#always been a fan of the train lads
Note
Could you do a blurb showing how Harry and 1dbandmate!yn reacted over the years when asked in interviews if they were a couple?? please 🙏
Always Asked
A/N: been in a writing funk lately but i'm happy i got this one done since i miss writing and posting to you all!! 💚
SUMMARY: Snippets of interviews over the years from when YN and Harry were asked if they were dating. (3.4k)
GENRE: 1dbandmate!yn, famous!yn
SINCE 2010 masterlist
2011:
Never in a million years did YN ever think her dream career would start so soon. It’s only been a year since she auditioned for the XFactor and now she’s sitting at a table next to her bandmates as hundreds of fans go down the line to get a copy of their freshly signed album.
With copious amounts of screaming comes along an abundance of questions thrown at the teenagers. Most of the time, it’s YN giving the screaming fans a beautiful smile, asking them how they are, and thanking them for their kind words before passing the signed CD case to Harry. With all the excitement in the air, she feels like she’s truly living the pop star lifestyle she’d seen many others live out.
“Hiya, love,” YN smiles at the preteen girl who’s practically vibrating with excitement at seeing the famous band. She also gives a polite greeting to the supportive dad of the young girl who has his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “How are you? I love your shirt.”
She compliments, smiling at seeing the young girl wearing a shirt with YN’s face on it.
“My dad got it for me for my birthday!” The little fan beams.
“Did he?” YN animatedly gasps with a smile. “Well, it was nice of him to take you over here, yeah?”
She signs the CD case with a heart over her name before sliding it over to Harry. His fingers brush over hers and the two of them catch each other’s gaze. A smile tugs on their lips before looking away just as quickly.
“Are you two dating?” The young girl practically screams out, her eyes bouncing back and forth excitedly between YN and Harry.
The two teenagers tense up, thrown off by the question in such a crowded place. Their management team is still media-training them and while they’ve learned so much already, they’re still getting used to taking what they’ve learned out into the field.
YN and Harry give each other a look, already knowing the answer but searching in one another’s eyes for maybe a smidge of something more.
“Lilly!” The dad scolds before letting out a chuckle. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” YN shakes her head with a smile, hoping it's convincing enough to not cause any suspicion. “Sorry Lilly, but Harry and I aren’t dating because quite frankly—” She beckons the little fan closer, cupping her mouth but still being loud so her bandmate can hear, “—he has cooties.”
Harry’s immediately furrowing his brows together and lets out a long and playful, “Hey!”
“Ew!” Lilly laughs, seeming satisfied with that answer before waving goodbye and walking towards the rest of the band.
Before they can dwell on what just happened, thankfully the next fan shuffles over for their own interaction and signed copy.
2012:
The band is at their first Brits Awards show and needless to say, they all got a little tipsy after their win. Their team didn’t even have time to give them a snack or water bottle to help sober them up a little bit before their backstage press interviews.
“Harry, how will you guys be celebrating tonight?” A journalist asks from the crowd.
“Erm,” Harry giggles to himself and it makes YN tipsily follow from her spot next to him. The hand that isn't gripping onto their award goes to cover her smile. “I think we’re just gonna hang out and stuff.”
“YN? Is there any lucky man whom you will be celebrating with?” Another voice in the sea of reporters asks.
“Nope,” YN raises her eyes with a tipsy smile and a slow shake of her head. She shakes her thumb towards her boys with a click of her tongue. “Just these lads.”
“Any lucky lad in particular? Perhaps a curly-headed one standing next to you?”
Almost as if it was planned, the two teenagers comically look beside each other, cranking their necks in playful search of who the intrusive lady was referring to.
“Me?” Harry dramatically questions, pointing to his chest with a bright, open-mouthed, dimpled smile gracing his face.
“Well, I mean he is part of the band, is he not?” YN sassily purses her lips together, her media-training to retain her “good girl” image slipping out of her alcohol induced brain.
Thankfully, before anything could be escalated further by the tipsy girl, the intrusive press, or the snickering boys, a member from their management team instructs the audience to move onto another person.
2013:
“You guys have known each other for what seems like forever now and your bond with the rest of the guys is so strong...”
YN reaches forward for a sip from her glass of water on the panel table in her seat in between Harry and Niall. It’s been a long week for the band as they do press for their new movie, This Is Us. They’ve been thrown left and right with interviews that YN can’t help but already be done with the repetitiveness of some of the questions.
“So then we’re all clearly curious to know if you and Harry are dating?”
“Nope,” YN pops the ‘P’ and shakes her head as if her actions were automatically programmed to respond in that way. She casually waves her finger between the two boys beside her, “But him and Niall are though.”
The crowd of press people laugh and chuckle as they see Naill gasp and Harry raise his eyebrows in playful shock.
“I mean, you kinda pointed it out,” YN puts on her media-trained smile good enough to win an Oscar. “These lads are like my brothers and our bond is so strong because we see each other more like family than anything else. I see them more as annoying than someone I'd rather date, to be honest,” she forces out a light laugh.
“Plus, as YN so kindly pointed out,” Harry leans on his elbows on the table as he looks to his crush next to him. YN can see his dimple dig into his cheek as he fights off a smirk. “M’happily in a committed relationship with Niall.”
Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of his bandmate as he leans back into his seat. He watches as she tucks her chin into her chest, her fingers rubbing over her lips to cover her giggle as the rest of the room breaks out in commotion.
2014:
“Can we assume that the rock on your finger is from a certain curly-headed lad?” The woman who’s interviewing them for the band’s new book Who We Are excitedly asks.
The band are all sat on an L-shaped couch as they discuss the contents of the hard cover book. Sat in between Zayn and Niall, YN purposely avoids her gaze from Harry as she answers.
“No,” YN lets out a forced chuckle as she looks down to fidget with the diamond ring on her finger. Anyone who has looked at more than three pictures of YN can tell that her favorite pieces of jewelry are her assortment of rings along her fingers. But only true fans know that part of her liking to the small jewelry is to help her fidget with them when she has anxiety. It’s an odd feeling however that the newly gifted one has been the cause of her increase in nerves. “It’s um, from me boyfriend—well, fiancé now—Matthew. Harry is like a brother to me so that would be quite weird.”
“Of course! I was only teasing, love.” The woman laughs with an over-exaggerated smile, clearly disappointed in the answer she was given. “Congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” YN forces a smile, still twisting at the shiny ring that sticks out like a sore thumb.
2015:
“YN.”
“James.” She says with the same amount of playful seriousness, the audience in front of them laughs along. As the date of the band’s long-awaited hiatus comes closer and closer, their good friend James Corden interviews them in the same location where they filmed the music video for Story of My Life.
“Harold,” the host directs his attention to the band member sitting next to her.
The fans in the crowd only giggle in giddiness even further as Harry playfully throws a hand up in confusion with what the fans call his ‘frog’ smile.
“Now, we are all truly devastated when we heard the news that you and your long-time partner had called it quits a couple of weeks ago.” The audience laughs when James comically shakes his head no. YN even lets out a laugh when she sees the fans in the audience cheer at the news of her new relationship status. Despite the support she feels from the fans, it doesn’t necessarily calm the nerves at why the host brought the topic up in the first place. “Now we’re also all wondering if this may have possibly opened up, I don’t know, an opportunity for you to seek something with another lad?”
“Um,” YN lazily holds her microphone to her lips as she gives James the news that will hopefully shut down the conversation. “I think m’gonna just focus on myself for a bit. Yeh know, take a break from dating and all that.”
The room breaks out into chuckles when the host makes noises like he doesn’t believe her. He wags his interview cards in the air as he says, "I mean, both of your writing credits on some love songs tell me otherwise..."
Truthfully, the two friends can't deny that logic. They've either individually or co-wrote a plethora of love songs...that may or may not have been about each other. But will they ever admit that to a room full of their fans who have been shipping them since their XFactor days? Hello no.
“Well, the beauty that YN and I see in music is that songs are always up for interpretation," Harry interjects. "They can mean anything you want them to be, in any sort of scenario.”
“Yeah, like, lyrics don’t always necessarily have to come from a place of experience,” YN adds on, professionally keeping her voice from wavering in nervousness. “It certainly helps but that’s not always the case. Especially now.”
She can’t help but laugh along with the rest of the crowd as James holds an expression like he doesn’t believe a word they said.
“Okay, fine. Deny it all you want,” James puts his hands up defensively. “I just...I don’t know, I just think that this could really be Something Great.”
The room of fans (and die hard ynrry shippers) squeal and scream out in a mixture of excitement and disbelief from his use of the One Direction songs that are heavily speculated to be about YN and Harry.
“Whatever, it’s your guy’s decision at the End of the Day,” James continues nonchalantly, trying to hide the smile that shows that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Fans’ eyes bounce back and forth between the two band members in question. They see as YN has her hands clasped together on her crossed legs, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her witty comments to herself. Harry, on the other hand, leans his elbow on his knee with his index finger over his smirk. He tries to cover up his chuckle with a cough to his fist before pushing back his long curls.
“All we want is for you guys to live Happily ever after, is all.”
2017:
“Now, both of you little sneaky sneaks went to Jamaica together to make his album. Come on, tell me I’m wrong,” Nick Grimshaw teases, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning motion.
The two were currently on BBC Radio with their good friend that they’ve known since their days in the band. Dropping their first solo albums in the same week caused their fan bases to go into a frantic frenzy. The two have a full day ahead of them as their record labels and management teams paired the two up for a day jam-packed with press and interviews together.
“You are not wrong,” Harry laughs, adjusting the chunky headphones over his ears. He’s already rolled up his white button-up sleeves and discarded his picnic table-looking blazer to lay on the back of his chair.
“Sneaky sneaks?” YN chuckles next to him, leaning her elbows on the counter and moving her hips to rotate her swiveling seat from side to side.
“Well, I only say that because you guys are obviously dating now, right?”
“Do girl and guy best friends always have to be dating?” YN easily swerves the question back to the radio host.
“Well,” Grimmy tilts his head from side to side. “Not necessarily, but wouldn’t that be a good story? For your future kiddos perhaps?”
YN and Harry bark out a laugh.
“Sorry, m’getting ahead of myself. Maybe you lads would want to save that for your wedding day instead.”
“Can I swear on the radio?” YN playfully yet genuinely asks the host which makes Harry giggle.
“But I mean, what are your fans—and quite frankly, the rest of the world—supposed to think when a good majority of the songs on his album are about you, Miss Two Ghosts?” Nick teases with a wiggle of his eyebrow.
YN’s jaw humorously drops, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as a nervous laugh threatens to escape. The two knew that they would get poked and pried with questions and accusations like this since their trip to Jamaica. There’s no use in trying to deny their close relationship with one another, spending more time with one another than any of their fellow band members since the start of the hiatus.
Unable to quickly come up with an explanation, being so caught off guard, she turns to the only other person she can trust.
“Jenny?” YN playfully calls for her manager who’s behind the glass window of the radio studio, leaning forward to look at her despite Harry in the way.
“Help me, Jeffery,” Harry playfully pleads to his manager as well.
“No, no Jeffery. Jenny, get back in your chair, young lady.” Nick points out for the listeners who can’t see what’s currently happening. “Alright, I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” The host waves his hands, seeing the two visually calm down at the news. “Now, I’ll just play the one Harry wrote about YN. This is Two Ghosts!”
Harry playfully yells out an “Oh, no!” as he pushes himself away from the desk. YN lets out a humored scream at the same time, taking off her chunky radio headphones and tossing them onto the desk.
2020:
“Okay, a big question that I’ve been getting on Twitter since it was announced that the two of you would be on here today,” Roman Kemp waves a hand in front of him at the Capital FM Breakfast Radio headquarters as he looks onto the two pop stars in front of him on the Zoom call. The couple can be seen in two separate rooms: Harry in a naturally lit room while YN sits against one of the brick walls in her bedroom.
Harry has his purple robe on that his girlfriend gifted him a couple of years ago, looking as comfy as ever since he doesn’t have to get dressed up to go outside for anything lately due to being on lockdown.
YN on the other hand, didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get dolled up. Well, at least from the waist up. She wears one of her silk button-up blouses with her last name embroidered on the left chest, her hair neatly done up in a slick ponytail and her make-up nicely done. When she got complimented on her look, she clumsily lifted her leg up to show off her heart-decorated, fluffy pajama pants.
“And I feel like both of your fan bases combined would come out of quarantine to quite literally murder me if I don’t ask you guys this...” YN and Harry keep a mutual face on as they wait to hear what the host has to say. “We all know that you guys are an official couple now, but are you guys physically staying together at the moment? Like, are you guys living together or at the same house or...?”
The couple takes a second to process the intimate question. As Harry parts his lips to answer, he’s interrupted by his girlfriend speaking first.
“Y’know, we’re kind of tired of getting questions like this. I don’t think it’s really appropriate for other people to know about that kind of stuff,” The crease between YN’s eyebrows becomes more apparent and her shoulders move sharply after letting out a deep sigh.
“Oh, I-I’m so sorry if I offended you guys—” The radio host quickly begins to retract.
“M’sorry but I think m’actually gonna log off now. Erm, thank you for having us.” YN curtly nods before the host and Harry’s faces fill the screen, both with wide eyes at the unexpected reaction from the go-happy pop star.
“Wait, did that really just happen?” Roman and the other two interviewers are deers in headlights, his eyes bouncing around the screen to make sure what just took place.
“I think so,” Harry sighs. “It’s just a sensitive topic for us, y’know. I can’t really blame her for what she did,” He professionally hides his smile as he hears the quick pad of footsteps coming down her spiral staircase.
“I really meant no harm, it’s just—”
“It’s just really hard to keep our private life private, you know?” Harry drags on with a deep sigh. “And it's just really hard for us to have to answer things like this. Like, we don’t really know what you guys expect us to do when...” Harry’s dimples dig into his cheeks, a boyish giggle comes tumbling past his lips when YN peaks her head sideways in front of his laptop camera.
“YN!” Romans scolds with a bright smile, infinitely relieved he didn’t just make enemies with the world’s favorite female pop star. He dramatically throws a hand over his heart.
“Sorry, I’m sorry! It was just too good and Ro, I think you’re the only one that would be able to handle a joke like that.” YN laughs as she slides in close to her comfy-looking boyfriend.
“So I’m assuming this confirms my previous question?” The host asks excitedly.
“Yeah,” Harry smiles fondly at his love, discreetly wrapping an arm around her waist that’s low enough to not be shown on camera. “We’ve been living at YN’s place in LA for a couple of weeks now. And yeah, it’s been fun.”
2022:
In a full black suit, Harry is escorted to the next interviewer on the red carpet for the premiere of My Policeman. After a couple of initial questions, the eager woman asks, “Last thing before you get whisked away, on behalf of the fandom and everyone else on this planet, we just want to send a massive amount of love to you and YN.”
“Thank you very much,” He nods, putting a hand over his heart and trying his hardest to keep the growing smile on his face at bay.
“And we are all just dying to know,” She takes a quick, excited glance back to the camera. “If you’re going to drop the big question soon?”
Harry can’t help but huff out a laugh, the kind where his dimples dig into his cheeks and the crows feet appear next to his eyes. If they only knew that YN kept the ring he gave her—the ring that signifies their promise to become husband and wife on their anniversary—at home for the sake of privacy and for this very reason.
“Um,” He looks up in fake contemplation before giving her a cheeky shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?”
“Well, best of luck to you both.”
After being escorted away, the camera doesn’t stop filming Harry as he goes over to stand next to his fiancée on the red carpet. Although the camera can’t pick up what YN says to Emma Corin that makes the actress laugh, her beaming smile turns to Harry when she feels his hand on her back. He can’t hold back from planting a loving peck on her cheek before the two are escorted to their next section on the red carpet.
2023:
On a show in Cardiff, Harry adjusts a flag on his shoulder as he walks around the catwalk on stage. As he begins to sing Satellite, he makes a stop to sing to a group by the barricade.
It’s nothing new to YN and Harry’s respective shows when fans bring signs with something on it to get the artists’ attention. Honestly, it’s become one of the parts of the show they look forward to the most.
So when Harry’s eyes move over to a newly raised sign that says ‘shag?’ on it, he breaks out into a smirk. Part of the fun of when fans bring signs is that there’s always a handful that asks these sorts of questions: Are you single? Can I have your number? Are you dating?
It’s not so much the content written on the signs that makes the interaction so enjoyable; it’s the response that he gives.
Because all Harry does is break out into that dimpled, love sick smile that YN can’t get enough of and happily points to his wedding band.
.
.
Taglist:
@ashtongivesmebutterflies @cacapeepee
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#harry x 1dbandmember!reader#1dbandmember!yn#harry styles x reader#since 2010 series#harry styles writing#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x you#famous!reader#famous!yn#harry styles x famous!reader#harry styles and famous reader#harry styles x fem!reader#harry styles and you#harry styles and y/n#harry styles and reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles concept#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine
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Can you write a Jamie Tartt request where he and the reader are in the "between lovers and friends stage" and they finally get together when he has her sleepover at his place after finding out her ex was loitering by her apartment?
I’m alive (mostly!) and I’m starting to go through the asks in my inbox again! Sorry to all y’all who have been waiting. I love you!😇😍
p.s. I’ve been obsessed with the song “Margaret” by LDR, which is where the title comes from
(oh also I barely responded to this prompt so that I could write this dumb fic that’s been on my brain forever. so. apologies for that too)
maybe tomorrow you’ll know
It goes like this: boy meets girl, they go to the same primary school, girl kicks around football with boy and sneaks into his room to hug him when his dad’s a prick, boy moves away to become a Premier League footballer and girl cries her heart out because they’re best friends.
Fucking typical.
And yet, he still picks up every phone call. Still answers every text you send. He’ll never say the word “love,” especially not when he’s with Keeley Jones and their faces are all over tabloids and instagram. But you’ll feel it in the way he’s a prick to everyone but you. It’s in the way his voice goes soft when you call him at 2am crying about being dumped by your first boyfriend.
He doesn’t visit, doesn’t phone his mum, but he’ll send you a quick voice message when he can. Usually not saying much, just a snip about training. First it’s all about Pep and the lads at Man City, then it’s about some gaffer named Cartrick and the fact that he’s teammates with Roy fucking Kent.
Jamie never tells you that Roy absolutely fucking hates him, but you know anyway.
Jamie also doesn’t call you when Keeley breaks up with him. In fact, you don’t even find out about it until pictures of Roy and Keeley surface online. You call him as soon as you can, and in typical Jamie fashion, he picks up on the second ring.
You don’t ask him about Keeley, just let him talk about football and the new manager from America, and the fact that maybe Richmond isn’t so bad and maybe he can let his armor down just a little bit.
He’s sent back to Manchester the next day.
The bonds of childhood friendship run strong, because he’s on your doorstep in no time at all, and though it’s been years since you’ve seen him in person, there’s a part of you that feels like he never left.
It never goes beyond friendship with you two. You don’t allow yourself to consider him in any other light because this friendship is special and important and neither of you will let anything ruin it.
It’s so strange sometimes to see him on tv or in an interview, eyes sharp and mouth full of barbs. Always on the offensive, always cutting others down before they have a chance to do the same to him. You have a hard time believing it’s the same boy who’s on your couch staring at the ceiling as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.
He’s never spoken that way to you, and you have a hard time believing he ever will.
So you feed him and make him smile and go to as many matches as you can (he leaves tickets on your kitchen table so you won’t protest) and give him a house key so he can come and go as he pleases.
But then he’s gone again, it’s the off-season and he’s on some tv show and you’re watching him flirt and seduce and pull at people’s heartstrings like they’re marionettes, and you realize (perhaps for the first time) how deep the damage has gone.
He gets absolutely shredded online, called all sorts of names by fans of the show and football alike, and you wonder if you’re the only one who can see what’s happening. That it’s all a show and that person, that Jamie Tartt on the screen is not the Jamie Tartt who used to throw pebbles at your window to come see if you wanted to ride bikes together.
It’s different than when he went to the Premier League. He doesn’t answer your texts.
It’s fine though, because your life doesn’t revolve around him. You have other, real friends and a boyfriend and a nice little flat and a good job. So he can go do what he wants and when he needs someone to pick up the pieces, you’ll go because you understand that sometimes this friendship is a one-way street.
You miss him, though.
You don’t watch his season of Lust Conquers All until your boyfriend calls you and says, “Hey, it’s been fun, but I’m just not feeling it anymore, thanks for understanding,” and then you binge every episode right up to the current one.
So now you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re glad it hadn’t gone too far, but his words still stung. But you drown your feelings in ice cream and shitty tv and it’s alright because another episode airs in an hour, so you can see more of Jamie and hope he’s doing okay.
He’s not. He gets voted off and you think that’s stupid but also maybe a little bit good.
—
Jamie just thinks it’s stupid. He’s kicked off his only lifeline, and then Man City flat-out refuses to take him back and he has to find out on live television for fuck’s sake. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Ted Lasso to come back, because of course Ted will take him, what with his yeehaw can-do bullshit. Except Ted tells him no, and now he has nothing.
He’s cut out every friend, every family member and is resigned to life as a has-been before he’s even twenty-five years old.
Now, he’s at home with the blinds pulled. He’s not even sure what time it is anymore because it’s all meaningless, innit? So when there’s a knock at the door, he has to blink a couple times from his place on the couch before turning off FIFA and going to see who it could possibly be.
He hopes it’s you, even though he knows there’s no way. Not after he ghosted you for months. He ignores the uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach at the thought of seeing you, and the way his heart beats a little faster when he thinks of holding you.
He won’t cross that line. Your friendship (if it still exists) is too important.
So he opens the door, ready to see who the fuck is bothering him.
It’s Ted.
Ted asks, “Can I come in?” but he’s obviously not going to accept no as an answer, so Jamie steps back to let him inside.
Ted’s just standing awkwardly in Jamie’s kitchen, not even pretending that he isn’t shocked by Jamie’s decor.
Jamie isn’t going to defend his choices to Ted of all people. Nor is he going to do anything to lessen his awkwardness. Finally, Ted clears his throat and says, “Well Jamie, it seems we need to revisit our last conversation.”
Jamie stares at him, refusing to speak until he’s sure what Ted is saying, so Ted continues.
“I think I was a little bit too hasty when I said you couldn’t come back to Richmond. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’d love to have you back.”
Jamie looks at Ted, all rumpled in his sweatshirt and shorts, hair as undone as it’s ever been, and is supremely unsure of what he’s supposed to say.
Yeah, I’ll come back to Richmond.
Fuck off, you’re too late.
He’s saved from saying something stupid by the sound of the front door rattling as someone punches in the code.
“You expectin’ someone?” Ted asks.
Jamie shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No one has the code, except-”
The door is shoved open and you burst through in a flurry of motion. You call, “Jamie?” but you can already see him in the kitchen so you make a beeline to his location and launch yourself into his arms.
He’s solid as always, smelling like day-old Lynx. His arms are tight wrapped around you, body warm as you press your cheek against his.
He sets you down after a moment, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from your face.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, still not quite letting you go. Ted notes that this is a new tone for Jamie. Or at least, the Jamie he’s interacted with. It’s not a performance, not something designed to make people love or hate him, it’s what Ted suspects is the most authentic version of Jamie. Whoever you are, you must be important.
“Wanted to make sure you were ok. I saw your interview.”
Jamie makes a face. “Fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that shit?”
You shrug. “Hard to miss it. Your mum sent it to me. She’s kind of why I’m here, actually.”
“You know Jamie’s mom?” Ted asks, surprised. It’s only then that you notice he’s in the room. Your face heats up because you wouldn’t have been that grabby with Jamie had you known he weren’t alone.
“Hi, I’m Ted,” he says reaching out to shake your hand, “Seems to me like you know this one from a while back.”
“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Which is why I figured something was wrong when he ghosted me for fucking ever.”
Jamie winces and Ted takes his cue.
“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says. He points a finger at Jamie. “You let me know what you decide, son.”
“It’s a yes, Coach,” Jamie calls as Ted heads out the door. You crane your neck in time to see Ted pump his fist in the air before the door shuts behind him.
“So,” you say, arms crossed, “you have a big fucking excuse for not answering my calls. But you better never fucking do it again, or I’m showing back up here with Georgie and she’ll kick your ass.”
Jamie grimaces. Sure, Georgie was never violent with him, but there’s something particularly terrifying about the way she says Jamie Tartt you have got some explaining to do, while her eyes do that thing where they flash and stare straight into his soul.
“Right, yeah, I’m really sorry,” he says and he’s lucky that his tone backs up his words because if he had one ounce of prick in his voice, you’d make him really sorry. I mean come on, who ignores their family?
The thought passes through your mind just long enough for it to freak you out before Jamie’s tentatively reaching out to hug you again.
You let him rest his head on your shoulder as you scratch his the back of his head.
—
You’ve been on Jamie’s couch for the better part of two hours, talking and letting him pretend like he’s not on the verge of tears because at least he’s being open and honest for once, when he shoots up and says, “Jesus Christ, fucking Kyle.”
He turns to you, eyes wide as he asks, “Isn’t he gonna wonder where you are? Shit, and you’re with me. He’s not gonna like that shit at all.”
You shrug infinitesimally while you examine a spot on the wall.
“We’re not together anymore,” you answer as casually as possible.
Jamie sighs and settles back onto the couch. “Shit. Glad you finally dumped that prick.”
You glare at him. “I didn’t. He dumped me. And then I found him lurking in my fucking bushes yesterday like a total creeper.”
Jamie’s up again off the couch, this time heading for his car keys as he yells, “For fuck’s sake, love, you should’ve called me.”
“I did!” you shout back. “I did, and you didn’t pick up, did you? Anyway, it’s probably not going to be an issue anymore.”
Jamie returns to the living room, face ashen. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m so sorry.”
You shrug and say, “It’s not a big deal. He decided that he liked certain body parts he owned more than he liked intimidating me.
Jamie grips his keys so hard that his knuckles turn white as he says, “Right, you’re sleeping over tonight because no one fucking treats my girl that way.”
Then he freezes.
You’re not frozen, because a single shiver has worked its way up your spine.
My girl.
It came out so naturally.
And it implied ownership? But of the mutual sort? And in a way that two best friends simply did notbelong together.
The entire house is so silent, you swear you can hear Jamie blink. Well, that is, if either of you actually moved a muscle as opposed to staring at each other across the room.
“What-” you start, but your throat is all weird and tight, so you clear it and try again. “What did you say?”
It still comes out much lower than you anticipated and Jamie has a split second to assess your body language and make a choice.
You’re fully angled toward him, eyes wide. You’re not giving him a look that says, shut the fuck up right now, Jamie Tartt, so he takes it as permission.
Permission to take one step closer, then another, then another until he’s standing right next to you. He slowly sinks down on the couch next to you as his says in a low, gravely voice, “I said, ‘no one fucking treats my girl that way.’”
Ah. So this is where over a decade of friendship has gotten you. On Jamie Tartt’s couch as your lips crash against his, both wondering why you hadn’t made a move sooner.
But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now and you’re sure you won’t waste a single second.
#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt fanfiction#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt x y/n#jamie tartt x you#jamie tartt#ted lasso
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Can you transform my life into Zac Ansley’s?
