his praise, those words he says that have you wrapped around his little finger.

So you let go. Your toes curl as his fingers keep pumping in and out of you, hitting that spot perfectly for your to see stars as you come, white heat enveloping you and taking ahold of your entire body as you cum, “Fuck, fuck! Oh– George!”

“That’s it, baby. So fucking stunning.” He encourages, watching his fingers continue to disappear inside your tightening cunt, your legs shaking and your hips moving clumsily to meet his hand. He gets impossibly hard at the sight of it all, biting his bottom lip as he moans.

You gush all over him, slick drenching his hand and dripping down your cunt onto the duvet. He can’t let it go to waste, so he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, moaning around them when he tastes you again.

So fucking sweet. He needed more.

You feel his fingers gathering your mess and you manage to peel your eyes open to watch as he sucks it all off his fingers again.

Shamelessly, you just watch as he dips down time and time again until he deems his work of cleaning you up done, the last one being offered out to you and you obey enthusiastically, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sinking your mouth on them to suck them clean the best you can. Your eyes stay on his as you do so, moaning loudly around them while you batted your lashes at him, just fully putting a show on for him.

The view makes George’s cock twitch, a bead of precum leaking from his head. He reaches out behind you for the forgotten camera and when you’re trying to catch your breath, eyes closed in bliss, he takes a picture of you.

Your eyes snap open at the sound of the shutter going off and you look at him all startled like you need an explanation.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He quickly justifies, lifting the device back up to his eyes and adjusting the focus to take another one as he adds, “All fucked out. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Stop.” You whine when the shutter goes off again, hand coming up to grab at the lenses and forcing him to put it down, “I must look a mess.”

His head shakes in disagreement, tongue swiping at his bottom lip with his eyes drinking you in all over again, “You don’t. You look hot.” Skin glowing due to the thin layer of sweat your activities have caused, lips swollen and wet, your chest heaving and flushed, the gorgeous pattern of every bruise he’s sucked on your skin which are darkening more and more, hair disheveled and splayed over the pillows.

“I’m confiscating this.” It’s the brief ultimatum you give him, grabbing the camera and turning the action on him instead.

You take just one picture of him and he allows it, only to then complain by saying, “You have enough of me.” and taking the camera back.

Rolling your eyes, you fake being annoyed and kiss him quickly before pushing yourself up and off the bed, telling him, “Gonna go to the bathroom.” making a beeline for your wardrobe and getting yourself a new pair of underwear first, adjusting the cups of your bra so they hold your breasts again.

It isn’t longer than five minutes that you take, coming back to him wearing his boxers again and laying over the bedsheets—he’s discarded the duvet and left it a big crumpled knot on the floor by the foot of the bed—, a hand behind his head whilst the other is scrolling on his phone.

His position looks inviting, so you crawl on the bed and sit on his lap with a mischievous smile on your face. You reach out to get the camera he has placed on the bedside table at the same time as he drops his phone there and his hands go up to hold your hips.

“Put your hands behind your head again.” You instruct him softly, almost a mutter that sounds so shy, the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

You take a picture of him like that and another when he runs a hand through his hair but you stop when his hands come back to grab at your skin, going from your waist until they softly come down to rest at your hips.

With a soft squeeze on your sides, he tilts his head to ask, “Am I allowed to smoke?” to which you nod and get off him to open the windows and get him a cigarette and a lighter.

Getting back on top of him, you place the cigarette between his lips but before you can give him the lighter, you grab the camera again just so you can capture the moment he ignites it alive.

George looks so fucking hot lighting it up: cheeks hollowing ever so slightly, brows furrowing, long fingers that make the lighter look minuscule in his hand, lips pursed around the stick.

You snap away and capture the moment he blows out the smoke upwards, before taking another drag and then blowing it in your direction.

The familiar scent of the tobacco and just how arousing you’re finding it all, impulses you to start moving your hips slowly on him. The sudden movement makes his breath hitch in his throat, causing him to erupt in coughs when the smoke goes up the wrong hole. He had been half hard beneath you when you sat on his lap, so you can’t really hold back from wanting to have him in a new way now.

That’s when you guide his hand to your mouth so he can place the cigarette in between your lips for you to take a drag. His mouth opens agape as you do so, the rolling of your hips only growing more intent and he starts twitching and getting harder in his boxers.

He can feel your heat, the way you’re wetting your underwear and starting to wet his own, the pulsing of your swollen clit. He can see how your nipples grow hard through the lace of your bra, and the way goosebumps rise in your skin as you go. Soft gasps that turn into hush whimpers that he wants so badly to turn into those loud moans of yours that he’s quite enjoying getting drunk on.

“Have you brought a condom?” You ask breathlessly, camera being once again forgotten somewhere on the bed for you to be able to rest your hands on his chest as leverage.

A flip switches inside George, the simple hint of him finally being able to sink himself deep inside you making his blood rush down to his cock.

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and it’s a relief when you quickly get off him so he can rush to get it, not without going up to your dresser so he can put out the cigarette on the ashtray that’s laid there by your jewelry.

He had thought it was foolish of him to pocket a couple condoms before he left his flat earlier today, fully scorning himself for being so ridiculous as to assume you would want to shag after your date but oh was he glad he had still done it right then.

Condom in hand, George goes back to the bed but not without shedding himself off his boxers first. You bite your bottom lip as you get your bra off to throw it on the floor behind you, seeing him wrap his hand around his length and pump it slowly as he watches you almost naked figure. Your hands go down to your hips so you can quickly tug down your underwear, eagerly taking it off and throwing it on the same spot on the floor you had dropped your bra.

Crawling up to the edge of the bed, you hum as you watch him stroke himself up and down, your mouth watering for another taste of him. So when you get right in front of him, you dip your head down until your mouth is right before his hardening cock and sticking your tongue out, you lick at his head slowly.

He grows heavier on your tongue as you go, twitching in your mouth when you wrap your lips around him again, his head thrown back at the feeling of your wet mouth enclosed around him and sucking him off patiently.

But he has to use an incredible amount of self restraint to pull you off him, a hand delicately coming around your neck to have you let go off his cock with a pop and pull you up to face him.

“I’m fucking you now.”

George isn’t asking, he’s simply informing you and that makes you squirm under his gaze in anticipation. Thighs pressing together and eyes drinking in the way lust makes his behavior change. But you want a bit of control, even if it’s just for him to ruin you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask innocently, puppy eyes that you pray will get your a yes.

You take the way he pulls you in for a messy kiss as one.

In no time he’s laying on his back with his head resting on the pillows, teeth ripping the condom wrapper open while your hand wraps around him, waiting for him to put the latex on. The anticipation grows and hangs in the air like a heavy cloud as George rolls it down his length, sighing at the feeling of it around him.

You catch a glimpse of your camera through the corner of your eye and you can’t help but think there won’t be a better thing than capturing his pure ecstasy in a picture so you grab it before you straddle him again.

You lift the camera up to your eyes with one hand while the other gets ahold of his cock to line him up, rubbing his head on your clit and making yourself gasp at the feeling. You clench around nothing as you do so, and you can already feel yourself drenched.

Even after he’s stretched you out with his fingers, it’s slightly challenging for you to take him when you start sinking onto him.

Your jaw drops in a silent gasp when every inch of him starts stretching you out, eyes watering at the initial sting. Your eyes want to flutter closed at the feeling but you do your best to not let them close entirely so you can capture the way he groans loudly with his head thrown back as you let your cunt swallow him whole.

Breath hitching in your throat, you sink down completely until you can feel him so deep a pathetic cry of pleasure slips past your lips.

You draw your hips up and back down on him slowly, testing the waters on his size and what angle is good for you to feel the best. You’re both a mess of loud moans at the feeling. He’s so big, he’s filling you up in a way you’ve never felt before so your walls are clenching hard around him which has his head spinning.

“You–” George breathes out, hands flying to your hips and clutching them so tightly just to show how bad he’s holding himself back from just thrusting up into you, or better yet just flipping you around and fucking you into the mattress.

“Fuck–, I know. I know.” You say in a high pitch tone. One of your hands falls to rest flat on his chest and use as support, “I– oh, fuck…” You curse as you roll your hips forwards and then backwards this time, making you completely still at the insane sensory overdrive you’re getting from it.

George knows you need a second or two but you stay frozen for longer than he can hold so he pleads, “Baby– Fuck, baby, I need you to move, you’re so tight.”

“Just–” You try to say, rolling your hips again and mewling loudly. George moans back in response, his hands sliding down to your thighs as your head hangs in pleasure.

You establish a slow place, George’s fingers digging into the flesh of your upper thighs grounding you into the moment and allowing you to take another picture. A picture that captures your legs on each sides of his toned chest, his fingers digging into your skin, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps back a moan, the box tattoo on his thumb right next to the red ink of your ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

But after you press the shutter on that one, barely being able to clumsily roll the film, you just toss the camera to the side mindlessly and use your new free hand to rest on his chest as well, and the second hand of support helps you start moving your hips faster.

It’s fucking delicious the way he keeps hitting your g-spot from that angle, and when he starts bucking his hips upwards, meeting your in the middle, you can’t hold back the noises you let out. “George, fuck baby! Oh fuckkkk.” You cry out, clit feeling a bit of pressure every time you roll down and hit your pelvis, so you’re fully drunk on pleasure.

His hands run up from your thighs to mercilessly grab your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and stinging just in the best way. “Just like that baby. You feel so fucking good.” He praises you with a groan, helping you actually lift your hips up and down on him.

“You’re so– Oh fuck–” You’re so cock drunk, your thoughts are all stupid and leaving you without even being able to finish a sentence.

“Tight little cunt, can barely fit inside you.” George can feel himself meeting the hilt inside you every time, your cries growing in volume the faster the pace gets. “You love it huh, being filled to the brim?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, I love it, love your cock!” You’re dripping all over him, the noise of the wetness and your skin slapping every time you meet bouncing off the walls and, combined with your moans, makes for a pornographic scene you wish you were recording.

“I know you can go faster. Can you do that for me, baby?” George genuinely can feel himself not lasting any longer with how tight you’re squeezing him.

“I can, I can.” You promise desperately, wanting to be good for him. So you pick up your pace, your hands moving ever so slightly so you can straighten up a bit and when you do so you curse out loud at the new angle, “Ah fuck!”

Your hips grow erratic, your knees helping now when you bounce up and down his cock ever so more intently, enough for you to incessantly gasp in a high pitch every time he hits that spot.

“Such a good girl for me.” His hands stop groping your ass to spank you, making you jolt forward with a loud gasp that turns into a mewl and a whine that tries to pass as a ‘yes’. His cock twitches inside you at that reaction so he does it again and again, feeling your walls flutter around him with every hit, “You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Yeah, yes…” You gasp, and if you hadn’t been so adamant on chasing your high, you would’ve noticed George quickly getting the camera and snapping a picture of you riding him. Hair a mess covering up your face but your mouth wide open in a moan, tits bouncing as you ride him, hands on his chest as support.

He’s just about managed to put the camera back down when he feels you squeezing him the tightest and that’s when you finally cum. “George! George! Ge–” You cry out his name like a prayer until it breaks down into a loud moan that tips him over the edge along with your cunt milking him dry into the condom as you sloppily continue to ride him.

“Fuck! Y/N!” George moans loudly, his hands going to your ass again to help you continue as he cums, his cock twitching the more he spurts into the condom, sweet relief making him see stars.

Unable to uphold yourself any longer, you collapse over him, chests heaving in sync as you both come down from your highs. It’s hard catching your breaths when your skin burns from the heat and sticks from the sweat. And George knows you’re rather uncomfortable from the way you groan into him, your fingers lazily trying to brush the hair out of your face but huffing as it sticks to your sweaty forehead.

He brushes your hair back, fingers delicately grazing your face and earning a soft smile and a sigh from you. But then his hold goes down to your hips so he can lift you up and off himself to set you beside him. You whine and pout at the loss of him, feeling so empty after he’s stuffed you to the brim.

You don’t even try to open your eyes, completely spent from your activities and snuggling into the pillows to find some comfort in your post orgasm haze.

George sits up on the edge of your bed and sheds himself off the condom, tying it so he can throw it away, and groaning as he pushes himself off the bed to make his way to the bathroom.

He takes about five minutes there and when he comes back into the room, he smiles, finding a sleepy you struggling to keep your eyes open and smirking at him. He giggles as he walks up to bed and after taking your camera and placing it on one of the bedside tables, he carries your bridal style to take you to the bathroom.

Yes you’re still on cloud nine after that orgasm but you still have a bit of sense in you then so, after thanking him with a kiss, you tell George you’re alright from there and he can wait for you in bed.

You only realize what you’d said as you wash your hands after peeing and you’re cringing just thinking about him being gone once you go back into the room. But you find that he hasn’t left and instead, he’s gone under the bedsheets and is waiting for you to cuddle up to him so you can get some rest.

You giggle like a fool when you get under the sheets and he hooks his arm around your waist to push you flush against him, your back pressed to his chest and he nuzzles into your neck from behind. Your legs tangle together and your breaths sync and slow down as the minutes go by until you succumb to their slumber.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It’s bright outside when you wake up with the horrendous need to go to the bathroom, one that you’d been sleepily ignoring for a while but that had become too unbearable to endure anymore.

George has his hand around your waist and his leg thrown over yours, effectively keeping you trapped in his hold in bed, so you try to very slowly peel yourself away from him to escape to the toilet.

You’re careful so that you don’t wake him up just yet, but when you manage to get your legs untangled from his, he stirs and grumbles, “Where are you trying to go?” throwing his leg over yours again, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist making you chuckle.

“Bathroom.” You mumble as you try to get away again but he’s stubbornly holding you even tighter to him.

You feel him shake his head as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, a soft “No.” falling in your ears that makes you sigh.

“George.” You say softly to not disrupt the silence in the room, but he doesn’t reply so you try again a little louder this time, “George.” Once again, no response, so you end up whining, “Babyyyy.”

To the nickname he does listen, but his response is just a muttered, “Mhm?”

You turn around in his arms with a bit of struggle, cupping his face and pecking his lips a handful of times so he takes it as enough bribery to listen to you, “Please let me go. I’ll just be a minute.”

George steals one last long peck from you before smiling loopily and nodding, “Okay.”

He lazily retracts his limbs to let you get up freely from the bed, and though he’s fighting his sleep, he manages to peel his eyes open for long enough to watch your naked figure walk away from the bed and into your ensuite.

Keeping track of time is impossible to him when his eyes close again after you leave his line of sight, and he only opens his eyes again when he hears you giggle softly at the sight of him in your bed as you walk back to bed.

“You took longer than a minute.” He points out with his eyes still closed.

You snort and half heartedly apologize, “Sorry, I’m sore.”

His hand comes up to rub at his eyes, and when he does so, he sees the state in which you’ve come back so he frowns and tells you to, “Stop right there.” He sounds so serious, an amused smirk shows on your face because you have no idea what he’s about to say. An accusing finger waves in the air in your direction and he calls you out, “Why are you wearing a robe?”

“Shut up.” You say instantly when hearing that’s what is making him frown, your eyes rolling playfully at him.

“Get that off now.” He instructs but you take another step towards the bed with no intention of taking it off and he grumbles, “Y/N/N…” with a more stern tone that makes you too flustered for this time of day.

“You’re annoying.” You complain with a roll of your eyes, still listening to him and slowly undoing the knot that kept your robe closed, making it a little show as you open it up and let it fall off your body and pool at your feet on the floor.

Of course, George smirks at the sight and he has no shame in looking you up and down with hunger now shining on his sleepy eyes, his cock twitches just by seeing you naked in front of him again. Fuck, you’re stunning.

“Come here gorgeous.” The drummer invites you back into his arms and you don't have to be told twice for you to go back to bed and be the little spoon for him. You’d had such good sleep being completely enveloped in him, heavy limbs acting like a weighted blanket on you and it was utter bliss.

But after seeing you naked again, skin littered with love bites he had left all over your, hair messy and tits perky and bouncing as you walked, George feels the need to show you a bit more of the appreciation he had shown you the day before.

His hand brushes your hair to the side so he can have access to the skin on the back of your neck. Goosebumps breaking on the skin there when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses on it, fingers ghostly running down your back and stopping right on your lower back that had your back arching into him. Your ass grazed his cock every time, making it twitch and start to harden.

In search of friction, he pushes his hips forward and you reciprocate by pressing your ass against him. He keeps his actions going and sets a pace that the two of you keep up, mewling out loud when his hardening cock comes in contact with your cunt, “Hmm, George.”

“Yes, baby?” His lips brush against your skin, a shiver running down your spine and making you shudder, “You’re so fucking beautiful, please let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, it’s a no-brainer. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he pushes his hips forwards again at the same time as you do and the tip of his cock presses on your clit.

“Yes?” He moans in your ear, hand coming around your front to play with your tits, “Can I make you cum again, sweetheart?”

You eagerly nod, swallowing a moan as he pinches your nipple and when he cup your whole tit with one hand, kneading it harshly, your “Please.” came out in the form of a whine.

“Good girl. M’gonna make you feel so good baby, I promise.” His hand continues playing with your tits as you keep grinding on each other. When his cock is hard enough, you feel it come up to rest heavily between his lower stomach and your lower back, and it’s then that he lets his fingers trail down until they hover over your mound and he breathlessly asks, “D’you trust me?”

“Yeah, George…” You’re basically pleading with him to continue, hand coming to clutch his and guide his fingers down to your soaked cunt and when he feels just how wet you are, he groans and pulls away.

“Wait.” George instructs you, leaving you alone on the bed to get a condom. You hear the wrapper rip and him moaning as he puts the condom on, stroking himself up and down a few times before he tugs the sheets off you and turns you from your side to your front so you’re face down and he can hover over you from behind.

His knees are on either side of your hips, forearms pressed on the mattress next to your shoulders and he kisses and sucks all over your back as he praises you for how gorgeous you are over and over.

He keeps bruising you up until you push your ass up and beg him to do something, the ache in your cunt too unbearable.

So George lets go of the patch of skin he’s bruising and does as you ask for, spreading your legs open as he kneels in between them and rubs his tip up and down your slit.

“Don’t tease, please.” You cry into the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing and it’s painful knowing just how good he felt inside you but he isn’t allowing you to feel it yet.

But then he just let himself slowly slip inside you and his jaw falls at your tightness in that angle, “Oh Y/N/N… Fuck me.” He feels like he can barely fit in, but you’re dripping with slick so it makes it a bit easier for him to slowly bottom out.

“George–” You choke out, head turning to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Your fingers clawing at the sheets beside your head for dear life.

“I know. You’re so tight.” He whimpers in pleasure, barely able to move an inch out of you because you’re so snug it feels like you’re pushing him out.

“Move baby, please.” You beg again and he starts going then, a slow pace at first that grows in speed rather quickly and has your cursing out loud, “Fuckkkkk!”

He gasps into your ear with every thrust, and it’s soon that the sound of your skin slapping drowns the room along with your moans. “Gonna miss this tight little cunt so much.” He says into your neck, sucking a bruise on the back of it before asking, “Gonna miss me too?”