The interesting thing about influencers is that they often don't do one thing at all: Influence things or people. Take this young, handsome man with this incredibly toned body. He has a staggering 1.3 million followers. How many of them have anything like his body? And how many only use his Instagram profile to secretly jerk off in the loo during their lunch break? The ratio is probably 10 to 1.2 million or so…
You're no exception, let's be honest… You have a little paunch, your favorite pastime is eating chips on the sofa while watching series on Netflix with one eye open. And watching Zac's new fitness videos with the other eye. Have you ever seriously thought about copying one of his exercises? Even getting into a barrel of ice-cold water? Buying any of the nutritional supplements he advertises? Actually, the answer is three times no. And at the age of 42, you probably won't change a thing…
You wipe your greasy fingers from the chips on your dirty wifebeater. And start wanking your puny cock. But maybe it was a beer or two too many. A few minutes later, you're lying on the sofa, snoring.
Zac gets up at 06:00 in the morning. You want to top that. The alarm clock is set for 05:45. And even if it takes some effort: By 06:00, you've eaten your high-protein muesli and you're on your way to the gym. Inspired by Zac's training plan, you start your chest workout. Shit, you're really out of shape. But no master has fallen from the sky. As you wipe the sweaty hair from your forehead after a really strenuous workout, you have the feeling that your receding hairline is getting better… And is the hair that grows back blonde?
You get lots of compliments at work. Have you lost weight? That your skin looks much better. A colleague even whistles after you and says with a grin, "Nice ass, buddy!" During your lunch break, you heat up your chicken and rice in the microwave and drink a large protein shake with it. And you cancel your colleagues' plans to go to the pub after work. You can make better use of your time. So you go to the gym and make sure your ass is even tighter.
Get up at 05:00, have breakfast, walk to the gym with your rucksack on your back and get your muscles burning. You can't imagine any other way to start the day. And your more than 12K followers are craving new selfies of you on the weight bench or posing in front of the mirror in the locker room.
At the office, you have the image of a fitness nerd. Even though you've been working out for an hour and a half, you're one of the first people in the office, you're always perfectly dressed and your hair is always in perfect condition. No one can remember the last time you were sick. And quite a few people think that, at just 38 years old, you only have your perfect body to thank for your position as division manager. Okay, there are also rumors about the size of your cock and that it also helped you climb the career ladder.
During lunch (chicken, rice and brocolli) you go live and give a few nutrition tips. You let your pecs dance under your tight shirt. If all goes well, you'll break the 25K followers barrier today.
At 6 p.m., your Indian intern knocks on the door. He has already swapped his suit for workout clothes. He asks if you're ready and if you can go to training. You tell him that you only need ten more minutes and that he should close the door behind him. A damp stain forms in his pants.
05:00 a.m. First, the obligatory Instagram check. Yes! The one million mark has been broken! There's actually no time for this in your routine, but you have to wank your morning wood. To celebrate the day. But then you quickly have breakfast and go to the gym, the first post has to be out at 06:00, you have to keep your followers in line.
When your team shows up for the new YouTube videos, you're really pumped. Just like your fans love you. "Lads, lasses, hoy! Today we're gan te mek yor triceps an' chest proper radge!" Hey, you are a proper lad from Northumberland. You talk the way you talk. Most of your followers like you for not speaking nasal Oxford English.
05:00 p.m., end of the day at the gym. The video turned out great. You've fed Instagram with a new reel. You're on your way to an interview with Status Fitness Magazine. And then you have to go to a swimwear shoot. It's going to be another damn long day. Not bad for someone who was told by the doctor just 12 years ago that you urgently need to get your act together if you don't want to die with a fatty liver. But damn, you've got your act together. And you did it damn well!
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Unbroken
Part 1
Christian Pulisic x reader, Enemies to Lovers
You are best friends with Christian’s childhood friend, however, you and Christian cannot seem to get along with one another.
Word count: 4600+
Warnings: Smut, fluff, swearing, angst throughout the entire series
Christian Pulisic.
Hate is a strong word, and you don't think you hate him, but you are quite certain he hates you.
Your college roommate and best friend, Emily, also happens to be best friends with Christian. They grew up together, kind of. Her parents and his parents are close. Naturally, they spent time together when they were younger, vacations, Christmas, traveling to watch Christian play as he exploded through the youth ranks in the US and then overseas. She doesn't have many childhood memories that don't include him.
You've met him, and his family when Emily invited you to tag along on a summer trip to Florida. His family were so inviting and nice, but Christian, he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to you. Typical sports star with an ego you thought.
You couldn't exactly put your finger on why he disliked you, but you somehow always ended up bickering when you were around each other, especially if it was just you and him and Emily.
He never really gave you a chance, he didn't seem to want to get to know you at all. You felt like he just silently, and sometimes not so silently, judged you and Emily for being typical girls your age, enjoying parties, drinking too much on occasion, and the attention two young, pretty girls seemed to garner from members of the opposite sex.
What he didn't know, was that most of the time you were the responsible one, making sure Emily made it home safely, and avoiding the random hookups she seemed to enjoy.
You and Emily had been out with Christian and some of his friends in Miami on occasion. You'd noticed the way girls seemed to throw themselves at him and his friends, no doubt hoping for their fifteen minutes of fame.
You hated it, cringing whenever photos would inevitably come out linking you and Emily to him, some people taking things to the extreme and claiming you were his girlfriend. Emily never got linked as his girlfriend because it was well established that they were close friends from childhood, you on the other hand, not so much.
But Emily loved Christian, and you loved Emily, so you tried to tolerate him for her sake.
******
"Why do we have to stay with him again?" you question her as you are finalizing plans for a trip to London.
"Why can't the two of you just get along?" she fires back at you.
"It's not me, I've tried, Em. He hates me and I don't know why."
"Funny, he says the same thing," she rolls her eyes at you.
"You realize you are practically male and female versions of the same person, right? That's why I love you both so much" she laughs.
"Highly doubt that, we have absolutely nothing in common, except for you, Em."
"We are staying with him because he invited us. His house is plenty big for us to crash there, and we won't even see him that much I'm sure. The last few times I've been to London, I rarely saw him, he's busy training and traveling. He does have some hot friends though. Fit, I mean, English lads are fit," she giggles, fanning her face and pretending she might faint.
"He invited you to stay with him. He only found out I was coming after the fact, and it would have been rude for him to rescind at that point," you answer her.
"See, he's being nice, y/n" she smirks at you flicking on the TV and turning on the US match he happens to be playing in right now. "Dee and I agree that you are just alike and whatever hatred you have for one another is sexual tension and there is only one way to fix that."
"There's a difference between not being rude and being nice, and I'm not even going comment on that last bit" you huff as you see him flash across the screen, tugging a captain’s arm band up his arm as he shoves into an opposing player mouthing something that looked far from innocent.
Your eyes widen slightly, and you feel something light inside of you. Not today, Satan you think to yourself, quickly burying any thoughts your brain is trying to force on you.
******
"Fuck, Christian just like that" you moan loudly as he curls two fingers against your g-spot, thumb pressing against your clit.
"Shhh, baby, can't have everyone hearing you moaning for me, what would they think, huh?" he smirks, tugging his captain's armband up from your neck and into your mouth to act as a gag before sinking his face back between your legs.
Fuck he's better at that than he should be you think to yourself as you feel yourself clench around his fingers hearing him moan quietly as he continues devouring you.
You bring your hand between your legs to tug on his curls causing him to moan again, the vibrations driving you mad.
"Come on baby, I know you've got another one in you." He pants between flicking his tongue, sucking, and kissing over your clit quickly brining you to your second orgasm of the night.
Your orgasm surges through you, your back arching as you grip the sheets with one hand, Christian's hair with the other. He slows his movements slightly helping you through it before kissing along your thighs and stomach, finally bringing his hand up to pull the armband from your mouth before smashing his lips to yours. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself with a hungry and needy kiss.
You sit up, "Jesus Christ, get it together, y/n." You bring you hand to your lips, running your fingers over them still able to feel his lips on yours, his beard scratching you lightly, then noticing how aroused you are, dripping for him, your pussy clenching around absolutely nothing but the dream you'd just had. Flopping yourself back down onto the bed, you cover your face with a pillow and groan "this cannot be happening."
******
Private Conversation between Christian and Emily
“Christian, try and be nice to y/n when we visit. She’s already anxious about staying in your house, and she’s had a rough few months. Take it easy on her, ok? She’s cut off all communication with her family at this point, gone through a rough break-up, and is literally making life-changing decisions completely alone.”
“She might actually have to speak to me, you know?” Christian snaps back at her.
“Look, I think everything about you overwhelms her, especially when she gets hammered with speculation about dating you.”
“I didn’t know she was dating anyone, though,” he replies, his tone a little softer.
“Yeah, they dated for a while, apparently he never got the memo that dating someone means you stop sleeping around though” she answers.
“Sounds like she needs to pick better then” he scoffs.
“What, like you?” Emily returns with a grin.
“No, not like me, you know how my life is, I can’t give anyone a relationship they deserve right now, especially if we aren’t even in the same country, Em” he shakes his head at his friend’s suggestion.
******
London. A city you've dreamed of visiting as long as you can remember emerges through the clouds as your plane descends.
As soon as you land at Heathrow, Emily checks her phone, letting out a little cheer.
"Chelsea won today, Christian and his fit friends are meeting us to celebrate later. Apparently they have the next few days off" she grins at you.
You roll your eyes at her "great, forced fun with a guy that hates me for no reason and a bunch of people I don't know, sounds amazing"
"Don't be like that, it will be fun, y/n, I promise."
You follow Emily as she guides you through the crowd at the airport, getting you settled on a train and trying to begin explaining the different modes of transportation that will help you to navigate London without really needing a car that often.
You arrive at Christian's after getting an Uber from the train station suddenly nervous that you are at his house. "He's not here" Emily bumps your hip with hers, sensing that you had tensed up, "he's meeting us at the nightclub, they are going to grab some dinner to give us time to get ready. He says there are some things we can snack on in his fridge if we are hungry."
"That was thoughtful of him" you say not really meaning to compliment him, but it just slipped out.
"See, he's trying to be nice," she smiles back at you.
She leads you up the stairs to his house, pointing down one hallway "his room is down that way along with his gaming room and cinema room, ours are this way" she drags you in the opposite direction.
Emily shows you into your room turning on the light, "he always has flowers waiting for me, looks like he's done the same for you," she smiles, "see n-i-c-e," she spells out for you as you huff and drop your bags.
"Now freshen up and put on something sexy, we've got footballers to impress" she says swatting you on the ass.
You wander around the room, taking everything in, pictures of him and his family, him on his boat, him and Emily, and team celebration photos scattered around the room. But one picture in particular caught your eye, there on the night stand, next to the flowers, a picture of Christian, Emily, and YOU.
You feel your stomach flip, warmth spreading through your body as you pick the picture up. You remember this night, you and Christian had actually gotten along fairly well, probably due to large quantities of alcohol and the fact that you'd avoided each other most of the day.
~~~~
After a late night swim, Emily begged the two of you to take a picture with her. You both gave in, knowing there was absolutely no point in fighting her. Emily wrapped her arms around Christian's waist, him slinging one arm around her shoulders. He slid his other arm around your waist, hand resting on your hip as he pulled you into his side as you leaned your head against his shoulder. After the picture was snapped Emily let go of him and went to inspect the picture his hand lingering on your hip a little longer, giving it a slight squeeze before he let go of you.
A game of truth or dare had followed, it being obvious everyone in the room had made it their mission to get you and Christian into as many compromising situations as possible.
It started with Nick daring you to give Christian a lap dance. You'd obliged, playing along, straddling him and pressing your tits close to his face before turning around and grinding your hips down over his lap, rolling them along with the music as his hands came up flank your hips. Emily dared you to take body shots off each other. And finally, Alex dared Christian to kiss you.
He'd brought his face close to yours, his breath fanning over your face, a mixture of whiskey and mint hitting you as his eyes flick between your eyes and lips before he dipped his head and placed a kiss to your cheek that lingered a little too long to be considered friendly.
"Boring" the group shouted in unison before you got up and left the room, done with the night. You went outside and sat at the edge of the pool, dangling your feet into the water as you stared off into the distance.
"See, we can get along" you hear him drawl as he sits down next to you dropping his feet into the water and sliding a hand around your waist.
"Yeah, I guess we can when you’re not being a pri..." he cuts you off as you turn to face him, sliding his other hand up to cup your jaw as he presses a kiss to your lips.
Before you even have time to realize what's happening, your body reacts to his, your hands slipping into the back of his hair as you pull him closer to you deepening the kiss. He moans softly into your mouth before pulling away, pecking you one more time on the lips as he bumps his nose against yours "night, y/n" is all he says before hopping up and disappearing into the house, leaving you wondering what the hell just happened. But one thing you were sure of, you'd never been kissed like that.
The next day, things returned to normal, the two of you barely acknowledging each other, but both wondering if the other even remembered the events from the night before.
~~~~
Putting the picture down, you finally decide you should start getting ready, you throw open your suitcase, calling down the hallway to Emily "are you wearing a dress or jeans?"
"Dress, skirt, definitely something with easy access," she says poking her head around the door with a mischievous grin.
"Wear that one" she says pointing to the blue dress you are holding in your hands "it makes your ass look good" she shrugs.
You both finish getting ready, having a few snacks and a pre-drink while waiting on the car Christian sent for you to arrive.
You make your way into central London, finally arriving at the nightclub where Christian is waiting at the door for you so that he can take you to the VIP section they've reserved and you won't have to stand in line waiting to get in.
He pulls Emily into a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, finally sitting her back down and turning his attention to you. "Hey, y/n, you look nice" he says eyeing you up and down.
"Thanks, so do you, and thanks for letting us stay with you for a few days" you offer him a smile.
"See guys, that wasn't so hard was it?" Emily grins looking back and forth between the two of you.
"Now, Chris, take me to your hottie friends, oooh, is Ben here?" she smiles at him and flutters her eyelashes.
"Yeah, he is," he shakes his head at her before turning and taking her hand pulling her into the club.
She turns and grabs your hand pulling you behind her mouthing "he's so hot" to you as you shake your head at her.
You arrive at the section they are in Christian introducing you, "I think you all know Emily and this is y/n. Y/n, this is Mason, Ben, Reece, Kai, and Sophia" You wave and shyly say hi, hating that everyone is staring at you. Emily greets everyone since she already knows them and squeezes her way around to sit down next to Ben.
God I wish I had an ounce of her confidence you think to yourself. You watch as Christian plops back down in what you presumed was his previous seat next to Sophia, as you stand there a bit awkwardly glancing around to figure out where to sit.
Mason shifts over a bit nodding his head indicating you can sit next to him. You sit beside him uttering your thanks and offering him a smile.
"So you're the infamous, y/n?" Mason grins at you, a brilliant smile, sparkling eyes, and charming personality that he's clearly learned to use to his advantage.
"My reputation proceeds me, I see" you chuckle, reaching for a shot glass full of what you presumed was tequila.
You turn to offer him a shot as well to find him looking your ass over. When he notices he's been caught, he smiles sheepishly. You slide the shot glass towards him, grabbing the salt and limes as well, sitting back down in your previous spot.
"I was checking to see if you have a tail", he quips.
You narrow your eyes at him, not quite sure you understand what he's talking about.
"Figured you'd have a tail and horns, from the things I've heard."
"Oh" you laugh, finally catching on, "from him I presume?" you tilt your head towards Christian never taking your eyes off Mason.
"Yeah, but you don't seem that bad to me" he winks at you.
Oh, he's good at this little game, you think to yourself.
"I would guess that most of what he's told you is far from the truth" you smile back at him, "he barely knows me."
You hand him the lime, watching him balancing it between his fingers as you lick a stripe on his wrist, covering it with salt. You place the salt back on the table, pulling Mason's wrist towards your mouth, licking the salt off him, quickly downing the shot and sucking the lime between his fingers.
"That didn't take long" Emily murmurs to Ben as she glances over to see Christian watching the whole scene play out in front of him.
Mason repeats the same actions, placing salt on your wrist and taking the lime from between your fingers just as you'd done.
You weren't sure why exactly you were flirting with Mason Mount, he was not quite your type, and you could tell you were about a million miles away from being his type. But he was easy to talk to, not afraid to embarrass himself a bit, and very affectionate, even towards someone he'd just met, and let's face it, you were touch starved at this point, so you went with it.
And there was a tiny part of you, even though you didn't want to admit it, that wanted to push Christian's buttons, you wanted to make him jealous for some reason you couldn’t understand.
"You drink anything besides tequila shots?" he questions you after another shot. "Yeah, vodka and soda" you answer him as he places a drink order for another round for the table. "Good, because if I keep doing shots at this rate, things will get ugly."
"Well, someone will eventually have to end up taking care of Em later, and that usually ends up being me, so I tend to not go overboard either."
"I think, Em is in good hands" he nods over to where she's now sitting in Ben's lap, "they hooked up the last time she visited."
"Of course, they did" you murmur taking a sip of water as you wait for your drink.
"What do you do for work y/n?" Sophia asks trying to include you in the group's conversation.
"I'm a legal consultant for an international shipping company" you answer her with a smile, appreciative of the effort.
"All I can gather from all of that is that you are a hell of a lot smarter than any of us" Mason chuckles beside you.
You drop your chin to your chest and shake your head, blushing slightly, "I wouldn't say that" you shrug.
"Yeah and she's got a fancy pants new job" Emily blurts out before you can stop her.
"Em, no one wants to hear about my boring job" you widen your eyes at her, pleading silently for her to keep her mouth shut.
Thankfully, she catches on and shifts the topic of conversation to something else as your drinks arrive.
You continue making small talk with Mason sipping on the vodka and soda he got you along with a second one, eventually having enough liquid courage in you to drag him to the dance floor followed closely by Kai and Sophia, Ben and Emily.
You dance for a bit, grinding your ass into him while he grips onto your hips, spinning you around and dipping his head to tell you something that makes throw your head back in laughter.
"They seem to be getting along" Reece speaks to Christian, nodding his head to where you and Mason currently occupy the dance floor.
"Yep" is all Christian answers taking a swig of his drink.
The others return to the table, you and Mason deciding to do another shot, you keeping things the same as before, him deciding to be a bit bolder, sprinkling salt over your exposed collar bone and placing the lime between your lips.
You probably should have been thrilled to have someone like Mason licking salt off you and pulling a lime from between your lips, but all you can think about is the person you watch disappear from the table after seeing more than he cared to see for one night.
"Anybody else get the feeling those two need to be locked in a bathroom to either fuck or fight to the death?" Reece asks waving his hand between where you were now being pulled back to the dance floor by Mason, and Christian dodging people in search of a bathroom.
"Been saying that for years" Emily taps her glass to his "they are both too stubborn for their own good though."
"Should we tell Mase, or just let him figure it out on his own?" Ben asks.
"I can promise you, y/n, already knows she's not his type, Mason will figure it out soon enough." Emily laughs.
Christian returns to the table around the same time you and Mason return, all of you resuming your previous seats, Mason slinging his arm around your shoulders.
"Shall we play a game of Never Have I Ever?" Emily asks the group. Everyone nodding in agreement.
"No German you three" Ben raises his eyebrows at Kai, Sophia, and Christian, "they like to cheat at a game you can't even win" he chuckles.
"Ok, so drinking for the things we've done, right?" Sophia asks as you nod back at her.
"I'll go first" Reece says "starting off tame, Never have I ever kissed someone at this table."
Ben, Emily, Kai, Sophia, and Christian drink.
"Chris we were 12, surely that doesn't count anymore" Emily laughs.
"Did my lips touch your lips?" he counters as she rolls her eyes "then we've kissed" he says his eyes burning into yours as his jaw clenches.
"You're too honest for this game" she chuckles.
"Ok, I'll spice it up" Emily smiles wickedly. "Never have I ever thought about fucking someone sitting at this table."
Everyone but Reece drinks.
"Aww Reece, such a gentleman" you smile at him.
"Well, she's spoken for,” he says pointing at Sophia, “and both of you seem pretty off limits so..." he trails off with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Christian, 14 year old wet dreams don't count either" Emily smiles at him "unless" she trails her eyes over to you and then back to him.
"One of us would have to be blindfolded, maybe gagged," he scoffs "how do you know I'm not talking about Soph?"
"Because Kai would snap you like a twig" Emily smirks.
"Yes, yes he would." Kai raises an eyebrow at him.
You feel your face flush, tears threatening to spill at Christian's comments obviously pointed towards you.
You excuse yourself, trying to escape to the terrace to attempt to calm yourself down.
Christian and Mason both stand at the same time to follow you.
"What's your problem, Chris?" Mason narrows his eyes at him.
"Yeah, that was a bit harsh, man." Ben chimes in.
"I, I, fuck I don't know, I should go apologize." Christian stammers.
"No, you should let Mason go, you've done enough, Christian" Emily orders him to sit back down.
Christian sits back down, Mason making his way to the door that leads to the terrace.
Y/N? He breathes out when he finally spots you leaning against the railing slipping off his jacket and handing it to you, watching as you slip it over your arms.
Mason wraps his arm around your waist, hand settling over your hip.
"You ok?" he asks quietly, you nodding in response.
"I don't think he meant that the way it came out," he offers, trying to help.
"Doesn't matter, Mason" you shake your head.
"I think I'm tired, and just need to go home" you sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder.
"Can I ask you something?" He says drawing circles on your hip with his thumb.
"Do you like him?"
"Who? Christian?" you scoff "at the moment, no, not at all."
"Maybe not right this minute, but in general, you like him, don't you?" he presses.
You drop your face into your hands and groan still not willing to say it out loud.
"He likes you, too. I can tell by the way he's been burning holes into me all night long with his death glare. He probably just doesn't know how to admit it, kind of like you" he nudges you. "And I know you like him because you were constantly watching him to make sure he was watching you with me" he winks at you.
"I'm sorry, Mason. You are so fun to be around, but.." you trail off.
"It's fine, Y/N, you're easier to be around than you give yourself credit for. I don't mind at all, really, tonight has been fun. And maybe we can hang out some more to try to give him a nudge" he grins at you.
"I feel bad doing that to you, Mason" you say turning to face him.
"Don't feel bad" he says placing a kiss on your forehead "we aren't each other’s type are we?" he says as you shake your head at him.
"So who is it that you've thought about fucking then?" you question him "Em?"
"Nope, had a dream about Sophia once" he shakes his head, rubbing his fingers through his beard, but you can't tell anyone, because Kai would seriously murder me" he chuckles.
"One thing you should know about me, Mason, I'm excellent at keeping secrets" you smile back at him "I'll never tell a soul, I promise."
"Somehow, I actually believe that" he smiles back at you.
"Do you need anything from inside?" he asks as you shake your head pulling out your phone.
"I'm just going to get an Uber back to Christian's" you sigh.
"If you think for one second, I'm going back in there to face the others and tell them that I stuck you in an Uber, alone, at this hour, you are insane. You have two choices, we take an Uber to my place, and you can sleep in my guest room, or my room, I'm an excellent cuddler by the way, or we can take an Uber to Christian's and then I'll get them to take me home as well" he rambles smiling at you.
"We can just go to Christian's. I don't even know his fucking address so I'm not sure how I thought I'd get there" you shake your head "I'm tired and not thinking clearly, obviously."
"Come on then" he intertwines his fingers with yours, "we can go out this way so that we don't have to go back inside, I'll get a car on the way and will text the others letting them know we are leaving, you text Emily."
Y/N: Mason is taking me home.
Emily: you ok?
Y/N: yeah, I'm just tired
Emily: ok, I'm going to Ben's when we leave here. Coffee in the morning?
Y/N: Sure.
You arrive at Christian's, Mason walking you to the door as you dig for the key Emily had given you earlier. You unlock the door and start to take Mason's jacket off before he stops you. "Keep it" he smiles, "I'll get it back later."
"Thanks, Mase. Sorry, Mason," you stutter before kissing him on the cheek.
"You can call me, Mase" he grins at you.
"We're going to make this work, y/n" he says before kissing you on the cheek and turning to go back to the car.
Part 2
#christian pulisic#christian pulisic imagine#christian pulisic smut#christian pulisic x reader#unbroken series
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You Might Get What You Want | ROBERT KEATING
PAIRING: robert keating x original f!character
GENRE: childhood frenemies to lovers
SUMMARY: lucia (luz), nieve ella’s keyboardist, has an estranged history with inhaler—especially with the band’s bassist, bobby. their fiery hatred for eachother rapidly blossoms into something sweet, especially when she learns that he wrote a song about her.
WORDS: 5.8k
WARNINGS: kissing, swearing, alcohol use, mild sexual content
Being Nieve Ella's keyboardist has completely altered the course of my life. Only eight months ago, I was doing my second year of uni, trying to get through a Music course and completely regretting all of my life choices. My favourite part of the day would be getting home and sitting at my piano, writing songs and posting them on Tiktok. Views racked up, followers kept coming in and I think I realised how well everything was going when Laufey commented on my cover of 'Like The Movies'. Then about two weeks later, an email shot through my phone—literally like a bullet to skin. I dropped the rectangular device to the ground mid-lecture, hand on my mouth, teeth in my lip.
Nieve Ella had asked me to join her on tour. With Inhaler.
At first I was laughing, then I was bawling with endless tears of happiness and now I'm on my final show still feeling woozy and adrenaline is banging through my brain. The whole band have become my best friends. And, quite shockingly, me and Inhaler have a weird shared history. I've known them since I was really young. I used to watch their first gigs at tiny venues where they'd run around in the crowd and hardly anyone knew the lyrics. I went to the same school as Bobby, Eli and Ryan who were a bunch of madmen. They'd let me hang out with them backstage or at practice and jam before they finally found a 'proper' keyboardist (Louis). To be honest, I'd always been slightly salty that I never got into the band. But I guess we were never close enough and I could be quite horrible to Bobby — but honestly, he deserved it. He was a whiny, teenage nightmare. Still is. Except he's not a teenager anymore.
Thankfully, Nieve Ella and the band take a train separate to Inhaler. I don't have to hear Bobby's jests 24/7. Today we're heading to Dublin. The final stop of the Cuts and Bruises tour. It's been a long ride but it's all been worth it. I've had the best time ever. I'm listening to the Strokes, a song Bobby recommended to me a few weeks ago. It's been on my mind ever since and I can't stop hearing the same chords and riffs over and over. Even when my headphones leave my ears. The song is 12:51 and funnily enough Bobby has a tattoo right on his bicep with those exact numbers. The lads gave us a rather enjoyable tattoo tour with reasons for each of their inked designs.
I lay back my head against the cushioned seat. I like this, I prefer it to what I was doing before. The constant stress, the exams, the structure. I like the freedom of doing shows and seeing new people and travelling to new places. Never sure what you're in for. Crowd after crowd with all different energies and enthusiasm. The adrenaline rush is the best part of the day but when you wake up the following morning, it's like the life has been sucked out of you. You feel like nothing. Human. A person with legs and arms. Flailing around with no thoughts in your head. A billion times worse than a hangover. Post concert depression. The lull after such a powerful high. It's nice to go through that hell with a group of friends who all feel the same way. Becomes a strange group therapy.
For the past hour, I've been begging Josh to tell me what is on the set list. I'm praying they'll add some different songs. Older ones. Seeing as it's the last show of the tour. Something to surprise the fans. Maybe 'Falling In' or 'There's No Other Place' or even my favourite 'You Might Get What You Want'. That was one that was written when Rob was the lead singer of the band. When I'd bang the keys in that garage. When we'd sing the lyrics together and sound like an awful church choir. I never got the chance to listen to it live, performed properly by the band. I'm still heartbroken they didn't leave it on the track list for the album. I have to resort to listening to illegal Spotify versions.
I feel like crying everytime I remember this is the last show I might ever do with Inhaler. The last time I might see the lot of them. They'll surely disappear off into the shadows once tour is over, making their next album, cutting off all contact to focus solely on their music. After spending so much time with a group of people, then completely losing them from your life, you just feel so very empty. Like a swimming pool with no water. Or a mug of tea left hollow after spilling it all by accident. Last night — I would never dare to admit this to anyone — I cried for two hours straight into the pillow of my hotel room. Tour is a glorious thing. Fun, exciting, terrifying all at the same time. But the thought of finality is what split me into pieces, broke me up and squeezed tear after tear from my eyes.
Fran keeps looking at me with raised eyebrows like she's about to ask a question. She's scribbling on her set list, making sure she knows exactly what's happening and when. Her earrings twinkle as she tilts her head, her eyeliner sharp and perfect. Her mouth parts the slightest bit to reveal white teeth, a small smile. "You alright there, Luz?"
God, anytime someone asks me that, it makes me want to cry ten times more. I look down the train compartment, stare at the bathroom and decide whether to make my move. Do I run and hide in there for the duration of the trip, two hours of crying into mouldy train toilet paper? Or do I try to brave it and tell her how I feel? Or just lie through gritted teeth? She's good at reading me. She'll know that I'm not telling the truth.
"Don't tell Nieve this but I feel like absolute shite." There it is. I said it. Fire sinks into my skin, blood rushes up to my head. I squeeze my cheek to make sure I am actually sitting here and that I'm not hallucinating. Lack of sleep had made me seem some weird shit. I need caffeine. Quick.
"We all do." Fran puts her hand on top of mine. "Look, one more show, then we can sleep for as long as we want."
"That's the thing. I don't want this to end."
Fran gets up from her seat and swivels around the table. She sits down beside me, arms opening up and embraces me until I think I see stars. No one has ever hugged me so tightly. My bones seem to audibly shift.
"Nieve's doing a few shows in February, remember? And I'm sure next time Inhaler tours, they'll be on their hands and knees begging for us to come back." She strokes my hair. "Although, Bobby might be telling us to bugger off instead. You two need to sort out this drama. It's driving us all mad."
"He started it." I sound like a three-year-old irritated at my brother.
Fran laughs to herself. "Fucking hell. I bet he did."
—
Arguing. It's happened again. Our last day together has gone to a great start.
First stop of the day—a random restaurant that Ryan dragged us to. Hugs were shared, kind words uttered, teeth glowing under dim lights. I sit down on a wooden chair, peel my jacket from my body and place it on the back. The cool wind is slamming against the windows. I'd forgotten how cold Dublin was. Especially in November. Some Christmas lights adorn the streets and pubs are lively with masses of people. We were stopped a only once on the way there by a group of fans—even our attempt at scuttling through empty alleyways didn't work when five friends with Inhaler-themed cowboy-hats impeded our trail. They were lovely. Photos taken and compliments exchanged. Sadly, Bobby was in a bad mood. When I say a bad mood, I mean a 'I want to kill everyone on this planet and throw myself on a train track' kind of bad mood. He hid away from the fans, behind me and Nieve. His height wasn't particularly helpful in that instant. The blonde, 'Amelie', had said in her thick French accent, "Is that Bobby? I was wondering where he was."
Caught. Found. He thought staying there for a while longer would make them think he wasn't there at all. Amelie was persistent, however, and said softly, "Please could I take a picture with you?"
Her friends all started whispering. Eli was tapping his friend on the shoulder to get him to move. He was frozen. Eli frowned and shook his head.
"Sorry but Rob's being a bit weird today," Josh explained. "I don't think he wants any photos."
Amelie nodded, but the sadness in her eyes was apparent. "That's okay."
I felt bad for the girl. I turned around, looked at Bobby. He was on his phone. Scrolling through Tiktok still crouched down. A quick look at his phone screen showed me that he was watching edits — edits of himself. I had to take a double take to actually believe what I'd just seen. He was staring at clips of himself, smiling, and wouldn't even stand for five seconds next to a girl who'd paid to see his band. He continued to swipe his thumb against the screen, blue eyes lit up by his bright phone.
Then his eyes caught mine and he closed the Tiktok tab. "You didn't see that, did you?" He worriedly spoke so unbelievably quickly, I had to scramble my brain to decipher the words. His smile flipped upside down. Shock written all over him. Blush rising right up to the tips of his ears.
"The hell is wrong with you?" I muttered. Nieve heard. She stepped away. She did not want to be involved in whatever the two of us were plotting.
"What's wrong with me?" He breathed. It's like he was asking himself the question but there was an unyielding harshness to his voice, raspy and agitated. I was sure that this argument was going to be just as bad as the Sid Vicious incident, or worse. Halloween Bobby was on a different wavelength — bordering on depravity.
"You're watching fucking Tiktok edits of yourself. Didn't think you could be that self-centered—"
"Can we not do this now? Please?" Bobby tried to get me to calm down. Amelie and her friends were still only metres away, asking Josh about the tour, about the next album. Fran was listening in. She was smiling to herself. Part of her definitely enjoyed the beef between us.
"Show me your Tiktok."
"No."
"Now."
He sighed. I grabbed his phone, opened Tiktok straight away. His whole 'For You' page was edits of himself. The account he was on was a fake user account. I couldn't believe my eyes.
"What the hell..." Was all I could manage to say.
"I can explain."
"Can you? Go on then."
He didn't say anything. Took his phone back and kicked the brick wall beside him. He shook his phone around like he was going to throw it as well. That wouldn't change anything. I'd seen the worst of it — at least I hoped I'd seen the worst of it.
"Take that photo with those girls and I'll shut up about this." I gave him an option. A way to let him get out of the hole he'd dug for himself.
He was so tall. Sometimes I forgot that. But there, back straight, no longer slouched and his neck craned to meet my eyes. I couldn't hold eye contact. His clenched jaw was making me nervous.
"Fine." He finally concluded the argument with a single word. His index finger then pointed towards me, just beneath my neck. "But you don't tell anyone about this."
I grinned. "I promise."
Stepping over towards Amelie, he smiled widely, put an arm over her shoulder and allowed Fran to take the picture of the group. Moments later he was complaining about his shoes. How they were too small. If Robert Keating had a chance to complain about anything, he'd take it and wouldn't shut up about it. I just knew at that point that we'd be hearing about his shoes for the rest of the day.
Tension is thick in the restaurant. I can almost taste it in my mouth. Rob sits beside me. I don't want to look at him, don't want to hear him talk, don't want to have anything to do with him. He's only the only person I won't miss once this tour is over.
Before anyone can get a word out, Eli taps his fork against his glass. All eyes fall to him. Grace is next to him, she's appeared out of nowhere.
"I just want to say thank you to Nieve, Fran, Lucia, Finn and Matt for being such great openers on our tour. We're so grateful for all of you. This wouldn't have been the same without you."
"Aw, Eli, I might cry a bit, please stop." Nieve shakes her head, holding her napkin to her eyes. "This has been such a dream. We should be thanking you for giving us this opportunity."
"We need to do this again sometime." Ryan pitches in. "Next time we tour, you're coming with us."
"Yeah. That would be grand," Josh exclaims, pulling up his pint of Guinness and crashing it against everyone else's.
Bobby, after all his hours of complaining, has gone back to silent, angry mode. Playing around with his fork, he stares blankly at the menu, fingers tracing the lettering. I watch him as the others melt into conversation. I just want to know what is going through his head. Why is he acting like this? Last week, he was fun to be around and we had a good time. Especially when he's drunk, he loosens up a bit and stops with the facade. He even kissed me once. As a joke. I think.
It was a mess of alcohol. A 'midnight tour bus party'. We were in London and instead of going to the hotel, we ended up spending the night in the lovely green tour bus. We all got so drunk we could hardly speak. I can't remember all that we got up to but when we were sobering up, Bobby dragged me outside of the bus. He gave me his jacket, placed it over my shoulders. We sat down on a random doorstep, hugging each other to keep warm. Two penguins. Two people who usually hated eachothers guts, finding comfort in the warmth that emanated from our bodies. I'd never thought his hair was nice until that moment. How it grazed over my neck. How the curls twisted perfectly and his overgrown mullet framed his face. Or how pretty his eyes were as they shone under streetlights. Dreamy, long eyelashes, sea-like waves. He'd kissed me. His long fingers over my cheeks. His pink lips slotting between mine. I pulled away, shocked. Electricity had sparked between us, my heart was pounding, my body was a torch. Then I ran away from him. I couldn't understand what If just felt. I had never seen him in that way. We never mentioned it again.
Maybe that's what has made him colder. I still haven't acknowledged what happened that night. I keep thinking that he was too drunk to even remember it, but maybe he does. I'm not going to bring it up. Especially now. Especially in this restaurant with everyone sat with us.
"I'm sorry, Lucia."
My heart drops. Bobby is looking at me. Downcast. Entire state is disjointed. His mouth just said that, his brain just formulated those words.
"What?" I must've heard him wrong. Imagining it. This time I must be hallucinating.
"I'm sorry about that night."
Mindreader. He knew what I was thinking about. What my mind has been lingering on. The weather reminds me, his scent reminds me, his hands remind me, his jacket reminds me. That night. London. The night after Troxy. The wind — cut-throat, sharp, steely — the rain, and my tear-stained bedsheets. The taste of his mouth and the dejction locked into his eyes as I left him. Like I'd made a terrible mistake. Like running into my hotel room, alone, was the worst possible option I could've chosen.
I'm wearing the same earrings as I did that night — these ribbon ones that a fan made for me. Bobby had pointed them out — which he shifted between his fingertips and said they suited me. He's eyeing them now, hands curving, resisting any urge to touch them again, to drag us back to that moment.
The waiter takes my order. Bobby's words properly forage the depths of my mind, the veins and the arteries circling around my body, the aching crevices of my heart. I ask for the first thing I see on the menu and a Fanta. I want to stay sober. I want to savour all that will happen beyond this second. Bobby also doesn't get alcohol. Shockingly. The Bobby I know would never turn down a pint of Guinness. But he gets a 7up instead and takes a long, hard gulp of it when the waiter comes back. I'm counting the cracks on the table, how squeaky the chair is, the coffee stain on the ceiling — trying to guess how they managed to get up there. Musicians like to occupy their brains. They don't like to think too much - just do.
"I'm sorry..." I whisper. Finally giving him a reponse after a long pause for thought.
He had been waiting for an answer. He catches it. Twists uneasily in his seat. Wood creaks. Rain patters.
"...It was wrong of me to leave you." The image of his despair still rings through my bones. I swear when my cells divide they keep trying to recreate that look on his face.
"I shouldn't have..." his voice lowers, heat pf his mouth glides by my ear "...kissed you."
I'm trying to drink my Fanta with no reaction. Sugary greatness. Cold, slightly wet fingers. Orangey flavouring. But his voice is so low, trickling, burning, goosebump-inducing. I can't look at him. He's too close to me. It's too hot in the restaurant. Soundcheck is in 20 minutes. I want to run away again. I always want to run away.
Down my Fanta, smooth my skirt, breathe in deeply.
"I liked it." I similarly glide my lips over his ear when he's least expecting it, returning the favour.
He coughs. Chokes a bit on his drink. Then he eats his Pesto pasta with the pinkest neck I've ever seen on a person. Jacket off to reveal long, tattoo-covered arms, and the muscles that have progressively been getting bigger over the months. I join Ryan and Matt's drummer conversation to stop staring. It's weird. Being attracted to him feels wrong. Teenage Lucia would be ashamed. She’d slap some sense into me.
Dinner ends quickly. We're thrusted back into Dublin air before we can even adjust to the complete switch in environment. Running to the venue, through alleyways, shooting splashes of water all over the place, we realise how late we are. I feel better than I did in the morning. That dreaded train ride. Bobbys giving me the silent treatment again. I hate it. I hate it more than when he's being downright horrible to me.
-
Our set was unbelievable. The best show I've ever done. The crowd was unreal, the size of the place was absurd. We had never sounded so great. Everything went according to plan. We're crying now that we're offstage. We need something to uplift us. Nieve's idea is to party in the back. Which is one of the best parts of the night.
We find a spot just before Inhaler goes on. Screams bleed through the room, adoration written in teenage faces, phones held up to capture the moment. The five lads on stage. One final time. I scream like I'm sixteen all over again, dancing as the first song 'These Are The Days' begins to play. Shouting along, throwing my hands in the air. I don't think I've ever been so happy and fulfilled before.
The setlist is the usual. I didn't expect them to change it. Eli gives a little 'thank you' speech, mentioning us at the end. Then suddenly encore starts and I'm met by a mildly unfamiliar song. The crowd seems just as confused as I am. Bobby is wearing that stupid black vest and I swear his bass has been lowered all the more. The next time they perform, it'll surely be grazing the floor.
Bobby doesn't normally speak to the crowd at shows. It's always Eli. But as they play the intro, he begins to speak, "Hi everyone. Hope you're all having a good time." Commotion, screams, chanting 'Bobby' as if it's a cult gathering, not a concert. His eyes are searching through the crowd. The party in the back turned into moshpits and luckily I got pushed near to the front. His eyes land on mine. I can tell he's looking at when he plays with his earring — like it's a code between us. He keeps playing the same few notes on the bass lazily as he grabs the mic stand. Everyone is silent and listening as he says, "This is 'You Might Get What You Want'.
I recognise it now. I'm sent back to high school. 6 years ago. Practice room at school. Instrument cases strewn all over tha place, broken drumsticks leant against the wall. I'm sat at the piano as Bobby announces, "This is a new song I wrote." He passes me the chords starts singing. My thoughts are quiet. The external world is too loud for me to think. I'm lost in the music. The song is beautiful — lyrics, chords, arrangement, Bobby's voice. That was the day when I wanted to ask to join the band. Then Bobby was horrible to me so I changed my mind. I even asked him what the song was about. He looked at the Jim Morrison poster on the door, hand against his buzzed head as he thought up a response. "A girl," was his final conclusion. I thanked him for his specificity. He told me, quite frustratedly, it was 'none of my business'. Then he was riled up and told me to leave because I was 'playing it all wrong'. One of the last times I ever played with the band. So when I hear the song again — I'm back, sitting at the piano with my school uniform, waiting for cues to play the next chord.
The crowd goes wild at the fact that Bobby is singing alone. This is unusual. The majority of the crowd don't know the song. Reminds me of their first gigs in tiny venues. I sing along, staring at Bobby as he stares back. I wonder which girl the song was actually about. At seventeen, he hung out with every girl in sight - parties, random town meetups, gigs. The way he is looking at me is shattering me down to my core — eyes painted with affection and how he keeps moving his earring. For some reason, I wish the song is about me. Then he sings, 'You Might Get What You Want' whilst pointing right at me. Has anyone else noticed his staring? Nieve and Fran seem clueless. It could all be in my head. His face appears on the screen. I stare. Not ashamed. Appreciating his beauty for as long as we have left. Only tonight. Then nothing. Only the possibility of seeing eachother once again. It won't be set in stone.
I'm a sweaty mess by the end of the show. Last goodbyes, last waves, last shocked stares at the extent of the crowd. I always forget how boiling it gets in the standing area. I'm almost at the point of suffocating. We leave with the crowd, taking a few selfies with fans along the way. I stand in the merch queue. I need something to remember this. Something I can keep and wear and just be brought back to this venue, to this atmosphere. I buy a black tour shirt with the bubbly lettering, slipping it over my tank top. I just know the change in temperature will murder me. The more layers I have on, the better.
We slip through the crowd. Thankfully, it's quieter after my long time in the merch queue. I'd never seen such a long amalgamation of people.
Back at the hotel, I crash straight down onto my bed. Don't even turn on the lights or take off my clothes. I just close my eyes and stretch out my body like a cat. It all happened too quickly. I left the band early to head back, although I heard the rest of them were going to the tour bus to get drunk. I've already had so much fun. I just need to relax. Alone time. Silence. Comfort.
A knock on the door.
I jump up. Still in my Inhaler shirt and lacy white skirt, I feel like taking a shower. But whoever just knocked has impeded any plans. I could just pretend I didn't hear them. I could fall asleep and they'll just walk away.
Another knock. I jolt up this time. It's louder.
This time I reach the door. Sliding the keyhole open, I see him. Of course it's him. Of course. Of all the people that could be here right now. His hair is wet, mussed up. He's holding his jacket under his arm as it's completely drenched. Looking from side to side, he seems to contemplate giving up and leaving me solitary.
I open the door. Let my guard down. I want to talk. Rant. Let out all the garble mixing up and stuffing my skull. He'd listen to me.
"What are you doing here?" I ask. I don't say it rudely. Make sure to keep my tone quiet and curious. The rise of his head to meet my eyes is almost film-like, tracing along my skin, photographic.
"I need to talk to you."
"Come in then."
Close the door behind him. He drops his jacket onto the floor. Slides off those shoes with a groan. They really are too small on him. He can hardly untie the laces without sucking in a quick breath. He looks at himself in the dodgy mirror, trying to fix any flying pieces of hair. His beard is growing a little — little moustache fading in above his mouth.
He sits down on a chair by the table. His lengthy legs reach up to the end of the bed where I'm sat. He picks up a tea bag, sniffs it then puts it back. I'm worried about what he's about to say. He looks like he's gone through hell and back to get here. I've never seen him so dishevelled.
"You were amazing today." I hate the silence. I fill it up. "You all get better every time."
He's been so serious since he came in but the ghost of a smile haunts his lips. They twitch then fall. "So do you."
“Is this about your weird For You page because I’m pretty fucking worried.” I’m trying to forget I saw any of those edits.
“It’s not that.” He shakes his head. He's hugging his chest, arms shivering. My eyes narrow. Each hair on his arm is stood to attention.
"Do you want a blanket?" I'm about to look for something to warm him up when his hand clasps around my wrist. He's stood up. I'm sat down, looking up at him. His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, over a bracelet I have. One that he gave me when I was sixteen. A friendship bracelet he'd brought to one of the rehearsal sessions. I wore it just to get a reaction out of him. This is the first time he’s noticed it.
I want to ask him what he's doing. But then he's sat next to me with his arms around my body and I forget what I was going to say.
"Robert..." I don't normally say his full name. It's the only word that's coming to mind. His wet hair is dripping all over my skirt, his head is against my chest, he won't look up at me.
When I pick up his face, stretch my hands over his cheeks, I find his crystal eyes glossed over. Tears. He's crying. I don't know how to react. He buries his head back into the crook of my neck like he's embarrassed. Then he's breathing heavily. Heaving. Sniffling.
"What is it?" I whisper. I stroke every inch of his hair, the nape of his neck, the thin material of his vest. I trace the tattoos on his arm. Finally landing on the music notation inked into his wrist.
"I don't want you to leave." He holds onto my waist, under my shirt, cold skin. "Stay here. With me. Please."
I wipe the tears from his face. I must look like a beetroot. I'm boiling.
"Really?" I think I'm crying as well. I can't help it. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him so unguarded, so helpless.
"I only sang that song so you'd hear it." He looks up at the ceiling, cogs turning in his brain. "It's not just about a girl. It's about you."
"You're kidding." I have to laugh.
"I'm not. I wrote it during the summer holidays before high school. I had some weird thought that you were going to call me and ask me out. I was always a prick to you so I don't know where that idea was coming from exactly. It's just when you want something so badly—I guess your brain manifests it into reality. Like every time I turned around a corner, I thought you'd magically appear. I thought you'd say that you liked me. But then you went off to Uni, the band got big. And now this. You're in fucking Nieve Ella's band. I thought I was going to throw up when I saw you get out of the train. Everything just came back. I didn't put the song on the album because every time I hear it, I just remember what an idiot I am for not treating you well and for not telling you how I feel. Singing it brought me back to the practice room, to that shitty piano with pedals falling off the hinges. How you made such a disgusting piano sound divine. I don't want to make the same mistake. If I let you go now, I'll be regretting it for the rest of my life."
"So you were looking at me? When you were singing?" I tilt my head, thumb below his eye.
"I might have been." He's not crying anymore. His voice is less rough. He sounds like normal Bobby again.
"I'll stay with you. As long as you want."
"Forever?"
"Bit too long. I can only deal with you for about three hours at a time."
"Then we should make good use of the—" He looks down at his watch. "—Two hours and 43 minutes we have left."
"What do you have planned?" I'm getting closer to him. His nose bumps against mine.
"What do you want to do, Luz?" He's challenging me. Thumb swirling over my lips.
"This." I kiss him. Lips to lips. Two notes in perfect harmony. Everything we've been through culminating into one simple kiss. It's a peck. A tease. I pull away as I feel him yank me closer.
His hands find my ears and it's like that night again. His mouth tastes the same. Sweet. Lukewarm. He still grazes my bottom lip with his teeth when he feels me shift back.
"You're an angel," he says.
At that, I'm kissing him again. This time with more passion. Exploding fireworks. Jumping into the ocean, water floating around you. The ringing in your eyes after an explosion. An earthquake. A tidal wave. So many feelings at once. He's trying to take my shirt off. I let him. Pulled it over my head so quickly I thought he might get my neck off as well. He throws it onto the nearby chair, looking at me, with those glimmering eyes and perfect eyebrows. Beauty spots and smooth skin. I attempt to take off his shirt too, although it's pretty much stuck to his chest. He helps me out, laughing at my stress.
"It's not that hard." He smirks, tugging at the top as I manage to unstick the bottom.
"Fuck off." I roll my eyes.
He pushes me down onto the bedsheets, helping me up until my head is on the pillow. I look over his frame. Long torso, large biceps, chain around his neck. It's too much to deal with. Hooded eyes, smirk on his lips, happy trail leading down to his belt. He knows how he's making me dizzy. He leans down, curling over me, scent hanging, cool skin against mine. I throw my head back. I've never been touched like this. So precise. So gentle. Like I'm his favourite bass guitar. I'd never noticed how long his fingers were until they were splayed over my bra, until the other hand was sliding up my thigh.
He kisses my neck, my shoulders, my collarbones, the valley between my breasts, tongue flat, teeth sharp. I hold onto his hair, then onto his toned shoulders. This morning, I would never have expected that this would happen. That the boy I loathed was admiring me and tasting me with unrelenting adoration. Now, the thought of leaving him makes me sick to my stomach. I pull him a little closer, kiss him a little harder and remember just how red teenage Bobby's face was after he'd sang that song to me. How defensive he was when I asked him about it. Now it all makes sense.
I won't ever leave him again.
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I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |
Part Twenty-Four - Part B
A/n: Hey, Part B is finally here!! It was a struggle to write but I'm so grateful to know that a lot of you were looking forward to it! Means so much. Again, like the previous part, this will be a collection of flashbacks! Please read the warnings on this one! Hope you enjoy x
Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.
The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.
Warnings: Lots of swearing as per usual, talks and acts of violence, abuse and sexual assault mentioned, description of sick/blood
Masterlist
“London?”
I nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the hands I held in my lap.
“London?!” Matty exclaimed again, only louder this time. He’d stopped pacing to stare down at me. The rest of the boys who had gathered on the sofa were all strangely quiet.
“Yeah, Matty. London.”
“The fuck she want to send you there for?” He argued back, and although I knew his anger wasn’t directed towards me, rather the situation at hand, I still couldn’t quite look him in the eye.
Things at home had gotten… worse. Not that I’d ever let them know. And although I didn’t want to leave the lads for the summer, I didn’t think I could handle staying there another second longer.
“My nan’s down there. Reckons it’ll be good for me, to get away.” I told him in reply, unable to help the small shrug I gave before I begun biting at a loose thumbnail, “It’ll only be for a week or so.”
“But, but what about the EP? And our gigs!” Matty fought back and, honestly, I was all too thankful for the moment when I heard Hann intercept the start of what would only be another long spiel.
“It’s not like she can really tell her mum no, mate. Besides, it’s like she said, it won’t be for long. We’ll still have the rest of the summer.”
Hann looked around at the rest of the boys, hoping to see their nods. He sighed when Matty only continued on, as though he hadn’t even said a word.
“You can stay here! Lou’ll be in Spain with Dad, Mum’s still filming so she won’t even notice- not that she’d mind.” Matty started to plan, glancing towards the rest of the room for some sort of approval. “It’s a good idea, ain’t it? That way, we can all still be together.”
I exhaled, not quite a sigh, “And what do I tell my mum, when my nan phones her up and asks why I’m not there?”
Matty groaned in agitation. “Tell her to piss off! And that you’re spending the summer with your mates.”
I wish it was as easy as that.
“Matt.” Ross cut in with a certain gruffness that made Matty pause. Ross turned towards me afterwards but I couldn’t force myself to look back at him, eyes trained somewhere to the left of his head.
Ross wasn’t stupid, I knew that much. In fact, none of the boys were. But Ross was also obnoxiously observant, more so than most, and I knew that during the last few months he’d been taking notice of more things than not. He was catching on. Brushing off my excuses. Listening to the lies I weaved into truths and narrowing his eyes. He knew something was up.
“B,” He called to me- short for George’s nickname I supposed, but he hardly ever used it. My eyes skitted between his own, then away again in fear he’d be able to see it all written as plain as day across my face. “Listen, if you wanna go down to London, then go. Ignore this twat-“ Matty squawked indignantly. “The band stuff, the gigs, they’ll all still be here when you get back.” The ‘we’ll still be here’ went unsaid, but it was heard. “Only a few weeks, just like you said. If your mum wants you down there, must be a reason, ey?”
I wiggled my jaw. If only it was that simple, I thought, but simply shrugged again. “‘Spose.”
“What, so you actually wanna go?” Matty cut in, looking almost betrayed, always one for the dramatics. “Just leave us here, when everything’s finally fallin’ into place?”
I frowned at him, “No, I don’t wanna go. But-” I don’t want to stay in that house any longer.
“Exactly! Just tell her that then, babe!” Matty rushed out before I could even think of an end to that sentence, “She’ll understand, let you stay, and then we can have the entire summer, yeah?”
He was grinning so wide, it was hard to do anything but just nod in defeat. Ross and Hann shook their heads at him as they huffed and drew themselves up onto their feet.
“Alright, can we get to startin’ practice now then or is this family meeting still happening?” Hann not so subtly suggested, quirking a brow at the lot of us. I was just grateful for the opportunity to cut my loses and run, Ross was already moving over towards the amp, and Matty was nodding his hasty agreement.
“Gonna grab some drinks first though.” The curly haired singer added, and he darted out of the garage before Hann could stop him. I chuckled under my breath at Adam’s pained expression and settled further into the settee, making myself comfortable there. It was then that I caught George’s eye though and he jerked his head over towards the driveway, a quiet indication.
I chewed on the inside of my lip before I ultimately nodded, holding back a sigh. He got up first and then I followed, ignoring Hann’s exasperated huff and the lingering look I felt from Ross.