“Ye– Yes! Oh shit baby!” You gasp when he hooks his left arm under your leg, pulling it upwards slowly and allowing you to stretch a bit more so you feel him even deeper, “Gonna miss you so much!”

He chuckles smugly, “I know you will.”

“Oh fuck!” You curse as he hits your g-spot perfectly from that angle, his hips hitting your ass and reminding you of how sore the skin there is from the spanking he gave you the night before. “Yes, yes! Don’t stop, please!”

“If you could only see yourself right now!” He curses under his breath when he looks down to see himself disappear into your cunt, over and over. If he keeps looking at how he keeps sliding in and out of you so easily, he will burst right then so he looks back up to your face and praises you once more, “Taking me so well, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

“Harder, please.” You ask in a whine, and he stills for just a second to get a better standing on his knees before giving it to you like you were begging to, making you instantly get even louder when he hits that sweet spot with more intensity, “Oh my– Fuck! Right there, yes!”

“Just like that, yeah?” His smirk grows on his face, feeling how it keeps getting easier to slide inside you which means you’re fucking drenched and dripping all over him, your walls fluttering around him already making him see stars.

“Yes! Yes!” You chant like a broken record, the coil in your lower stomach tightening by the second and threatening to snap at any moment, “I’m so close!”

His left arm lifts your leg even higher and then leaves it there to be able to bring his fingers down to rub at your clit and send you over the edge, “C’mon baby, cum for me sweetheart!” He encourages you as he rubs fast circles on your throbbing clit, which earns him choked out moans that turn into a throat ripping moan of, “F-fuckkkk! George!”

George feels you squeeze him so tightly as you cum, making it so much harder for him to continue thrusting in and out without losing the rhythm he’s set, he can’t hold it any longer, his hips stuttering as he cums and stilling as he spills his seed in the condom, “Ah shit! Y/N!”

His thrusts become sloppy and messy as he tries to ride out your highs while you spasm around him, whimpering as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your legs trembling under him and your white knuckle grip on the sheets falters.

Letting his weight fall over you almost entirely, George sighs in complete bliss and he kisses the back of your head and your cheek multiple times to say, “Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He drops a kiss on your lips and praises you once more, “My good pretty girl.”

The way he speaks to you makes your stomach flutter, and he feels it when you clench around him. “You like that huh?” He teases with a smirk, his nose brushing up your neck until he comes up to your ear and bites your earlobe to which you mewl in response.

He pulls out, hearing you whine when you feel upsettingly empty again but he rubs circles on your hips soothingly and asks, “Shall we go take a shower? Do you want me to help you up?”

You barely manage to reply with a quiet, “Mhm…” when a loud ringing snaps the two of you out of your wonderful post orgasm bubble.

You don’t really recognize the ringing so you figure it’s George’s phone. Yet, the drummer doesn’t make an attempt to go and get it, as he flops beside you in bed for a second before pushing himself off the bed and sheds himself off the condom you just used.

He gets up to discard it in the bathroom and just as he crosses the threshold of the ensuite, he hears his phone start ringing again. He fully ignores it again, taking his time in the bathroom until he hears you call out for him to pick up the unrelenting calls.

A grunt leaves his lips when he comes back to the room and picks up the phone only to read his sister’s name on the screen so he answers with a meek, “Y’alright?” to let her know he isn’t in the mood for the constant ringing.

You hear pure silence surrounding you for a good half minute before George sighs out an annoyed, “Fucks sake.” Opening your eyes to see him, you move onto your side to watch him as he speaks. “Right now? Really?” He asks, entirely unamused. “Yeah, really busy actually.” He says sternly, looking at you naked in front of him with wide eyes. That makes you purse your lips not to laugh but what gets the giggles out of you is when he sighs loudly and mutters, “I hate you.” to whoever it is on the phone.

It’s barely another half minute that he listens to whoever is on the other side, before he ends the call with an impatient, “Yeah, yeah. Sure. See ya’.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, your fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

George rolls his eyes at the situation, “My sister needs me for something. She says it’s urgent but I doubt it.” He shrugs then, ignoring the importance of whatever it was his sister needed him for, he had only been half listening really. “I can stay though, it wouldn’t be the first time I ignore her.”

That has you snorting in laughter, “Go, you idiot.”

“But–” He tries to argue as he comes to hover over you, head dipping to steal a kiss out of you which you break after a few seconds by pushing his shoulders softly so you can reassure him it’s fine. After all, you had really enjoyed yourself so you’re genuinely considering another date with him.

“It’s okay. I had the best time with you, and that’s all I wanted.” Your hands come to the back of his head, fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck and scratching his scalp softly.

George clicks his tongue and he pouts to joke, “Knew you only wanted me for my body.”

You cackle at his antics and tell him to “Shut up.” only to do it yourself by pulling him into you so you can share one last kiss. It’s sweet but it isn’t soft, your lips moving together with intent as if to prove you need to do it again because it’s just too good.

But you have to stop it before it can turn into something more. You pull on his hair so your lips separate with a smack and, with the sweetest smile and looking at him with doe eyes, you say, “Thank you, George.”

“I had the best time Y/N/N.” He replies wholeheartedly then, agreeing with your previous point.

“Me too.” You nod softly to reiterate, your hands coming back down to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing circles on his skin.

One last short kiss is all you get in that bed before you both stand up and get dressed. Well, George does, in the same getup as the day before, while you put your robe back on and tie it around yourself slowly as he finishes getting his shoes on.

“I’ll see you soon for a second date, yeah?” He says when you walk him to the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You definitely will.” You assure, knowing you’d be texting him very soon about a second date if he doesn’t text you first about it.

He winks right as he opens the door, stealing one last peck from your lips before walking away. Leaving you with a stupid smile on your face that only gets bigger when you close the door behind you and go back to your room, seeing the mess you had left the bed looking like.

Yes, you were definitely going on a second date with him.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

A/N: What did you think? Hope you lot enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, I'm so excited to see your reactions! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @kennedy-brooke @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

#george daniel #george #daniel #the 1975 #george the 1975 #george daniel the 1975 #george daniel smut #george daniel fluff #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #george daniel one shot #george daniel blurb #george daniel imagine #george daniel drabble #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #george daniel x y/n #matty healy #adam hann #ross macdonald

[love4agesss]

bleach. george daniel x reader

synopsis: your life is changing rapidly, all good things— yet you’re feeling behind and lost in life. in an effort to cope, you bleach your hair, with the help of your boyfriend george.

word count: 1,488

warnings: angst?-(not really?) general feelings of feeling lost! perhaps a bit self indulgent!

a/n: this is my first published writing! yay! it’s maybe a bit too wordy but I had too much fun. i saw @bayleequits post that there’s a lack of george fics and angst/fluff and i have to agree! so I’m attempting to rectify that:)

anyway! enjoy! <33333

——————————————————————————

You were being unfair. 

Blaming your own ineptness to cope with change on everything around you, including George, was only making matters worse. What made everything far more confusing and complicated was that these changes were all good. You had just taken a new job offer, one that pays far more than your last job and has flexible hours, and you’ve finally moved in with your boyfriend of two years. Things are looking up, yet you’re feeling lower than you have in months.

After a domestic discussion about your now shared finances turned into an avoidable argument; here you are in the bathroom of your shared house with tears drying down your cheeks. You feel emotional, embarrassed of yourself, and guilty— achingly so.

George has done nothing but love you and welcome you into his home, he has done nothing but share in your success and joy with your new job. It isn’t his fault you’re feeling this way; you just feel off, distant, the changes all overwhelming and hitting at once.

Yet, you still feel the same— like you’re standing still as your life keeps moving around you.

You take in your appearance in the mirror across from you, the light bouncing off of the pale gray bathroom walls making it seem unbearably bright. Your eyes are puffy, your cheeks flushed and tear-stained, your hair a mess.

Your hair, the same length it’s been since you first started at the job you just left— 5 years ago; the hair that’s been through two break ups and the beginnings of your time with George. Never really having changed it, you decide that your hair is one of the small things you could do to change yourself, no matter how surface level that difference really is. 

Ducking down and opening a drawer under the sink, you see a box of cheap hair bleach, unopened and likely being saved for George’s next touch up. He’s always been adamant about doing it himself, using a single gloved hand to smother his scalp with bleach. Lacking sleep and the correct parameters to make a sensible decision, you grab the box and begin to open it, all the while attempting to remember where the hair scissors are. 

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you don’t notice George’s head peeking in through the bathroom door, his deep eyes thoughtful as they watch your hands deftly working to inbox the hair kit.

“D’you want some help?” His tone rumbles this softly, not questioning your actions as he allows you to notice his presence. 

All current thoughts and feelings are replaced by love and guilt as he nears you. You want to apologize for your stubbornness and fighting words, yet all you can do is nod wordlessly and hand him the box. George grants you a soft smile, patting the counter of the sink with his palm as he sets the contents of the box on the closed toilet lid. You watch his sure movements as he mixes the contents into the bowl.

“Where d’you want it?” His eyes rove over your features as he speaks, taking in the emotions staining the face he loves so dearly.

You hadn’t thought about it and you don’t want to commit to your whole head, “Just a strip in the front, could look cool,” the smile you shoot him is weak, barely able to be held up by the weight you feel.

George steps closer, your legs widening instinctively to allow him between; his tall, broad build shadowing over you. The silence between you two is achingly tense as he sections off your hair, tucking what is to be untouched by the bleach behind your ear.

Neither of you know how to approach this, as neither of you can put a name to what is so wrong.

His willingness to aid you after you had been so harsh says a lot about who George is as a person, as a partner. Forgiving, comforting, empathetic, and warm. All traits you continually fall in love with; over and over and over.

Pulling a glove over his hand, he holds the strip of your hair, his right hand using the bleach coated brush to slowly apply it. In languid streaks, he coats the desired section. His sharp features are focused as he gnaws at his bottom lip, careful to not brush anything outside of the given parameters. Silently, he clasps the bleach-drenched hair back, starting a timer on his phone to allow for the chemicals to set in.

Slowly but surely, he looks up from his phone, gaze latching onto your own. Tenderly, he reaches a hand out, the pads of his fingers brushing the apple of your cheek before cupping your face in his large, calloused palm. Brows furrowing, creating a crease in the skin between them, George's eyes fill with concern and with words he’s unsure of speaking aloud.

“What’s going on in this head of yours?” He questions softly, his deep rumble of a voice strained with worry.

You feel a jolt in your chest at his feather light touch, reserved for you; only you. “I– ” you pause, still unsure of how to put this into words, you just don’t know, “I don’t know.” It comes out as a weak croak, reverberating in the small bathroom space. 

“Love, there has to be something. You’ve been on edge all week,” he says with concern brushing across his features, his thumb tracing the dried tear streaks on your cheek. “Is it– are you regretting moving in?” George’s tone is marred with worry, his brows furrowing impossibly further, “I never wanted to push you to move too fast with us, I just– ” 

“God, no. Of course not,” you whisper, cutting him off. “It’s just– I– I feel stuck,” you attempt to explain, “Everything around me is changing so rapidly and life is moving on, but I feel the same. Like my mind is unwilling to adjust to any of this.” 

His hand slips from your cheek to rest upon the crook of your neck, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles across your collarbone. It’s one of his favorite places to inhabit; with his face, tender kisses, the point of his nose, or the tip of a finger. 

“D’you need to go back to therapy?” George asks gently, almost with an air of hesitance, as he takes the glove off of his left hand. He knows therapy’s not something that anyone necessarily enjoys; though it has potential to help. 

You’re quick to say no, your head shaking weakly.

“The last thing I want to do is feel like I regressed, George. I’m so tired of feeling like I can't get better. I should be over the moon about moving in and getting a new job– and I am, but it’s like everything I knew is gone for good. The only constant is you, and I keep being an asshole,” you groan into your hand, wiping at your irritated eyes. 

“Darling, stop that, please” George pleads softly, his warm palms engulfing your shoulders in a loving attempt to keep you upright, “I can’t say it’s been easy. I know life hasn’t been as of lately, regardless of how good it’s appearing to be.” 

He’s always been an anchor for you, in all aspects of life. Somehow his warm brown eyes soften even further as he looks to you, to your overwhelming feelings that seem to seep out of every aspect of how you exist lately. You’ve been trudging through the past week, hoping your pathetic attempts at getting better will aid you in escaping your feelings. 

Unfortunately they chase right behind you, biting and gnawing at you. “I know I should go,” you admit in a nearly inaudible breath, “I know I should,” you repeat, more to yourself now as if to convince you that therapy might help. 

“It can only help, yeah?” He murmurs softly, careful to not touch your bleach soaked hair as he pulls you to his chest, “I can drive you, take you for dinner after.” 

You can’t help but smile against his broad chest, your load lightening ever so slightly as you breathe him in, feel his heart beating beneath your cheek. Every steady tap of its rhythm seems to reassure you; ‘it’ll be okay.’ 

“You wanna help me touch mine up?” George asks as he pulls away, hands grazing the side of your arms tenderly. 

“You must really pity me, to let me bleach that special hair of yours,” you tease, sniffing up the last of your emotions. 

“Take it or leave it,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as a soft smile tugs at his lips. 

You’re quick to take it; quick to grab the bowl of bleach, just as he’s quick to kiss your lips, quick to bend down to your height; always and forever attempting to make life just a bit easier for you.

#george daniel fic #george daniel #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #george daniel x y/n #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy #adam hann #ross macdonald #fanfiction #matty the 1975 #george daniel fluff

[tillthelandslide]

Lou's Fic Recommendations

So, lots of people have been asking for my recommendations for fics, now, there is so so so many that I love, if you want to find more I always tag my reblogs with "tillthelandslide fic rec : ross macdonald" or ": george daniel" or " : matty healy". BUT, these are some of my all time fave fics and fave writers tbh...

Ross:

Mirror Ball by @poisonmedaddy13

Gold Rush by @hypersonic04

Three's A Party by @abiiors

Obsessed by @poisonmedaddy13

Wear My Name Around Your Neck by @procrastinatinglikeapro

History and Drama (pt.1) (pt.2) by @writingchalamet

Quarter Past Midnight by @alovesreading

Begging For Trouble by @procrastinatinglikeapro

Happiness by @toomuchracket

Matty:

Pray For My Soul by @lottiecrabie

Politics of Polite Interpersonal Conduct by @solipsisticno1

Can't Catch a Break by @procrastinatinglikeapro

After (after party) by @theseventyfive

atpoaim by @lastnightwaskindofablur

please, take my hand by @ughgoaway

All I Need by @justanamesstuff

The intimacy of being understood by @justanamesstuff

Rockstar girlfriend by @lottiecrabie

Soft Sound by @byyourside28

George:

Truth or Dare by @abiiors

Wear My Name Around Your Neck by @procrastinatinglikeapro

Three's A Party by @abiiors

Midnight, car lights by @abiiors

Dress (pt. 1) (pt. 2) by @kennedy-brooke

#tillthelandslide fic rec #tillthelandslide fic rec : ross macdonald #tillthelandslide fic rec : matty healy #tillthelandslide fic rec : george daniel #the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #george daniel #ross macdonald fanfiction #matty healy fanfiction #george daniel fanfiction #ross macdonald fan fic #matty healy fan fic #george daniel fan fic

[not-alien-girl-v]

Disconnected (Matty Healy)

warning: not smut but it might as well be. mentions of doing the dirty but. it doesn’t happen. you know. also george gets roasted sorry georgenation

note: meow

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

he collapses on top of you, sweat coating his bare skin. a long exhale releases from his lungs as he sinks into your body. you keep your hands on his back, rubbing up and down comfortingly, soothing the angry red marks left by your nails just a few minutes ago.

he hums in contentment and places featherlight kisses to the right side of your neck. you giggle and push him off you.

“what? done with me already?” you don’t say anything, expecting him to just fall asleep like he usually does at the end of your ‘after he gets back from the studio quickie.’ it’s not always like this, your sex life with him, this is just one, predictable aspect of it.

it’s almost like you both know how good he fucks you when you ask for it, that it makes up for all the simple, mundane sex you have most of the time.

suddenly, he turns to his side, propping his head up on his hand, and his silent stare is harrowing. “yes?” you ask him, wishing you could read his mind. sometimes you swear he can read yours.

“can i ask you something?” he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says this, and you can only assume the worst.

1. would you still love me if i was gay?

2. will you help me bury the body?

3. when i die of terminal cancer, will you promise not to remarry?

you’ve just been staring at him staring at the crisp white bedsheets and when he looks into your eyes, you are reminded that he can’t actually read your mind, and your attempts at telepathic communication are feeble.

“sure, baby.”

“ok. i’m gonna ask you, and no matter what your answer is, i promise i won’t get mad. you hear me?”

“yes?”

he reaches out to grab your arm, “i mean it, i won’t get mad, i’m just genuinely curious, i’m not fishing for a compliment or anything, i just really want to know.”

what on earth is he on about?

“just ask your question.”

he sighs again. “who’s the best man you’ve ever hooked up with?”

you close your eyes in a mix of both confusion and a bit of disappointment. “like… character-wise or sex-wise?”

“sex-wise.”

you nod, about to say something.

he doesn’t let you.

“i bet it was george, wasn’t it. i’m sure of it. god, when you two hooked up, he was in his prime. i mean, not that he isn’t fit now, i’m sure he still fucks, but back then… i bet he knew what he was doing. how was it with him? be honest, i won’t be upset.”

you just smile silently as he can never shut his big mouth. “that’s pretty gay.”

he chuckles at your response, still egging you on for a real response. “come on, he’s a drummer, so obviously, he’s got rhythm, and he’s a very big boy, so you know he’s got the size.”

you reach forward to brush a stray curl behind his ear, enjoying his beautiful tranquility for as long as you can, because you know he will inevitably get riled up the more this conversation continues.

“i’m starting to think you just want to hear about what it’d be like to fuck your friends,” you brush your fingers through his hair continuously, and he closes his eyes, nearly forgetting about your conversation.

“you’re changing the subject darling,” he leans into your touch.

“so you’re saying you don’t want to know? what it would be like?”

he opens his eyes, “of course i want to know! we’re all straight men in committed relationships to beautiful women, i may never get the experience.”

you rest your hand on the edge of his face, rubbing his temple in circles with your thumb. “you know, if you ever wanted to fuck any of them, i think i’d let you. it’s only fair, since me and george, you know.”

“it wouldn’t be the same, though, because when you and him fucked, we weren’t together yet, i hadn’t told you i liked you. it would mean too much if i shagged my mates now since you and i are you know… whatever.”

you gasp in amusement, “did you really just refer to our relationship as whatever?”

he pouts, but you know he’s laughing on the inside. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine, i guess.”

“wait, you never answered my question!”

“alright. i’ll get into it. you ready?” he nods, looking more prepared than you are for what’s to come. “george was… i mean… it was good. to somebody else, maybe it was great. but to me? i don’t know, we just didn’t mix well together.”

“what d’you mean, baby?”

“like, okay, you look at a guy like that, you assume a certain thing from him while fucking. like you go into doing it with a level of expectations, somewhat high, and he just didn’t meet them.”

“can you be a little more vague? i think i’m almost understanding you, god forbid that happen.”