I thought that’d been it, the London topic dropped. But luck was never on my side and even though I had no idea what George would possibly have to say on the subject, I could see that he’d been far too quiet in there. Something was coming.
He wandered a way away from the garage door, slipping round the side of the house and towards the garden gate before he finally stopped, pausing to settle against the low brick wall there. It was a place we often favoured whenever we wanted a breath away from the others, sheltered by overhanging trees and bushes, you could sort of feel invisible there.
George was quiet even as he tugged an already opened pack from his jean pocket and plucked a cigarette from its case. On impulse I pulled out my lighter and flicked it open for him, lighting the end like I usually did.
“How’s Steven doing?” He asked rather abruptly, so much so that a wad of spit caught in the back of my throat at the question and I had to fight not to choke.
“Why the fuck are you asking me that?” I retorted, swallowing harshly and catching my breath.
He didn’t look at me, eyes hard and focused on the opposing wall. He shrugged a shoulder lazily, but I knew better. “You never mentioned London.”
“And what the hell has my mum’s dick of a boyfriend got to do with London?” I sputtered back heatedly, already knowing the answer.
George levelled me with a look and inhaled slowly, gaze finding mine.
“You know what.”
I scowled and folded my arms promptly across my chest. “Fuck you.”
He rolled his eyes at my reaction and billowed out a breath of smoke above us, handing me the fag in quiet offering. I shook my head. He sighed.
“I thought-”
He tried, but I quickly shut him down, “Fuck what you thought, you don’t know a thing.”
George held a single hand up in mock surrender, ash falling with it. I steeled my gaze on the thick cement tiles below us.
“Not claiming to, Birdie.” George said in his usual tone, unaware of what that nickname of his did to me. “But I know something’s up. Reckon the guys are noticing things too.”
I rubbed the curve of my arm subconsciously, knowing there was truth in his words.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked exhaustedly, all the fight I typically had had been drained from me.
The question had been mostly rhetorical, but George wasn’t the type to care. “The truth.” He answered and I could feel his stare trained on me now.
“The truth?” I scoffed tiredly, the bitten flesh of cheek I so often ground between my teeth was scarred, bumpy as I pressed my tongue to it and thought the whole thing over.
‘Truth’ was something we’d taken to using for a while now, in the buzzing hum of our frequented cafe, within the confines of the shed at the end of my garden, sprawled on his bedsheets whilst getting high. It’d started after a small falling out I’d had with Vicky a few months prior and had continued on almost unconsciously.
Now though, I didn’t know what to tell him, what truth to acknowledge. What he wanted to hear.
George mimicked the low hum I made, cigarette pressed between his lips but otherwise unmoving. “Who’s idea was London then?”
“His.”
We both knew who I was talking about.
“Right.” George nodded once, “She just agreed then?”
She, being my mum. I dipped my chin, a silent confirmation.
His thumb was tapping away at the jut of his knee now, a rhythmic tic I often stilled with a hand covering his own. I couldn’t find it in myself to reach out and touch him now though.
“Why’s he want you gone?”
In truth, I really didn’t know. Maybe I’d gotten too much. Perhaps he’d gotten fed up.
“Think he has better things in mind than having me hang ‘round all summer.”
“You want to go?”
I let his question hang there for a moment. I was toeing two sides of the line with my answer. To go would be easier on everyone, I’d see my Nana, get to explore a whole other city, and have the chance to escape them. But being away also meant leaving the boys.
George didn’t mind not hearing my verbal reply, I think he already knew my answer. He just wanted to be sure of it. He went on, “My mum’s back in town next week.”
A truth for a truth.
“You never mentioned it.” I said, picking at a fraying edge on my denim shorts.
He gave a slow shrug, “You never mentioned London.”
“Only found out a couple days ago.” He raised a brow in return, thinning his lips. I sighed, “Alright, I should’ve said something sooner but I was thinking it over.”
George hummed, “Dad only told me this mornin’.”
Maybe that’s why he’d been so reserved since we’d met up. The whole way to Matty’s he’d barely spoken a word, but I’d been overly anxious, knowing I was planning to tell them about London, which meant that I’d been talking a mile a minute- an attempt I often used to cover it.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked him, peering up at his solemn features through a lock of fallen hair.
“What I always do. Stay out of her way.” He told me honestly before he took a longer drag. I watched his chest rise with it, observed how his eyes fluttered slightly. He was always so interesting to watch.
“Could come to London with me. Hide out there.” I offered and was met with the slight quirk to his mouth, he was amused by my words. “I’m serious!” I reiterated and bumped a shoulder against his arm, “Me and you. Together. Nana loves strays.”
George just laughed at that and I couldn’t help the soft smile I made at the sound. “Sod off.” He told me around a chuckle, “London does sound nice though, be good for you I reckon.”
“For us.” I insisted, the idea fully lodging its way into my brain now. “Come on, G. Don’t you think it’d be fun?”
“Yeah sure, but the wrath Matty would rain down on us fucking won’t be.” George snorted, shaking his head at me softly.
“So?” I pestered again, shuffling round on the wall to face him properly, shin pressing against his outer thigh. He glanced down at it and then away, inhaling again. “I can phone her when I get in,”
“Phone who?” George interrupted just as my fingers found the flannel he’d thrown on that same morning. I toyed with it, rolling my eyes.
“My Nana! Keep up.” I huffed at him, “I’ll phone her, ask if she’d be okay with you coming along too and you can just tell the guys you’re being held hostage by your mum, she wants family time, forcing you to go and see an aunt or summat.”
George was wearing this barely there smirk, one I recognised as a crack in his usual stoic resolve. I was wearing him down.
“Think about it, G… You can avoid your mum and waste half your summer away with me.”
I raised my brows at him, hopeful, but he just stared back at me.
“And what would I tell my dad, my mum?” He retorted, finally stubbing out the end of his cigarette and flicking the butt of it into the soil behind us.
“Tell your dad we’re going camping. All of us. And we can leave before your mum gets in.” I explained, in full out planning mode now. I could see it all coming together in my head and tugged on the cuff of his sleeve in excitement. “Come on, G. Please? Be our little secret.”
George’s gaze trailed over my face, his expression as serious as my own. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
I tilted my head, confused by his sentiment. “Of course I do. If I could, I’d take you everywhere with me. It’s us against the world, G. Always.”
He cracked the tiniest of smiles, an action I knew he had no control over, and it only seemed to grow as I matched it. I had him.
“So we’re really doing this then?” He breathed out in amused disbelief. I nodded with a painfully large grin as I wrapped my arms around his neck, leaning in closer.
“Best believe it.” I replied just as he knocked his forehead against mine. Both of us unable to bite back our smiles.
“London.” George whispered.
“London.” I mimicked, marvelling at the very idea of it.
To think, I’d been dreading this entire conversation. How things so quickly changed.
And change they would…
—
“Yeah, yeah!” I prattled away, hardly holding back my anticipation.
I’d been back barely five minutes before I’d hurried over to the landline, having snuck in through the back gate and shuffled up the drainpipe to my bedroom. I’d waited until I heard the front door slam then made a run for it, scurrying down the stairs and almost throwing the phone off its hook in my hurry. I had half hour until mum was due back from wherever she usually pissed off to, and didn’t have to worry about Old Steven seeing me as he’d just left for the pub.
“‘Course I’m excited, Nana. Haven’t seen you in ages!” I told the older woman, warmly, through the phone, twirling the chord around my finger as I did.
She was rambling away now, had been ever since I’d said hello. She’d been gruff in her answer at first, having thought I was one of those poxy telemarketers she could often never shake, but was over the moon to know it’d been me once she’d heard my voice.
Apparently she was rather excited to know that I was coming down to visit, though she hadn’t heard a word of it until I’d brought it up then- fucking mum. Still, she told me she’d set up the spare room and let my aunt know too, she sounded just as pleased as me. It was then that I thought it best to try and bring up George.
“Aunt Del will be so pleased to see you, love. Have to cook up something proper for when you arrive too, won’t I?”
I smiled fondly at her voice, her heavy accent so different to mine. “Don’t have to go to too much trouble for me, nan.”
“Oh bugger off, you daft cow! My granddaughter’s comin’ to see me, I’ll do as I please.” Nana scoffed and I bit back a giggle.
“Alright.” I appeased her, then she asked what day I’d be heading off. I thought it over for a second, knowing that G’s mum was due back Sunday night, so that morning probably gave us enough time to set off and make the train. “Sunday, Nana.” I replied and she hummed, but before she could say anything in actual reply I was quick to mention the deal-breaker. “Actually Nana, whilst I still have you, I um, I was meant to ask you something. Just, I don’t want to put you out or nothing…”
“Sweet, you’d best spit whatever ask you have out ‘fore you swallow your own tongue. I ain’t gettin’ any younger and the days ain’t gettin’ any longer. So out with it.” She demanded. She was just as I remembered, headstrong to a fault and overly blunt. The woman said what she pleased and if you didn’t like that then you’d simply have to deal with it, nowt to do with her.
I huffed a mirthful chuckle, “Sorry.”
“None of that now, sunshine. Tell me what you’re after.”
“See, I have this friend…”
“Oh, a friend, is it? Let me guess, this friend of yours, they headed down my way too?” She never missed a thing that woman, I’ll give her that.
“Might be.”
Nana laughed and I could hear her shuffling about, probably in the kitchen from the sound of pots clinking in the background. “Just like your father, I tell you. Cheek on the pair of ya.”
My heart caught at her words, no one spoke of my dad. To hear that I was similar to him in any way, well that paused my whirling mind for a split second.
Though to my Nana, it had just been an off handed comment, a slip of the tongue, because she was already breezing on by whilst I fought to catch up.
“Tell me about this friend of yours then. They nice? Treat you well?” Nana pestered, last she knew of my life here up North was my closeness with Vicky and my lingering eyes which were often casted towards her older brother, Jamie. How things had changed.
I smiled at the questions and thought of George. He was a hard person to describe in truth. There wasn’t a thing I disliked about him. There were things that annoyed me about him, sure- he was one of few people who knew exactly what buttons to press- but describing George, well it sort of felt like describing myself. That, plus, I didn’t want to give too much away.
“He’s nice, Nana.”
She hummed and I heard the sweet drawl to it, as though she was grasping at something. The sound made me flush a tad. “He’s nice, is he?”
Put my foot right in it there. Could’ve tried getting away with it by being vague, have her think it was a girl ’til George’s ginormous self gangled his way through her door, but nope.
“Yup.” I popped back, too far gone to backtrack now.
My feelings towards George were honestly a confusing mountain of mess, but they had yet to make me force him away. Hearing my nan allude to something of the like did not help at all.
“Hm, and he’s wantin’ to follow after you, is he? Down ‘ere to see little old me.”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see. “It were my idea. I-”
She stopped me short, “No need to explain, dove. He sounds like a very nice friend, this boy. One you’d like to keep near I assume?” I hummed noncommittally and could hear her devious smile, “Handsome is he?”
“Nana.” I droned out, regretting ever having even mentioned it now. Should’ve just surprised her, at least then she wouldn’t be teasing me like this. Actually, scrap that. That was a complete lie. She so fucking would.
“‘Course he can come along, love.” She allowed, relenting with her teasing a tad, or so I thought. “Just got the one spare room though, so if you don’t mind putting up with him for a couple nights… or I ‘spose I could just make up the sofa.”
“Whatever’s easiest for you, Nana. And thank you. I,” I inhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the quiet of the house, “I really do appreciate it, you putting me up and that.”
“Nonsense. Always worryin’ ‘bout you up there, that mother of yours never phones.” Nana tutted. If she only knew that half of it, I thought to myself. “But anyway darlin’, there’s nothin’ to thank me for, only way you could is with a pack of Rothmans Blue- Superking, mind.”
I snorted to myself, “Consider it done. Sunday paper, too?”
“Oh, you know me so well. Daily mail, none of that other shite.”
I mouthed the last few words as she spoke them, knowing that they’d be coming, and grinned when I was right.
“‘Course not.” I said with a smile, “If you need anything else picking up, call this time Saturday, yeah?”
“You got a schedule or somethin’ there, lovie?” Nana joked, laughing lightly even as my own smile faltered slightly.
“Something like that.” I murmured, then thought I heard the key turn in the front door.
My head snapped towards the sound, sheltering the phone against my shoulder to listen in closer.
Yeah, someone was definitely home.
Wary, I hurried to say my goodbyes, “Listen Nana, think that’s mum headed in now with the shopping. I’d best go and help her.”
“Shoppin’? This late?” Nana questioned but I was already standing, bouncing from foot to foot, praying to every star in the night sky that it was mum and not Steven.
“Yeah, she had a late shift tonight. Is that alright, Nana? I’ll call before I leave Sunday, okay?”
I was fretting now, heart racing as the door hinges begun to squeak.
“‘Course it is, love. Say hello to your mum too, won’t ya, sweetheart? And I’ll see you Sunday.”
“I will, love you.” I rushed out and was left with the beginnings of a smile when I heard her parrot it back to me. I hung up just as the front door slammed closed and jumped towards the kitchen sink like a trapeze artist would a free-falling rope. More than grateful to see that there were a few cups littering the basin.
I was washing up just as she walked in, I heard her paused in the archway, probably surprised to see me down here.
“What you doin’ that for?” She asked me and I glanced over my shoulder, holding back a shaky breath whilst I flashed her smile.
“Just thought I’d be helpful, mum.” I replied and turned back to the task at hand to subtly release the balloon of air that’d been swelling in my chest.
She hummed indifferently and tossed her purse down onto the kitchen table, “Steve in?”
I shook my head, “Wasn’t here when I got back.” Liar.
“Right.” She worked her jaw, staring off into space before she headed over towards the fridge, plucking up a cider. “Gonna run a bath, back’s been killin’ me. You alright to make your own tea?”
I swallowed back the hollow laugh that wanted to escape me, I always fixed my own tea. Did everything myself. “Yeah, mum.” I told her instead of voicing that though, choosing not to glance her way again.
“Right.” She repeated and then I heard nothing for a few beats before her feet were wandering out of the kitchen again and up the stairs.
I let myself slump against the counter as I listened to her disappear, hands covered in soap duds and not caring for the water that dripped its way down my forearm. I let my eyes fall close for a brief minute. That’d been too close for my liking.
—
I told George of the talk I’d had with my nan, along with the plan, the next day. We’d leave about nine, Sunday morning, to try and make it to London before the rush of lunch, and my Aunt Del would then pick us up from the station soon after.
We’d been sat on the school playing fields, waiting for the rest of the guys. Just lazing about there, seeing as we only had a couple days before school finally let out. Days like these were always the best kind though, when the teachers gave up on teaching us anything and just stuck a film on. Hoping it’d quiet our ever growing excitement. Did it fuck.
“I didn’t think you were being serious!” George exclaimed with a light laugh once I’d finally finished, eyes wide as he glanced down at me. I was sprawled out on the grass, head in his lap.
“Of course I fucking was! Do you not know me at all?” I replied in the same tone he’d used, titling my head back to exaggerate my own eyes. “We said it! We agreed!”
“So? I said I’d pull the plug on Matty’s life support machine if he ever ended up braindead, don’t mean I’ll actually do it.” George snorted right back, hands toying with the ends of my hair.
“Well, he’s not far off, is he?” I teased, even though Matty wasn’t around to hear. “And besides, I’m not Matty. I’m me. And you,” I exaggerated, pointing a finger up at him, “can’t say no to a face like this.”
“When d’you get so vain, ey?” Was all that George replied. I rolled my eyes and huffed.
“Please, G. Nana’s excited to meet you now. Can’t let her down, can you? Imagine what it’ll do to her poor old heart.”
He dragged a thumb across my lip, wiping the pout I wore right off my face. The surprising action didn’t deter me though, neither did the sickening butterflies I felt.
“Heartless heathen. Just watch this space,” I told him in false seriousness, “See when I turn up all alone and she’s devastated. So utterly heartbroken.”
“Oh shut up, would you?” George huffed, tugging on a strand of my hair and rolling his eyes at my scowl. “I’ll go.” My face quickly morphed and I knew he saw it when he leant in closer to cut off whatever I’d been about to say, our noses a breath apart. “But, only if you help me break it to the boys- my dad as well.”
I mulled it over, “I could do that.”
“You say that now.” He chuckled down at me, brown eyes dancing between my own before he pulled away and glanced over to see the boys headed our way.
To say that the rest of the band had taken the news of George’s departure easily was an utter lie. As expected, Matty had gone off on one, all grumpy and disheartened. Hann had sighed, but said that they could put off any recording sessions for a week or so. And Ross had just sat there grinning lazily at us like a overweight cat stretched out in the sun, unbothered by it but also looking a little too smug for my liking.
I’d narrowed my eyes at him but said nothing.
George’s dad on the other hand was a whole other story.
I’d only met the man twice. Once when he’d caught me up in George’s bedroom, splayed out on the floor after having fallen out of a handstand his son had dared me into. Then a second time in the supermarket on the high street, I’d been grabbing food for the house seeing as no one else could be bothered, and he’d been on the phone to someone or other, heatedly whispering away. We’d caught each others eye, gave a strange awkward wave, then sped off down separate aisles.
I’d been mortified both times. Not the best impression to have left on anyone, let alone your mate’s dad.
Still, I’d agreed to help and so now here I was. Sat in George’s kitchen, him at the stove, me perched by the table, both of us waiting for his dad to come home from work.
I was biting at my knuckle nervously, eyes trained on the door, George swatted my arm when he finally noticed, passing by me to pull a pack of pasta from out of the cupboard. “Why’re you so worked up? He’s harmless, plus you’ve met him before.”
Harmless, that’s how Matty often described George. I wondered if the two of them were much alike. Like my dad and I.
“I’m not.” I defended, but was levelled with a look telling me to cut the bullshit. “Fine, I just- I don’t know! Okay? Will you just run me through the story again?”
George chuckled to himself, pouring pasta shells into some salted water. “I’ll start, hint that a few of us are wanting to go camping. He won’t ask who, but if he does just say the lads. Like Hann and that- don’t mention Matty though, they’ve met.”
“He doesn’t like Matty?” I questioned with a pinched brow.
George’s shoulders moved with an unsure shrug, his back to me as he checked on the sauce he was making. I found it strange how I never knew he could cook til now. Or at least I hoped he could, I was supposed to be eating this.
“Nah, not that he doesn’t like him. Just thinks he’s a bit…” He replied, searching for the right word.
“Over the top? Eccentric? Loud?”
With a snort, George nodded. “Yeah. So, just be wary.”
I hummed, fiddling with the coasters that sat nearby. George’s house was nice, looked hardly lived in but it was tidy and inviting. Nothing as extravagant as Matty’s, but not quite like mine either. His family did well for themselves, you could see it.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. I was just pulling your leg earlier.” He told me after a minute or two had passed in quiet.
I shook my head. “I said I would, didn’t I? Don’t go back on my word.” I ridiculed, giving him a knowing look as I thought back to his first agreement over the trip to London. George just rolled his eyes at me and turned back towards the stove again.
Besides, I thought to myself, I was here now. Might as well.
The telltale sign of a car pulling up onto the drive sounded then and my eyes widened on their own accord. “Oh shit.”
I was regretting everything now. I had no idea how to act, or what to say. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide until it was safe to come out again. My mind screaming at me to just make a run for it before I fucked the entire thing up.
I was sat staring a hole into the kitchen door, just waiting anxiously, when George carded a hand through my hair. I hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Don’t stress.”
I glanced up towards him, then blew a heavy breath out of my nose, letting my forehead fall against his stomach.
“How can you say that? I’m freaking out, G.” My words were muffled by his t-shirt and so I felt it when he gave a muted chuckle in return. Strangely, the movement soothed me, but the gentle hand he held to the back of my head helped too.
“You’ll be fine, B.” He murmured out into the kitchen and I pulled away when I heard the front door rattle. “Besides, when have I ever let you down?”
I released a shallow breath and then plastered on a more convincing smile. I caught George’s hand in mine just before he went back to watching the boiling pot and squeezed the digits, he returned the gesture kindly. I was thankful to have him, I realised in that moment, the easy way we worked only just hitting me then.
George was back by the stove when the kitchen handle turned and we both glanced over in the direction of the door to watch his dad walk on through it. The man was tall, that was the first thing I noticed, he had to duck his head to wander through the frame so that he wouldn’t hit it, and he also looked a lot like George. They shared the same eyes.
“Oh.” The older man paused when he spotted me at the table, slowing his movements ever so slightly to process it. It seemed that syllabic reactions were also something that the pair shared too.
“Hi, Mr Daniel. Hope me being here isn’t too much of a bother.” I greeted him, trying for polite, my voice was quieter than I expected though and I noted the way George’s furrowed brow turned towards me when he heard it too.
George’s dad stepped further into the kitchen, placing a carrier bag down on the kitchen counter before he walked over to drop his briefcase onto a wooden chair.
“Not a bother.” His accent was peculiar, it held a hint of, what I could only assume to be, Dutch, that was overpowered slightly by his low speech. “And I’m Jules, no need for formalities. You must be Y/n.”
I nodded and gave a smile when he quirked one of his own, however tiny. “I am, it’s nice to properly meet you.” I told him as he propped himself into the seat sat opposite me.
“Yes, I agree. Though I have heard a lot about you, George has spoken of you before.” Jules informed, analysing eyes flitting over to where his son was stood, pretending to be absorbed in his cooking, before they settled back on me, “He speaks highly of you.”
A genuine smile broke out across my face then and, unable to stop it, I glanced down to my lap in hopes to hide it.
“That’s kind of him.” I laughed softly and was pleased when George’s dad chuckled along with me, it was a resonant sound one that came from deep within.
“My son’s a good boy. A kind one. I hope he’ll turn into a good man also.”
The look he casted George was sweet, one I couldn’t relate to but adored all the same. This man held his son in high regard, he loved him.
George decided to grace us with a bit of input then. “Are we done talking about me now?” He quipped, looking a bit self-conscious which was new. “Just waiting for him to start telling you my most embarrassing moments or pull out the baby photos.”
I flashed his dad a hopeful grin, “I’d love that.”
Jules just laughed and glanced towards his son. “I like this girl. Where did you find her?”
George shook his head in retort, rolling his eyes but not hiding his fond smile. “She found me.”
The two of us shared a look then and laughed- he had a point.
“Oh?” Jules said, questioning gaze jumping between the both of us now.
“I heard him play. At school.” I acquiesced the older man’s wondering and instinctively he knew I was talking about drumming. “He was hiding away in the music room when I’d been walking past, decided to poke my head in.”
“Ambushed me, more like.” George scoffed, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, looking every bit like the chef he was feigning to be.
“I did not!” I gasped.
George laughed loudly, I was marvelled by the sound but I didn’t let it put me off upholding my honour.
“You did.” He affirmed, “Gave me an address on a piece of paper like some slick gangster and told me to be there.”
“I- it was-” I tried to find the right response but he had me there- although, slick gangster was quite the compliment if I was being honest. “I was just trying to be helpful! Besides, you hardly said a word to me. I thought you hated me at first!”
George quirked a brow, as though this was a surprise to him, maybe it was.
Jules cut in, his question held a hint of mirth, “An address?”
George glanced towards his dad and nodded once more, “For the band. That’s how I joined.”
“Ah.” George’s dad sounded, “Are you in this band too?” He asked me.
George snickered and I tried not to glare at him as I answered Jules. “No, just the boys. I keep them all in order though.”
“The world would crumble without a woman in charge. Count yourselves lucky.” Jules sent a grin towards his son, it was toothy and I noted that the fine lines around both his eyes and mouth resembled those I’d seen on George. His familiar eyes found mine next, “Do you play though?”
I shook my head, if only. “I can play a few chords on the piano but I’m no Chopin.” Adam’s doing, that.
“Sing?” Jules questioned and I found myself wringing my hands beneath the tabletop.
“A little. Not in front of people though.” I told him honestly, not paying mind to the pause George made or the way his expression deepened. “It’s something of my own.”
Jules looked to me then, really looked at me I mean, and dipped his head in an earnest understanding. “Some things are meant for the heart, these are the things that keep us grounded.”
I nodded too, thankful that he could relate in some way, and the kitchen settled into a peaceful lull for once. No nervous energy to be found. George turned his back on us to drain the pasta and stir a pot.
After a few muted minutes filled with George just puttering about, he padded his way over and placed two plates before his dad and I. We thanked him and he returned with one of his own as well as a bowl of grated cheese. He and his dad tucked right in, loading up on the mountain of parmesan, I however passed.
George cleared his throat once we’d all settled in, his foot finding my ankle beneath the table. I peered over to him but he was still staring down at his dinner. “I forgot to mention, dad. There’s this trip coming up.”
“At school?” Jules asked him, not noticing George’s awkward stance, the way his shoulders were hunched over his plate. I nudged my knee against his encouragingly.
“No, um just a group of us. To celebrate the end of the year.” He replied, having paused in his eating now to watch his dad’s reaction, who was still chewing happily away. “Camping.”
That did catch the man’s attention. “Camping?” He mimicked, one brow raising as he looked to George. “Where?”
“Down by the coast. Margate way.” Wow, he’d really thought this through.
His dad hummed around his next mouthful, then turned to me. I tried not to falter under his attention and the sudden pressure I felt. “Are you going, Y/n?”
I swallowed.
“I am. It’s a big group of us. Seven or so.” I replied. In truth, there was an actual trip happening with some of the kids in our year- Vicky was actually going. They were all headed to some festival, a few of them camping out there, others staying in hotels nearby or with mates. When Matty had first heard about it he’d wanted to tag along, but then he’d saw the lineup and thought better of it.
“And your parents don’t mind?” Jules prodded, ignoring the sharp look George sent him.
“My mum is looking forward to the peace.” I joked with a soft chuckle, aiming to ease some of the nervousness I felt. “But she doesn’t mind, as long as I keep in touch and stay safe.”
God, I’d really pulled that one out of my arse, hadn’t I?
Jules seemed to buy it though and hummed again, folding his hands together. “When is this?”
“Next week, they’re leaving Sunday.” George answered, taking a sip of the drink he’d made us earlier.
“Your mother-” His dad attempted to say but George was swifter, “I know, that’s why I’m asking you now.”
Jules didn’t look too happy about the interruption or having been put on the spot, but didn’t comment on it, nor did he add to George’s explanation.
“I could call her, mention it.” Jules murmured, thinking it over as his eyes passed over his son’s. “But I don’t think she will mind. As long as you have fun, ah?”
The older man grinned and I felt the tightness in my chest loosen, going back to my food as the duo continued to talk more about the trip and then the football match that was supposedly on later tonight.
I smiled to myself, figuring that this was probably the most normal family interaction I’d been apart of in a long time. And my smile only grew when George trapped my ankle between both of his feet, a silent acknowledgement.
He walked me home later that evening, hands in our pockets after having said a quiet goodbye to his dad, who’d looked just about ready to nod off on the sofa.
It was quiet out and the walk was short so we decided on taking the long way, talking amongst ourselves, me staring up at the stars, him kicking at the pebbles we passed by.
“You never mentioned singing before.”
George’s sudden mention of the earlier topic faltered my step briefly, but I kept looking on. “Not something I tell most people.” I replied with a lazy shrug.
“Why?” He asked me, and if it’d been anyone else I’d’ve told them to mind their own. But this was George. George who new more parts of me than most. Who knew and didn’t judge. Who never whispered a word of it to anyone.
I rolled my lips against one another. “It was just something I always shared with my dad.”
George didn’t say anything for a minute or so, probably mulling it over, thinking of something to say. People always got so tense whenever I mentioned him. Death made people weird.
“You any good?”
That ask prompted an unexpected laugh from me and I peered over at him with a bright smile, teeth brushing against my lower lip.
He knew me so well. I didn’t need pity, apologies, sympathy.
“The next Britney, me.”
George grimaced and I chuckled some more before gazing down at my feet.
“I don’t know. My dad liked to hear me, said it reminded him of when his grandad used to take him to the local market down by the lock near their house. The women there used to sing on the barges that passed.”
George hummed around a sweet smile, “Will you sing to me?”
“Not even on your dying day.” I quipped right back, laughing when he stopped to narrow his eyes at me.
“Come on, just a song. A verse!” He attempted to bargain but I wouldn’t budge, shaking my head.
“You’re going to get me in trouble, you know.” I told him with a laugh, “Was meant to be home twenty minutes ago, I’ll have to shuffle up the drain again.”
“Well, we’re already late so you’ll still have to make do with that drainpipe of yours, or I can offer you a shoulder up.”
I snorted softly, “What a sight that’d be if a neighbour saw.”
George gifted me a lopsided grin and continued on walking, “So no chance of a song then?”
I shook my head.
“Not even if I swore to moon the headmaster tomorrow morning?”
I wasn’t quick enough to swallow down my loud cackle, not having expected that response from him.
“As if you’d showcase your spotty arse to the entire school.”
George hip-checked me, “Fuck you, I do not have a spotty arse.”
“Well, how would I know? I’ve never seen it.”
“This your way of asking?” He smirked back, winking at me.
My jaw dropped at his blatant cheek, honestly so surprised I struggled to find a proper retort. “You wish.”
George snorted at the flustered reply and continued walking on with a proud grin. He’d bested me there, we both knew it.
I huffed and let him have the win. Mostly because we were fast approaching my house and I could already see that the lights were still on.
With a sigh, I slowed my steps, all but lugging myself along the pavement now. George seemed to notice, but when did he not?
“You can always call me, you know? Just a text away.” He spoke, voice trailing out along the late summer air.
He knew I was dreading going inside, but that was to be expected. I always felt that way.
Instead of making any fuss though I merely grinned, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. But make sure you put your dad to bed, hey? Heard him complain about his back as he bent down to get in the freezer. He’ll regret kipping on that settee come morning.”
George gave me a small smile, finding amusement in my truthful words, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The worry lines that aged his face.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” I assured, smiling up at him. “Last day and then we’re home free, G!”
George nodded at the reminder and tugged a hand out from his pocket to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips trailing along my jaw ever so gently. I held my breath. Wondering if he’d finally close that distance between us. If he knew I wanted it just as badly.
But then he pulled away again and I tried to hide my sinking disappointment.
“See you tomorrow, Birdie.”
I gave him a crooked smile and pushed up on my tiptoes to press a careful kiss to his cheek. “Tomorrow. Night, G.”
…
I was on a bit of a high as I made my way around the side of the house, trainers dodging the dried out mud puddled beneath the kitchen window before I slid through the wearing wooden gate.
George hadn’t made a move but it was a baby step.
Ross’s words repeated on a loop in my head as I climbed my way up onto the garden wall to grab at the ledge sat just above the backdoor. Once I was stable there I shuffled my way up and over to my bedroom window, always just leaving it off the latch.
‘He’s half fucking in love with you.’
‘But that’s alright, I guess. Seeing as he has no clue that you like him too.’
He was a wise one, our Ross. But I don’t know, part of me was desperate to believe him, the other fearful- of what, I wasn’t quite sure.
I forced out a heavy breath as I lugged my body in through the open window, being mindful not to make too much noise as I stuck my landing.
With a breathless exhale I spun around to close the window again, startling when I saw a figure sat in the corner of my room, looming in the old wicker chair I’d had there for years.
My hand jumped up to my racing heart as I processed the shock, biting back the sudden fear that crawled its way up the back of my neck when I noticed his predatory grin.
“Been wonderin’ how you’ve been sneakin’ in and out without me noticing.” Steven commented causally, as though it was perfectly normal for a grown man to be sat up waiting for a teenage girl in her bedroom. “‘Cause at first, you see, at first I reckoned you were just pretty stealthy. Funny that, what with you bein’ so lard.”
He snorted at his own joke, but I paid his cruel words no attention, far too used to the rotten things he’d often spout. Men were all the same, only Steven just didn’t have a single good bone in his body.
I walked over to my dresser, fiddling with the rings there before I reached for a hair tie. I was trying not to show him that I cared, that I hated him for invading my space, that I wanted to run as quick as my legs would let me away. If I did then it was game over, he’d win.
I almost didn’t hear him stand, so I tensed slightly when a floorboard creaked beneath his weight. He approached from behind, his face coming into view beside mine in the dresser mirror. I didn’t look him in the eye.
“Where you been then? Out with yer mates, or were you gettin’ your leg over?”
Bile rose, it suffocated my senses for a moment before I steeled myself. He wouldn’t get the upper hand here. I wouldn’t give him a reaction.
“Saw you outside with that lad. Harry down the pub says your often with him, sees the two of you out late most nights.” Steven said snidely, “Do you love him, pet? Reckon he loves you back, do ya?”
My eyes flew up towards his in the mirror, “Did you want something, Steven?”
He whistled lowly then and I watched his mouth tug up into a menacing smirk as his eyes grazed over my face in the reflection, slowly making their way down to the curve of my neck and then lower. I kept my head held high even as I turned to slide out from between him and the dresser, only I wasn’t quick enough.
His hips jerked out instinctively and he pinned me to the wooden drawers. My mind buzzed, I was panicking now. He’d never gotten close like this. A punch here, a shove there. But, never like this.
“Let me go.”
“Why, petal? Don’t you think we could have some fun?”
“Let me go.” I repeated, firmer this time, fists steeled against the countertop.
When he only laughed at my reaction I took the chance his ego gave me, kicking back swiftly with my leg to hit him just below his knee and buckle him. He did, but only just, springing out to claw at me as I darted my way to the bedroom door.
I screamed when I felt his hands catch at my waist, but the handle was already in my hand and so I tugged as hard as I could. It opened, flying out to catch the side of my face.
Shocked by the sudden impact, my head fell limply and I stopped struggling for a moment. His hold tightened though and I knew I had to keep on, get to the stairs, then to the front door.
Just get out.
“Let go!” I screeched, scratching at his greedy hands and tugging my body relentlessly towards the hallway.
It was a game of tug-of-war, and for him I supposed I was the prize. But I wasn’t too easily won. I sent another kick backwards, he avoided it. I used the same foot to crash down hard on his toes, he yelped and loosened his arms slightly in surprise, enough for me to break out into the hall, crashing into the wall opposite my room.
His fist collided with the back of my head just as my cheek bounced off the photo frame mum had hung there, I slumped lower, wiggling my way downwards and towards where I knew the banister would be.
“Don’t, be, difficult.” He grunted out.
“Fuck you.” I spat back.
On the floor now, I rolled over and ignored the carpet that burned the skin of my arms. I kicked harder, vision hazy as he loomed over me. He struck me again for talking back, like he often did whenever he was home, but then hit me twice more just because he could. Laughing about it now.
I forced myself backwards, the hallway was dim, the only light coming from the bedroom at the end of the walkway. I wondered if she was in there. If she could hear all of this. “Mum?” I called out, wailing almost. “Mum!”
Steven laughed harder at that. “She ain’t here. Even if she were, she’d be no help to you, you little tramp. Now get up!” He ordered and I felt the back of my hand brush against the wooden beam of the banister. “Up!”
I did as I was told, legs trembling before me. He struck me back down again, then ordered the same. “Up!”
I could hardly feel anything but the licking fire that flooded my veins, every inch of my body hurting. But I couldn’t let it show.
I stumbled to my feet, vision so blurred I ought to be concussed. He pinned me to the wall there, hands roaming, I whimpered and he only grinned, getting in my face.
“Pretty when you try, ain’t you?” He snarked. I gritted my teeth and thrashed about, spitting in his face when I couldn’t smash his head away with my own.
He worked his jaw for a moment, blinking once at me before another disgusting smirk replaced his thinly pressed lips.
“I could kill you, here and now. Make it hurt, do it nice and slow. No one would even notice. Would they? No one would be none the wiser. You hear me?” He hissed brutally into my ear, I was quivering now, whimpering as he drew closer and closer, pressing against me. “Yer mum would thank me, kiss my feet even, for having gotten rid of the tart she birthed. She cries, you know. All the time. Tells me she wishes it were you who died, and not your old man.”
I choked on a sob, thrashing again. He laughed joyfully.
“Is that it? Do you miss yer daddy, little girl?” He taunted, mouth pressing against the skin of my cheek now, breath hot as his fingers worked at the button of my shorts. “But he ain’t comin’ to help you, petal. No one is.”
I turned my face further away from him, as far as I possibly could. Lip trembling and arms falling slack. He chuckled, shaking his head at me and tutting, but his mistake was thinking I’d make this easy for him. He could go fuck himself.
As soon as he released one of my wrists to paw at the cut of my shorts, I shot my knee out, colliding with his lower half hard. He groaned in pain, fingers flexing against the jut of my wrist when I shoved him as hard as I could away with my free hand.
He twisted the arm he still held as he stumbled slightly, but I couldn’t react, not even to the sharp pain that flew up towards my elbow. I had to take the chance while I still had it, thrashing even more and grabbing blindly for the ancient ornament my mum had kept on the shelf nearby for years. I brought it down hard once my fingers wrapped around its metal, smashing it against the hand that still encased my arm. He shouted out and in his agony flew his uninjured arm back at me, knocking the side of the ornament I still gripped and sending its pointed top sailing towards my neck. It pierced the thin skin between my collar and shoulder blade.
I pulled it free thoughtlessly, gawking at the sight of it before he came flying towards me. On instinct I chucked the hefty ornament back his way, catching the side of his head when he attempted to duck away from it. I darted towards the bathroom in the same second, the closest room available, and slammed the door shut behind me. Fiddling with the lock, it slipped through my fingers three times before it finally latched.
I looked around the room for anything to protect myself with, shaking violently, but my only option was the plunger and the cabinet on the adjacent wall. But I wasn’t even sure that it could come away. My next idea was the window.
Steven banged at the door then, a flight of fury, anger creeping in from the tiny gap beneath it as he shouted at the top of his lungs. I was already crouched in the sink, heartbeat filling up my ears. I fumbled with the window’s latch, coating the white windowsill in red as I forced the tiny pane open as far as it’d go.
I glanced out helplessly, trying to actively ignore the harsh thumping coming from behind me. I was a whole story up and had nothing to catch me down below, not even a ledge or a pipe to help me with my descent.
I paused for a moment to try and think things through, but that was my mistake, the bathroom door behind me splintered under the full force of his weight and he all but jumped across the tiled floor to grab at me.
I didn’t even think about it, throwing myself out of the open window in my panic, but not quick enough it seemed because his hand wrapped itself halfway around my leg like a snake would its prey. I was practically dangling upside down out of the window now, my hands desperately clawing at the brickwork to find something to hang onto. Still kicking as he tried to pull me back inside.
I’d rather die, I thought in the hectic haze, or maybe I screamed it.
I heard her voice then. Her screaming out his name, my eyes shot up to see a flash of her hair above me in the bathroom. But it was in that moment that he chose to finally release me. That he finally let me go. And I fell. Dropped. Barely even feeling the ground as I splattered against it, face full of grass, hip colliding with the concrete patio.
She called out for me then. Said my name. It was the first time I’d heard her say it in weeks.
My vision begun to flash, coming in and out of focus in thick streaks, I dragged myself upwards. Pain radiated throughout the length of my body as I did, but I just kept on going. Knowing if I kept on going then this would be the last of it. It would all be over.
Struggling, fighting with myself to just keep on, to escape, I staggered down the garden path to pass through the side gate and out onto the sheltered drive. I clung to the wall there, using it as a crutch to aid me along.
I could still hear their shouts over the ringing, the incessant ringing that distracted me from most of the pain. I kept on pushing, forcing myself out onto the street now. Someone was coming after me, I’d heard the door rattle open but hadn’t dared look back, too focused on moving forward.
My name.
I heard her call my name over and over.
But somehow, by some miracle, I managed to break into a limping run. My lungs ached and I was gasping for air, but once I’d made it far enough, as far as I was capable, I felt my body drop against the curbed pavement. Head buried in the gravel road, hand clutching at my throbbing shoulder.
Next thing I knew there were lights, people. Sirens.
I kept on screaming.
“Don’t touch me! Please!” I sobbed, utterly distraught, “Don’t!”
They couldn’t touch me. I wouldn’t- they couldn’t. I wouldn’t let them.
So many voices flittered in and out of focus, attempts to talk me down, to help.
Everyone had gathered around to witness, it seemed, and I caved further into my shivering body, unable to focus on their whispers, the gasps, the looks. I didn’t know where I was. I was too scared to even ask. Too shocked to notice the familiar faces that littered the neighbourhood, looking down at me. Too terrified that he’d find me. That I’d be dragged back.
I sobbed harder. Eyes flicking to and fro. Trying to assess the situation, looking for any and all warning signs. An escape. But I couldn’t. Head too heavy to concentrate, my thoughts shutting down.
Then there was a scuffle off to the far side and I tensed at the shouting that pursued, someone nearby was ordering people to step back, to go home.
Home, I wanted so desperately to scoff. How could I go home?
“Hey! You can’t be here.” They repeated, their voice itching at my skin, tightening every single muscle in my body. “Move away. Step away now!”
“She’s my friend! Let me fucking through. Y/n! Y/n!”
Breathless, my head snapped up at the call of my name and through my hazy vision, I caught a glimpse of him. Him. How he’d known I was here, I had no idea, but he was there.
“George.” I sobbed openly, and that was the signal that seemed to allow him access.
He all but threw himself towards me and the woman crouched about a foot away called out a warning to him, but I was reaching out too. Desperate for that safety that’d been so easily ripped away from me.
I continued to sob, for who knows how long. He held me, tight. An anchor and a protector. He never let anyone get near. The sirens and flashing lights faded, and all I could hear was his voice. He sounded so lost. I wanted to apologise. I wanted him to hold me tighter.
“Come on, B. You need to get up now, alright? I need you to let them check you over. You won’t stop bleeding.”
He kept on repeating himself. Over and over. I couldn’t understand why. I was fine. Terrified but fine. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need to be touched. I didn’t want to be looked at.
I wanted to go home. But where the fuck was home?
It wasn’t back there. It wasn’t with him.
I cried harder.
“Birdie. Hey, Birdie, babe. Listen to me please. I’m here. I’m here and I’ve got you. Come on, we’re going to get into the ambulance, okay? Together. Just me and you.”
Me and you. “Me and you.” I repeated, his hand tightening a fraction in mine.
“That okay? Can you do that for me, love?”
I think I nodded, I couldn’t be sure. Uncertain of which way was up and which way was down. I leaned against his sturdy frame. “George, I lied.” I gasped out to him through my relentless spluttering, clawing at his chest.
He didn’t reply.
“I lied, G! I said I’d be fine.” I cracked, barely even aware of the words I was spewing to him. “Can you stay? Please can you stay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
He wrapped himself further around me, hand in my matted hair.
“Yeah, Birdie. I’ll stay. I’m not going nowhere.” He assured me, gentle as he lifted me up and into the ambulance. “I’ve got you.”
—
I’d always hated hospitals. Ever since my dad had died.
I hated the fact that I was here again, in the same one he’d left us in. Left me in.
I didn’t pay much attention to anything, only ever reacting when someone touched me without warning. Waking when a nurse would pop her head in or when someone would pass outside the door.
George was dozing in the chair beside my bed. I couldn’t remember calling him. I couldn’t remember much. I suppose I didn’t want to.
I ached. Everywhere.
But it was my mind that caused the most pain. Relentless in its pursuit to keep me under. To never let me forget.
I could still feel his hands. The groping, the press of his mouth. The breath on my ear.
I shivered, forcing back the tears and swallowing past the harsh lump.
My eyes fluttered again. Heavy now. Heavier than ever. The room faded, George’s faint breaths lulling my mind, sleep dragging me under.
——
“Fuck!” George hissed out, slamming his fist into the opposing wall to keep from chucking up whatever else his stomach had left to give. “Fuck.” He repeated, only with a lot less conviction, less drive.
She wouldn’t stop crying. She wouldn’t let them come near. She’d been so defenceless.
And where was I? His head screamed at him.
Where the hell was I?
His fist collided with the wall above the toilet again, face scrunched up tight to keep from crying too.
His breaths grew ragged, hands clenched hard enough to hurt, all whilst feeling sick to his stomach.
He startled.
A knock had sounded from just outside and he inhaled a sharp breath, waiting a moment, before he croaked out, “Yeah?”
He sounded so weak. Voice shaking.
“Um, there’s a call here for you, sir.” An unfamiliar voice spoke through the thick door, “Asking for a George Daniel.”
He swallowed thickly, the action doing nothing at all to dull the nausea that rolled through him. “Yeah.” He rasped in reply, pulling the toilet chain and moving towards the door as his insides flushed away.
He stepped out into the quiet corridor, to where she now laid asleep in the room opposite. George’s tired, albeit alert, gaze honed in on a nurse dressed in blue staring carefully back at him.
“They’ve phone three times now.” She told him, voice soft. “I kept them on the line, but I can’t hold them off any longer.”
George swallowed again and nodded to her, casting a long glance into the room beside them.
The nurse followed his eye, “She’s strong. They’ll let her go soon enough.”
He dipped his head and reluctantly let her lead him down towards the ward’s reception desk, to where a phone was sat off the hook. She gestured towards it with a nod and then left him to it.
It was late enough that there weren’t many people mulling about, let alone any visitors, he’d only been allowed to stay because she’d refused to be treated otherwise.
“Hello?” George answered, voice cracking, having picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.
“Fuck. George, that you, mate?”
Ross.
“Yeah, yeah it’s me.” He answered in a slow breath, “How’d you know to call?”
“It’s everywhere, mate. They say she got jumped, is it true? Is she alright?”
Jumped.
His mind lingered on that word. Staring off down the corridor. Lingered on the fact that people in their shitty fucking town were already gossiping about it. It made him hate himself a little bit more.
“She’s asleep.” Was all that he replied.
“Is she. Okay. George.” Ross demanded before the line went quiet once more, eerily George could still hear the other boy’s resolved glare from down the phone. It was a hard image not to picture.
“She’s,” He had to pause, force down the wetness in his tone, the tears that were coming. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Ross stressed and George had never heard him sound so serious. So grown up.
“They found her on the road just off of mine. Some woman.” He swallowed again, though the salvia was just pooling in his mouth at this point. “Y/n. She, she was screaming- sobbing. I only knew about it when I heard the sirens, the lights. I- I just had a feeling, Ross. I ran down, hoping, praying, but… Fuck.”
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, breaths laboured.
“George?” Ross called out to him, “You still there?”
“Yeah,” He rasped in reply, straining to keep his voice even as he wet the flesh of his lip. “She. She’s been checked over, they have her on a drip. No broken bones, just a few sprains. Said she jumped from a window.”
“She did what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what happened, but it weren’t good.” George muttered to himself, bloodshot eyes trained on an off-centred tile a way away. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. She- there was so much blood, Ross.”
“Blood? What the fuck are you talking about, what went on?” Ross hissed down the phone, George knew that he wasn’t really asking him.
“Stab wound to her shoulder.” He answered though, needing to get it all out, in fear he’d never be able to again. “Wasn’t very deep but they stitched it up. Along with the cut on her head.”
“Hang on- stabbed? George, what?”
“I don’t know, Ross!” He stressed, tears blurring his vision now as he thought back to her sat there on that roadside, beaten, alone, sobbing. “I don’t know, okay! I just- I don’t know what to do. What do I do? What do I say?”
A long pause.
“It’s my fault.” He whispered brokenly into the receiver, “I let her leave. I let her go home.” He admitted quietly, tear rolling down the skin of his cheek. “It’s my fault, Ross.”
“G… mate, you can’t say that. It’s- you didn’t know.”
He did. He knew. He’d known for a long time how bad it was. How bad it’d been. He knew. He knew. He knew.
“It’s all my fault.”
A piercing scream startled him then and he all but dropped the phone to dart in its direction. Three long strides and he was at her door, shouting at the idiot that’d come in to tamper with the IV beside her, his entire body trembling.
“Get out!” He demanded, hands shaking in fury, in fear. Before he looked towards her, hating that he saw that same terror reflected on her face. He rushed to her side and she grabbed aimlessly for his hand, he let her take it. Let her burrow her face in his chest as he wrapped an arm around her and settled on the edge of the bed. “I’m here.” He murmured into her hair, “I’m here, Birdie.”
——
No one should’ve known, no one had heard it from me.
But everyone did.
The police had been by. Twice.
So had Matty’s mum, she’d charged in this morning and started making demands. Not daring to touch me, to ask questions.
She sat with me whilst they ran more tests, George outside with the boys. They were quiet. All four of them. I would’ve felt humiliated, deep down I probably did, but I couldn’t feel much of anything with how horrified I was. With how my mind never let up, never let me rest.
He’d been arrested, an officer had told me. Not charged, not yet. Maybe not ever.
My mum had come by asking questions, someone had sent her away. I hadn’t seen her.
Next thing I knew I was being carted out of the hospital and into the back of Denise’s car with a pile of leaflets and a therapist to contact. No one said a word.
The police were outside of Matty’s when we arrived, I ignored them until my eyes found George hunched on the settee. He was still in the same trackie bottoms from before, I could tell because they were still littered with specs of my blood. The white t-shirt was gone though, replaced by one of Matty’s biggest hoodies, which still looked too small on him.
Denise and George stayed with me whilst I was questioned again, repeating the same answers again and again. The boys just outside. I told the officers most of what happened. Told them about the way he’d treated me, and mum. How she wasn’t to blame. How scared she’d been. Liar.
They spoke to Denise as though I wasn’t there afterwards and, in a way, I supposed I wasn’t. Not really. Mind off elsewhere.
George had let me hold his hand through the entire thing, fingers pale against mine. He’d kept looking at me, every few seconds, as though he was scared I was going to disappear or maybe just fall apart.
I kept thinking back to him. To the ambulance ride. To the whispers he’d gifted me, the promises he’d made. How I’d lied. Liar.
School had been and gone, my last day snatched from not just me, but all the boys too.
Denise let me have the guest room, running me a hot bath and laying out some clothes. I’d been thankful for the offer but wary, George had followed me up in silence and then planted himself on the floor outside the bathroom without a word.
He’d still been there when I’d let the door creak back open, lifted his head and given me a tired smile before we’d both puttered into the bedroom.
It was barely even afternoon before I crawled into the bed upstairs. Larger than I was used to, having been holed up on the same twin sized mattress I’d had since I was thirteen.
I was fearful that George would go home at that point, but he merely showered and borrowed some more clothes off of Matty. He dwarfed them but I smiled as he entered the room to silently set up the blow up mattress Denise had brought in.
Matty had stopped by to say goodnight, pain in his pretty brown eyes, but with a brave smile limning his lips. I’d let him squeeze my hand before he’d left, shutting the door quietly behind him. George took up space on the mattress below and I shuffled all the way to one end of the bed to reach my hand out towards him. He took it without a second thought and I fell asleep like that, with his hand tucked safely in mine, his thumb soothing careful circles into the back of my wrist.
—
“Are you sure, sweetheart? I mean, you’re barely even out of hospital.” Denise fussed over me as I waited for George to join us downstairs.
It was finally Sunday. Which meant we were leaving.
“I’m sure.” I told her quietly, she hid her frown well but I could still see it there, behind the lingering look she gave me.
“At least let me drop you both to the station, or pack you something to take with you.” Denise continued, I smiled when she cradled my cheek. “You’ve hardly eaten since I’ve seen you! Worries me.”
I knew it did. Matty had already brought me up both breakfast and lunch, and it was barely gone ten.
“I’ll take the lift if you really are offering.” I acquiesced and watched a smile bloom on her face.
“Right then, I’ll go grab my keys.”
She puttered off just before George shuffled his way down the stairs, Matty talking his ear off all the while. I smiled at the sight of them, at the way George rolled his tired eyes.
He’d hardly slept, same as me, but I still felt a twinge of guilt ripple through me when he caught my staring.
“Oh look! It’s the second half to the pair of traitors I once called friends.” Matty scoffed as he bounced off the third step and dropped down onto the floor, he turned his nose up at me and I rolled my eyes in return. Unfazed by his melodramatics.
“Don’t be jealous, Healy. You’ll always be my favourite.” I smirked at him, hoping it looked as genuine as it felt.
Matty grinned in turn whilst George settled the duffle he’d picked up from his yesterday by the front door, he strolled back over to join us.
“Hear that, G? I’m her favourite.” Matty boasted, sniffing with an overly pleased smile.
George wrapped an arm around my shoulder and, naturally, I leant into him. “Don’t think it matters, mate. You’ll still be stuck here, whilst we’re off in the city.”
Yeah. Matty now knew of our little secret.
It had all come out late last night, when I’d fought tooth and nail with George about the trip down south. I still wanted to go, more now than ever. But he’d had his reservations.
With a childish scowl, Matty made a face in retaliation and propped himself up against the banister bar. “Still can’t believe you lied to us. I mean, where’s your sense of camaraderie?”
I chuckled to myself, hiding the soft sound in the groove of George’s shoulder.
“I’m stuck here, all fucking summer long, with Hann and Ross… mum too! I can already picture it! The four of us down at the pub, just drowning our sorrows and sniffling into our pints. You can’t actually leave me here with them!”
When I glanced back up Matty had seemingly decided to drop to his knees to beg for an invitation, hands clasped before him, that was also the same moment Denise decided to pop back in.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Matthew. What in heavens are you up to now?” She scolded with a half-hearted huff, tutting as she shook her head at her eldest son.
“I’m making a plea, mum.” Matty told her in all seriousness, barely sparing her a glance as she passed by.
“For goodness sake.” Denise sighed, unable to do much else, which was almost always a given with anything Matty related. “Get up off the floor and make yourself useful, would you? I’ve got the hoover plugged in, be a dear and run over the rugs for me.”
Matty’s hands fell limply to his sides just as his mouth dropped in disbelief. He glanced back towards George and I. “You see what kind of hell you’re leaving me in? What teenage boy hoovers??”
“Mine!” Denise told him simply, poking at his shoulder to get him to stand with smile, “Now, run along. I’ve got to drop these two off before their train leaves, haven’t I?”
George and I took that as our queue to start grabbing at our things, him swiping up the small suitcase Denise had taken from mine yesterday before I had the chance. I flattened my expression, showing my displeasure.
“Mum.” Matty all but whined, neither one of them paying much attention to us now. “Can’t I just come? You know, see my mates off and all.”
Denise wasn’t a woman to be bargained with. “No, you’ll see them soon enough. Now, if you’d like to make your goodbyes while I start the car then have at.”