“fine, fine. truth is, he was too gentle. like you said, he’s a drummer, he’s super muscular, and he’s huge, you expect him to give a rough fucking or even something adjacent to it, and like, i mean, i’m a big girl, i can take it, but every 5 minutes was like ‘are you okay?’ ‘is this too much’ ‘do you need me to stop?’ you’d have thought he was a virgin the way he was so awkward and nervous and gentle. it was weird.”

“that is weird. i never thought that’s how it would be with him.”

“did i ruin the magic for you? now that you know fucking your best friend would be underwhelming?”

“it wasn’t magic, more morbid curiosity,” he speaks.

“morbid? it’s not like we’re talking about fucking a dead body, it’s just george.”

“agree to disagree, my love.” he gets up, butt ass naked, and pulls on some clean boxers from his closet. then, he stops in his tracks, and turns around to face you again. “wait, answer the question, for real this time. i won’t be mad.”

“it’s you.” you speak it plain, simple, and true. you wonder why he even debated the question.

“really?”

“really. it’s always been you.”

“aw, that’s so sweet. just don’t go getting feelings for me, i’m a lone wolf, don’t do relationships,” he warns as he walks out of his room, heading to his kitchen.

the irony hits you as heavy as the new engagement ring on your finger he presented to you a week ago. you laugh to yourself, feeling smitten.

he returns in a moment with a glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand next to where you lay. “drink, darling”

you obey, giving him a look over the rim of the cold glass as it rests against your kiss-swollen lips. you swallow, “you’re being pretty sweet to me, for a ‘lone wolf.’”

he smiles, enjoying the near endless banter between the two of you. “every alpha needs their omega.”

“ew, that’s gross, get out of here, you freak!” you gently nudge him off of the side of the bed where he sits.

he gives you his classic dumb smile as he leaves the room with the now empty glass of water, likely returning it to the dishwasher.

when he gets back, you can’t help but continue his dumb conversation. “i think i’m the alpha in this relationship, anyway. you’re my bitch.”

he nods in agreement, “i’m your bitch.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

taglist: @indierockgirrl @itssimpleanditgoeslikethis @milkluvr8 @americanangel

#the 1975 #matty healy x reader #ratty matty #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy 1975 #matty healy imagine #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy #matty healy smut #george daniel fanfic #george daniel smut #george daniel the 1975 #george daniel fic #george daniel x reader #george daniel #george daniel fanfiction #the 1975 fluff #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #matty the 1975 #1975 band #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 smut #Spotify

[abiiors]

In Stages

For @alien-princess-v and @nowujustlooklikeanyone who requested similar George fics, so I thought I would combine them into one big piece. I hope you enjoy this :)

Also inspired by “I've been in love with her for ages / And I can't seem to get it right / I fell in love with her in stages / My whole life”

Five times he almost confessed + the one time he finally did

some angst but a happy ending, female reader, alcohol, weed etc.

wc: 6k

For as long as George can remember, he has been a coward. No really, every time he sees you hanging out with Matty and the rest of your friends, he wonders if this is it, if this is the right time. He has never felt so uncharacteristically shy around anybody before. But George feels absolutely tongue-tied when you’re in the room simply existing. 

The house party they’re throwing has taken a bit of a wild turn. Raucous laughter drowns out the sound of music in the room, a playlist that George agonised over for weeks that’s now just being treated as background music. 

‘God, you two are disgusting,’ you’re laughing at Matty and his girlfriend and he watches from a distance as his best friend blushes and slaps away your hand. 

The genuine happiness on all three of your faces makes his heart ache, makes him feel a little like an outsider. Especially since you’re primarily the cause of Matty’s happiness right now; what with you introducing him to the girl he’s now in love with. 

‘Come on, mate,’ Matty waves him over, ‘why are you sulking in the corner?’

He is sulking a bit, that’s true, but he still makes a face when Matty mentions it. 

‘What’s up with you?’ you ask and turn your body to him as soon as he sits down. He is wildly aware of the fact that your knees are touching; his covered in some old jeans, yours bare seeing as how the dress you wear ends around your thighs. And so he is very aware of the fact that he could be touching you if he slightly moved his hand. 

‘Hello?’ you wave your hand in front of his face. ‘Ground control to Major Daniel,’ you speak in a sing-song voice and he laughs a bit at the reference. 

‘Sorry,’ he feels a bit embarrassed for zoning out on you, ‘sorry, it’s been a long day.’

‘Something getting wasted can’t solve?’ you quirk an eyebrow and extend your glass to him. A red solo cup full of cheap beer. A party full of cliches. But he takes a sip of it gratefully and then cringes at the taste. 

‘This is disgusting!’

‘Don’t go all bougie on me now, Daniel. I’ve seen you drink much worse stuff.’ 

He laughs. Because he always laughs when you’re even remotely funny, he can’t help himself. Matty, seemingly bored of the conversation, pulls his girlfriend off his lap and whisks her away to the dance floor. George tries to ignore the pang of longing he feels. How is it so easy for his friend to simply just…ask?

Ask you to set him up with her. 

And then ask her to be his girlfriend. 

And ask her to dance with him; swaying to their own tune in spite of the fast-paced song.  

He looks away, clears his throat for some courage. ‘Let’s go up to the rooftop.’ 

‘Trying to get me all alone? Oooohhh,’ you waggle your eyebrows at him suggestively and he’s suddenly made aware of how tipsy you actually are. He simply rolls his eyes and tries to stop the words from bubbling up. 

Yes, he’s trying to get you all alone. Because he just wants to keep you for himself so he could go to bed with you next to him and wake up with you in his arms and he wouldn’t get irrationally jealous seeing you talking to other men because he would know you’re coming home to him at the end of the day. 

‘Yes, I’m trying to solicit you,’ he replies, hiding his true intentions under sarcasm, ‘now will you come with me?’

So you go, up and up the spiral staircase holding his hand and giggling all the way in anticipation. He suspects it has more to do with the drugs and the alcohol in your system than the fact that he’s funny. He has barely spoken a word tonight without overanalysing it at least ten times. 

‘Are you going to tell me the names of the stars and woo me?’ you sway from side to side, dance away from his grip when he comes any closer. He wonders if it’s a game to you, if you simply like the chase, the thrill of it. And he’s willing to walk to the ends of the earth if all you give him is one sign. 

‘I won’t need to give you astronomy lessons to woo you’ he laughs, tries to keep his tone casual. 

It’s all quiet up here. The sounds of the party downstairs are so muffled, as if you are under some blanket. A space only for the two of you. 

‘My, my George,’ you gasp, ‘are you flirting with me?’

Have been for the past six months, he thinks somewhat bitterly but settles on shaking his head in exasperation. He is, perhaps, slightly tipsier than he thought but he’s not exactly inebriated. So when you grab your hands in his, and try to twirl him around, he simply lets you. 

‘It’s lovely up here,’ you close your eyes for a brief moment and breathe in the fresh air. ‘It’s nice being with you.’

His head spins a bit at the words that have just come out of your mouth. At the way your hands are fisting in his shirt.

If this were a romance movie, he would see a shooting star right about now; crashing, hurtling towards the ground at full speed. He would wish upon it, wish for the girl he’s always wanted. Then you would look at him through your eyelashes, tilt your chin up, perhaps even get on your tiptoes to reach him better. But you wouldn’t have to. Because he would already be there, leaning in and closing the distance between you two. And you would maybe gasp softly and pull him closer still. Unwilling and incapable of pulling away from him. 

Instead, you stumble. 

And instead of the shooting star, it’s his hopes and wishes that come crashing down. 

He’s not drunk but you definitely are. 

‘Alright, then,’ he sighs in resignation. ‘Let’s just sit down before you hurt yourself.’

And right there on the rooftop, with your backs against the wall and your head on his shoulder, he thinks that maybe this is nice. Maybe he can settle for this intimacy for now; having your side pressed against his, softly humming along to the echos of the song downstairs. It’s so out of tune and bad but he still wishes he could bottle up this sound. Keep it only for himself. 

Slowly, the humming stops, replaced by sounds of deep, even breathing. All the courage it took him to bring you up to the rooftop so he could finally kiss you, all of it leaves him in a rush, leaves him weary. So he simply sticks to pressing a lingering kiss on your head. A sweet, chaste, friendly kiss. Just like he always has. 

---------------------------

George’s heart is pounding. And you’re not the reason this time. 

He can’t stop thinking and overthinking all the last-minute changes to the setlist, all the small gaps where he can mess up and derail the whole show. The rest of the guys seem fine. The rest of them are devouring a large pizza as if they haven’t eaten in days. And he can’t bring himself to even think about food. 

‘You look like you’re gonna throw up.’ Your voice jerks him out of yet another mini-spiral. 

How could he forget you were going to watch the show today? Their biggest show yet that Matty was so excited for that he made sure to invite you, personally, three times. 

Not that George doesn’t want you there, he actually really loves it when you cheer on him (and the rest of the band but he’s allowed to indulge in his daydreams a bit) but today it feels like just one more thing that might set him off. Just one more, really important person he could mess up in front of.

‘Everything alright?’ you ask again, hand on his shoulder and urging him to look at you which he simply cannot. He knows what you will see is someone on the brink of losing it. ‘George…talk to me.’

It’s the way you say his name that makes him swallow roughly. ‘’m sorry,’ he mumbles, ‘just a bit nervous.’ He tries his best to give you a reassuring smile but the most he can manage is a shaky and wobbly grimace. ‘We’ve never played a venue this big before. I don’t know why the rest of them aren’t shitting themselves right now.’ 

‘That’s not the case, love,’ you try to reassure but he’s not listening to anything right now. He hasn’t even registered the term of endearment. Instead, he feels himself grow more and more agitated with each passing second. His knee bounces in place, his fingers fidget with one of his bracelets and he tries to control the urge to just scream out loud. 

He’s still going on and on about the setlist change and how he’s not sure of his setup and how he’s going to mess up which is going to make Matty mess up which is going to turn the concert into a shitshow when you move to kneel down in front of him and grab his face in your hands. And that instantly stops him mid-spiral. 

‘Shut up for one second, will you?’ you ask sternly but your hold on his face is gentle. 

‘Make me?’ 

He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. What the fuck was his plan with that one? It’s not like you’re going to kiss him senseless and make him forget about everything for just one moment. This isn’t a movie. 

And the way your eyes go wide and your breathing gets uneven is proof of that. 

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles quickly and stands up to put some distance between you, ‘sorry, don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean it like that.’ He speaks in a rush, scared that he might have made things awkward. But you simply shake your head and make your way to him. 

The clock is ticking. They are supposed to be on stage in ten minutes. Adam cracks a joke that makes the rest of them laugh and George paces a bit more. It’s not like him to feel this nervous. Maybe he’s just having a bad trip, a bad day. 

The sound of the crowd does nothing to hype him up. Instead, it only serves as a reminder of what’s at stake. 

‘George shut up and listen to me,’ you take his face between your palms again. ‘You have done this dozens of time before. You made these songs, love. They are a part of you. You’re not going to mess up. Matty, Ross and Adam are not going to mess up. And these,’ you lightly tap on the IEMs hanging around his neck, ‘there are people to give you your cues.’ 

You’re right, he’s nodding along because he knows you’re right. 

‘Can I hug you?’ you ask tentatively, ‘do you think it would help?’

And maybe that’s just what he needs right now. A hug from his favourite person in the world. So he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Your comforting scent washes over him, something he’s more aware of than his whole body. For a second he can simply let himself imagine that this is his life. That when you step back, he will tell you how lucky he’s to have you, that he loves you and you will say it back. 

Instead, he hears Adam calling for him to come over.

‘Thank you,’ he smiles, actually manages to do it this time. ‘Thanks, I feel a bit better.’ 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you grin up at him. ‘You’re going to be amazing! And the ladies are going to go wild for you. Besides, I’ll be here cheering for you. That’s what friends are for.’

Friends. Yeah. He would have thought that time would dull the sting that word brings but that's clearly not the case. 

‘Good luck, okay?’ you whisper, get on your tiptoes and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Your lips are soft, warm. So close to his mouth that he simply stops functioning for a second. 

‘Come on, mate, now!’ Ross shouts. It really is showtime but how is he supposed to step away?

It’s only when you step back to go to the others and give them all a good-luck hug that he gathers himself. 

Just like you said, the show goes great. It’s actually flawless, garners rave reviews. The next day there’s a semi-viral photo of him with a lipstick smudge on his cheek. People online tease and speculate. And he simply wishes he could go back in time and finish what you started.

---------------------------

George giggles slightly at the look on your face. The boyish sound is so at odds with the rockstar persona he’s got going on at the moment. You, on the other hand, can’t quite believe your eyes. 

The world around you is bathed in golden light. There’s a blue blanket on the rooftop and not just that, there’s a whole picnic basket on the rooftop. There are bottles of pop and alcohol, and weed, of course, weed. Because where there’s George, there’s always some amount (usually large amounts) of weed. 

‘What is this?’ you ask incredulously; a tone of surprise and elation coats your voice and he feels a little pang in his chest. 

‘Surprise?’ he opens his arms wide like an enthusiastic talk-show host. ‘You didn’t think we wouldn’t find out about the promotion, did you?’

George beams as the realisation hits you. Just because he doesn’t work a conventional job doesn’t mean he’s completely oblivious to the hard work that goes into it. And he knows how much you have wanted this from the bottom of your heart. Although he would never admit to how he found out about it. He’s supposed to be a cool, aloof rockstar, he’s not supposed to be scrolling through the instagram page of a company to look at photos of you in your element. 

‘It’s not much,’ he admits sheepishly. 

But his breath gets knocked out of him when you launch yourself at him, tightly wrap your arms around his waist. ‘Shut up, it’s perfect!’ you laugh. ‘Thank you thank you thank you!’

He returns the hug and desperately tries not to let his face go beetroot red. 

The sun is just about to set. He checks the time, half an hour before everyone else is supposed to arrive. That’s the smallest bit of deceit he has let himself indulge in—telling everyone else the wrong time so he gets half an hour with you all alone. But he can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. 

‘And the others are coming too?’

‘They are,’ he confirms, ‘in a bit. I just got impatient.’

‘Shame,’ you shrug, ‘this could have been a perfect date.’

‘What?’ he stops breathing, almost certain that he misheard you. A small voice in his brain starts screaming and his breathing gets shakier. 

‘Yeah,’ you smile, completely unaware of the lightning that’s racing in his veins, ‘someday, some girl is going to be so lucky to have you.’

And just like that, he comes hurtling down. 

George wonders if it would be absolutely psychotic of him to grab you by the shoulders and shake you violently. He has never been as speechless in his life as he is right now because how in the world is he so hopelessly in love with an utter idiot?

How are you the smartest and the stupidest person he knows?

‘Oh,’ you sound a bit hesitant, ‘have I said something I shouldn’t have?’

He simply shakes his head. He doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak right now and he doesn’t want to open his mouth and find out what comes out. 

‘Oh my god, there’s already someone, isn’t there?’ your eyes widen, you gasp as if you have connected the dots, solved the unsolvable cypher and George simply wonders if he should laugh or cry or throw himself off this fucking roof. 

Or pin you against the wall and kiss you till your lips are swollen. 

But that’s the exact moment his phone pings with a text. Saved and Damned by the bell. 

Matty and his girlfriend are almost here and his whole life is a fucking cosmic joke.

---------------------------

George has been mopey. There’s no other word for it. And he can tell that his friends are equal parts worried and fed up with him. 

Even now as he moodily sighs instead of doing actual work, he can feel Ross’s eyes on him. It’s not easy to hide shit from someone who’s essentially an extension of you; who knows your body language better than you do. So when Ross quietly offers him a cigarette and a chance to let it all out, he accepts gratefully. 

‘So all this for a girl then?’ his friend teases lightly once George is done unloading everything. 

It started out as a calm, collected discussion of his feelings. And then devolved into a rant about how he’s a coward for not being able to simply…confess. So the light teasing feels a bit like a jab. 

‘Yes,’ he replies curtly, ‘I’m pathetic. I know. Just say it.’

‘No, that’s not what…come on,’ Ross sighs. And it’s all well and good because George is not mad at him. Not really. 

He’s just annoyed, irritated, miffed, crabby, and yeah okay a little mad at himself. He feels like a pimply pre-teen who has no outlet for his angst apart from blasting out The Smiths in his bedroom. Which he might as well do at this point. 

‘And why haven’t you told her?’ 

It’s such a simple question. He almost wants to laugh at the obvious tone Ross asks it in. Why hasn’t he said anything yet…

Oh, maybe he’s terrified of messing things up?! What happens if you don't feel the same and then there are tensions between you and it would mess things up between Matty and his girlfriend because he met her through you. Also because George knows you two are like sisters. Or worse, he can’t say anything because what if you are already in love with someone else? And what if it’s one of his friends? What if—

‘Stop,’ Ross warns in a low voice. Maybe George’s panic is written very clearly on his face or maybe his friend just knows how to read him like a book. ‘What’s the worst that could happen if you told her, mate?’

And that’s a thought he does not want to entertain. Because there are a lot of possibilities; rational and irrational. So he simply hangs his head and takes another deep drag of the cigarette. 

They go back and forth; Ross tells him all the reasons why it’s a good idea and George comes up with a counterpoint for each one of them. This is a neverending debate, he knows it is because he’s had it with himself countless times before. In the end, however, he feels a little better. 

What if he simply started by asking you out for a coffee? Something that could easily be explained away as a friendly date. A coffee, a movie, a drink. Anything to spend time with you, to see if he has a shot. So George takes his keys out of his pocket and makes his way to his car. 

He’s almost pulling onto your street. His stomach is in knots, his mouth dry. He desperately wants to bounce his leg up and down but he’s driving so that’s out of the question. Your house stands out to him in the row of others and he scans the street to find some parking. A white car is parked in his usual spot in front of your house which makes him frown a bit but he doesn’t pay much attention to it; it’s not like he owns the spot. 

But then he sees you. In front of your door in a gorgeous black dress and a tall, handsome man next to you standing way too close than he should be. 

Too late George realises what’s happening. Too late he notices how you lean towards this man, how you smile up at him and place your hand on his bicep. The way your thumbs draw lazy circles on his arm that George thought was only reserved for him. Too late he realises what he’s going to see; the man bends down, you tilt your chin up and close the gap. 

For a second he’s sure he’s about the empty the contents of his stomach onto his lap. Fire burns through his veins; green and envious hellfire. So in a panicked daze, he floors the accelerator, pulls away and out of the street just as fast as he came in. 

He does not want to stay and find out if the other man is invited inside. 

---------------------------

George is in a foul mood. That, and he’s also terribly drunk; just one of two more pints shy of being stumbling, blackout drunk. 

It’s Adam’s birthday; a happy occasion. Everyone is a funny, cheerful drunk but he feels like he’s two seconds away from punching a hole in the nearest wall. Because you haven’t let go of that insipid man’s arm all evening. The same man that he saw outside your door all those weeks ago. 