I bit back the giggle that wanted to escape me upon seeing Matty’s dejected face, whilst Denise double checked for her car keys and purse then slid out the front door yelling, “Five minutes!”
“You make it sound like I’d been sentenced to death, woman!” Matty shouted out after her and his mum’s reply was what broke the dam, letting a flood of muffled laughter escape me. “Hoover and you might just live to tell the tale, Matthew!”
Matty grumbled to himself, shaking his head before he peered back over at us with his hands on his hips, looking like a little old lady.
“So, you know what happened here then if I’m missing when you two get back.” He sighed, as though he’d already gone and accepted his fate. “Tell the coppers it was her, yeah? And have a party at my funeral, no fuckin’ tears or nothin’ either. Oh, and I want my coffin a bright pink, the flowers can-”
“Matt.” George spoke with an amused chuckle, cutting into Matty’s longwinded rant. He opened his arm out wide and snorted when the curly haired freak catapulted himself across the hall at him.
“Gonna miss you lot.” Matty mumbled into George’s shoulder before he pulled away and stepped towards me, a little warily. I moved over to him, silently assuring him that I wanted a good cuddle too. He grinned down at me and I felt him press a gentle peck to the top of my head when he’d wrapped me up in his arms. “Make sure you bring me something back, yeah? Something sick.”
I smiled fondly as we parted, squeezing his fingers briefly. “Promise.”
Matty’s gaze trailed between the two of us then and a sly smirk begun to overwhelm his features. “And I want all the details about this-” he waved a hand between us, “when you get back.”
The fucker. Way to make things awkward, I thought.
I honestly did go to correct him, to tell him that nothing had happened between George and I. But G beat me to it.
Well, not really, because he didn’t deny anything of the sort, just laughed as he treaded closer to the door. “Bye, Matty.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Matty called out after us, and I chuckled as I followed George out.
Always one to make a scene though, Matty stood and waved us off from the front step of the house once we’d both settled in the car and Denise had just begun to pull away.
His mum only sighed.
—
I shifted again for what felt like the umpteenth time.
I was uncomfortable. Incredibly so, enough that I was quickly beginning to regret having been so stubborn about not postponing this entire trip when the offer had been there.
“You alright?” George asked from where he sat across the table from me, his hands toying with a ticket.
We were on the train now, the journey just under three hours. But we weren’t even a quarter of the way through yet and I was already dreading the rest of it.
I nodded in reply, still shuffling about. “Just can’t get comfortable.”
My body ached, my head and spine were bruised to bits, but it was just my hip that wouldn’t allow me to settle in my seat. The doctors reckoned I’d sprained it falling out that upstairs window, but they couldn’t do anything for the cramping I kept feeling other than offer me a prescription, which had just been an over-the-counter pain relief.
Tough fucking luck, hey?
“Here.” George motioned to me. I watched him jump up from the seat he’d fallen into when we’d first boarded and then jerk his head down at it.
I frowned slightly but stood carefully before rounding the tiny table which had separated us, observing closely as he rolled up his hoodie and bundled it against the car’s window. He ushered me in afterwards and I went, letting him take the seat beside me so that he could pull my legs up to lay across his lap.
“Better?” He questioned, a hand wrapped loosely around my ankle now.
I smiled and gifted him a grateful nod. It’d helped a ton actually.
“Good.” He replied, then pulled out a tiny notebook from the duffle he’d brought with him, “‘Cause now there’ll be no excuses when I beat you in hangman.”
I laughed at that. “Oh, you’re on.”
—
George’s quiet laughter only agitated me further as I mumbled to myself about ‘fucking trains’ and ‘toffy twats who didn’t know when to shut the fuck up’ as we manoeuvred our way through the hectic crowds of Kings Cross Station.
We’d spent the last half of our journey surrounded by a bunch of rowdy university lads, who were obviously on their way back home. But listen, because I’m the very last person to have a bitch and a moan about people just enjoying themselves or having fun- even when it inconvenienced me, yeah? But these fucking ignorant twats had really pushed my limit.
I mean, who the fuck starts a loud debate over their fucking political crushes? And then go on to boast to one another about where they’d be spending their summers whilst simultaneously mocking anyone who holidayed in ‘the isles’ or didn’t at all.
I’d sent a wide eyed glance at George when they’d first started up and my disbelieving frown had quickly grown into me just biting my tongue to keep from ripping them each a new one when they’d started snickering at the rest of us. At the tiny family down the far end of the car, with its single mother and her chocolate covered toddler who was sporting an upset frown. At the elderly bloke cooped up in the far corner, who kept nervously jumping whenever the train rattled too hard against the tracks. Even at George and I. Because of my fucked up face and George’s nonplussed reaction.
George’s calming hand had been the only thing to keep me stated. Otherwise they never would’ve made it to the station.
Should count themselves lucky.
“Don’t laugh, George. I hate people like that.” I grunted out as I rubbed at my hip again, thankful that I hadn’t fought him when he’d taken my suitcase. “Looking down on others, acting like their shit don’t stink the same.”
George visibly fought not to snort outright at that and I huffed.
“Keep on, Daniel, and you’ll be hearing a lot worse.” I told him pointedly, but smiled politely at the ticket officer as we passed through the barriers.
“Don’t doubt it.” George replied, hiking his duffle up higher over his shoulder. “But B, you’ve got to learn not to let people like that affect you. Otherwise I’d be having to fight off every idiot that looked at you funny.”
“I can fight my own battles, thank you.” I retorted primly.
George huffed out a chuckle. “I know that much, but no one’s gonna hurt you again with me around.”
My gaze focused on the buzzing swarm ahead, at the giant boards hanging high above us, anything but him. “I thought we weren’t talking about it.” I murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and wincing when I forgot about the stitches in my shoulder.
I heard him sigh and said nothing more on the topic.
We’d just about made it to the taxi rank, where Aunt Del had said she’d be waiting for us yesterday, when George spoke up again. “I’m gonna grab some deodorant and shit from the pharmacy over there- forgot to pack it in with the rest. You want anything?”
I watched as he settled our bags down beside a bench and then jerk his head over towards a Boots nearby. I shrugged, “Maybe a drink. If you don’t mind?”
George flashed me a smile, waving off the second part of my comment. “Diet Coke, yeah?”
I nodded, flashing him an overdue smile, “You know me so well.”
He shook his head lightly, lips still upturned as he headed in the other direction. I sighed whilst slumping onto the bench.
I’d been in London five minutes and already I felt overwhelmed. The station was hectic, even on a Sunday! There were people everywhere, lights and signs adorned every possible space, and there was never a lulling moment of peace. Everyone was just go, go, go.
Saying that, it was possibly the best place I’d ever people watched. There were all sorts of personalities down here. I mean, it wasn’t everyday you spotted a 6ft woman with a mohawk the length of a tennis racket walking through the streets of Wilmslow. Or an old hippy dressed in a black bin bag, waving a guitar.
It was pretty incredible. And I took the time to search for all the anomalies littered amongst the suits and denim jeans, a game of Where's Wally?. I much preferred their eccentricity.
“Alright, they were out of the stuff I usually get so I got this instead, smelt nice enough though.” I glanced up at the sound of George’s voice and spotted him making his way back to me whilst peering down at the deodorant can he held in his hand. My drink was tucked up under his left arm and he had a carrier bag dangling from his wrist. “What d’you think?” He asked when he reached the bench, holding the can out towards me. I sniffed at the scent whilst he settled the drink he’d purchased beside me and quickly tucked the bag into his duffle.
“I like it.” I told him honestly, glancing down at the label. “It’s different.”
“That good or bad?” He chuckled in reply and I smiled.
“Good. You’ll pull any one you fancy now that you’ve got something to cover that awful smell that often follows you about.”
His eyes wrinkled as he pulled a face in retaliation, “Hilarious, you. Why’d I ever let you talk me into coming again?”
I chuckled to myself, grinning up at him when he moved in closer to swipe the deodorant from my grasp. “‘Cause you’d be lost without me- dead bored too.”
He hummed, as though mulling it all over. Then leaned down towards me, nose almost touching mine as his face broke into a smile. “Sounds about right.”
I wanted to crane my neck up in that moment, let my lips brush against his. It was all I wanted in truth. But I didn’t dare. Too terrified of how he’d react. If every lie I’d heard ever told about me turned out to be true. If I was just as worthless as their words painted me to be.
“Yeah. It does, don’t it?”
George’s grin was large but still soft somehow, and his brown eyes danced between my own whilst the station continued to buzz around us. He hummed again, rocking on his feet, edging ever so closer.
Smash!
We both jolted apart at the sudden commotion, heads snapping up and over towards the loud bang. We both snorted at the same time, having spotted the culprit.
“They’re a fucking whole different breed down here.” George laughed lowly, shaking his head at a hefty looking pigeon that had seemingly taken the opportunity to try and nab a sandwich from out of an older woman’s hand- only it’d flown headfirst into a shop’s swinging sign.
I could only agree with his statement before I pivoted slightly, pausing only when I spotted another older woman waving her arms about wildly just outside the station doors. My jaw dropped for a second before I found myself chuckling at the sight, nudging George’s side to grab his attention too. He only raised his brows at the mad cow dressed in orange dungarees and a striped tee who was so obviously waving at us.
“I reckon everything down here’s different, G.” I snorted before I was waving back at my Aunt just as eagerly, already gathering up our stuff.
“No shit.” Is all I heard George say in return.
…
“Oh my Christ, ain’t you just grown so big!” Was the first thing Aunt Del said after she’d sprinted over to wrap me up in a long-overdue hug. “My, I swear you look like the double of me when I was your age.” She breathed out, her bright red lips matching her cherry coloured hair, gentle green eyes gazing down at me.
“Hi to you too, Aunt Del.” I chuckled, smiling back at her. She hadn’t changed at all from the day I remembered her, just as bubbly and as lovable as ever.
“Oh psh, none of that hello nonsense!” She retorted, blowing out a willowy breath as she waved a hand between us both. “I’m too excited! Have been ever since your Nan mentioned the visit. I can’t believe how long it’s been, doll!”
“I know.” I said in quiet agreement, my hand finding hers just before I shuffled over to reveal the tall teenage boy stood not too far behind me. “Oh Aunt Del, this is my friend, George. G, this is my Auntie Delany.”
Aunt Del’s eyes brightened as she took in all George had to offer, grinning a wry little smile before she squeezed my hand tightly. “Your Nana mentioned you were bringing a friend…” She let slip and then nodded her head for George to come closer, “But she never said he’d be a looker. How’re you, love? The train treat you alright?”
I gave a silent snort at the wobbly expression George’s face pulled itself into when my aunt tugged him into a hug as well. He gifted me a bewildered glance from over her shoulder and I shrugged, attempting to bite back my mad smile. He knew it was there though, I could tell from the brief scowl he sent me before they were pulling apart.
“Tall, handsome… you smart as well, darlin’? Or are you only a pretty face?” Aunt Del pondered as she stepped back and tilted her head up at him.
“Del.” I warned, but George’s mouth just quirked upwards ever so slightly.
“Smart enough to know when to use the pretty face to my advantage.” He quipped back easily, and I was relieved to hear Del’s sweet laugh.
“Oh, I like this one, Y/n.” She whispered theatrically, glancing over her shoulder at me before another flood of people escaped the station and she started ushering us away. “Come on now, kiddos. Parked the car over here, din’t I?”
My forehead pinched in concern, “In a taxi rank?”
“Well, where else?” Del laughed, dragging my suitcase along ahead of us while George shot me another bewildered look.
I could only assume that we’d be loaded with a hefty fucking fine.
But before I could voice that, or at least allude to it, Aunt Del had already pulled out a chain of gangly keys on an old piece of string and wandered over to a pink coloured cab.
I blinked at the sight of it. Del caught the look because she was grinning over at me from where she’d just placed my suitcase in the boot. “Good old Hewson here always gets a few heads turning, don’t you, beaut?” Aunt Del said as she patted the cab’s side, I was still taking it all in.
“Sorry, Hewson?” I questioned as she motioned to George to throw his duffle in the back too, “You named your car Hewson?”
But before Aunt Del could answer me, George cut in. He had his thinking face on.
“Hewson as in Bono?” He wondered aloud and Del spun right around to grin at him, he shut the boot for her.
“Bingo. I knew I had a good feeling about you!” Aunt Del exclaimed with a finger extended towards the chuckling teenager. She turned back to me, shaking her head in mock disappointment, “I thought for sure you’d get it, dove.”
With a wry grin I could only shrug my shoulder at her, “Sorry to disappoint, Aunt Del, but G here is the music expert between us.”
Del’s smile only appeared to widen as she shot around to the drivers side door, “Well have I got a playlist in here for you then! Only the greats, mind. So you’d best have brushed up on your seventies trivia.”
George all but beamed as he followed her over and opened up the backdoor for me, very much in his element now. I slid into the cab first, smiling at the leopard print seats and sequinned roof, then G swiftly followed.
“Oh, a gentleman too, is he?” Aunt Del cooed from the front where a pair of fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror, her hands gripping at the neon coloured wheel. “You’ve hit the jackpot with this one.” She winked at me and I looked away to hide my flush. “So my Georgie-pie, you get on alright with The Jam?”
George’s hand found my knee as he leant forward in his seat to grin alongside my aunt, the pair of them chatting away whilst she jolted into reverse and out of the bay. I gripped at the door’s handle to keep from being thrown about when we took off down Pancras Road, Town Called Malice blasting out over the noise of the noisy city.
…
My cheeks had begun to hurt from how hard I’d been smiling throughout the entire ride down to the simple terraced house my grandparents owned in Bethnal Green. From what I could recall, it’d been the house my grandfather had grown up in, he’d only inherited it after the Second World War when his own mother had passed away from fever, his father having died earlier on whilst stationed at the frontline. He’d raised both of his kids there, my dad and Aunt Del, after his stoop in prison, before they’d both grown up and he’d eventually passed on as well. Leaving only my Nan and Delaney left.
It wasn’t a very busy street, all the houses old and built right beside the other, but it was nice, pretty even. A vast change in pace to the busy streets of the city we’d driven through on the way over.
Del was still talking a mile a minute when she pulled up into a marked bay, only narrowly avoiding hitting the curb whilst an old Grateful Dead tune continued to blare through the speakers. George hopped out first, slipping around to my side and opening the door for me so that he could help ease me out as well, his hand stayed in mine even as we moved to join Aunt Del by the boot.
“Here’re.” Del said, divvying up the luggage between George and herself. I sighed, but it fell into more of an unhappy groan when I reached up to shut the back door of the car only to have George beat me to it.
“I haven’t lost all capability.” I muttered to him whilst Aunt Del locked up the cab and took off down the pavement, excited to get us inside.
George’s fingers linked between mine and he tugged me closer, his duffle back on his shoulder. “I know that,” He murmured into my ear, breath tickling the skin of my neck, “But it makes me feel useful, yeah?”
I sighed again, only softer this time around, as I slumped into his embrace, letting him have this one thing. At least for a short while. I knew that soon enough it’d start to drive me mad.
“You two lovebirds comin’ or am I gonna have to stand here all day?” Del mocked from where she was now rocking back and forth at the top of a set of high steps, stood in front of an indistinct door.
I shot her a sharp look which she only grinned to, before George and I ascended the short staircase too. Del already had her gangly keys back out again and we watched on as she shoved a Yale cut key into the top lock, shouting out a warning as she tumbled on through it, “Mum, I’ve brought back Northerners!”
I giggled to myself as I followed in after her, eyes racking over everything that they possibly could. We’d entered into a long narrow hallway where an old cast iron radiator still stood atop a mosaic tiled floor. The walls here had been painted a softened white and victorian blue, the blue sat beneath a moulding halfway up and spilled out onto the staircase that’d been fitted with a warm beige runner. Photo frames littered the place, diving beneath a carved ceiling arch and around a few brass fixtures. It was beautiful, homey.
George shut the heavy wooden door quietly behind us and I heard a shuffle sound farther up ahead. Del gestured us further inside, dropping our luggage at the foot of the stairs before wandering down the walkway. We followed silently, both George and I feeling the nerves edge in now, and we were quite surprised to shuffle into an open kitchen and spot a petite looking woman relaxed in an dining chair, cigarette in one hand and a TV Times in the other. She glanced up once we’d entered and the sight of her had my heart climbing to my throat, her toothy smile reminded me a lot of the pictures I'd seen of my dad.
“Well, ain’t this lovely?” My Nana chirped, already moving to stub out the remnants of her fag in a glass ashtray before standing. George released my hand so I could go meet her, legs trembling slightly. “My little dove, how you’ve grown, hey? All big now. Too tall.” She grinned at me as I dipped down a tad to bury my face into her neck.
“Hey, Nana.” I whispered, my smile shaky as she ran a soothing hand over the length of my back.
When she pulled away she pressed a thin, ring clad hand to my cheek, eyes taking me in. “You’re alright, darlin’. Looking so beautiful too. Oh, how I’ve missed ya.”
I chuckled wetly, but didn’t let the shimmering tears that’d begun to well fall, “Missed you too.” More than she knew. “It feels so mad to be here, I remember bits and pieces but not much.”
“Ah the last time you were ‘ere, ought to’ve been when you were about six. You made a right old mess of this kitchen. Treckin’ in mud and kickin’ your feet. My God, your dad had gone mad- couldnt help his grin though when you’d started singin’ that tune he so loved. What was it again, my darlin’?”
“You Make My Pants Want to Get Up and Dance.” I answered her in a whispered chuckle, the song a vivid reminder of days we’d spent dancing around this very room.
Nana released a sweet laugh and turned to Del, “You remember, don’t you, Del? The pair of ‘em, prattling about the place.”
Aunt Del shared a conspiratorial grin with me, nodding from where she’d taken perch over by the fridge. “Oh yeah. That one Christmas mornin’, it was all that’d been on. Drove me bloody mental.”
“See?” Nana enforced, hand falling to my upper arm, “What I tell ya? Might be gettin’ on a bit but my mind’s still as quick as a whip.”
I smiled, but that was when she finally took note of the giant stood crowding her kitchen doorway. George wore a soft smile that only grew in nervousness when my nan’s gaze sought him out. “And this must be the famous friend!” She teased, already motioning him over. “Come on, love. I don’t bite.”
George blew out a small chuckle and walked over to join us, surprising me when he leaned down to wrap an arm around the petite woman. My Nana smiled proudly and gently squeezed George’s wrist when they pulled apart.
“It’s good to finally meet you.” George assured her, his tone quiet, warm.
“And you, sweetheart.” My Nana spoke, smiling up at him. “But my, ain’t you tall? Remind me a bit of my Charlie, you do. He was a giant too, always dwarfed me in size whenever he took my hand. Only ever saw his tie when we was dancin’, and din’t he just love to complain of a sore neck, bendin’ down to greet me whenever he came home from wherever he’d been.”
I giggled quietly to myself, watching the pair. Enamoured.
“Got those eyes of his too, kind but quick. Too smart for yer own good, ain’t ya sometimes? Trouble finds you.”
George’s eyes glanced over towards me at that and he could only agree. “She does.”
Both my Nana and Aunt Del laughed at that, catching on to his sentiment whilst I just tutted and shook my head. “You’re lucky to have me.”
“Ain’t he just.” Nana confirmed with a dip of her chin, her blue eyes twinkling now beneath the kitchen light. “A right pair you make. Reckon we’ll have a few more stories to tell once you leave.”
“You’ve gone and jinxed it now.” George chuckled teasingly, obviously settling in fine, “Only got yourself to blame.”
Nana clucked her tongue, eyes on Del whilst she motioned her head in G’s direction, “Funny, this one. You hearin’ this too, Del? Quite the joker we have.”
I could only grin and watch on as my seventy-three year old nan cajoled George into the chair beside hers. It quickly fell though when I heard how she was planning to spill a few stories from my childhood to him. And I couldn’t even stop her because Aunt Del was already dragging me back out of the kitchen, claiming she needed help picking up dinner from the local takeaway. George merely sent me a reassuring grin when I’d casted an alarmed glance back over my shoulder, and I felt the anxiety in me fall away.
—
It was a long while after dinner when George and I finally got the first bit of quiet since having left Manchester.
The four of us, being Nana, George, Aunt Del and I, had all camped out in the living-room shortly after Del and I had returned to the house with a couple bags of food- fish and chips actually, from this tiny little shop up on the main road that Del had raved about.
We’d all been more than hungry so we’d been quick settle down. The tele had been stuck straight on, the very same that’d been there a decade prior, and apparently Nana’s preference for game shows hadn’t changed either, so we’d all spaced out around it, not paying much attention to who was winning or losing. Just talking about the things you did with family.
Nana’s dog, Cyril, had plodded in from the upstairs landing as soon as he’d sniffed out the food. He was this big slobbering beast of a thing that I immediately fell in love with. A great bullmastiff with a red and fawn-coloured coat, who’d gone and plopped himself down on the tops of my feet. George had been taken with him too, cooing to him in the armchair opposite and pouting when the dog hardly spared him a glance. Both Nana and Del had chuckled, Aunt Del saying, “Cyril ain’t too fond of men- din’t give dad the time of day when he was home either. Only ever noticed him when he had a lead in his hand.” George had looked determined though.
When the plates had been cleared away, Cyril jumped up on the sofa between Nana and I, he’d sniffed at her leg before she’d shooed him off down my end, and he did as he was told, looking over at me with these big puppy-dog eyes. I’d let him curl up beside me, head in my lap, stroking the scruff of his neck as we continued to catch up, Nana asking after George and his life. She was set on getting to know him.
A couple hours had passed before the older woman had shuffled the pair of us on up the staircase when I’d started yawning though, and Aunt Del said that she’d let Cyril out into the garden before she took off home herself, promising to pop back round the very next day. George had helped tidy the living-room away as I’d said my goodbyes to her, catching Nana in the hallway once the door had closed.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but thank you.” I’d whispered to her in the quiet warmth of the evening light that’d fluttered in. She’d simply taken my hand and gifted me a soft smile in turn.
“You were always welcome here, sweetheart. Just needed you to see it.” Nana had replied, “And anyway, I should be the one thankin’ you. Ain’t had such a lovely time since it was all of us living here together. Feels nice havin’ the house full of people again. And that lad of yours is a real charmer, in’t he? Lovely, lovely boy.”
I’d gone to correct her, mouth halfway agape when she’d just chuckled and pointed a finger up at me. “None of that now. Only known him a couple of hours but I see the way he looks at you, my love.”
It was eerily similar to what Ross had said to me all those weeks before.
“He’s patient too. Bit like your grandfather there. And gentle, which is somethin’ that’s obviously needed when knockin’ about with you. ’Cause don’t think for one second I’ve not noticed the big black eye you’re sporting under that makeup of yours, or the face you pull each time you sit or stand up.”
I’d looked away from her aged eyes, so full of emotion, to hide my guilt. Nana had only grasped my chin though and steered my face back towards her, “But that’s for another time, alright darlin’? You need sleep- must’ve been mental bein’ on all those silly trains. I’ll tell you something now, I never could step on another after the war’d ended, too many reminders, you know?”
Too many reminders. Yeah, that was something I did know.
I’d only nodded silently at her though and the pair of us listened to the quiet murmur George had made when he’d tried once more to make friends with Cyril. Nana had chuckled and squeezed my chin between her fingers before George had stepped out into the hallway to join us, a little surprised to find us there. An apology had been on the tip of his tongue, obviously not having meant to interrupt, but Nana had swiftly cut him off, stating that she’d already made up the spare bed and laid out a few towels for us.
I’d given her cheek a gentle kiss in an unsaid thanks, still so beyond grateful, and George had followed, smiling to himself when he’d bent down for her and the older woman had whispered something in his ear. She’d shooed us on up after quickly after, patting George’s back just as Cyril trotted to stand beside her at the bottom of the stairs. Our light footsteps had trailed all the way up and then across the landing.
So as I’d been saying, the quiet that’d settled upstairs in the far bedroom was something of a reprieve. As much as I’d loved spending time with Nana, Aunt Del, and Cyril too, it was nice to shut the door on all the noise and madness and take a second to just breathe.
The spare bedroom sat at the very front of the house, it looked out onto the street below and homed sash-windows which were currently being illuminated by the evening sun shining through. The floor was made of hardwood, glossy and dark in comparison to the lighter walls that had been panelled with pretty mouldings. A fireplace sat at one end too, directly opposite the bed, it was old, one I’d have to ask Nana about using, but had a delicate vase of lilies sat atop it as well as a brass framed mirror.
My eyes flittered about the space, taking in the ancient radio on the windowsill with its lengthy aerial, the large chest sat at the foot of the bed, as well as the wearing guitar propped up against the wall in the corner. George’s eye caught on that too and he wandered over to it first.
“Belonged to my dad.” I told him as I tiptoed over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat there as my gaze continued to roam. “It was his room, shared it with Del when they were kids but then she took over the downstairs den when she’d hit fourteen. Den’s gone now, think they knocked it through to make more room for the kitchen’s renovation after she moved out.”
George hummed and put the instrument back in its place before spinning on his heel, his gaze trailing between me and the bed.
“You still alright to share?” I asked him, wondering if perhaps he was thinking better of it now. “I could set up the sofa if not.”
Shaking his head, George must’ve shaken off whatever other emotion that’d made him pause because he padded over to join me. “Nah, it’ll be fine.”
His voice was low and as he flopped down onto the mattress beside me I could only smile, thankful for the fact that he hadn’t changed his mind.
“Good.” I responded, grinning over at his slumped form sprawled out on the crisp white sheets, “‘Cause if you can spoon with Matty then you should be alright spending a couple nights shacked up with me.”
George snorted, hands resting on his chest, eyes turned towards the ceiling. “That’s different. We fell asleep on the settee, and he’s a cuddler.”
Still amused by the picture my mind conjured up, I hummed. “And to think you two once hated each other.”
“Wouldn’t say hate. Bit strong there, B.”
I rolled my eyes before glancing down at the spot beside him, silently deliberating. George must’ve noticed because he took my hand in his and tugged me down, laughing when I yelped in surprise.
We stayed there for a short while in silence, his fingers grazing gently at my arm, both of us listening to the heavy paws of Cyril on the stairs and the cars that passed by outside.
He inhaled a little deeper, “How you feeling then?”
I turned my head against the sheets to peer up at him. “Being here?” I questioned him and he nodded, “I feel good. Tired, but good. Happy. Didn’t realise home could feel like this, you know?”
George blew out a breath and scooted a little closer, close enough to drape an arm across the space above my head and come to rest on his side. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
I knew what he meant. He wanted to talk about that night.
I raised my good shoulder in a shrug. “Not much to say. I hope he rots in a cell for a bit though, ‘cause we both know they’ll let him back out soon enough.”
George’s jaw tightened at my words but his eyes stayed soft, locked on me. “Well I hope he finds a decent cliff and takes a dive off it.”
I shot him a look. “G..”
He shrugged, uncaring, but the gentle touch of his fingers tangling themselves into my hair was anything but. “Ain’t gonna lie to you, Birdie. He deserves worse. I-” His eyes slipped closed as he took a breath to calm himself, “Look, I can’t take back what happened. Turn back time and all that just to erase it all. But I can make sure that it never happens again.”
“You can’t be sure though, George. That’s not how life works.” I murmured into the quiet that followed his solemn assurance.