Fucking Hayden and his pretentious drawl. He doesn’t understand what you see in that twat; someone as dazzling and gorgeous as you on the arm of one of the most insufferable people George has ever met. And the fact that he’s your date for the evening. That feels like a real kick in the nuts. 

If he could just take out his frustration by shutting himself in his studio and banging on his drums till his knuckles bled. But no, here he is. Stuck in a social situation. So when the chance comes to escape to the balcony for a quick smoke, he takes it. 

The night air does help a little to sober him up which is both good and bad. Good because he wants to be able to make clearheaded decisions. Bad because he simply wants to forget. 

‘You’ve been hiding,’ you announce as soon as you step onto the balcony. 

The sound of your voice startles him a little. And makes the vein in his forehead throb. 

‘Where’s your boytoy?’ he asks without turning around. It’s a bitter and lame statement but he can’t help himself, so he simply stares off into the distance and let his annoyance grow.

‘Don’t be like that… I only wanted to introduce my boyfriend to my friends.’

Boyfriend. He scoffs. That dimwit is nowhere near worthy of the title. 

‘And so you did,’ he speaks curtly, ‘he’s great, amazing, is that what you want me to say?’ Harold is—’

‘Hayden.’

‘Whatever.’

The silence stretches on. For a minute he’s sure you’ve left, that he’s alone on the balcony once again but then he hears your shaky breathing. A wave of fear passes through him; has he made you cry? Did he cross a line? He turns around, fully prepared to grovel and apologize and stops in his tracks. 

Your hands tremble at your sides, your lip is curled up and your eyes blaze in pure fury. He’s actually a bit scared of that look. He’s only seen it once before and he remembers what happened then, he never thought it would be directed at him. 

‘What the fuck is your problem, George? You haven’t even talked to him and you’re just going to form opinions? Based off of what, huh?!’ you seethe and step closer. 

‘Well, I heard both of you talking to Matty and Ross. You got along great, it was fantastic, happy?’ 

He hears the tone of his voice, he really does. It’s snippy and rude and bordering on cruel but the tether between his brain and his mouth seems to have snapped. Or washed away with the last glass of scotch. 

‘Are you even hearing yourself right now?’ you ask incredulously, eyes wide and throat bobbing. Because of course, his behaviour makes no sense. Because of course, you don’t actually know what his problem is.

He runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head. This is not what he should be doing right now, he should be pulling you close and whispering 101 reasons against your lips for why he’s better, why it’s him you should be with. Jealous, envious thoughts cloud his vision and his judgement. He’s no good to anyone right now. But his feet refuse to move. 

Even when you’re fuming at him, you are downright stunning. Clad in a pretty pink thing that brings out the flush in your cheeks. Right now it’s anger and alcohol but he hates to think that there are days when that clown is the reason why you blush and bite your lip. 

‘Go away,’ he states. He tries to make it sound as dismissive as possible, as rude as he can but it comes out weak and pathetic. 

‘You don’t tell me what to do,’ you huff, arms crossing in front of your chest. He doesn’t miss the way it deepens your cleavage and right in the middle of this fight, he wishes he could hitch up your dress and fuck you till the only thing you can remember is his name. ‘I’m serious.’

This has turned into a battle of wills. He was never prepared for it, and now he has no way out of it. So he takes a deep breath and picks the worst possible option. 

‘If you really care about my opinion then here you fucking go. I don’t like Hayden, I think he’s a pretentious little shit who’s only with you because he likes you as his arm candy. But you’re too blinded to see that right now.’ It scares him a little how calm he sounds but now that the words are out there, he can’t stop. ‘He looks at you like you’re a piece of meat that he can’t wait to sink his teeth into. He looks at you like you’re this…this thing.’ 

‘You’re being cruel, George’ your voice breaks on his name. He sees the damage his words have done but it’s better this way. 

The betrayal will sting, you would go home and cry to Hayden. He would comfort you, tell you that George is an asshole that you should stay away from. And you would stay away from him. George would nurse his broken heart, fuck around till he can’t feel his dick anymore and then, if he’s lucky, move on. 

‘Yeah, well,’ he shrugs casually, ‘you asked me what my problem was. My problem is that he’s too conceited to ever be a good fit for you and you’re too stupid to see it.’

The last syllable resonates between the two of you like a death knell. You take a shaky breath, blink back the tears. 

‘You’re a miserable asshole!’

George watches you turn around on your heels and walk away. He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. The fight hasn’t fully sunk in yet. But it will. And when it does, when the eventual regret comes, he would desperately wish he could go back in time and confess his real feelings. 

---------------------------

George is fucking miserable. 

It’s been two months since he’s spoken to you, or heard from you, or even seen you. Two months since the night of Adam’s birthday. All he’s done in these two months is get out of bed, work till he’s exhausted and then drink till he passes out. 

His friends are worried about him. He can tell from the way they exchange long glances with each other every time he’s in the room. He wonders if they know what happened, if you told them but he hasn’t asked. In part because he’s worried about what they might tell him, that you and your boyfriend are all loved up, maybe even moved in together. Fuck, you could have eloped with him by now and George wouldn’t know. 

So he takes another swig of his beer and focuses on whatever show’s playing on the TV. 

It’s almost 11 at night and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be. He’s pretty sure that the bottle in his hand is the last one, that there’s no more left in the fridge but he does have a lot of weed. Maybe that’s what he will do after. 

So when the bell rings abruptly he lets out a deep, irritated groan. 

It’s probably just one of his friends, here to shoot the shit because none of them have any concept of boundaries with each other anyway. Maybe if he just ignores it, they will go away. 

The bell rings again followed by some pounding on the door. 

He huffs and gets off the sofa. The pounding doesn’t stop until he yanks the door open hard enough to rip it off its hinges; ready to yell at whoever’s bothering him at this hour. But one look and his heart stops beating inside his chest. 

For a minute he wonders if all the exhaustion and alcohol and sleep deprivation has culminated into hallucinations. And then his heart breaks at the sight in front of him. 

You look small and miserable; raw, red eyes with tear stains running down your cheeks. Your mascara is smudged, there’s a layer of black under your eyes and your lip wobbles from the effort of keeping everything at bay. He opens his mouth and closes it again when you make a run for him and bury your face straight in his chest. 

His heart breaks at the sound of your sobs. How often has he wished that you would just show up at his doorstep and all will be forgiven? But this is not how he wanted it, not when something’s clearly causing you pain. 

‘Oh, my darling,’ he shushes slowly, a bit bewildered but more worried. Whatever buzz the alcohol had left, drains out of his body in an instant. ‘Let’s get you inside, love. Come on.’ 

It takes him a few moments to calm you down enough so he can steer you into the living room and onto the sofa. Empty bottles of alcohol litter the floor, old cigarette butts in the ashtray that he never cleaned out but he’s not bothered by all that right now. Not when he has much bigger things to worry about. 

‘It’s alright, love, he speaks softly and rubs your back in slow, soothing circles, ‘it’s alright.’

The coil in his stomach tightens as panic threatens to take over. But he has to stay calm for you. Because you clearly need him right now and he’s not about to disappoint you again. 

You stay like that for five minutes, then ten. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t try to ask you questions before you’re ready to speak. If he has to hold and soothe you all night long then he’s happy to do so as long as he knows he can do something to help. 

‘You were right,’ you speak through tears, in a shaky voice that sounds hoarse. ‘You were so right and I was just too fucking stupid to see it.’

His words from months ago come back to haunt him. Not like he has stopped thinking about them. Sometimes, at night, they play in his head on a loop. 

‘No…no don’t say that,’ he holds you close and gently rocks back and forth, ‘never say that.’

He focuses on how you’re almost on his lap; face buried in his chest, hands fisted in his jumper. Your bodies fit together perfectly as if you’re two pieces of the same puzzle and if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently crying your eyes out, he would have died of pure fucking bliss. 

‘Hayden cheated on me,’ you whisper in a broken voice. 

He had suspected something like this but hearing it still fills him with white-hot fury. 

‘He cheated on me with my friend. And you know what the worst part is?’ you laugh bitterly, ‘the worst fucking part is that I’m more upset about losing a friend than losing a boyfriend.’

That makes him laugh despite himself. 

That’s my girl, he almost says but stops himself. Because you’re not his, are you? All his yearning won’t make it come true. 

‘Go on,’ you nudge him in the ribs, ‘say I told you so.’

He has to clear his throat before he speaks. ‘Is that what you think of me?’ 

For the first time that night, you finally look at him. ‘No, that’s not…well you were clearly right, so…’

‘I don’t care about being right,’ he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, ‘I care about you.’

And that’s as close he has ever come to confess his true feelings. And maybe that’s as close as he’ll ever get. 

You open your mouth and close it again, a bit too stunned to say anything. 

‘It’s his loss for letting go of someone like you.’ George speaks it like a fact; an irrefutable, universal fact. Because to him, it is. 

It takes him some courage to do it, but he slowly wipes away the mascara-stained tears off your face. All while he looks at you with a gentle, tender smile. His feelings don’t matter in this moment; if you need a friendly shoulder to cry on then that’s what he will be. A friend, a companion. 

You are quiet for a while, playing with a random loose thread of his jumper, deep in thought. You are still almost on his lap, still in his arms. And there’s warmth in his body like he has never felt before. 

‘What are you thinking?’ he asks, breaking the silence. 

‘Maybe I’m just hard to love, maybe that’s what it is.’

If the urge to deck Hayden wasn’t strong enough before, it’s almost uncontrollable now. The only thing that keeps him in place is the need to reassure you. To tell you how wrong you are. 

There’s a cacophony of thoughts in his head, several of them fighting to be said out loud all at once. He wants to curse out your asshole ex, he wants to tell you what a wonderful person you are, absolutely perfect. How you always make him smile wide, grin ear to ear and make his stomach flutter. How you deserve the whole world. 

Instead, what he says is, ‘you’re the easiest person to love. Trust me, I would know.’

And that’s how everything comes out. 

And that’s how you end up looking at him through wide, teary eyes with slightly parted lips. 

And that’s how he finally does what he has been dying to do for years.

Years later, when George will remember this night, your first kiss, he will always remember the salty taste of it, the feeling of your dry chapped lips on his, how you messily grabbed at each other, unable to get enough. Years later, he will still remember how despite the kiss not being picture-perfect, it was still the best thing he has ever experienced. Years later, he won’t remember what you were wearing that night, or what day it was or what time. He will only remember how his heart beat fast enough to almost leap out of his chest. 

But later isn’t here yet. 

And right now he only wants to lose himself in this moment, in catching up for all the months and years he has lost out of sheer cowardice.  

#george daniel #george daniel x you #george daniel x reader #george daniel fanfic #george daniel fluff #george daniel imagine #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel x female reader #the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #george the 1975 #the 1975 fluff #george daniel angst #angst fic #fluff #5+1 times

[yourtouchismidas]

reading what the new yorker has to say about george and how he radiates utter stillness (very hot) has given me so many ideas, like imagine him with someone who has the absolute shortest fuse ever. idk maybe while he believes in quiet, stoic intimidation, girlie (a foot shorter than him) just gets into a bar fight. maybe she sees a couple of much older men getting a bit too comfy with young girls just trying to have a fun night and she's ready to throw hands. firm believer that george has to actually pick her up and take her away so she doesn't get arrested. also a firm believer of the fact that he finds it insanely attractive and shows it to her quite generously

(the possibilities are endless 😌)

you're drunk. its fucking great and you're having an amazing time. the music is loud. everyone is dancing. you're grinding on some girl you havent ever met, dont even know, and your boyfriend and his bandmates are all at the bar, sipping beers and laughing at you. with the exception of matty who is right there on the dancefloor with you, jumping around and pumping his fist.

ugh george. you love him. you love his face. his cheek bones. his smile when he laughs at you. you give him a cute little wave and he winks at you, barely moving apart from that. then you go back to dancing. god life is good.

you've lost the girl you were dancing with before but you dance with matty for a bit, his curls bouncing, you whooping, egging him on, and him grabbing your hands and spinning you around. when he does, he takes a step back and accidentally nudges a girl behind him, and her and her friends turn to you both, you meeting their eyes as you finish you spin.

matty holds his hands up, "sorry, sorry,"

they glare at him. you pull matty away and start dancing again, saying sorry yourself. the girls turn away. they sip thier drinks. but they aren't moving. thier standing on the dance floor. not dancing. there is plenty of space over by the bar to stand, if they want. you wave at george again, who is standing in the space, like a good boy.

oh well. fuck them. you're having a good night. you just wish they would stop glaring at you, because they are again, in between the gaps matty's arms make. you spin him around so your back is to them instead, so they wont get upset with him again if he nudges them, because he might, because he is drunk too.

you dont know if your feet actually land on hers, you dont feel it, and okay they might have, but the girl yells out.

"erm. ow!" she says. you turn around.

"sorry," you say again, even though you're not even sure you touched her.

"you stood on my foot," she says.

"i'm sorry," you say again, not sure what she wants you to do.

"you should be a bit fucking more careful, you know."

you breathe in. you were being careful. but thats not the point. its a dance floor. in a club. it's one in the morning. and they are standing on it. you start to burn, in your chest, angry.

"you know there is plenty of space over there if you dont wanna dance," you say, pointing to the bar. george notices you point. his attention pricks. he looks over to where you are talking to a group of girls and one of them is giving you a dirty look.

"we can stand where we want thanks," she says. "just like you act like a twat wherever you are."

"woah, alright," matty says, stopping dancing.

"what's this guy's problem anyway?" the girl says, looking round at her friends.

"we don't have a problem," matty says.

"we might," you say, staring at her. george has put his beer down on the side. ross is already primed, ready to watch it, if needs be.

"no no, just go back to dancing," matty says, smiling big at the girls.

"go back to standing in everyone's fucking way you mean," you say.

"shut the fuck up," the girl says, stepping closer to you.

you're in it now, you can't back down, you cant let this girl win. you step towards her too.

"i'll do what i like, thanks though."

the girl shoves you. everyone around you moves. you're reaching out to shove her, and before you know it, george is in the crowd with you, hand on your shoulder and waist, firm, looking down at the girl that shoved you. she has to look up to see his face.

"everything okay here?" he says, mainly to the other girl.

she nods. but she's smirking. she looks back at her friends, smirking. you lunge, out of his protective grasp, towards her. she steps back, trips a little, spills her pink drink all down her white dress. you dont reach her. georges arms have got you again, but this time, he is lifting you into the air.

"come on," he says, "be the bigger person,"

"i dont want to," you say squirming. the girl is crying, looking down at her ruined dress while all the other girls flock around her and fawn over her.

"dont have to," george says, nudging you to look at her, sobbing. you smirk.

george turns to carry you out, but before he does, he turns back to the girls and says, almost monotone, "ladies, if you're not gonna dance, dont stand on the dancefloor. it's good advice"

and then you're both gone, into the night air, into your boyfriend's arms.

#george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #george daniel x oc #george daniel x y/n #george daniel fanfiction #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #george daniel #george daniel imagine #george daniel fic

[ughgoaway]

midnight, no headlights // George Daniel- pt 1

content warnings: no smut (yet) but still some kissing so minors go away, drinking, swearing, smoking, awkward flirting and writing because I am not great at either! word count- 2500-ish

a/n: hiii so the vote came out that you didn't mind this fic being split up so, this is the first part! 2014 George has had me in a chokehold recently (thanks to @abiiors) so I had to write something for him!! this is part one of two and I have absolutely no idea when the other part will come out!! I actually kind of hate this but can't cope with it sitting in my google docs any longer. I've been in a massive writing slump lately and I'm really rusty, so if it's awful... be nice about telling me lol. anyway ill stop chatting shit now, here it is

Another espresso martini, great. It seemed like all you had to do for this shift was make them for groups of obnoxious girls. To be honest, you were jealous they were able to go out and have fun on a Saturday night, you were stuck doing a shift at this shitty club for some band's afterparty. The shift started fine, a few pints here, a few ciders there but it had soon devolved into a sticky bar and overly complex cocktails with too many ingredients.

A tattooed hand stuck out from the crowd and soon the tall man attached to it wormed his way through and took a seat on the green barstool in the corner, from just his hand you had assumed you'd be getting another shitty beer but he defied all your expectations when you caught a glimpse of the rest of him.

A pile of badly blonde dyed hair sat on top of his head, either side was shaved. He had a sly look in his eyes but a gentle smile on his face, his features seemed hard individually but when you put them together you were left with a very soft look. His arms were exposed due to the white vest he was wearing, colourful and seemingly random tattoos snaked up them. You couldn't see his bottom half anymore but you caught a glimpse of his black ripped jeans, the outfit was nothing remarkable. In fact, it was kind of boring but for some inexplicable reason, he just looked fucking good.

His eyes had an alluring quality to them, pulling you in slowly. They were so alluring in fact, that whilst you were staring into them and walking over to him you tripped. Luckily, before you could fall on your ass in front of the only hot customer you've seen in ages, you caught yourself on the edge of the bar. His hand caught yours as you fell in an attempt to steady you, “Woah you alright darling? Thought you were meant to be sober on shift” he cheekily remarked.

His deep vocals sent a shiver through you, normally in a club like this you had to practically scream to hear each other but for some reason, it seemed like his voice was the only thing you heard. It sat at a different frequency that went right into your bones. You scolded yourself internally for fawning over a man who had said one sentence to you.

“Haha very funny, I’ll have you know I'm stone-cold sober. But I'm assuming that you're coming up here to no longer be that, so what can I get you?” you retort back smiling politely and leaning slightly into the puzzling man.

“I'll just have a vodka soda please sweetheart” he began but he soon looked around at the hoards of people surrounding him and quickly added, “Actually make that a double.” his correction caused you to giggle slightly. You briefly wonder what about the rowdy people made him change his order but decide not to ask and just begin making the drink.

The small cup of drink umbrellas teased you as you worked. Every time an especially manly-looking man ordered a drink you added a little umbrella, just to see their reaction. Sometimes they say nothing and just look confused but every once in a while, you get an especially good reaction. The best reactions are usually from self-described “gym bros” who are on a date, they scoff and act as if a small umbrella completely negates their manhood. It might seem juvenile, but you'll do anything to spice up a boring shift. You decide this mystery man with the “fuck me” eyes would like one so, you grab a teal cocktail umbrella and stick it in his double vodka soda.

“Here you are! A vodka soda,” you begin to hand the drink over, he reaches out but you quickly pull it away and correct yourself, “Sorry, double vodka soda” A smirk sneaks onto your face as you hand over the drink to the man. His face mirrors yours, a teasing smile overtaking his features.

"thank you, love," he smiles gratefully, going to take a sip but quickly recoiling at the sight of the umbrella in his drink. You think he'll scoff, throw it on the floor and call you a dickhead but no. he smiles, takes the small umbrella out and places it behind his ear, he finishes off the action with a wink and click of his tongue towards you.

A light laugh falls out of you at his action, not expecting him to be so cheeky about your little joke. He holds eye contact as he downs the rest of his drink, the action isn't inherently flirty but still, you feel a pulse thrum through you at the sight.

“Not such a good night then?” you remark. Despite having about 30 people you should be serving right now you remain enamoured by the man with the tiny umbrella behind his left ear.

“What gave me away huh? Chugging the drink or coming to hide in the corner?” he smiles, you can't help but feel slightly sorry for him, out to a cool afterparty on a Saturday night and he's choosing to sit in the corner and chat with the bartender.

It's then you make the decision you're gonna make this guy's night, in any way he’ll let you.

“Any reason you're hiding away? From a particular person maybe?” you ask leaning on the bar and staring at the man in front of you, “ooh are the band assholes? Wouldnt shock me if they were considering this afterparty, they're usually the overly cocky and handsy type when they party this hard” you add. The man across from you raises his eyebrows at you and his smirk grows marginally larger, you have no idea who you're talking to. And he loves that.

Soon the small amount of eye contact you're sharing becomes too much, you grab a rag and begin to wipe the bar in front of you. You figure you should at least pretend to work whilst talking to the curious stranger, still with the teal umbrella behind his ear.

“Oh no, not hiding from anyone specifically just everyone really. I was dragged here by a couple of mates but I'm hoping to make an escape soon.” he chuckled out whilst swirling the ice in his cup. Wordlessly you grab it from him and begin to make another drink.

“I won't give you an umbrella in this one handsome, not lucky enough to get two in one night” you wink at the man in front of you. The nickname slipped out thoughtlessly, you were used to flirting for tips so it felt like second nature to use them whenever you spoke. A light blush flushed your cheeks at your realisation, it didn't go unnoticed by the tattooed man.

“Handsome huh? Wow, do all your patrons get such good service?” he says looking at you whilst taking a small sip of the drink you handed him. A smile breaks over his lips as he realises it's another double, he briefly thinks of making a quip accusing you of getting him drunk but your bashful smile distracts his mind.

Your heart flutters slightly at his comment, hoping he would just ignore your slip-up. Quickly you rectify the situation not wanting him to have any more power over you than he already does, “Well when I don't know their names, yes.”

“Ahh, well nice to meet you..” he pauses briefly, indicating you to fill in the blank.

“I don't know about giving my name to a random customer… what if you're an axe murderer? I think I’ll keep that to myself” you smile, trying your best to mimic the teasing look in his eyes. The tall man opens his mouth to reply but before he can a voice comes across the bar.

“y/n! Will you stop flirting with that douche with the man bun and help? Im stuck making 25 pornstar martinis on my own!” your coworker chastises you.

You turn back to the noise of a cackle coming from the so-called “douche with the man bun” his laugh makes a mortified smile come across your features as you sigh and throw the rag you were holding to the bar in front of you.

“Calm down Tony! I'm coming you dick” you shout back in the direction of your coworker, only receiving an unimpressed glare back.

“Okay then, I'm going to work now and hopefully never see you again or I will die of embarrassment, bye douche with a man bun” you sigh jokingly at your conversation partner.

“Bye y/n” he replies with a teasing wave, you begin to walk away with your head hanging in shame but soon a loud voice from behind you catches your attention “It's George by the way, only my mum calls me douche with a man bun” he smiles cheekily, obviously proud of his comment.

In your hopeful final words to the now not-so-mystery man, you say, “Well it was nice to meet you George, may our paths never cross again” With a flourish you turn around and start grabbing ingredients to help Tony deal with the hoards of people.

Your paths did cross again, about 2 hours later in the smoker's area behind the bar. The cool air was just beginning to soothe your running mind when you heard an unmistakable voice ring out behind you.

“You got a lighter sweetheart?” he asks, the handsome man you now know as George comes to stand in front of you, with the same alluring eyes and smile but now with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. This was your first chance to look at him in full but you couldn't pull your focus away from the cocktail umbrella that still sat behind his ear.

‘Shit’, you thought, he asked a question and here you are just staring at him like a deer in headlights. Why is it that whenever an attractive man was within 5 feet of you, you suddenly stop acting like a human fucking being?

You cough lightly clearing your mind and your throat before silently passing over your lighter, he twisted it in his hand and admired the engraving on the silver case.

“All my love, A xx” he read out loud, “from a boyfriend maybe?” he cheekily asked before flicking it open, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag. You watched as his cheeks hollowed around the end of it, the deep contours of his face only becoming deeper as he breathed in the smoke. You weren't sure what it was but despite the fact you had met him not even 3 hours ago, you were comfortable.

That felt dangerous considering you weren't exactly known for thinking decisions through, especially after a few drinks.

As soon as Tony said you could clock out, you did. And then promptly had 3 shots of tequila minus the lime and salt. No time for that when you're trying to get drunk quickly. The mix of the alcohol running through your bloodstream and the enticing combination of cigarette smoke and whatever cologne he was wearing gave you the confidence to do what you did next.

“Nope, no boyfriend, you trying to sus out my relationship status Georgie?'' Once again the nickname slipped out easily, feeling like old friends already. He placed his arm on the brick wall behind you and leaned in slightly closer as if he knew what you were thinking.

“Georgie already huh? And what if I was darling, is that such an issue?” he drawled out, smirking slightly as he places the lighter back into your hands, holding them slightly longer than necessary. You were shocked at how warm he was considering it was 3 am outside a club.

“No, no, absolutely no issue,” you begin, leaning up into his face, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to meet his unwavering gaze. His eyes soon followed suit, mirroring your actions back at you, staring at your lips longingly.

The closer you got the more sure he was, even placing his other hand behind your neck, but soon you swerve left and pluck the umbrella from behind his ear and lean back to place it behind your own.

A groan comes from the man in front of you as he places both hands on the brick wall behind your head, effectively caging you in, but you didn't mind. He looks down at you and can't help but smile at the overjoyed look on your face. The small umbrella sat behind your ear just like he had done earlier in the night.

“What a tease” he complains cheekily, leaning ever so slightly closer whilst protesting, almost as if he wasn't feeling that rejected after all. You used this opportunity to study his face closely. A very light stubble dusted his jaw. A small freckle sat under his left eye on his cheek, both of which were a rosy red from standing in the cold air with you. His hair sat crazily on top of his head but not in a messy way, in an effortless “I'm so cool and I don't even try way”. God, if he wasn't so attractive and nice, you would have to hate him.

All your staring wasn't lost on George, his ear tips going slightly red from the embarrassment of being analysed. Before he could look too bashful your drunk mind said the only thing it could think in that moment.

“God you are so beautiful,” you whisper, feeling as if you spoke too loud the air between you both would be disturbed. Just as George opened his mouth to no doubt correct you, you shoved your mouth onto his without a care in the world.

Despite you all but jumping on George, he adjusted quickly. The groan you let out at his lips on yours was hastily replaced by a shocked moan as he licked into your mouth. Despite his possibly rough looking exterior, his lips were soft and gentle as they moved over your own. It wasn't long before his hands were grasping your ass and you threw your own around his neck.

George pulled away and you whined at the loss, he breathlessly giggled at your response and asked, “You live round here?” you quickly nodded, desperate to keep kissing you but just as quickly as you leaned in you shot back and threw your head back against the wall and groaned frustratedly.

He threw a questioning look at you and you swiftly told him your issue, “My place is only about 10 minutes from here,” he began to look hopeful but you shot him down, “But my roommate has her boyfriend round tonight and I've been given very clear instructions to come home and go straight to bed. Absolutely no disturbances allowed. And I'm pretty sure a 6ft man called George is a pretty big disturbance” You patted his chest dejectedly as you finished.

“Firstly,” George spoke holding one finger up, “I'm 6ft 4 thank you very much.” you giggled lightly at his insistence to get his height correct. “Secondly, we can go back to my place it's a bit… strange. But it's got a bed so?” he asked with a questioning lilt to his deep voice.

He waited with bated breath for your answer, hoping you wouldn't as too many questions he can't answer but all you said was, “Call the Uber” before attacking his lips once again.

#george daniel fanfiction #george daniel #george daniel smut #george daniel fic #the 1975 #george daniel x reader #okay this was so difficult to write #2014 george call me bff #if you all hate it let me know besties!! #okay i kinda hate this

[the1975attheirverybest]

To/for all fanfic readers and writers, with lots of love ❤️:

Hey friends 💗 so, as many of you already know, a lot of fans (many of them fanfic writers) have been leaving tumblr lately and our community has been affected by a lot of negativity and stress for the compounding effects of multiple reasons. Though this is by no means the ONLY reason, fanfic writers have recently dealt with a lot of undue hate, unnecessary drama, and not enough appreciation.

Writers don’t only write for validation. HOWEVER, the experience and practice of writing comes with a lot of feelings of inadequacy and imposter syndrome. Moreover, writing is primarily a mode of connection. Al of art is. People who write, paint, make music, build stuff…we all do so as ways to express ourselves and connect with others. And getting to share what you write at the end of the writing process adds a layer of meaning to what you do that wouldn’t otherwise exist if you just saved it in a little folder somewhere on your device. So, when writers feel more stress and drama than appreciation, support, or any sign that the connection they reached out for has been made, it naturally makes us question what we do.

It pains me (and I know so may of my mutuals share this sentiment) to see so many talented and beautiful souls leave the fandom space because the culture of community and support that used to be here is no longer inclusive of everyone. It seems, these days, every time I log on, I’m seeing more and more mutuals saying that they’re going to leave, take a long break, or stop posting. I don’t know about you all, but I know I speak both, as a reader, and a writer, when I say that other people leaving is not good for them, for me, or for anyone who loves this fandom and this community.

What can we do about this?

Writers:

Hello my babies ❤️ I love you all. I see you all.

PLEASE OH PLEASE KEEP WRITING.

You’re doing amazing. You are the glue that holds this community together. You make art. Inspire conversations. Stir other people’s imaginations.

Art produces art. I started posting on here because I read the writing of other talented people on here that MADE ME want to start doing it.

Whether you write little blurbs, take request, writer multi-chapter, long, thousand + word fics, or just concepts; whether you write smut, fluff, angst….whatever it is that you do, you are valid. Important. Needed. Necessary.

When the inevitable “hiatus” occurs or even in between shows….who do you think this fandom depends on for keeping the energy alive? Writers.

Writing can be a lonely and self-loathing experience. We need each other. Reach out to other writers. Lift them up. Support them.

Share your work with one another. Discuss. Fangirl. Celebrate yourselves and each other. No, no, no ,no!! I heard that. I heard that sneaky voice in the back of your head telling you that you don’t have the right to call yourself a writer or to celebrate cuz you’re not even that good. FUCK THAT SHIT. YES YOU DO. YES YOU ARE.

Readers

Y’all are so so so special. ❤️ yes we write to entertain ourselves. Yes we do it cuz it’s fun. But when I tell you that there is no greater joy to me than reading y’all’s thoughts in the tags when you reblog, or seeing your comments or asks….literally means more to me than anything.

Do NOT let anyone make you feel bad or guilty about enjoying fanfiction.

If you like a fic, engage with it. Like, comment, reblog, reach out to the writer and let them know that you liked it.

Bonus points if you let them know WHAT you liked about it. I promise you, you’ll have that talented and slutty and sweet mf kicking screaming twirling their hair and smiling for the rest of the day if you tell them you enjoyed what they wrote.

You are never bothering us. We never get tired of your kindness. It’s never repetitive. It’s never meaningless. Any time that you say something, your comment will pop into our head when we next question whether or keep going or not.

Sooooo….what do we do about this?

I encourage you, whether you’re a new writer or a writer with a platform, please don’t stop because some childish killjoys with inferiority complexes wanna take your shine away. Post your work. Enjoy the unique pleasures of making art outside of the structures of capitalist consumption. Nobody is paying you for this. Nobody is estimating the value of your worth and trying to market your labor. Do you know how rare that is???

Writers support writers. Lift each other up. Share each others work. Give each other feedback. Remind each other of each others talent when you see someone starting to doubt themselves or haters getting under their skin.

Readers: like, COMMENT, FUCKIN REBLOG. it takes an extra second. It’s worth more than you know. Do it. It’s the least you can do for someone who has poured their heart and soul into something and delivered it to you on a silver platter.

Writers, readers, shitposters, fans a like: look out for one another. Take care of each other. Have each others backs. If you see a hateful comment, if you see someone trying to gate-keep, shame, or alienate anyone for any reason, CALL. THEM. OUT. Actions have consequences. If you’re so cowardly as to take yiu hate from one platform to another, you don’t have the write to make people feel like shit and ruin their hobby without consequences. You’ll be called on to answer for your bullshit.

There is no hierarchy within the fandom. You don’t get to tell someone how matty will feel about them as a fan and you don’t get to judge the way that someone participates in this fandom.

This month, a lot of your favorite authors will be posting October/ fall/ Halloween themed fics because of this. I think it’s the perfect time to revisit the way that we do reader and writer appreciation around here. I encourage you all to engage with fanfiction more personally and help make this fandom safe for everyone.

#matty healy fanfic #the 1975 fanfic #Ross McDonald fanfic #george daniel fanfiction

[toomuchracket]

love potion (sweetheart!george x reader fluff)

george's gf gets a new perfume and he's obsessed. short and sweet. day 2 of valentine's week. enjoy <3

you drop your bag onto the desk before you slide into your seat. yawning, you pull your textbooks and pencil case from the bag, taking out a pen and tapping it against the front of your exercise book while you wait for the rest of the class and the teacher to file in.

well, while you wait for one specific person to walk in. it doesn't turn out to be a long one, though; luckily - and characteristically, you suppose - he's on time.

“i recognise that rhythm, you little thief,” george's smile is audible as he walks behind you to get to his own seat, and a big one appears on your own face at the sound of his voice. he winks at you as he stands and pulls his books from his bag, and you can't help but grin. “sorry for making you sit through band practice for so long on saturday that you memorised my drum part, baby.”

“s'ok. i like watching you play,” you turn in your chair as george sits next to you, leaning on the back of your seat and looking adoringly at him. “i think it's hot.”

your boyfriend smirks at you, shuffling his chair closer to yours and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “i think you're hot. morning, angel,” he leans in to kiss your cheek, but snaps back to look at you almost as soon as his lips meet your skin, eyes wide. “what is that?”

“what's what? have i gone patchy?” your brow furrows, and you rifle in your blazer pocket for the compact mirror you know you picked up before you left for school. strange - you thought you'd done a decent job with your makeup, for a monday morning. “seriously, g, is there something weird going on with my face? tell me, please.”

he doesn't answer, just closes his eyes slowly and lightly nods the way he does when he's processing.

it makes you panic. “george!”

your boyfriend jumps. “hmm? nah, you're gorgeous. sorry, angel, what i mean is… what's that smell?” george practically shoves his whole face into your neck and inhales deeply. you giggle, slightly nervous of being caught engaging in pda, and gently shove him off you; he sits back and smiles at you, eyes dazed. “did you get new perfume, or something?”

“oh,” you touch your neck almost self-consciously, nails grazing the pulse point you'd spritzed onto just under an hour ago. “yeah, when i went into manchester with mum yesterday. gucci.”

“ooh, posh,” he smirks, laughing when you elbow him and leaning back in his seat quite attractively. “smells amazing, though. i really like it.”

“yeah?”

george nods. “yeah,” he sits up again, nuzzling into you and inhaling the fragrance a second time. “gonna stay like this for the rest of the day, thanks. maybe for the rest of time, in fact.”

you giggle. “you're an idiot, babe.”

“only cos you're irresistible,” george takes a final sniff of your perfume before moving to sit properly. “you and that perfume. gonna be a struggle keeping my hands off you all day.”

“nah,” you ruffle his hair. “ the novelty'll wear off soon. you’ll be fine.”

oh, how wrong you are.

that first class - the only one you actually have with george today - is fine, albeit your boyfriend constantly leaning closer to you “just so i can see the board without that guy’s massive head in the way, babe”, despite him never having complained about an obstructed view before. you don't say anything, just nod and bite back your grin and do your best to focus on your work; easier said than done, when george’s lips are only inches from your own. if you just turned your head…

jesus. what is up with the two of you?

he does kiss you, though, when the bell rings at the end of class. that in itself isn't unusual - despite your aversion to pda, you know everyone's too busy rushing to shove everything back in their schoolbags and make it to next period to be looking at you and george - but you do let yourself linger against his lips for a little bit longer than usual before pulling away. 

actually, it's george who breaks the kiss first. “you're trying to kill me, aren't you?” he breathes, helping you up from your seat and wrapping you into a hug. “wearing that perfume, kissing me like that. and here i thought you were a nice girl.”

you laugh, leading him towards the door. “well, babe, you know what they say - always the quiet ones.”

“yeah,” george hugs you again when you reach the corridor; you giggle when he, yet again, deliberately takes a breath of your perfume. “see you later, angel. don't miss me too much.”

“i should be saying that to you!” you scoff, ruffling his hair. “bye, baby.”

you pass your boyfriend again an hour later, on opposite sides of the art corridor. a cheeky grin appears on his face when he spots you from a few feet away, and judging by the warmth in your cheeks you reckon there's a flush forming on yours. it's busy, two parallel currents of people coursing up and down to their respective next classes, but george still takes a second to lean over and kiss your head when you get near enough to each other. “you smell amazing!” he shouts, as you separate again.

“oh my god, stop it!” you call back, elbowing your suddenly-hysterical friends and turning to walk even faster towards the languages department. george’s laugh is audible, even as you move; he shuts up abruptly, though, and you hear (in quick succession) a bashing noise, your friends’ giggles turning to gasps, and the stern voice of the head of art. you're too far away to hear what she’s saying, but it can't be anything good. you wince. “someone tell me what just happened. i can't look.”

“i think,” jodie's shoulders are shaking, a telltale sign of her trying to keep from laughing. “george might have just walked straight into the door because he was too distracted by you, and miss malone's giving him shit for it.”

“what?!”

“and yet,” saira smirks. “he's still trying to look back at you.”

you shake your head, trying your best not to smile. “idiot boy.”

and you're sure to call george that to his only slightly bruised face at 3pm, when he swans out of the music corridor doors towards you, waiting with folded arms, cocked hip, and knowing smirk. you pull him into a hug. “i can't believe you walked into a fucking door.”

“don't you fucking start,” george groans, doing his best to lean down and hide his face in your hair for a second, before leading you towards the gates. “s'your fault i did it, anyway. and also that i fucked up in double music.”

“oh, piss off, it was not my- wait,” you stop dead in your tracks, turning round to gawk at your boyfriend. “did you just say you fucked up in music?”

he frowns, only speeding up his walking to the point he's less holding your hand than dragging you behind him down the street. your jaw drops. “you fucked up in music. you? george daniel? you fucked up?”

“if you mention it to literally anyone, i'm never giving you a lift anywhere ever again.”

you kiss his cheek. “alright. i'm sorry, baby. but… how?”

george sighs. “kept falling out of time because i got distracted thinking about your new perfume.”

“you being serious?”

“dead,” he nods. a tiny smile appears on his pretty face. “teacher kept asking me if i was ill. that's how bad it was.”

“oh my god,” you sling his arm over your shoulder, looking up at him with a grin. “maybe you are. maybe you're having some weird allergic reaction to it, and it's giving you brain fog.”

“but then why would i want to keep snuggling with you?”

you shrug. “seeking comfort because you're poorly? i don't know.”