“Well it’s how it’s gonna have to work.” Was all that he replied to me. Ever so stubborn.
His eyes were still closed, that familiar warmth of his sheltered behind fluttering lids, I reached out to trail my fingers across them and then down the bridge of his nose. “This okay?”
He hummed sweetly, mouth twitching when my fingertips traced its curve. He was always so close, only ever a breath away, but even now it felt like we were toeing at invisible lines, both of us too afraid to make that jump.
“I like your nan.” He told me then and I huffed out a small chuckle at the unexpected revelation. “Del too.” He added.
“I’m glad.” I replied with a soft smile of my own, staring down at him even as he blinked his eyes back open. They roamed the entirety of my face, taking in every detail.
“They remind me of you.”
My smile broadened, pleased to hear that. “Oh yeah?”
George hummed a low confirmation. “You want to know what your Nana to me said as we were headin’ up?”
My eyes flickered up to meet his whilst I trailed over a constellation of freckles on his cheek. “What?”
He chuckled deeply, grin wrinkling his nose. “She said, run her a bath, will you? And keep the noise down if you ever do get the balls to make a move.”
A sharp laugh escaped me, eyes wide and alive. “I swear, she’s an actual menace.”
George smirked lazily, “Right though.”
I blinked, all humour suddenly lost as I stared back at him.
“Right about what?” I asked him quietly, heart in my throat.
His hand stilled in my hair and he knocked his forehead against my own, our noses brushed just above the sheets and he gifted me the sweetest smile. “This.” He whispered back, right before he titled his head and grazed his lips against mine.
—
I’d been on a high all morning. Having woken up in George’s arms under a stream of sunlight.
There’d been a light scuffle out in the hallway, probably Nana getting up to let Cyril out, and I’d laid there listening to the gentle song of the birds outside as well as George’s quiet breathing. He looked different in this light, lashes casting dark shadows across his apples of his cheeks and lips poutier than I’d ever seen them. It’d been struggle not to reach out.
Instead, I’d reluctantly slipped from his grasp when the urge to use the loo became too much to bare and decided to finally have that bath Nana had suggested last night whilst I waited for him to wake.
Yesterday had honestly been everything I’d been waiting for. With George I just felt so safe, so… loved. Was that a strange way to feel? Maybe it was. But I didn’t care, I thought about it though as I let the steam from the water engulf me, the heat of it doing wonders for my aching bones.
We hadn’t gone any further than kissing. Though if he had tried to cop a feel I wouldn’t of denied him. He was rather sweet about the whole thing actually and we’d spent the time afterwards shooting each other coy smiles as we got ready for bed.
I pulled myself up out of the tub once my hands had begun to wrinkle, hating the feel of it. I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and combed through my hair once my feet had dampened the bath mat, but groaned when I realised I’d forgotten to grab some clothes beforehand.
Wiggling my jaw as I clasped my bottom lip between my forefinger and thumb, I contemplated just heading back out into the bedroom. George was probably still asleep and I could simply roll my suitcase back in here without waking him.
Yeah, that sounded like the best option.
So I took a deep breath as I silently slipped out of the bathroom and across the landing into the shared room. I was in for the shock of my life though when I spotted George sat up in bed, duvet pooled around his hips as he rubbed tiredly at his eye. His head turned towards me when he heard the handle lift and he stilled in his movements.
I must’ve looked a right picture, frozen in the doorway with my gob halfway to the floor, and I watched a slow but obvious smirk creep across George’s features as he dropped his arm to get a good old look at me.
I narrowed my eyes in retort and feigned as much confidence as I possibly could with his eyes stuck on me, before I made my way over to where my suitcase was sat. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”
George laughed, it was a gruff and low sound, littered with sleep. “Just wonderin’ if I’m still dreamin’- nice sight to wake up to ’s all.”
I scoffed out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, “Oh yeah, black eyes get you going, do they?”
“On you? Anything would.”
I flushed at his comment and dropped down to hide it as I worked my way through the pile of clothes I had in my case, gripping the top of my towel.
“Who are you and what have you done with George?” I tossed the question over my shoulder, still feeling his eyes on me. “‘Cause the real George would never act this shameless.”
I could feel his shrug ripple throughout the room. “Teenage boy. Besides, you know I’m the real deal ‘cause when have I ever lied to you?”
My tongue was in my cheek as I shifted through a few tops, he wasn’t wrong there. “I just forgot to grab some clothes before I jumped in the bath. Thought you’d still be asleep.”
“Woke up just before you came in.”
I hummed. Talk about timing.
“You sleep alright?” He asked and I could hear him shuffling about now behind me. I wanted to take a peek, see what he was up to, but focused on grabbing what I needed instead.
What had he asked again? Oh, “Um, yeah actually.” Best one I’d had in weeks, if we were being painfully honest. “You?”
“Knackered after that journey yesterday but I stayed up a bit after you passed out.” George replied and I jumped ever so slightly when I felt him drape his arms over my shoulders, chin resting against the side of my head. “You look angelic even when you snore.”
I elbowed him lightly and shook my head. “I don’t snore, you knob.”
“Oh but you do.” George chuckled roughly, “Sounds a bit like this.”
He then proceeded to make horrible snoring sounds in my ear, making me cringe and forcing me to wiggle out of his grasp to escape them. “Ah don’t do that! It makes me feel all bleh.” I shivered to exaggerate the feeling whilst he simply laughed.
“What?” He exclaimed teasingly, “That’s what I had to deal with, all night!”
I chucked the top I’d been holding at him. “Idiot. And to think I let you kiss me.”
A beat passed between us and I feared I’d fucked things by bringing it up. I casted a nervous glance at him when I went to try and retrieve a hoodie or something like it.
“Surprised you broke first. Was betting that I’d have to.” George told me, wearing a lopsided grin, he walked over to the duffle that was laid open by the dresser and grabbed at a grey sweatshirt. “Here’re have this.”
I glanced down at it, then back up at his face. I took it carefully, “Thanks.”
He hummed and moved back towards the duffle to find some clothes of his own to wear.
I was then reminded of what he’d just said, “Hang on, you made a bet with yourself?”
George shot me a toothy grin, “‘You don’t do that?”
I shrugged, unsure. Hadn’t really thought about it. “So, we’re still okay then? You know-”
“After you kissed me?” He teased and I scowled.
“After you kissed me, you mean.”
“Whatever you say, Birdie. But I ‘spose we’ll never truly know.” He was being a twat.
“You’re being a twat.” I told him rightly, but unable to help my light chuckle, “You know you kissed me first.”
He hummed, unconvinced.
“G!” I complained but he merely laughed before waving me off.
“Go get changed, will you?”
“Why?” I challenged him, a bundle of clothes tucked up under my arm. “I’m rather alright as I am, thanks.”
“‘Cause you’re driving me half mad stood there like that.” He quipped back with a hand extended out towards me, “Besides, your nan will come looking if neither one of us turns up to breakfast.”
I grinned, “Reckon I’m that easy do you, Georgie?”
He paused and stopped his riffling to meet my gaze head-on. “No, I just know that if you’d let me I’d spend as long as I could admiring every part of you.”
Pursing my lips to fight my smile, I said, “Nana was right about another thing.”
George titled his head at me, sporting a pleased grin. “And what would that be?”
“You, George Daniel, are a right charmer.”
He snorted with a roll of his eyes then turned back to his duffle. “You love it.” He snarked back, sounding sure.
And he had every right to be, because that was one of the many things I loved about him.
Part Twenty-five>
#the 1975#george daniel#george daniel the 1975#george daniel fic#george 1975#george daniel x reader#matty#matty healy#george daniel x you#1975#best friend matty#the 1975 band#fic#adam hann#ross macdonald#carly holt#1975 band#matty 1975#series#work#exes to lovers#y/n#reader#multi part fic#x you#x reader#angst#fluff#humour#drama
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Hello again, monsieur!
Gave you an ask once upon a time, but I think tumblr thought it was a snack and swallowed it whole— anyways—
I’m primarily a malleus fan (love a good ole dragon boy) and for my own sanity’s sake I’ve been avoiding the angst train that is chapter 7 but holy heckk I didn’t expect to get woo’ed by Prince Stefan like??? He’s such a sweetheart??? What’s his classification?? A himbo?? A cinnamon roll??
I’ll love him either way— thank you for your wonderful OC oh dearest, OP! He’s one lovely lad— and thank you so much for the delicioul brain food and event (even though I came a bit late to it) I’m enjoying the hell out of these asks
-🍄
I do have a habit of absolutely breaking this site beyond repair, so I wouldn't be surprised if I did something that led to such an Ask Eating. But!
And yes I am genuinely always happy yet surprised how many people in a fandom centered around loving villains met this stupidly sweet man and went "that, I want that." But oof yeah he's always hard to describe because like, dude def has some strong Himbo Energy. But he does have quite the brain in that head of his, and he's a bit more cunning and sly than your average, everyday golden retriever boi. So alas. He remains a mystery.
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it's 3am and i woke up with the urge to write a maguire prompt ? out of all players. so me.
this is so good somehow. hands. he must feel so jealous of jude for all his success, maybe he doesn't. maybe he's just proud. maybe he wishes he could be seeing the world through jude's eyes just for a day so he'd remember what it feels like to be appreciated as a player, not abused. to be back in form and hear people praise him. for it to be 2018 again, scoring goals with the national team, the criticism from fans being mostly just banter and not straight up abuse.
the lads at england camp would not exclude him ever, always making sure that he feels at home and he belongs. with kieran and john not being around this time, kyle mostly hanging with other players and pickford being on his phone with the pregnant missus all the time, harry couldn't find the connection he usually would, which, on top of everything else, resulted in his heart feeling even heavier, training coming onto him tougher. he needed the challenge but still felt out of place.
but there was a young player with a bright future ahead he'd basically watch grow up and evolve into the immense talent he is now - jude bellingham. jude was beautiful, too. admired by hundreds of thousands. he'd sometimes stalk his socials, jealousy creeping up him, his beautiful face sending the wrong signals to his brain. locking himself in bathroom of his house letting his hand do the rest. he craves jude's lips on his body, his eyes admiring his physique, telling him how good he looks and how his body is shaped by gods. was that selfish? was HE selfish? he'd often feel like he wasn't worth of admiration, not for his abilities nor his personality, nor his body. people close to him telling him otherwise, but he cannot always block out the negativity. trying not to let it consume him, but it's hard. now back at camp, seeing jude face to face made him a little nervous but he was good at hiding that. jude was not around during the june camp and he had kieran and john around to distract himself. now jude was back and john and kieran weren't - evidently he'd have a lot more wanks in the bathrooms and his own room. his sheets were covered in come by now, he felt disgusting and filthy but whenever he saw jude the urge, the heat was there. not that he would ever approach him in that way, not let his thoughts get the best of him, making an even bigger fool of himself. he felt pathetic. eventually he'd manage to mask enough to be playful around jude when training, not letting anyone know how he felt about the boy. how much he admired him both physically as well as his strength and willpower. his drive. his energy. sometimes he'd come having just jude's achievements in mind, not even his face, his hands or abs.
real madrid. one of the biggest clubs. harry was getting old - manchester united. he's not appreciated at his own club any longer, his team mates backing him, the gaffer not so much. he wants to stay and prove himself, conflicts and hardship shaping his day. west ham? perhaps. but it would never be real madrid, he'd never score hattricks. not that this was his position or job, but he wishes he could've been what jude was right now. knowing he'll never be that no matter what. at night he cried sometimes, thinking all his england mates knew, making him feel even more ashamed and useless. getting frequent england callups still boosted his confidence just enough not to give up on his career entirely, withdrawing from all the abuse and criticism. but giving up would feel just as bad and would ultimately just be viewed as defeat by the media.
jude. bellingham. oh how he wishes he was him - or with him.
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Piece of Cake (Fanfic)
New chapter from my mains series 🩷
January 9th 18XX
Pinocchio had gotten ready and was in the hotel lobby waiting for Alice, he kept looking at his pocket watch, and glancing at the entrance door, Gemini kept telling him to calm down, 5 minutes had passed since the agreed time when Alice stepped into the hotel, Pinocchio waves at her and she went his way to sit with him.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry I’m late” Alice was mentally scolding herself, she shouldn’t start sharing the habit of her dear friend the white rabbit.
“It’s alright, it’s only been five minutes, this boy is just too impatient” Gemini chirped, Pinocchio always gets too excited for everything, he has to constantly remind him to calm down and things flow naturally.
There was a table in the lobby where you could prepare your own tea, each one of them made their own, Alice served herself a black tea while Pinocchio made his tea extremely sweet.
“I take it you don’t like bitter things?” Alice doesn’t enjoy sweets, perhaps every once in a while, but unlike what her Wonderland would like most to believe, she isn’t a fan of sugary things.
“Bitter things taste weird” Pinocchio loved sweets on the other hand, ever since he could start to eat he would beg his father to let him eat things like chocolate, “Although my father doesn’t like it much when I eat too many sweets”
“That’s because you are a brat that gets too hyperactive when you eat sugar” Gemini has already kept reminding him to take things slowly, when he eats too much sugar he somehow gets even more energy.
“Did you lads read the newspaper? They caught Jack The Ripper!” They overheard the voice of a man speaking. Stopping their small talk they realized how most of the guests were speaking of how he was arrested and would be pending trial, with many comments about how they didn’t expect a respected doctor to be the one behind those crimes.
Alice gave Pinocchio a wink, and he smiled back at her, they had done a good job.
“So, can you tell me more about Wonderland?” asked Pinocchio, he was too eager to finally hear what Alice’s world was like.
Alice didn’t even know where to start, it was such a long story, although he would only tell him about her adventures as a child, Pinocchio might be her friend but the tale of a corrupted Wonderland would stay secret, it was too personal to give away the details.
Alice recalled when she first fell down that rabbit hole, how she met Cheshire, her journey to meet the Mad Hatter with his peculiar tea parties with the Dormouse and The March Hare, and how it all led her to the Queen of Hearts; she also recalled her adventures through the Looking Glass Line.
Alice was glad that the infernal train was stopped, the Mock Turtle was now back in charge, and he wouldn’t allow any demonic trains to take over again.
Alice was telling Pinocchio the story of The Carpenter and the Walrus when Pinocchio began to cry, “What do you mean he ate the poor little Oysters?!”
A few people turned around to look at the, “Pinocchio calm down, they aren’t actually real” Gemini gave a sigh, he sometimes thinks his friend is just too pure for this world, but then he remembers how much of a brat he can be and the thought leaves his mind.
“But, they are real to Alice!”
“That is true, although do not worry, they sort of all come back, even after dying” They are figments of her mind so they cannot be destroyed, they were almost destroyed by the infernal train but Alice stopped it, if she beat that, nothing could ever truly harm her Wonderland.
“Do I have a Wonderland?” Pinocchio was curious, maybe not exactly Wonderland but he had been to the Otherlands, and those are just worlds that people create in their minds, although he was worried that because he wasn’t fully human he wouldn’t have one.
“Mmm, I supposed you do, you seem to have a great deal of imagination, I imagine your world must be very interesting”
“How do I go inside of it?” Pinocchio didn’t have the power to enter the worlds of others, Alice was the one to get them in and out, but if it was his own world then surely he could access it whenever he liked.
“Well…” Alice wondered how she should explain it, “The thing is, maybe it won’t do you any good to be there”
“What do you mean?” Pinocchio was confused, Alice’s world sounded so fun.
“The reason people retrieve into their mind like that, it’s because they want to escape from reality, and you cannot do that, well, you can’t but you shouldn’t” Alice knew firsthand what escapism can do to someone’s mind, “Wonderland is very dear to me, it’s my world, it’s me; but I made it because I was a lonely child, and I wanted to be in a place where I could be happy, were I would be noticed” and after the fire things became only worse, Alice retreated to her mind, but her mind was in shambles, she had to pull herself together, it took her years to do, she couldn’t accept what had happened, she couldn’t accept the death of her family.
“Oh, I see” Pinocchio now felt bad for asking Alice about that, and she could sense his discomfort.
“Do not worry, it’s still there, everyone has their own little worlds in their minds, I bet yours is very lovely, even if you don’t know what it looks like”
Pinocchio took a sip of the tea, what would his world look like? He wishes it was something very nice and happy, but a part of him knows that inside of it there is probably something that could make him feel distress, like his memories of the people he fought against in the disaster.
Gemini saw how uncomfortable the situation had gotten, so he decided to speak up to try to lighten up the mood, “I beat it has a valley made out of tears”
“Gemini!” Pinocchio was about to shake his cage when Alice laughing stopped him.
“Why I don’t know about him, but I do have one of those”
“Really?!” Pinocchio was intrigued again, Alice talked more about Wonderland, she enjoyed speaking about it, although Wonderland was born out of her sadness and loneliness, it was vital to her to protect it, she loved speaking of it to her family and her nan; but after the fire for so many years she was told to get rid of it, she couldn’t speak of it to others, it felt good to finally talk about Wonderland with someone else again, someone who didn’t judge her and that actually listen to her.
Alice wasn’t the one to fully dominate the conversation, Pinocchio talked about his family back in Krat, and eventually, they branched out into other topics.
“I love how you work at an Opera House, I’ve only been once back in Krat” No, going there back and forward to fight doesn’t count to him, “My father hasn’t taken me back, I wonder why”
“Pinocchio you cried for two hours because you thought that the Phantom of The Opera was actually real” Gemini realizes now in hindsight that it was a pretty dumb idea for Geppetto to bring him to that play.
“You really are a big crybaby are you?” Alice teased him.
“It was just very realistic” Pinocchio pouted, it was all his father’s fault he should have taken him to see a play that wasn’t scary. Although he really enjoyed the songs, he particularly loved the voice of the woman who sang Christine’s part. “And I liked the songs, I can play the piano and the violin, but I can’t sing”
“Gemini do you know how to sing? I figure that as a cricket you could” Alice was very amazed by Gemini’s existence, she believes Pinocchio is lucky to have a friend like that with him all the time.
“I can sing, what kind of cricket isn’t able to sign anyways?” He might not be an actual bug like them, but he can still sing just as well.
“Why have you never sung before?” Pinocchio asked him, looking back, it does feel odd that even he didn’t know that his friend could sign.
“Well, it’s not like I could just randomly start singing while we were fighting monsters, I guess I could sing to you one of these days” Gemini would like that do that, he hears Pinocchio play music all the time, it’s only fair he chirps him a tune one day.
Eventually, evening finally came, and Pinocchio saw his father entering the lobby and going towards them.
“Ah, you must be Alice, right? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you” Geppetto gave her a smile.
“I’m Alice Liddel, a pleasure to meet you, sir”
“Hopefully my son hasn’t given you any trouble”
“Father!” Pinocchio was pouting again, he in fact did the opposite and helped fix trouble.
“Oh not at all, he is a great young man, you must be proud of him”
Geppetto played with his son’s hair, “I am, he is a very good boy”
Pinocchio’s heart was pounding, he loved getting compliments, especially if they came out from his father or mother. He stood up and gave his father a big hug.
“I must be going then, I believe I have already taken much time out this vacation the two of you are having” Alice looked a bit sad, but she had to actually do her job, getting fired would be too much so he couldn’t hang out anymore, and Pinocchio wasn’t going to stay in London forever, it was best for them to part ways now.
“Aaww Alice, I wish I could still talk to you” Pinocchio was sad too, he wished he could stay in touch with her.
“Why don’t the two of you write each other letters?” Geppetto suggested.
Pinocchio’s eyes beamed with joy, “Really? We can? Really?!”
“Calm down buddy” Gemini feels like a broken record by now.
“Why I’d love to do that,” Alice said cheerfully, she wrote her address on a piece of paper and Geppetto gave out their address to her as well.
Alice gave her goodbyes and promised that she would write, and Pinocchio was thrilled to write too.
“Hopefully Antonia is still helping you with your handwriting,” Geppetto said to his son.
“Father!” Why was everyone teasing him so much today?!
———-
Geppetto and Pinocchio decided to go sightseeing, just to spend the day together, they made it back to the Hotel by twilight, and they started to make their actual vacation plans once they were back in their room, Pinocchio couldn’t wait to see all the other places where they would spend time together; Geppetto also mentioned how he would like for Pinocchio to properly meet Alexander and spent at least a day with him, Geppetto wanted to catch up with him and he wanted his friend to know more about his son, the more he gets to brag about Pinocchio the better, back before Carlo died, he actually spoke a lot about him to others, the relationship between the two of them was rocky, and Geppetto made a lot of mistakes, but he always talked and talked about Carlo every time someone asked about his son.
It was nice to spend time as a family, this was a moment to be treasured.
————-
January 17th 18XX
Pinocchio did as he was told and followed him downstairs, down to the basement, he carefully took each step, the floorboards creaking along the way, that was odd, why were the lights turned off?
They reached their destination, there was only one light turned on inside the room, Pinocchio could barely see what was around him, the light illuminated a big table, the table was strange, it didn’t look like a table to put things in or use it in a kitchen, he saw that the table was hanging some strange rope from hanging its sides, Pinocchio looked at the only other thing that could be seen in the darkness, something was that was covered by a piece of cloth was bolted in the wall in front of him, Pinocchio wanted to take a closer look, but he suddenly felt a deep pain in his chest, he fell on his knees to the floor, he tried to get up but he couldn’t, he could barely move his hands, he tried to speak but he wasn’t able to properly form words.
Pinocchio heard laughter behind him, “You are even more stupid than I thought”
#lies of p#lop#liesofp#lies of p game#lies of p pinocchio#lies of p geppetto#lies of p fanfic#ao3 link#this is in ao3 too#alice american mcgee#alice madness returns#alice liddell
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History - Martin Ødegaard x reader
Martin Odegaard x female!reader
Requested? Yes/No
Anon: Can you write one where the reader had cancer BEFORE they meet? Maybe breast cancer and have a “fake” boob and the reader is nervous for him to see or feel.
With ødegaard
Word Count: 1.1K
Warnings: Mentions of cancer, swearing, fluff
AN: If anyone is struggling with health or body issues my messages are always open if you need to talk to someone, you’re not alone :)
—
The universe was a piece of shit to some people. It always seemed to be the good people that always suffered the most. In this world, those who were cruel and heartless had the most perfect lives yet anyone who was kind and gave back to others seemed to face the hardest battles, you were one of them.
Breast cancer hit you when you a few years ago and to this date, you had been cancer-free for an entire year. Knowing that you had battled off something as deadly as cancer made you feel stronger than ever but everyone has their dark days. You had to have one boob removed during treatment, solely for safety. Some got tattoos over them, others left them how it is and some like you got a fake boob. To anyone walking past you or even a friend it would look as if they were real, no one could tell the difference but you could. If anyone was to feel them they would be able to tell and that was part of the reason why you didn’t jump to get back to dating.
You never intended to fall for a footballer, especially not Martin Ødegaard, yet you did. You’d met him at Emirates, ironically. Your little cousin was obsessed with football and begged you to come to watch Arsenal with him. You agreed and at the end of the game all the lads went around and clapped the fans but when Martin’s eyes fell on you he knew he was going home with more than just a win.
You’d been going on weekly dates with Martin for a month now and on your last date he took you through Hyde park, hand in hand the pair of you walked through the cold air when he asked you to be his girlfriend. You basically spent every day with him. He’d turn up at your work with flowers, he’d always invite you over for dinner and a film after he’d finished training and he even came round to make you dinner and play football with your cousin in the garden.
Martin Ødegaard was perfect.
The only thing that worried you was how he’d react to your fake boob. Sure you’d made out with him but you’d never gone further than that. Martin never made a comment about the two of you not sleeping together yet, if he was honest he didn’t care. He was just happy you wanted him around. The pair of you had teased one another but that was it, nothing had gone further well… until now.
Martin asked if you wanted to come to his after one of your dates, this wasn’t uncommon so you agreed, especially as the pair of you had been teasing one another all night. The moment you were inside the door he didn’t hesitate to pick you up and place you on his kitchen counter, his lips crashing onto yours.
Your hands went straight to his blonde hair, tugging on the roots as he deepened the kiss, pulling on your bottom lip as his hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist.
“So beautiful,” Martin muttered as he started to kiss down your neck, slowly making his way to your chest, the area you dreaded him going. The hand that was on your waist slowly moved up to meet his lips. He got too close and you panicked, pulling away slightly.
Martin pulled back immediately, his eyes widening at your reaction. “I’m so sorry -”
“No.” You cut him off immediately. “No Martin it’s not you… I umm…” You looked up at him, his eyes drowning with worry. You took a deep breath, you knew you had to tell him eventually. “A few years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I’ve been cancer-free for a year but I lost one of my boobs because of it. This one’s fake.” You pointed to the fake boob. “I was so scared to tell -”
“Why?” He cupped your cheek. “Why sweetheart? Did you think I’d think of you any differently because of that?” You gave him a meek nod causing his gaze to soften even more. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “If anything it makes me fall for you, even more, I’ll never fully understand what you went through but please know that I’m so proud of how strong you are and thank you for sharing that part of you with me. I know that must have been hard.”
Your hand ran up his jaw, he leaned into your touch as he gave you a smile. “Thank you, Martin.”
“y/n you don’t need to thank me.” He kissed you again. “We don’t have to rush in with things like this. However long you want to wait until you’re comfortable, I will wait for however long you need. I’m not going anywhere when I have the girl of my dreams right in front of me.”
“I trust you… you can touch it.” Your voice was at a whisper but your breath was heavy. Your hand went to his, lifting it up and trailing up your chest.
“y/n we don’t have to.” His eyes met yours.
“You’re the only one I trust Martin.”
That was all he needed, his hand followed yours, resting on your boob. His thumb moved back and forth through the material of your shirt. “Can I add pressure?” He asked, you nodded as he followed through with his actions. “Can you feel anything?”
“At times, not as much as in the other one.”
“My beautiful, strong, brave girl.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on them through the shirt. His head came back up to meet yours, planting another kiss on your lips. “Do you want to stay over tonight? We don’t have to do anything like this, we can just chill although… a smile spread across his face. “I do have a cake making kit in the cupboard, we could always make a cake.”
“I wasn’t aware that you could bake?” Your smile matched his.
“I would give Gordon Ramsey a run for his money.” The smile turned to a smirk.
“Oh yeah? Prove it.” He lifted you up from the counter placing you down before pulling your hips into his.
“Deal.” He kissed you one last time before preparing everything he and you needed. Your smile grew at the sight of him. Even after you’d been so vulnerable in front of him he still treated you like he’d always done. Maybe the world wasn’t all bad.
Sometimes our greatest insecurities are our most beautiful features.
#martin odegaard imagines#martin odegaard one shot#martin odegaard imagine#martin odegaard x reader#martin odegaard#football x reader#football#footballl imagine#football imagines
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Training sessions - Philippe Coutinho x reader
Requested? Yes/No? - Heyy! I was wondering if you could do a coutinho smut imagine 🙏🙏
Summary: Phillipe needs to unwind after a tough training season.
Warnings: Smut, swearing
Word Count: 2.7K
—
You’ve been working at Aston Villa for about five years, meaning you’ve seen many players come and go and working in the social media department meant you were there for them from their very first day up until their last. A few of the lads would catch your eye when they joined, mainly for talent but there was one who always stuck out and that was Phillipe Coutinho.