“hmm, you could be right. maybe i am ill,” george ponders. without warning, he turns you in towards him and begins pressing kisses all over your face and making you giggle. “i think i'm lovesick.”

you shove your bag further up your shoulder and wrap your arms around george's neck. “god, how awful. what's the cure?” you sigh dramatically.

he grins, one of the shit-eating variety. “a snog from my girl.”

“oh, i think we can manage that,” you lean up on your tiptoes and press your lips to your boyfriend's, sighing into his mouth when his tongue traces your lower lip. george’s kisses always leave you dazed, and this is no exception - he has to hold your hips to keep you from wobbling too much when you break apart, breathing heavily. “wow. you cured?”

“nah, think i need a second dose when we get back to mine,” george smiles. “once my homework's done, that is.”

your eyes widen. “ok, maybe you are actually genuinely ill.”

“i'm serious!” george tugs you onto his street. “get all the distractions out the way first, so i can focus on what really matters: snogging you.”

“right,” you nod, biting your lip so you don't laugh, as george digs around his pockets for his house key. he kisses your cheek as he ushers you inside, and you preen at the sweet gesture. “well, we'll see how much we get done, babe.”

“all of it. i'm determined. even chemistry.”

you kiss his head as he bends to unlace his shoes, unconvinced he’ll have the willpower. “sure, sweetheart, whatever you say.”

for the second time in a day, though, you're proven wrong. george powers through his work in a couple of hours, sliding everything off his bed once he's finished with the most smug face you think you've ever seen. “time for my lovesick meds, i think.”

“alright. but you better not be thinking about me in one of those slutty nurse halloween costumes,” you say, getting up from the bed to grab something from your bag.

there's a muffled noise from behind you, which you figure is george face-planting into a pillow. “well, i am now,” he sighs, leaning round to look at you, and sits bolt upright when he sees you spritzing perfume onto your wrists and neck. “is that…?”

“it is,” you wander back over to the bed, climbing onto your boyfriend's lap and resting your arms on his shoulders. his make do with rubbing your thighs through your tights. “your favourite.”

george smiles. “nah,” before you can even react, he flips the two of you so you're lying beneath him. “you're my favourite. i love you.”

“i love you,” you pout your lips, and george takes the hint. he kisses you, long and slow and sloppy, teeth pulling at each other's lips, tongues licking into each other's mouths, hands trailing and cupping and squeezing and caressing, brains getting hazier by the second as the oxygen leaves and the dopamine sets in. you gasp when you feel his lips move across your jaw and down your neck, pressing soft kisses before settling on a recently-discovered spot that drives you mad, while his deft fingers work to remove your tie and unbutton the top buttons of your blouse - he pulls the fabric aside slightly and continues to trail kisses down, soaking up the drip trail of your perfume and gently biting when he reaches the edge of your bra. softly moaning, you card your fingers through his hair. “george.”

quick as a flash, he's hovering over you again, stroking your cheek. “you alright, angel? is there something you want?”

“yeah,” you breathe, twisting to kiss the tip of his thumb - and savouring the way his breath catches in his throat - before smiling your sexiest smile. “close the door.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #valentine75 #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfic #george daniel x reader #george x reader #george daniel fluff #sweetheart!george

[at102-icantstopsmilingatyou]

Tastes Like Heaven

George Daniel x Reader

Author's Note: You can probably tell but i've never sucked dick so, this piece is also probs shit. oh well.

Warnings: dick sucking, hair pulling, gagging, idk what else

wc: 1664

It had been a long day in the studio for George. He’s been working on the latest ‘75 record everyday for the past few weeks. Every day, he wouldn’t get home until 3 am and would leave for the studio early in the mornings. 

You had fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for him so you could go to bed together. Once you heard the click of the front door unlocking, you sat up and watched as your boyfriend walked into the living area. He looked exhausted, all you wanted to do was pull him into you and hold him as he got some much needed rest. 

“Hi, darling. How was work today?” you asked him as he walked over and plopped himself on the couch next to you. 

“It was alright. Matty was getting on my nerves though. Little twat can’t make up his mind sometimes.” 

He goes to run his hands down his face. 

Fuck 

You can see the way he’s craning his neck back. The veins in his hands and arms are protruding his skin a bit. He lets out a little breath that sounds like a bit of a groan. 

“Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?” you ask. 

He grabs your hips and moves you to sit atop his lap. He wraps his arms around your hips and back, pulling you close as he nestles his face into your neck, breathing in the scent that is you. 

“Just stay right here, please,” he says.

“Alright. I’ll stay.”

You two sit there for ages, just holding each other in the comfortable silence. 

But you slowly become uncomfortable from the fact that you’ve had his growing erection slowly poking your ass through his jeans. 

You slowly pull back to look at his face. He looks up at you with a tired look, but right underneath, you can see the hunger in his eyes. 

You leaned in to give him a quick peck, to see if you were reading him right. And you were. He holds you to him by grabbing the side of your face and desperately kissing you. Your wet kisses filled the silence of the room. You moved to adjust yourself on his lap, lightly grazing his clothed crotch, making him shudder as you moved against him. His breath quivered as he arched his back, trying to gain more friction. 

He moved his hand to grab the back of your neck, pulling on your hair, causing you to suck in a sharp breath. George took this opportunity to stick his tongue into your mouth, slightly sucking on your tongue. 

The hand that isn’t holding you against him moves down to your upper thigh where he writes something with his finger 

‘mine’

You swear you could cum right there. But you don’t. 

George moves to take off your shirt and as soon as it’s off, he realizes you weren’t wearing anything else underneath it but a pair of thin, sheer panties. 

“Oh fuck.” he whispered. 

He goes to pull your panties to the side but you have other plans.

“Wait baby. Let me take care of you. You’ve had a long week. Do you wanna be a good boy for me and let me do all the work?”

“I’ll be good, promise.”

“I’ll take good care of you, promise.”

You move off his lap and kneel down infront of him, not before he took a pillow from the couch and dropped it on the floor for your knees. 

“Don’t want my girl in pain now, do I?” he cheekily smirks at you.

You slowly and lightly trail a hand up his leg, teasingly going up his inner thigh before palming him through his pants. He lets out a groan as he rolls his head back, letting you see his exposed neck. Oh how you wish you could lick a trail up it. 

You tauntingly moved to unbutton his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down before helping him pull them off completely. 

You pressed soft kisses on the insides of his thighs, watching as he restrained himself from taking over and fucking you mercilessly. 

You rested your head against his thigh as you reached to pull the waistband of his boxers down. As you did, his hardened cock sprung up. It was red and already beading with precum. 

“Oh my, this looks painful, darling.” you say as you blow a breath of air on his tip, causing him to slightly thrust his hips up into nothing. 

“Let me help you out a bit.” 

You lightly wrap your hand around the tip and circle your wrist a bit, he’s gripping the couch cushions, his hands turning white as he tries not to lose it. 

You run your hand up and down his cock twice before squeezing his tip then letting go. 

George is starting to feel light headed from the teasing he’s had to endure, biting his lip to suppress some of the sounds his throat has been coiling. 

You take his cock in one hand and lick a long strip along the side of his cock, eliciting a jaw dropping moan from George. The most gorgeous scene is displayed in front of you right now and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, trying to gain some friction. But this isn’t about you, it’s about the beautiful specimen of a man before you. 

You kiss the tip of him before wrapping your lips around it and gently sucking on it. George’s body shudders as he quickly moves his hand to grab your hair and pull on it. His eyes are closed but that’s not what you want. 

“Don’t close your eyes, baby. Look at me.” you condescend him. 

Now, you take him in your mouth, slowly taking him in. He’s too big for your mouth though so you wrap your hand around the rest of him. George’s grip on your hair becomes tighter and you can feel how hard he’s resisting the urge to use you as a fuck toy and thrusting into your mouth. 

You start bobbing your head up and down him, gradually going faster. Your hand matches the pace of your mouth. 

The only sounds in the room are his moans and the wet sounds coming from your mouth as you suck him off. 

You push yourself to try and fit him all in your mouth but it’s proving to be difficult. You push yourself until it’s hard to breathe. But you do it, you push down and reach his base, causing him to thrust up into your throat. You gag as he does so and let go of him and sit back on your knees as you try to regain your breath. 

“I'm so sorry, darling. It was an accident, didn’t mean to.” he sits forward, massaging the back of your neck. You can see the sorrow all over his face, it really was an accident. But you didn’t mind it, you really enjoyed it actually. 

There’s spit all over your face and tears are running down your face. Your hairs a mess but you’re still the most beautiful person in the world to him, even with how fucked out you look. 

“That was hot.” was all you said before you pushed him back onto the couch and wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. You stroked him a few times before taking him into your mouth again and hollowing your cheeks. 

You watch as his abs flex under the thin material of his shirt, trying not to roll his hips up. You can see how he’s struggling to breathe, he's panting and looking down at you with love and lust filled eyes. 

You take this chance to gently wrap your free hand around his balls and twist them around a bit. 

This new sensation makes George roll his head back against the back of the couch, his jaw dropping as he cries out for more. 

“Baby, please don’t stop doing that. That’s so- ahh fuck, so fucking good.” he says. 

You continue to play around with his balls as you bob up and down his cock. He’s getting close, you can feel it, with the way he’s twitching against your tongue. 

You bob up and down him faster, slurping around his dick and letting out moans. The vibration drives him crazy. He’s a whimpering mess, he’s given up on restraining himself and is now thrusting up into your mouth, pushing so far that you’re gagging with every thrust. You can feel all your drool dripping down your chin and neck as he holds your head in place. Your lips are numb from having them wrapped around him for so long. 

“Fuck baby, made for me. You were m-made for me, fuck, taking me so well in that pretty little mouth. Look better with my cock down your throat. Shit- My beautiful girl. Can I come in your mouth?” he asks so politely, as if he hasn’t been thrusting into your mouth, making you choke and gag. 

You try and tell him you want him to come in your mouth but it comes out as a gargled mess, but he gets the message. 

With a few more thrusts, he's spilling down your throat, keeping you pressed against the base of his cock as he empties into your mouth. His breathing is erratic as he lets you go. 

You pull back and stick your tongue out to show him all that he gave you. He moves closer to you and grabs your chin between his fingers. 

“Be a good girl and swallow for me.” he whispers in your ear. 

You shiver from his warm breath and demanding tone of voice. 

You do as he says, opening your mouth and to show him that you had swallowed all of him. He grabs you by the neck and kisses you, tasting the reminiscence of him that still coats your mouth. 

“You taste like heaven.”

#the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 smut #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfic #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel smut

[alovesreading]

Masterlist

last updated: 05/01/2024

Please do not repost any of my work anywhere. All of these are purely fictitious and for entertainment purposes.

You can also read on Wattpad: -alovesreading and AO3: alovesreading

If you want me to tag you on any future fics, send me a message :)

Happy reading! 

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Matty Healy

Chicken Shop Date 

Matty Healy x Reader (f) | You and your best friend Amelia came up with a very simple idea of taking celebrities on awkward chicken shop dates, and somehow, it’s managed to become both of your jobs. In the past, you’ve found sitting across from some of the biggest stars on the planet and eating chicken nuggets easy. But then Amelia manages to score you a date with the man who you’ve been obsessed with since you were nineteen; Matty Healy.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | 

Instagram AU |

Be My Mistake 

Matty Healy x Reader (f) | Under the influence, Matty makes one of his biggest mistakes which ends up with him losing you. And now there’s nothing more to do, other than deal with the heartache and pick up the pieces.

Read here

You Go To My Head

Matty Healy x Reader (f) | The plans that Matty has arranged for you to celebrate your first Valentine's Day together are out the window when he becomes ill, but staying in to take care of him doesn't mean the day is ruined. And you assure him of it by saying those words he hasn't heard you say before.

Read here

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Alex Turner

Constant Repeat 

Alex Turner x Original Character (f) | Having worked at Focus Creeps for a year, Ella knows that as a production assistant and part of the crew, there’s one important rule: don’t interact with the talent unless it’s needed. But once she meets Arctic Monkeys, and the recording of the music videos for their upcoming fourth studio album starts, the band seem to become her exception. Not only because they treat her more like a friend than just someone else they’re working with but when Alex continuously makes her blush with his flirting, so enthralled by her that he forgets he’s got a girlfriend, Ella finds herself growing closer to him. As videos are filmed, wrapped and edited, the friendship lines become blurry. Situations unfold, secrets are told and others are kept under lock and key, but how long can Alex and Ella endure being stuck in each other’s minds on constant repeat.

Teaser 1 - Teaser 2 | CR Playlist - Ella’s Playlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Epilogue

Extras (blurbs)

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George Daniel

Nice Kind Of Messy

George Daniel x Reader (f) | Your friends set you up on a blind date, one that you aren't really looking forward to at all but when you find George Daniel there waiting outside the restaurant, there is no doubt it'll be a date to remember.

Read here

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Ross MacDonald 

Quarter Past Midnight 

Ross MacDonald x Reader (f) |  Thanks to your best mate, you’ve found yourself welcoming the New Year at a party one of her bosses is throwing at her new house. Since you stepped foot in the place, your only plan has been to spend the night dancing and drinking with your friends. But it all changes when you find a certain bassist looking at you from across the room. And as the night progresses, and a few kisses are shared, you seem to agree on the fact that you’re leaving the party together.

Read here

‘tis the damn season

Ross MacDonald x Reader (f) | Christmas has been your favourite season since you met Ross MacDonald back in Year 9 when you had just moved to Wilmslow, coincidentally on the same road as him. He becomes your very best friend for the rest of high school, but when that ends, life happens and you just can't stop it. And life is certainly cruel to you and Ross. Every December is a reminder of it, somehow always bringing a chance to ruin things even more. After so many mistakes, how can you get back the times you've always cherished with the silly boy with the dimpled smile?

Part 1 | Part 2

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#masterlist #matty healy #the 1975 #Alex Turner #Arctic Monkeys #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #alex turner x reader #alex x reader #matty #healy #alex #turner #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #alex turner fanfiction #alex turner fanfic #george daniel #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel x reader #george daniel fanfic #ross macdonald #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald x reader

[love4agesss]

yes I’d like to book a one way ticket to pound town pls!!

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #george daniel #the 1975 satvb #matty healy #adam hann #satvb #ross macdonald fanfiction #george daniel fanfiction #i want them

[tillthelandslide]

Same For You: (3) The Deal

A/n: here's part 3 guys, I'm loving writing this series and trust me there's good stuff to come.... I'm so excited!!! I hope you're enjoying this so far :) let me know what you think ❤️- Lou

Series Warnings: slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap, complicated relationship (low-key unhealthy dynamics), eventual love...

Series Masterlist

(2) Your Very Own Mirror

She sits in the Dirty Hit office, Jamie sat opposite her, Matty sitting next to Jamie, the pair looking at a bunch of stacked papers. The pair had been texting constantly since they met up for coffee, talking about music, speaking about their songs and their mutual interests in other artists. She explained how Fleetwood Mac was her favorite band, he informed her that they were one of Ross' favorites too. He spoke a lot about Ross, she was unsure what the intention was, she secretly hoped the bearded man asked Matty to slip him into conversation but the rational part of her brain told her it was more likely that it was just general chit chat. Mates supporting mates.

She liked how Matty and her were at the moment, despite not knowing each other for very long at all, he got her, she felt like he had very quickly become one of her best friends. Her favorite times were late at night, when he'd randomly call her and ask "have you heard of this thing love?" And began talking about some niche topic. She also loved when he'd call her to talk about music, to recommend a song he'd listened to and thought she'd like. Each call proved that she was at the forefront of his mind and she was becoming quite accustomed to the idea.

She was sat picking at her nails, only noticing the bad behavior when she feels blood being drawn from the skin, she rolls her hand up into a fist, hiding the abuse she'd given to herself, opting to pick at the varnish of the other hand.

"Are you okay love?" He asks, watching as he picked at her black nail varnish, small flecks falling somewhere unseen. He's by her side in the next second, a look of pure worry on his face. His presence near her, closer to her, made her feel calmer, he quietened her ever noisy brain.

"Yeah yeah... Sorry just a bit nervous I guess" she says making him nod but he can tell she's withholding the truth. He places his hand in hers and squeezes gently, before letting her go.

"Don't be... We're the ones that should be nervous" he says making her confused.

"How so?"

"You might say no" Jamie speaks, placing his phone down on the table.

"Let's get this started then shall we"

The three of them settle on a deal of sorts, a trial period, where Matty, George and Ross (all who agreed prior) would book in some studio time with Y/n and her band. The idea was, that after they had established some tracks, and worked with the boys, if she liked it and felt like the label offered what her and the band was looking for, she would then sign to it. Jamie explained that he hoped she would sign to the label and if they did, they could support the 1975 for a few shows. All of the talk was very exciting but she was also incredibly nervous.

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They all sit around the brown leather booth in a hipster looking bar in Soho, round the corner from where y/n and the band usually perform. She's dressed comfortably in a pair of black jeans and a black knitted sleeveless turtle neck, when she left the house earlier to attend the meeting, it was fairly warm. Outside was now far too chilly for her liking and she cursed herself for not bringing a jacket. Matty had walked with her to this particular bar, texting the rest of the band to join them.

"Cheers" Ross says, clinking his glass against hers and Matty's, George who was sitting across from her raising his glass to her and smiling widely.

"To the new recruit" Matty says making her chuckle and shake her head.

"Hey I haven't agreed yet!" Her words make everyone chuckle and she doesn't miss the way Matty raises his eyebrows at her, as if to say "sureeee"

"Yeah I heard all about your bargaining... Ballsy" George says, the word having been used to describe her far too many times now.

"Got to protect myself and the band haven't I?" She says and they all laugh again.

"So we start making this album with you and you'll consider letting the label sign you?" George asks and she nods.

"Wow... You really are cool... Charli was right" George says making everyone laugh.

"Speaking of' George says, standing up as the black haired girl strides towards him, he meets her in a hug and they share a quick peck, George murmuring a "hi baby" which makes y/n smile warmly, before she's turning towards y/n.

"Hey bitch!" She says, pulling y/n up and hugging her.

"Hi!" She's says, hugging Charli tightly. They weren't the closest but she always loved being around Charli and her friends and was very fond of her, wanting to be closer with her. The girls sit back down and they all talk amongst themselves. Matty talks to Charli and George as Ross speaks with Y/n.

Adam eventually joins and Y/n stops her conversation with Ross abruptly, looking at Adam who was now greeting Matty.

"Hann this is y/n, the artist we told you about. Y/n this is Adam" Matty says and she stands, reaching a hand out to him who shakes it with a smile.

"Great to finally meet you, the guys haven't shut up about you to be honest" he says and she smiles, mouth falling open and then shutting again, at a loss for words.

"You okay love?" Matty asks and she shakes her head, composing herself.

"I can't lie... I'm kind of freaking out, I'm a huge fan..." She says to Adam making everyone laugh.

"You're one of the reasons I started playing guitar, you're mad talented" she hates the way she sounds like a cliche fan but she couldn't help it. Matty raises his eyebrows at her and she sees the cogs turning in his brain, he looks at her and she knows he's mentally saying "Adam your fave then?" But she shakes her head at him.

"Wow, thank you, that means a lot. The guys showed me some videos of you and your band playing, you're sick!" She smiles and blushes at his words, sitting back down next to Ross and continuing their conversation.

"He's right you know... You're really talented, amazing really... How long have you been playing guitar?" The way he so casually compliments her had her heart fluttering and she nearly stutters over her words- nearly.

She feigns confidence as she says "since I was 15, the summer after I discovered your band... I tried bass but it wasn't for me" and he laughs.

"How so?" He asks.

"my hands are too small and I struggled to be honest"

"don't be silly, let me see" he says, lifting her hand and placing it against his. The sensation is instant for both of them, fire igniting, sparks flying, electric buzzing, hand against hand but it's as if their souls have been ripped open for the other to see.

Their mouths both fall open as they touch, neither look at their hands, too busy looking into each other's eyes, occasionally flicking down to each other's lips. She feels the warmth of his hand against her and she blushes.

"You're right... You've got tiny hands" he struggles to get the words out, having to swallow a few times before they even come out. She smiles at his teasing, fingers closing around his hand, tugging it towards her before she opens her hand again, inspecting it closer.

"Or you've just got giant hands Macdonald" he smirks at her then, eyes finally moving away from her lips and down at their hands. Her mouth sits slightly agape as she takes in his hand, eyes falling on the veins and callouses there.

Their moment is interrupted by the buzz of her phone which sits in her lap, her eyes flick down to look at it before she looks back up at Ross.

"Sorry' she says quietly, reluctantly letting go of his hand and reaching for her phone. His hand wraps back around his glass, bringing the liquid back up to his lips to take a sip.

He watches her over the rim of his glass, seeing the way her eyebrows furrow as she reads the text she received. He doesn't like the way she's huffing as she reads it, or the roll of her eyes before she's placing her phone face down onto table, drawing her attention back to him.

She seems almost withdrawn when her eyes find his again, and the smile she directs his way seems forced.

"Everything okay love?" Her stomach flutters at the nickname and she has to stop herself from gasping. She's worried her voice will fail her so she simply nods, but with one look from Ross, a raise of his eyebrows and a tilt of his head, she's spilling all.

"Sorry it's just the band... They didn't want to come to the meeting with me - said I can make the decision as I'm the 'frontman' which I already fucking hate... Which is just stupid anyway because we're a band, were supposed to make these decisions together, and now Jay, drummer, is lecturing me saying I should just sign the contract... That doing studio time with you guys before is a waste of time" she rants, her words are rushed but Ross manages to catch every single one without fail, she buffs at the end of her words, breath fast and shallow.

"Love" he says, her heart fluttering again, picking up tenfold when he takes her hand back in his "breathe for a second" he watches as she inhales deeply before exhaling, her shoulders slumping slightly after she does.

"Better?' she nods.

"Good... I'm sorry darling, that sucks... For what it's worth, I think it's really brave of you.. and super cool too" he says, a clear smirk resting against his lips as he speaks.

"Really?" she barely realises that her hand is still in his, only noticing when he follows his "yeah" with a squeeze of her hand.

"I think you're just trying to do what's best for your band and although they're putting all the pressure on you to make that decision, I think you're making the best one... Just looking out for them" he says and she's the one squeezing his hand now, silently thanking him.

"I'm glad you get it... Thank you Ross" she says, debating whether to pull her hand away from his despite not wanting to. It seemed like it was a matter of who would break first.

"You're welcome sweetheart... Anytime" her breath hitches again at the new nickname, this time not going unnoticed by the bassist, who raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything, which she feels grateful for, she really didn't want to feel mortified right now. Instead he surprises her with a question.

"Fancy going outside for a bit?" He asks, eyes never leaving hers, the intensity of his eye contact making her mouth fall open slightly. She nods as her eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth.

They stand from the table, thankfully everyone is too engrossed in their conversation to realise and they quietly slip outside the pub. The cold air immediately makes her skin prick up and goosebumps rise to the surface, she wraps her hands around herself, running them up and down her arms in an attempt to keep herself warm.

Wordlessly, Ross shrugs off his jacket, moving forward and draping it over her frame, the fabric almost immediately drowning her, but the warmth she feels (weather from the item of the clothing, or from the fact she's wearing his jacket) makes her smile. His hands don't leave the lapels straight away, tugging gently until she's standing closer to him.

Maybe it was because Ross was usually quiet, his actions this evening were taking her by surprises, pleasantly so.

"You look cute in my clothes" the confession makes her blush and she has to take a step back, sighing deeply. "Where are you going?" He says, pulling her towards him again. He notices her breath is heavy again.

"What's up, am I making you uncomfortable?" He goes to retreat but she stops him, shaking her head as she looks up at him

"No... Not at all... You're just surprising me is all" she admits and he smirks.

"How so?"

"The pet names, the- the touching... The forwardness... Just didn't expect it from you to be honest... You're usually quiet" she says and he nods.

"I'm not usually this forward to be honest..."

"What is it about me then?" She challenges.

"Everything" the one word answer has her breath hitching again and he notices, smirking and pulling her close to him again.

"I like that noise... Wouldn't mind hearing it in different circumstances" he says, as she laughs in an attempt to ease the tension.

"Jesus Christ" she murmurs "you're giving me whiplash".

"Sorry... I'm coming on too strong aren't I?" He says, stepping back again, this time she lets him. Not because she wanted him away from her (in fact she wanted exactly the opposite) but she allows it because she thinks it's best, she knew they'd get ahead of themselves if she allowed it to continue.

"You're not, don't apologise" she says, making him smile.

"Okay..." The tension seems to be lifted somewhat and she can breathe almost normally again. Her heart is still beating rapidly in her chest, almost soaring when she spots the dimples either side of his lips and the way his eyes are creasing as he smiles.

"I want to get to know you more... Seeing as we're going to be working together" he says and she smirks, sure that was the reason, she thinks.

"Id like that" he nods, stepping forward just slightly. He feels the need, the desire to just hug her but refrains from doing so, wondering what's coming over him. He was never like this usually.

"We should go inside... I'm freezing my tits off" he says making her laugh loudly. Oh god that laugh he thinks, he thinks it's the best noise he's ever heard and knew he'd do anything to hear it again.

"You didn't have to give me your jacket" she gazes up at him, one eyebrow raising, her eyes almost twinkle when she sees him smirk, accompanied with a slow shake of his head. His hand slowly reaches forward, just one hand, reaching for the edge of his jacket, smoothing the fabric between his fingers. She feels his knuckle graze her abdomen briefly before he pulls back.

"Don't be silly, I wanted to... Couldn't have you shivering out here whilst I'm all toasty" he explains, she stops her breath from hitching, sighing instead, trying to pull it off as a content one instead of a surprised one.

"And now it's the other way round" she says, raising her eyebrows as her arms cross over her chest, the fabric creasing under her hands, his scent escaping from the clothing, harassing her senses, making her skin rise in goosebumps again.

"oh shush' he says making her laugh. He places a hand at her back, leading her back inside. They make their way back over to their table, her still in his jacket and his hand still resting against her back, coming to rest against the back of her seat as they sit back down.

Her eyes find Matty's as she shrugs off Ross' coat, the curly haired man frowning at her.

"What's up?' she mouths, worried something was up with him. She couldn't quite explain it but she felt some sort of duty towards Matty already, knowing he was so similar to her and that alone had her wanting to protect him. She wasn't sure whether she liked how deeply she cared for him already, she felt like she knew him so well already and was a scared of getting hurt. Whilst on the other hand, the man who's jacket she was just wearing, she didn't know that well at all, seeing as in the years she had been following the band, he was more reserved than Matty.

"Later" he mouths back, making her frown. She picks up her phone that she left again the table, ignoring the texts from her bandmates and pulling him Mattys contact in her phone.

Ross draws his eyes away from the scene, not wanting to intrude but feels a pang of jealousy hit him. He sees the name light up her phone "Bestie ❤️" and somehow he knows its Matty.

"You'd tell me if something was up right?" She sends the message, hearing the ding of his phone before he's drawing it from his pocket, eyes flicking from the device to her as he reads it.

"Yeah love... Don't worry I'm fine x" she receives back in reply, placing her phone down and smiling at him, he smiles back. She makes a funny face at him for safe measure, just in case he was in fact lying, she hoped it would cheer up a little bit.

He chuckles and the sight makes her smile wide again, turning her attention back to Ross for a second, who smiles at her too.

"So y/n..." She looks to see who was talking to her, finding Adam smiling at her.

"How long have you and your band been together... What's the name again?" He asks and she smiles.

"The Love Of Thieves" she confirms, making him raise his eyebrows, muttering a "cool name".

"We've been together for almost 10 years now... Started when I was 15, the rest were around 18 then" she says.

"They're older than you?" Matty asks, her eyes flicking to him and she smiles, nodding at him.

"Yeah... Everyone thought it was really weird... Me hanging out with people who were older than me. But my brother played bass with our drummer's brother, and we all used to hang out... They didn't realise I was as young as I was until about 6 months in" she explains and everyone laughs. Ross can't help but like the fact her brother played bass, knowing it was a conversation they could have another time.

"Such a cool kid weren't you?' Matty jokes making her raise her middle finger at him.

"Shut up... I didn't get along with people my age to be honest. Besides I grew up around older people, so I just fit in with them" she explains and people around the table nod, seeming to understand.

"Where did the name come from?" George asks, sipping from his glass as his other hand held Charli's.

"We actually kind of stole it..." She says, making everyone laugh.

"My dad always used to play records around the house and I remember coming downstairs one day and this song was playing... Wasn't really my vibe like musically but there was this one lyric" she says, smiling as she looked at her fingers.

"Oh the tears that you weep, For the poor tortured souls, Who fall at your feet... I fucking loved that... So I asked my dad what the song was"

A chorus of "The Love Thieves" breaks out and she nods.

"We added a word obviously..." She laughs again "it was originally just a place holder but it kind of just..."

"Stuck' Matty finishes and she nods again.

"I think that's fucking sick" he then says and she smiles.

"Thanks..." She blushes as Matty smiles.

"Cool name for a cool band" Ross says and she smiles over at him.

Eventually people start filtering out, Adam leaves first, wanting to get home go his wife and child, which Y/n finds very sweet. Charli and George are then leaving next, Charli pulling her up from the table to hug her tightly.

"We'll have to go out soon, just the two of us" y/n confirms with a nod and Charli then kisses her cheek and bids her farewell.

Mumbling a "keep being a legend and if these lot get on your nerves, let me know"

Matty, Ross and Y/n stay until close, eventually being ushered out by one of the bar tenders.

She begins to shiver as soon as she steps outside, and it's a matter of which one shrugs their jacket off first, the winner being Matty, who drapes his coat over her shoulders. She says a thank you but her eyes find Ross' who looks down sadly at her.

"Sorry for being that idiot who didn't bring a jacket" she says making them both laugh.

"It's fine, I've got my cig to warm me up" Matty says and she nods.

"Want me to call you a cab?" Ross then speaks up, she smiles but ultimately shakes her head at him.

"No I'm good thank you, Abbie works around the corner and has just finished her shift so she's going to swing by and pick me up" she explains making the both of them nod.

"Abbie is your guitarist right?" Ross asks and she nods.

"The one and only... She likes to think she's Hann but she's really not" her words making the boys chuckle.

"She's a fan too?' Matty asks, cringing when he realises he just called her a 'fan'. But y/n doesn't mind, because she was one, and a huge one at that. She had their logo tattooed for Christ sake.

"She is" she confirms. They hear the beep of a car and y/n flicks her eyes towards it, seeing Abbie with her head out of her window, waving at them.

"Well that's me" she says, going to shrug off Mattys jacket but he stops her.

"Keep it" he says, pulling her towards him to hug her tightly.

"Lovely to see you again... I really look forward to working with you y/n' he says into her ear as they hug.

"You too Matty... Better text me" she says and he mumbles an 'of course, not getting rid of me now" they then pull away and she steps forward, closer to Ross.

"MacDonald" she says and he smirks down at her, hooking his arms around her waist and pulling her the rest of the way towards him.

"Y/L/N" he says back, sighing into her hair as they hug. It was the first hug they shared and he was already addicted. To the way she felt against him, in his arms, smaller than him, warm against him. The way he could feel her heart beat against his chest and the way she felt her warmth seep into him. The way he could smell her, more strongly now.

"Tonight was fun" he says and she nods against him. The pair realise they've been hugging for a little too long so reluctantly pull away.

"I'll text you" he says and she smiles, really hopeful that he does.

She pulls away and her eyes flick between the pair, heart beating and breath picking up. She then leaves them, walking to the guitarists car, opening the door and getting in.

She was fucked.

"Good night?" She asks as she begins driving.

"Amazing." She confirms.

"Who's jacket is that?'

"Mattys'

"Oh. Anything going on there?"

"No don't be silly"

Her phone buzzes as she looks at it, seeing one notification from an unknown number.

"Let me know when you're home please xx - Ross"

She quickly saved his number in her phone as "MacDonald" tempting to put a little heart next to his name but not wanting to get ahead of herself, when she recieves another message.

"Looked better in my jacket btw... Fancy grabbing a coffee sometime? Xx" it reads and it makes her gasp quietly again.

She thinks twice about sending what she wants to, deciding to just go for it and replying back with a "Yours was comfier... Smelt like you too 🤭... And would love to x"

Her phone pings far too quickly for it to be Ross so she looks again and sees another message, this firm from Matty, who had edited his contact name from the simple "Matty" to "Bestie ❤️" when they went for coffee with one another.

"I'm now realising the huge mistake I made when I gave you my jacket... You've got my house keys" it reads and she gasps.

"Fuck" she says, burring her hand into the pocket of his jacket, feeling the metal against her hands and pulling it out.

"What?" Abbie says.

"I've got Matty's keys" she says.

"Shit" Abbie says.

"Yeah. Shit"

"Text me your address please x" she sends, worrying when he doesn't reply "Matthew!" She then sends.

"I'm not letting you drive all the way here just to drop my keys off xx" - Matty.

"Well I'm not letting you roam the streets in the freezing cold Matthew. Send me your address xx" - Y/n.

He replies back almost immediately with his address.

"Do you mind dropping me off near by? I can get an Uber back if you need to be somewhere" she explains and Abbie nods.

"You sure? I can wait about a bit"

"No honestly it's fine"

They drive almost in silence to his house, pulling up close by.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do" she says making y/n shake her head.

"It's not like that.. I'm just going to give him his keys and then head home...besides you're literally gay"

"exactly"

Y/n walks the last bit towards his house, seeing him sitting on the curb.

"Oh thank fuck, I'm about to freeze to death here"

"Nice to see you too' she jokes.

"I'm so thankful you're here darling. Seriously, I could've crashed at someone's house" he says and she shakes her head, smiling when he pulls her into a tight hug.

"Wanna come up for a bit? I make a mean brew" he offers and despite knowing she should really say no, she's nodding.

"Sounds heavenly" and then she's handing him his keys and they're entering his house.

She's entering Matty Healy's house. Her phone buzzes in her (Mattys pocket) and if she had looked she would've seen a text from Ross that read "Home yet love? You've got me worried here xxx"

(4) No Need To Explain

A/n: AHHHHH what's going to happen next? Let me know what you think is going to happen!! If you're liking this please consider liking, leaving a comment and reblogging :) love youuuuu

© all lyrics are written and owned by yours truly (let's ignore the fact they're not that good but yeah) no stealing hehe

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #adam hann #george daniel #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #ross macdonald x reader #the 1975 fan fiction #the 1975 fan fic #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fan fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fan fic #george daniel fanfiction #ross macdonald x oc #matty healy x oc #George daniel x oc #same for you the 1975 series

[not-alien-girl-v]

Lost In Reality (George Daniel)

warning: drinking, mentions of sex

note: this took me like a week to write. im so lonely wish i had a clingy lovesick george

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

r&b music is pumping through the speakers of the club. it’s dark in the vip section where you sit and a bit damp with sweat, everything is.

adam went home early tonight, you all bid your goodbyes and a parting farewell hug to him before he slipped out the door a few hours prior. it’s now nearing midnight and your fresh nail polish is chipped.

you sit alone in the private booth with ross. the two of you are tag-teaming being designated drivers tonight, figuring if you both only get mildly tipsy tonight, you can both be equally responsible enough for your two knuckleheads you’re supervising tonight.

speak of the devil, knuckle head #1 comes waltzing up to the table, looking a little lost, but when his gaze meets yours, he freezes in his spot like he’s just remembered he left his stove on, then squeezes in next to you.

“scooch over, i’m tired,” george whines, spilling onto you over the leather seat and your velvety dress.

you give hime a quick smile, feeling as though it sufficed as a brief greeting to your lover as you continue your conversation with ross. “i saw your dad at the store the other day, it was weird, he recognized me and everything.”

ross chuckles, “what was he buying?”

“i think it might have been like a few apples, maybe a-“

knucklehead #1, however, does not feel quite welcome enough, so he scoots even more into you, hand on the back of your neck, right at the roots of your hair and the other gripping your waist. “hey.”

you pause to stare at him, “hey.”

“and what else?” ross tries through stifled giggles to reanimate your dying conversation. george busies himself placing wet kisses to your neck.

“a carton of orange juice, laundry detergent,” your words are broken apart by george and his suffocating attack to your neck. when he realizes you’ve stopped talking, he uses his grip on your neck to his advantage and pulls you in for a full, smothering kiss. you humor him, not entirely enjoying the taste of tequila on his tongue but bearing it because he’s clearly needing something from you.

he pulls away, surprising that he chose to before you did, and presses his cheek into your chest for a moment, “ross, this is my woman, did you know that.”

“i did, mate.” ross glances back at you repeatedly, making fun of george without even having to say anything. george evidently does not pick up on this one bit.

“and did you know that i love her?”

“mm, it’s news to me. maybe you should let everyone else know, too.” you shoot ross a deathly glare, knowing that he knows how much you hate making a scene and you can tell he’s only joking but the knucklehead didn’t quite pick up on that.

with a cackle, he stands up, much to your horror, clinking a fork onto your glass and pulling you in close to him. you’re mildly freaking out, glad that the music in here is just loud enough that the entire establishment won’t hear this, maybe just the people near.

“everyone! listen up, im sorry. i am in love with this gorgeous woman right here! she is the love of my life! i am going to marry her!”

you swear your heart almost stops as people begin to clap. you try to pull him back down to sit and be out of the public’s eye but he resists. “kiss?” he puckers his lips already and points to them with a finger and you pout at him for only just a moment. you soon realize it’s the sole way to get him to stop, so you cave

you mean for it to be a small peck but he holds you in like he always does, the one thing that never changes about him when he gets drunk like this, pressing his lips messily to yours and holding your head too tightly that it roughs up your hair. you pull away this time, pushing him down to sit in your previous spot in the booth, trapping him in as you sit at the end.

“wow, that was beautiful, george,” ross grins wickedly and you set a mental reminder to shave his eyebrow off in his sleep when you get the chance. he’s a deep sleeper, you might just get away with it

“she deserves it. this woman right here, she single handedly saved my life. i love her. will you go to the bathroom with me?” you don’t even realize the last sentence is towards you until he nudges you with his elbow.