Fans adored him. When he signed everyone suddenly forgot who Grealish was and fell in love with the new talent. His high profile with fans meant you and Philippe spent a fair amount of time with one another, filming all sorts of videos for Villa's numerous social media accounts. Spending so much time with him resulted in the two of you growing close, not to mention the nonstop flirting but nothing came out of it.
Being the head of social media for Aston Villa meant you were in the lad's shadows, following their every move throughout the day. Following them around had its perks, one minute you were watching them train during the glorious English rain and the next you were watching them play teams abroad in the scorching sun but unfortunately, the weather wasn’t on your side today. In typical English fashion, it had decided to pour down all day. Gerrard had postponed the training until the evening, hoping the rain would stop but the rain just seemed to fall down harder.
As much as you loved your job, standing in the rain and filming a group of men running around in circles wasn’t the most entertaining of activities. Your eyes kept glancing over at Phillipe who was clearly struggling with today’s training session. Every shot he took never seemed to go in, he seemed to hit the post every time or just shoot it a little too wide. Through the rain, you watched the frustration spread on his face. Running a hand through his hair you watched him let out a string of swears as Gerrard called them all back into the changing rooms.
With training over it was your sign to pack up and go home, it had been a long day and with the shit weather anyone would have wanted to run off home as soon as they could, anyone but Phillipe Coutinho. You had planned to stay late anyway, wanting to upload the footage from today so it could be posted in the morning but you didn’t think he’d be waiting downstairs in the gym for you.
You always keep a spare set of clothes in your office in case of days like this along with a towel. Normally you would head down to the showers, and dry yourself off before getting changed into your spare clothes and normally no one would be there to walk in on you. With the towel wrapped around your bare body, you turned the corner to be met with a rather familiar face.
“What are you doing down here?” His voice made you jump. Spinning around you held the towel closer to your skin as you met the confused gaze of Phillipe.
“I thought you’d gone home…”
“Is that what you do when we’re all gone?” He smirked.
“Only when it’s been raining and I’ve had to stand out there filming you lot.” Your eyes trailed across his body, trying not to stare at him too long. His toned body shone in the dim light of the shower rooms whilst his towel hung low from his waist, a sight you wouldn’t mind seeing more often if given the chance. “I thought you had gone home.”
“You said.” His smirk grew as he caught your eyes lingering. “But I wanted to train in the gym on my own for a bit.”
You nodded, not saying anything for a second. “Do you normally train on your own?”
“Don’t play dumb with me y/n you know I don’t.”
“I’m just asking -”
“You saw how shit I was out there.”
“Wasn’t that bad.” You replied. “I’ve seen worse -”
“I couldn’t even get the ball in the back of the net.” He huffed. “It was pathetic.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Not from me.” He spat, running his hands through his hair as he turned on the shower. He looked back at you as he loosened the towel. “I thought you were down here to shower?”
“I am…”
“Yet you’re still standing there with a towel wrapped around you.”
“I’ll wait until you’re done.” You stepped back, planning to head out and wait until he was done when his voice stopped you.
“Oh come on y/n you’re here now…” He started to walk forward, the towel dropping down his waist with every step he took. “Might as well.” His smirk didn’t subside when he saw your eyes flicker down to the towel. “You look flustered.”
“Rather hard not to be when you’re looking like that in front of me.”
“You’ve seen me with my shirt off before.”
“Not like this.”
“You haven’t backed away yet.”
“Yet…” He didn’t care for your answer, he stepped closer to you, now only an inch away from you. You could feel his breath against your face, his gaze intense on your skin.
Raising his finger he brushed your damp hair from your eyes before he spoke. “So pretty…” His finger came down under your chin, pushing it lightly so you were now looking up at him.
“We can't -”
“Why not?” He frowned at your whispers.
“Gerrad would lose his shit if he found out.”
“And you think I care about what he has to say?”
“I do, I could lose my job -”
“And if you do, I'll walk from this club and take care of you.” He smirked, leaning down and allowing his lips to ghost along yours. “All you have to do is say yes.”
He was beautiful, there's no denying that and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to have him at that moment. His dark hair was now falling from his face and onto yours as he hovered above you, waiting for your lips to make a sound. Part of him began to panic, thinking he’d overstepped the mark and read the past few months entirely wrong but your actions silenced his thoughts.
Leaning up you connected your lips with his, your actions telling him everything he wanted to know. He didn’t wait to kiss you back. His hands grabbed your face, pulling you closer to him, wanting to feel your skin on his. One of your hands trailed down his chest, your nails creating faint red lines on his body. He smirked against your lips as your hand reached the top of his towel, lightly tugging on it but not enough to pull it down.
“So needy…” He muttered against your lips, one hand leaving your cheeks and falling down to your chest. Adding pressure to your skin you felt his large hands tug at your boobs through the towel whilst he let out a light moan against your lips.
The hand left your boobs, trailing down to your hips before it ran along your lower back. He smacked your ass suddenly, his hand cupping it as he landed the slap, pulling you closer to him. You jumped at his sudden movements, moaning lightly as you fell into his touch. His smirk grew at your actions before his hand tugged at the towel one last time before pulling it clean off your body.
“So beautiful…” His voice was smooth and full of compliments as it danced through the air and filled your ears. His fingers traced every inch of your bare body that they could find, his eyes following suit. Your breathing was steady, as steady as one could be when a man like him was taking in every cell of your body. His fingers found their way to where you needed him the most.
He could be wicked when he teased someone and he planned to do just that with you. His fingers brushed your clit, making you gasp and hold onto his biceps even tiger, your nails marking him ever so faintly. He added pressure on your clit, slowly starting to move in small circles.
His eyes kept a firm gaze onto your face, lighting up when he saw your expression to his advances. He’d be lying to himself if he said a moment like this hadn’t crossed his mind before. “Fuck…” The word fell from your lips as he quickened his pace, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you but that had to wait, he wanted you to remember how this all felt when he crossed your mind.
His free hand came up to cup your boob, tugging on the nipple, making you moan even louder. The smirk on his face grew as he grabbed your arms and shoved you into the shower. Your skin jumped at the sudden change in temperature but you didn’t have long to process the water on your skin as Philippe was now towering over you once again. He stood in the shower with you, his hair slowly falling in front of his eyes as he slowly removed his towel.
Your eyes flickered down to what he was hiding and your eyes widened at the sight. The man was literally perfect. He followed your gaze down to where you were looking which only made his cocky attitude grow. “What’s the matter, love?” He leant in so his mouth was just above your ear. “Scared it won’t fit?”
A sudden burst of confidence filled your body as you spoke. “Think you should be scared -”
“Of what?” he cut you off.
“If you can handle it -”
“If I can handle it?” He fell to his knees, his hands dragging down your skin until they rested above your thighs. He looked up at you through the water as his hands forcefully spread your legs apart. “We’ll see about that.” His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and tugging at the bud. His hands held your legs apart so you couldn’t escape. His tongue started to move against your slit whilst he continued to play with your clit.
“Fuck…”
“What's wrong sweetheart?” He looked up at you as he continued to work. “Can’t handle it?” He grabbed the back of your thigh and threw it over his shoulder.
“Stop being such a tease…”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Philippe please…” You moaned, your eyes rolling back at his actions. “Please…”
“I love hearing you beg…”
“Please…” You continued to beg.
“Please what?” He taunted as he continued to play with your clit.
“Please let me cum.”
“Good girl for asking but no.” Your eyes snapped open as he stopped playing with your clit. Setting your leg down he rose from his spot on the floor, suddenly towering over you with a smirk on his face. “I’d prefer to feel you cum around my dick.” Grabbing your hair he spun you around so your chest fell against the cold shower wall. His lips met your shoulder, biting at the thin skin whilst his knee kicked your legs apart.
His free hand snuck up to your neck, pulling your head back against the crook of his neck as he slowly slid himself inside of you. The pair of you gasped at the sudden feeling, taking a second to adjust yourselves to the new sensation. He suddenly pulled out and quickly pulled your hips back into his, he repeated the actions again before he gathered a frequent pace, the hot water on your skin only adding to the sensation.
Philippe began to hit places no man had ever reached, fucking you like it was the last fuck he and you would ever have. Small moans fell from your lips, not wanting to be too loud, something he picked up on instantly.
“Why the silence?”
“I’m not being silent.”
“You’re being very quiet…”
“That’s not being silent then is it?” Your words earnt you a sudden slap on your ass, making you jump from his grip but that only made him tighten his grip around your neck.
“Don’t push your luck or I won’t let you cum.”
“I think we both know that’s a lie.” You suddenly jumped, feeling his fingers play with your clit.
“I might just bring you so close…” He sped up his movements. “Then take it away.” his hand suddenly withdrew from your clit, his actions making you huff in annoyance.
“You wouldn’t.”
He let out a low laugh at your words as he suddenly pulled out. Your eyes widened at the sudden loss but you didn’t have time to question him as he spun you around to face him. His lips fell onto yours again as he slowly guided himself back to you, thrusting in harder than the last. Moaning against his lips he smirked at your reaction before he pulled away and spoke.
“You’re right this time, I'm going to let you cum but that’s only because I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” His pace quickened. “I want to feel you cum around me.”
“You will if you keep it up.” Your moans grew louder as his hand went back to your clit, toying with your pleasure. You threw your head back, your eyes shut at the pleasure he continued to inflict onto you. He looked down at your reaction, smirking with pride at you. He suddenly gripped your waist, pulling out as he spun you around to face him.
“I want you to look at me when you cum.” His lips attached to your neck, sucking and biting the skin as he picked up the pace on your clit.
“Fuck Philippe…”
“My name sounds so good coming from your lips.” You continued to moan his name louder, not caring if anyone could hear you. “That’s it…” He muttered against your neck. “Tell everyone who makes you feel this good.”
“You do…” You moaned again. Phillipe moved his lips from your neck, his eyes now meeting yours before he admired the new artwork he’d left on your neck.
“Good girl…” He sped up. “I want you to cum.” Your eyes squeezed shut at his words but that made his actions stop all together. At the sudden loss of movement or any sensation on your clit your eyes snapped open to meet his.
“Why did you stop?”
“What did I say?” He looked down at you, a cocky grin on his lips. “I want you to look at me, everytime you close your eyes, I’ll stop, understand?”
“Yes…”
“Good girl.” He started to move again, this time with more force and urgency. He wanted nothing more than to feel you come undone around him. His fingers sped up on your clit, adding light and heavy amounts of pressure to the bud. The sensation made your skin heat up and your stomach tighten.
“Philippe…”
“Yes?” He moaned against your skin as his thrusts slowly became less consistent, indicating that he was also close.
“I’m close…”
“Good.” He started to thrust harder, moans falling from his own lips as he held you up against the wall. Within seconds you felt the coil in your stomach snap as you came around him. The sensation made his head fall into the crook of your neck, moaning against your skin as he finished inside of you.
With deep breaths the pair of you refused to move, not wanting to pull apart and lose the sensation. Philippe moved his head to rest his forehead on yours before he spoke. “You felt amazing.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself.” You let out a small smile at his words.
“I do try.” He smiled back, he slowly pulled out, missing the feeling almost immediately. “Did you drive here?”
You scrunced your face up at the sudden change of his words. “Yeah, why?”
“Fancy ditching it here all night and spending the night with me?”
“Such a romantic way to ask Coutinho.” You raised your brow at the man, a smirk on your lips.
“Hey at least I asked.” He smiled. “I want nothing more than to spend the night with you. I know I should have asked a long time ago and probably not waited until we’d slept together but -”
“If you keep rambling, we’ll never get out of here.” You cupped his face with your hands. “Better late than never.”
#philippe coutinho#football imagine#football x reader#philippe countinho x reader#Philippe countinho imagine#Philippe countinho smut#Philippe countinho x you
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Happy 82nd Birthday Scottish actress Brigit Forsyth born on July 28th 1940 in Edinburgh.
Brigit was a theatre fan from the age of eight when she saw her first pantomimes at the King’s Theatre in the city where she remembers Stanley Baxter as"The best panto dame ever" and Russell hunter during his Callan days.
She attended all girls schools Cranley and St George’s in Edinburgh then trained as a secretary before enrolling at RADA where she studied for three years. She then joined various repertory companies including Lincoln, Edinburgh, Salisbury, Cheltenham, Hornchurch and Watford.
She toured in My Fat Friend and performed in the West End productions of The Norman Conquests, Dusa, Fish and Stas and Vi. Her film work includes The Wrong Side of The Blankets, The Road Builder and The Crystal Stone.
Brigit has worked extensively on television for many years in shows including Playing The Field, The Practice and Tom, Dick and Harriet. She has also appeared in countless long-running hits such as Doctors, The Bill, Casualty, Coronation Street and Emmerdale. She is best known for her long running role as Thelma Ferris in the BBC comedy The Likely Lads and Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads, she has been in the reboot of Open all Hours, Still Open All Hours, but said a number of years ago that The Likely Lads should never return.
Brigit’s heart has always remained in theatre and she has appeared in classics such as Hamlet, The Comedy of Errors, The Glass Menagerie and The Importance of Being Earnest as well as the recent West End hit Calendar Girls
In March 1998 she made a one episode guest appearance in Coronation Street as Ken Barlow’s dating agency client Babs Fanshawe. Brigit is married to Coronation Street director Brian Mills and they have two children Zoe and Ben. Brigit has also appeared in Eastenders, Hollyoaks, Holby City and Doctors, to name but a few of her many extensive YV roles.
Brigit still visits Edinburgh and says of the city “Prepare to walk for miles, you’ll have an amazing time!” I’ll second that!
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Hungarian Hooligan
The 23rd match day
Viktor had been living in Debrecen for almost a week now. He had been unable to turn down the offer of a job as a department manager at his employer's Hungarian engine factory. He had been employed as a graduate engineer for almost ten years now, so this was finally a chance to advance his career. And Hungary wasn't wrong. When he got homesick, it wasn't far to his Bavarian home. And the city made a nice impression, too. His first weekend away was coming up, the weather was too cold and damp for the time of year, so after a short walk Viktor took shelter in a corner pub. The pub was packed. People in soccer shirts, with fan scarves and caps. He had obviously stumbled into the pub of a fan club of the local soccer team. Soccer… well, interested him only a little. In his hometown, he had occasionally joined in the celebrations when Bayern Munich had once again become German champions. But otherwise he cared less about sports. Neither actively, nor passively… But here it carried away him somehow. The waiter had put a beer in front of him without being asked, and one of the guests toasted him. And between cheers and groans a conversation developed. Somewhat sluggishly in English. But towards the end of the second half, Viktor was able to slip in a few words of Hungarian. It had been a very exciting game. Debreceni VSC had won 0:1 away. Viktor was cheering with the other guests. Someone had put a fan scarf on him. And the host gave a local round.
The 24th match day
Viktor had been looking forward to Saturday all week. Since moving to Debrecen a year ago, he had attended almost every home game at the stadium. His employer had a number of business seats in the stadium. And the winner of the internal betting round always got a seat for the next home game. Viktor may not have been the greatest expert. But when he stopped at his favorite pub for a beer in the evening after his jog, he always read the sports paper carefully. And it often helped him snag one of the coveted tickets. His buddies, with whom he watched the away games in the pub, usually turned up their noses because there were only snobs sitting in the business seats. But Viktor enjoyed the atmosphere and the closeness to his superiors. This could only be supportive for his career.
The game today was a disaster. 1:2 lost against the current second in the table. The score was still 0:0 at halftime. Viktor could hardly stand the cheering of the fans of the opposing team. The only thing that helped was drinking in frustration after the final whistle.
The 25th matchday
Today Viktor didn't get any tickets for the Sunday home game. Of course, he had also tried to get tickets on the black market, but he had had no luck. So he had to watch the game in his pub. After all, it went great against Vasas, the last team in the table. 3:1! This meant that his club climbed to fourth place. In the jubilation, Viktor got a beer shower. His jersey was soaking wet. But he was happy!
The 26th match day
The away game was in Mezokovesd not far from his home. Normally, Viktor would have carpooled with a few pals from his gym. But going by train with the other fans was much more fun. They tuned into the game with loud heavy metal from Symmetry Of The Void. The police separated them from the local fans already at the station. The mood was testy, Mezőkövesd-Zsóry SE was definitely on the heels of its club. A victory was important. And even though it didn't look like it for a long time, Meldin Drešković scored the redeeming goal shortly after the start of the second half. The fan block cheered. Chants of abuse began from the opposite side. Viktor, for his part, joined the chorus of his club. The first bengalos were set off. The mood threatened to tip over. And Viktor and his lads were looking forward to a proper brawl.
The 27th matchday
Home matchday. The fifth in the table meets the fourth in the table. Viktor had finished work early that Friday. Before the game he had worked out for an hour on the punching bag. He wanted to be in shape for the game. He had fought hard for his place in the Ultras' fan block and naturally wanted to keep it. He had been in the city for four years now and was an ardent admirer of his club. Right after graduation, he had been given the chance to move to Debrecen. He had never regretted it. He fevered with his club. He fought for the honor of his club after the games. And for that he kept himself fit with boxing training. Viktor laced up his boots tightly and tucked his gloves into the back pocket of his jeans. Whatever happened today, he was prepared.
It wasn't until the fourth minute of stoppage time that the opponent's goal came. Viktor was beside himself. The police tried their best to prevent an escalation. But it was a matter of honor not to let the opposing fan block go home unscathed.
The 28th match day
His friends had long called Viktor only Gyözö. The Hungarian variant of his name. And indeed, Viktor also felt rather Hungarian. Here he had graduated, here he had his circle of friends. He and his pals had already taken the fan bus to Zalaegerszeg on Friday afternoon. And they had partied the weekend away. There had already been one or two brawls. And it became apparent that it would also go off today properly. After the first goal for his team in the first half, Gyözö had made every effort to heat up the atmosphere. And after the 0:2 lead in the second half, he had an easy time stirring up the hatred of the opposing fan block. While still on his way out, he put in his mouth guard and put on his gloves.
The 29th match day
Finally, summer arrived. Géza loved to fire up the Ultra fan block with his bare upper body. He wore his tattoos with great pride. If they won today, they could finish third in the league. But Géza didn't really care. His name meant winner. And that was what he wanted to be today. Gladly in the stadium. But more importantly on the street in the fight against the cursed fans from Székesfehérvár.
@hottfguys, hope you like it!
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((I would love to hear more about your horses and cosplay as another fan of both of those things.))
!!
I've mentioned before I've got two horses - Arwen, my 20 year old quarter horse who I bought to continue doing dressage but college and life got in the way, and unknown to me she came with a ton of baggage and a funky hip that we're still working on to this day, but she's never going to be not aggressive and she's always going to be distrustful of people and that's just that
and then I've got... Ahem... Lord Alphinaud Leveilleur (look no one told me I couldn't name him that). He's just turned five, he was an accident baby I bought last year from his original owners who were training him to be a Spanish parade horse, and he his the cutest sweetest most people friendly curious little big guy I've ever known, I love him so much and while having a young horse has been a challenge (he was a little shithead who didn't know boundaries when I first got him) it's also so fun and rewarding because I know he doesn't have issues, he doesn't have anything I need to fix and he'll be with me for a good 20+ years at his age. He's a mystery baby, mom was a thoroughbred and I met dad, he looked like a Percheron mixed with maybe a quarter horse? Absolutely massive lad but short.
(dont worry the noodle went away after he began to destroy it)
I haven't been able to ride due to health issues lately but I do dressage, but not like modern dressage but the real classical stuff. My trainer learned from a man from the Spanish riding school and it's just phenomenal, it's so different from most approaches but the results are amazing and soft and kind and as crazy as her methods sound they actually work.
As for cosplay, we've got... um, a week to finish Lucia and Aymeric and they are... not done. Not even close. My mom was going to go as Matoya as well but we just ran out of time. But we (mother, husband and I) have all been cosplaying together for 12 years! At the risk of sharing my face around here (I hate my face), I'll post some of my favorites...
Featuring my dork husband (he's the Hyth, the cat and the prince, and we've made adjustments to Hyth's wig in the meantime but that's the only photo I have)
And some bonus shots of my mother, who is way cooler than I am
i wish we had better photos but obviously with all of us being in costume we don't get to carry a camera around, so random photographer shots and shitty cell phone cam is the best I can offer!
I love taking a costume and bringing it to life as realistically as possible - fabrics are the most important thing to me, researching what's period accurate and finding the right weight and drape and so on. We used to compete and do all the big cons (SDCC, NYCC, dragoncon etc) but with the flying and the stress it just wasn't fun anymore so now we just do local PNW cons - Sakura con in Seattle is next! Depending on how kind people are I might share a photo of Lucia and Aymeric when they're finished.
Thank you for asking! If you've got any horse or cosplay stories to share I'd love to hear them too!
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How do you feel about the Catfish boys and what happened to the band these days? Do you think the split was always inevitable?
Okay soooo, tbh my feelings are mostly the same if not veering more towards a more, centrist view. By that I mean that I don't think we can really look to any one of the boys for a specific explanation about what happened, or to blame either. Like we don't know anything really. Nothing that isn't speculation or the vague statement Body made on insta?
I think that Van is an easy person to blame because he's been quiet and hasn't tried to defend himself.
Like ultimately I think the falling apart of catfish was really really sad and must have been really difficult for all of them. Like that was Van watching his dream crumble. It was all of them losing really thick friendships ya know? Must have been so rough for them and I don't blame van for going quiet. If my dream fell apart so messily like that I too would crawl into a cave never to show ma face again haha.
Something that I have sort of changed my mind on however is that back in the day I remember hearing from a lot of youngens knocking around the indie scene at the time that catb were an industry plant and like I always really didn't believe that because they had a track record of having grafted their way up the festival circuit I know?
But the way they were treated by the industry once they got picked up, if they weren't industry plant from the get go they were definitely leapt on by the parasites and used and burnt out like a very very short fuse. I think the industry took a bunch of naive but passionate young lads and worked them until they dropped dead u know? They knew they could hurtle them through three records and then drop them and move onto the next indie guitar boys that came through (Sam fender really picked up around the time they dropped off for example)
Like it's a very brutal thing but it's how the industry works and has been for a really long time. (it happened in the 80s with Duran Duran for example) like the parasites will see a money maker (in this case Van and the lads) invest just enough money in them to send them soaring for a year or two and absolutely bleed them dry. They take advantage of young musicians who don't know what they're getting themselves into and it's crushing.
And idk, I know the indie rock scene in the 2010s was fucked up and full of those kind of sleazy people looking to feed off other people's talent or beauty or whatever.
I kind of think it was inevitable looking back, like catb were a band that were riding the last dying waves of indie sleaze. Always said that about themselves too, Van was always talking about bringing guitar music back and like, for a short time they managed it. But I think that Indie rock as it was in the 2000s is dead and was dying when catb got to the top so they only had a few years in them in terms of making money and staying relevant u know? Like someone was using them to squeeze the last few quid out of the indie sleaze, arctic monkeys, strokes nostalgia train and they did that and when they were done I think catfish were just left to it.
The fact is when they split no one told us, the label didn't even care enough to tell us. We talk about how catb splitting was the band's responsibility but like where the fuck was everyone else? Like that band split and everyone scarpered. The second people realised there was no money in it the rats abandoned the sinking ship if you get what I'm saying? Like I just think that's so so so sad? That by the time it was over the only people left caring were the fans and the lads in question. Because even if they didn't say anything I don't think they didn't care. I think probably they were exhausted and like in their own way going through some upsetting motions u know?
Like we can't know what went on behind the scenes and we can't know the details of what went down. But we do know what we watched happen and that's absolutely nothing. Like people really just abandoned them for whatever reason and I think that's tragic.
I do think it could have been delt with better but it is what it is and like, we have what we have now.
I'm very happy bondy seems happy cuttin about and doing his thing making mgmt esque stuff with his pals. Like I'm glad he's making music again and being happy because I remember for a time it being obvious on socials that he wasn't and tbh like, I hope that's what the other boys are doing now too just like cutting about being happy.
Also I hope Vans got a house and his dog and a fridge.
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Live Review: Louis Tomlinson World Tour
29 July 2022 at HBF Stadium, Mount Claremont (Perth)
Review by Sheldon Ang
Photos: Sheldon Ang Photography
The sonic god has struck a deal with the great Walls of uncertainly. After two years in hibernation, the pilgrims of an enigmatic cult cast their eyes, ears, spirits and hysteria towards a single direction.
“Perth, this is the last show of the Tour (in Australia)…me coming here as a Brit and still playing a sold out to this show makes it the best day of my life…you guys are f–king amazing …”
At twenty five past the hour, the 30-year-old singer songwriter from Doncaster graced the stage in a Burberry shirt to the rambunctious decibels of a RAF Tornado, thanks to the collective vocal amplifiers of teenage cohorts of present day and yesteryears.
Setlist opener We Made it from the Tomlinson’s debut solo 2020 album Walls was a symbolic spark to the night in more ways than one after a successful world tour, selling out in global arenas across America and Europe including the iconic Wembley Arena – which was a significant night given it was where four other young men interwoven with him by X Factor in 2012, forming One Direction. Drag Me Down from 1D’s 2015 album Made in the A.M was performed soon after, sparking the first of the three One Direction tracks of the night.
Inevitably the fan frenzy had reached full One D craze mode, as most were reciting the gospels of Walls with over 4,000 of the rowdiest but the most beautiful sounding backup singers from Perth. Some were on their knees, sipping and twirling in a concoction of euphoria and hysteria, while others were on shoulders, holding love infested placards hoping to capture the attention of Louis. Everyone else was on their feet including those in the upper reaches.
A bevy of young fans on pole position mentioned they had been camping at the doorsteps of HBF Stadium since 2 a.m., or almost 20 hours before T minus zero – certainly a worthy mention considering Perth had been drenched by a cold and wet spell of wintery blast. Another fan made the disturbing decision to miss her grandfather’s funeral in Sydney, which would normally be a satirical reason for not missing out the AFL Grand Final, but “You got to do what you got to do” – which probably sums the catastrophic obsession for one of the pillars of One Direction.
Louis Tomlinson and his band dazzled the night through a rock-esque sonic rendition through booming bass, drums and kicks accompanied by scintillating end to end riffs – which is not surprising considering his influences were the likes of Oasis, Kings of Leon and Catfish and the Bottlemen – with the latter two were given a shout out through the cover of Beautiful War and 7, followed by two more One Direction hits in Little Black Dress and Through the Dark, before ending the night with Kill My Mind.
So gone are the preconceived and presumptuous notions where members of boy bands are no more than exquisite looking props to charm the hearts of teenage fans. Yes, Louis is a good-looking English lad, but boy can he really sing and perform. The singer songwriter – who had written over 30 songs for One Direction, propagates an immense talent with the knack to translate personal experiences into lyrics, oozing the je nais se quois enshrouded by the palpable sincerity while performing the likes of Two of Us, Walls, Always You, Defenceless and Fearless. His time at One Direction had undoubtedly provided the superfluous world class training for stage presence – which clearly resonated on the night as he homed his craft by being engaging – without being corny.
While the album Walls is not something that you’d dance to, the live performance version is a different beast from another dimension, engraving Louis Tomlinson as a genuine world class solo artist in his own right.
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