“to do what?” ross raises an eyebrow, wondering why he’s so involved in this conversation that has nothing to do with him.

“so i won’t be lonely.”

with an eye roll, you stand up, holding out both hands to pull your boyfriend up, “come on, big boy.” he laughs at the pet name and it’s not missed by you just how hot he is when he laughs like that, you never do.

he wraps an arm around you and you lead him outside instead of the bathroom, as fun as it sounds to take a piss hand in hand with him, you’d rather get your man home.

he stumbles outside with you, nearly taking you down with him but you steady the both of you with gentle hands on his waist. “hey. you wanna get out of here?”

his sly grin is valuable in your gaze, “any time, baby.”

“i mean, i’m going to take you home, okay?” you realize your second attempt doesn’t sound all that better.

“your place or mine?” he smirks. you decide to just let him have it if it means he’ll agree to leave.

“yours, sweets.”

he calls a cab for you, glad that he remembered how much you suck at doing so.

you snuggle up to him in the backseat while he informs the driver of the address. your rest your head on his strong shoulder and he rests his broad hand on your thigh out of instinct.

“you okay, honey?” everything about him is comforting, from his overwhelming kisses and public proclamations of love to the way that he constantly has the urge to take care of you in any way he can, even when he’s wasted. you almost feel bad about how bad his hangover is going to be tomorrow morning.

“i’m alright, handsome.” adding in the last bit just to mess with him and it works as well as you expect, his cheeks blush and a shy smile breaks upon his face.

“you really think so?” it’s not like him to ask for a bit of reassurance like this so you lean in to kiss his cheek.

“of course. i love you. so much.”

“that’s the first time you’ve said it tonight.”

you kiss his cheek again, “but do you really need me to say it for you to know?”

he smiles warmly, “no.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

you sent ross a text informing him that you had left and he replied something about how he had assumed so, doubting the pair of you spent a half hour in the bathroom.

you tucked george in with a loving kiss to the forehead and he was passed out asleep before you even climbed in next to him.

it’s now hours later in the late morning, and he was still asleep when you woke, so you decided to set up camp on his couch, mentally double fisting watching supernatural on the tv and reading a book.

it isn’t until 30 minutes of this quiet time alone that george comes slumping in, groggy and tired but awake. he stands in the doorway, looking around in confusion for a moment. “did we fuck last night?”

“no.”

you’re scared he’s going to continue with this, getting into some speech about how you’ll always have his consent, no matter what. it’s something you already know, something you’ve already established with him, but you don’t think you could ever bring yourself to be intimate with him when he isn’t fully present for it.

you know that he’s the same way when it goes for you, that he’d never lay a hand on you if you hadn’t explicitly agreed to it.

he doesn’t, however, and you’re even more grateful when he shuffles to the kitchen and begins to cook breakfast out of habit. you let him be, coexisting with him in the open floor plan of the room, you with your book and your show and him with the food and the stove.

after a good chunk of time, he returns to you, two plates in hand. passing one to you, “careful, love, it’s hot.”

“thank you.” he doesn’t say anything, feeling like he shouldn’t be thanked for simply cooking you breakfast, it seems like the least he can do.

he settles down next to you and your stretch your legs out over his lap, allowing him to rest a hand over your thighs.

you eat in comfortable silence for a moment until he interrupts it. “have you started your period?”

you almost choke, “pardon?”

“has your period started yet?” he doesn’t elaborate any more, likely until you give an answer.

“how did you know?”

he rubs up and down your leg. “i track it for you. cuz i know you always forget to. it also helps me plan our date nights better.”

“why? i mean, thank you, but why?”

he shrugs. “because i care about you.”

you study him over your slice of toast but decide to leave him be. if he chooses to show his love to you in unconventional ways, that’s his decision and you’ll accept his affection in any way you can get it.

once he finishes his plate, he sets it to the side on his coffee table and begins to busy himself with kneading and pawing at your legs. he focuses in on the fleshiest part, your inner thigh and you continue to study him like an creature nearing extinction.

“this is the best part, this right here.”

“of my thigh?” he nods.

“it’s good thigh. prime thigh.”

“ok.”

he sighs now, not loud and dramatic like you do, but a forced exhale. “i’ve got to go to the studio today, my love.”

“so go.”

“i don’t want to leave you. barely seen you this week. finally got you to myself and i’ve got to leave again.”

“i’ll stay here. i’ll be here when you get back and we can hang out some more.”

“is that too much to ask?”

“course not, babe.”

“thank you. i just love the idea of coming home to you. keeps me going. and i hate coming back here after a long day away and being all alone.”

you giggle and poke him with your foot, “god, you’re so obsessed with me.”

“i know, baby, im sorry,” he pushes off your legs and sets your plate to the side, not caring that you hadn’t finished yet. he crawls forward to lay between your legs and rest his head on your sternum.

“don’t be.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

taglist: @itssimpleanditgoeslikethis @indierockgirrl @milkluvr8 @americanangel @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

#the 1975 #george daniel fanfic #george daniel x reader #george daniel fluff #george daniel smut #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel the 1975 #george daniel #georgedaniel #george daniel 1975 #the 1975 self titled #the 1975 fanfiction #1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic

[abiiors]

3. lost my head // george daniel x oc

a/n: i genuinely do think i might be possessed because this is not normal. but it certainly is fun <3 reblogs and comments are always appreciated because i do thrive on validation. cw: some suggestive content, smoking, alcohol, and matty's usual sluttiness on stage wc: 3k masterlist

i try to settle into a reluctant routine after that. i block nate and delete his number—something i should have done days ago but it’s better late than never. the sooner i begin my moving on process, the sooner i can get my life back on track and get out of matty’s hair. the sooner i can stop existing around george. 

speaking of george, things between us don’t improve. at all. i quickly discover that we both unfortunately share the habit of sleepily walking into the kitchen first thing in the morning to make coffee. 

the first time it happens, george wanders into the kitchen, half dressed in only grey joggers, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and not exactly watching where he’s going. i am in no better state. i yawn into my hands, waiting for the kettle to boil while i sloppily mix my coffee and sugar together in the mug. 

once i’m done, i set the mug aside, turning around and about the grab milk from the fridge when i bump face first into a hard chest. 

george mutters a quick “oomph”, having the wind knocked out of him and i get knocked off balance, arms flailing, desperately grasping on anything to keep me fron falling. 

that anything just so happens to be his arm. 

before i know it, i feel the same arm around my waist, grasping it reflexively. pulling me flush against a warm chest. his warm chest. his breathing slows just as my heartbeat picks up from the combination of adrenaline and whatever else that’s fucking wrong with my body. 

his body is still warm from having just woken up, his eyes still sleepy and in that one tiny, insane moment, he looks…good. 

when i look up at him, his eyes are still soft—the situation hasn’t sunk in yet. until something hard brushes against my lower stomach and sleep drains out of me instantly. 

oh my god oh my god oh my fucking god. 

i whip my head to look up at george again, whose eyes widen at the exact moment as realisation finally dawns on him. we both scramble to back away from each other. 

george almost walks into the fridge, and it would have been hilarious if it weren’t for the mortification coursing through my veins like fire. 

“watch where you’re going,” i weakly snap at him. although, we can both tell it lacks any conviction. 

he splutters something that makes no sense at all and turns around to practically flee out of the kitchen. i am so dumbstruck by the entire exchange that i stare straight ahead, at his back muscles that flex and move with him, then lower, just as he rounds the corner and disappears. 

for the longest time i stand there like an idiot, involuntarily feeling tingles in my stomach, exactly where i felt his—

nope. nope. absolutely fucking not. 

the kettle clicks, the water’s done boiling. i even almost scald myself but manage to make the coffee pretty much unscathed. althought that would have served me right. 

the second time it happens, we’re both a bit more cautious. once again, i am the first one in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil while mixing together my coffee and sugar. this time, i also scan my surroundings cautiously, looking over my shoulder every two seconds just in case he decides to sneak up on me like the shadow of death. 

although, this time i hear him before i see him—an off tune whistle that’s just a bit too loud for this time of the morning. i silently thank the forces that be that i don’t have to go around bellling the cat.

george stops at the threshold, watching me suspiciously as if i were building a hydrogen bomb in his kitchen at 8 in the morning. 

i give him a slow, judgemental once over that does more damage to me than it does to him. he’s in a white tank top that’s practically falling off his shoulder, exposing a collarbone that fascinates me for some reason and the same grey joggers that highlight… certain areas. the fact that he’s just woken up doesn’t help matters. 

when i look back at his face, i catch him staring at my waist, where my tank top has ridden up to expose a sliver of skin—still golden and beautifully tanned from the last joyful summer i had. 

i clear my throat and his entire face turns pink. 

“i need the kettle,” he points out curtly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. after that george doesn’t meet my eye again. 

“after i’m done,” i respond in an equally short tone and go back to my mug. the spoon clinks loudly, the coffee at the bottom of it foams slightly. george clicks his tongue. 

“you’re gonna shatter that mug,” he tuts. “don’t care by the way, stab yourself with stray glass all you want. but it’s matty’s favourite mug.” 

he smiles a maddening, sarcastic smile, that makes me want to throw the mug right at him. perhaps later in life i might reflect on how george brings out my violent side, how since meeting him i have plotted out at least ten ways to kill him and hide his body. for now, that particular statement makes me smirk.

“i know, george,” i let a saccharine sweet smile appear on my face even as my voice drips with smugness. “i bought it for him.”

this time i make sure to stand right there and stare at him as george scrambles for a response, getting more fidgety by the moment. it really does bring me peace like i haven’t felt in days. 

“oh and one more thing,” i make sure to let some of the poisonous sweetness drip into my tone, taking my own sweet time to pour the hot water into my mug before i make my way to the kitchen sink, holding the kettle. i make sure to put extra sway in my hips as i walk, looking right at him when i pour the rest of the hot water down the drail. “boil your own water.”

it might not be the biggest victory in the world but the annoyance rising in his eyes makes it worth it. i might not have ruined his whole day, but maybe i did ruin a small part of his morning. and that’s soothing enough. 

“you are…” he stops to take a deep breath, then mutters something that sounds like counting backwards from 10. 

the thought of him—nonchalant, cavalier, george—using a fucking breathing technique is so shocking that it makes me burst out laughing. a sharp, sudden laugh that surprises even me. what’s even more surprising that it does come from deep inside—loud and boisterous, like i haven’t laughed in a while. george looks at me with a strange expression on his face, one raised eyebrow and something akin to…awe creeping in his eyes. 

he shakes his head, walking up to the shelf to get his own mug down—plain black with no design or colours or joy. 

“you’re weird, cleo.” he mumbles. we don’t speak after that.

wednesday night matty comes bounding into my room. he’s just come back home—his hair is a bit damp from the rain, he’s still in his skinny jeans and a band tshirt he might have stolen from me at some point in time. and he’s practically skipping with excitement. 

“your jet lag must be gone,” he beams, bouncing slightly in place. i narrow my eyes at him. “yes…?”

“because we’ve got a gig on saturday night! my band.” matty grins with the energy of a thousand suns, something that instantly brings a smile to my face and makes me say yes to him. 

“perfect!” he claps his hands once, “you’ll get to meet the rest of the band. they’re all going to love you!” then he winces slightly, “well ross and adam are anyway…”

“matty…” 

“i know i know!” he whines “he’s your mortal enemy and you’ve sworn to hate him for the rest of your life etc etc but please, cleo… be nice?” 

“i’m a fucking peach, matty!” i whine back just to take the piss but he only stares at me with a deadpan expression.

“i am always nice!” i retort, feeling a bit offended that my best friend would question my ability to be civil like this. “tell that to him! dunno which bridge you found him under—alright, alright!” i raise my hands in surrender at matty’s almost scolding look. he deflates quickly though, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“i don’t know what went wrong between you two—“ 

“he—”

“ah! let me finish.” i sit there like scolded child, grumpy and cheeks puffed out. “after the gig on saturday we are all going out for drinks. well the band always does. and i’m inviting you. so you can properly get to know him—them all.” 

i consider it. drinks with matty on a saturday night is perfectly reasonable. me from just a few months ago would have accepted it without thinking. hell, me from a few months ago would have been the one to make the plan. 

“well… don’t expect me to be besties with him,” i warn but he knows i’ve already caved. “fine,” i roll my eyes at him fondly. “drinks after the gig sounds amazing.” 

“and you get to see us play live!” 

i nod at that. matty looks so happy, so excited. despite everything going down in my life, i adore the fact that everything is going well in his. and it must show on my face because his gaze softens. 

“i know it wasn’t…ideal. but it’s nice to have to back, cleo. i mean it.” 

i move closer to him, grab his hand and give it a small squeeze. “i think… i think it’s nice to be back too, matty. i think i mean it too.” 

that night, i ask matty to stay. we talk, i tell him as much of my life in new york as possible. i skirt around the truth as much as possible… it’s not ideal. but he doesn’t push. i remember what he told me that first day. i can talk to him when i’m ready…

someday soon, i hope. he deserves to know the full truth of it.

the days blur together really quickly when you’re unemployed and before i know it, it’s saturday afternoon and i’m rushing to get ready before i’m late. i hastily blow dry my hair, picking the trusty clubbing black dress that fits me better than perhaps my own skin does. that paired with cute flats and for a fleeting moment, i feel like my own self again, putting on some killer eyeliner and getting ready to party the night away. 

i try to bury the sadness deep down—when i leave this room, there will be no nate to pull me in his arms and tell me that i’m the prettiest girl alive. no nate to steal my breath away from the intensity of his kiss. and in spite of what happened, i do miss the little things. 

to my surprise though, when i open the door i see matty mid-sentence, about to knock. he gives me one look and wolf whistles making me actually giggle. 

“why thank you,” i do a little twirl for him, taking an exaggerated bow. 

behind him george leans against the wall, trying to look bored. i will give it to him—he’s great at feigning disinterest. but he is, after all, a man. 

i don’t miss the way his eyes linger on my legs a bit longer than they should. the way i can practically see his pupils dilate and the miniscule shake of his head as he refixates his stare on a random spot on the wall next to me. 

i am, unfortunately, no better. as much as it pains me to admit—george cleans up well. gone are the boyish shorts and tank tops and old t-shirts. tonight he looks like a proper rockstar—ripped skinny jeans, a vintage leather jacket that i suspect cost a pretty penny on top of a v-neck. a cigarette dangles carelessly between his fingers, its ash dripping onto the carpet. 

“we’re late,” he points out and takes a drag of it, blowing smoke in the wind. the movement makes his jaw look sharper than before… sharp enough to cut. 

that gets matty going, who ushers me out of the house and to the car while george locks up the front door. 

“remember what i said?” he asks with a warning tilt to his head. 

i let my most winning smile take over my face, something that would put a pageant queen to shame, “i will be… sweeter than candy. i promise you.”

for the most part i stick to it, mainly because as soon as we reach the venue, george disappears somewhere backstage leaving me and matty alone which is just as well because matty introduces me to anyone and everyone he comes across—flitting from one person to the next, telling everyone that i am his childhood best friend who has just come back to london. the “for good” is implied. 

i see so many new faces and learn so many new names that by the end of it, everything is mixed up. the only two people i remember properly are adam, the guitarist, who’s sweet and shy nods in my direction and ross, the bassist who instantly engulfs me in a hug. both of them ask about me, showing genuine interest and listening to everything i have to say. 

looking at ross, adam, and matty interact with each other genuinely has me wondering how george would ever fit into this dynamic. almost as if he read my mind, ross asks about george, who’s still nowhere to be found. 

“probably out having a smoke,” matty shrugs, “i’ll go find him.”

the conversation moves onto the band once he leaves. i tell them that i’ve seen the videos matty has sent me, that they all look and sound amazing in them but this is my first time seeing them live. i tell them i’m excited which i very much mean. for one night, i feel carefree again, victorious that i’ve successfully managed to push nate to the back of my mind. 

soon enough they have to go, and i find the few girls i was introduced to before. one of them is adam’s girlfriend who’s sweet enough to accommodate me in her group, keeping me chatting until the lights dim and the curtains part. 

the moment their logo shines on stage, we are all in rapture. when matty walks on stage, he looks nothing like he did before, he’s gone from a simple t-shirt to a floral shirt that’s entirely unbuttoned. in his hands is a bottle of wine and on his face in an expression of complete and utter heartbreak. it’s matty like i’ve never seen before and if it weren’t for the fact that i knew he was fine twenty minutes ago, i would be extremely worried. 

what really takes my breath away, however, is the man behind matty. 

george looks…different. smiling, practically grinning from ear to ear as he sticks to a mad rhythm, not faltering even once. his hair stick to his forehead and his sweaty t-shirt sticks to every contour of his body, highlighting muscles that i try not to stare at. his tattooed arms flex from the strain and glisten with sweat. between beats he throws the drumsticks up in the air or twirls them around his fingers, effortlessly catching them back without missing a single beat. it’s…fascinating to watch. 

watching him makes my face feel hot. like i’m intruding on a private moment, something that’s not meant for me. and as much as i hate to admit it, george is magnetic—undoubtedly handsome when he’s smiling and happy. 

he jokes around with the others on stage and i stare like a fucking fangirl, my heart skipping a beat involuntarily every time he looks in our general direction.  

one of the girls laughs and taps my shoulder. “cleo, right?” she asks and i nod in response. “looks like you’ve got a crush on the drummer. he is single you know, i can introduce you if you want.” 

the others around her laugh along, cheery and joking, nothing serious. but my blood freezes in my veins. 

“i don’t have a crush on the drummer.” i want to instantly apologise for how short i sound, like a bitch when this girl was just trying to be nice to me. it doesn’t faze her. if anything, it eggs her on. 

she rolls her eyes, laughing fondly, “you haven’t looked away for a moment, darling. don’t be shy, he’s actually a real sweetheart.”

that makes me baulk. george and sweetheart don’t belong in the same sentence. they don’t even belong in the same fucking universe actually. the girl, however, misinterprets my expression. 

“i know what you’re thinking,” she smiles, “he’s in a rock band, for fucks sake, he’s bound to be a player or worse, a serial cheater. he’s not… trust me!”

“and you know this…” 

“oh i hooked up with matty,” she shrugs casually, “they’re roommates, we talked a bit the next morning. he had a girlfriend back then but they broke up a couple months ago i think.” 

i say nothing. first because i want to know absolutely nothing about matty’s sexual history and second because i am having difficulty wrapping my head around the fact that george is actually… nice. 

“anyway,” she shrugs, “i’m sorry, it’s none of my business. i just got a bit excited.” 

i wave it off distractedly, thanking her for looking out for me. 

when i look back to the stage again, i catch george staring right at me, with an intense look in his eyes. something that i can’t seem to read or interpret but he quickly looks away, swallowing so harshly that i can practically see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat all the way from the front row. 

my head spins with thoughts at the same time, my mind seems to have gone completely blank. not a single person has said a bad word about him. not a single person has even hinted at him being a dickhead. 

so then why am i the only one he seems to hate?

lemme know what you think <33

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