okay guys, going and finding my instagram is one thing, coming into my inbox and commenting on my tit size is another, but going through my FOLLOWING to try and find Minnie is REAAALLLLLLYYYY fucking weird
get a fucking grip??? what the fuck??? and coming into minnieâs inbox and guessing who she is and then sending her names of people i know is so odd???
we are not your friends and if we wanted you to know who we are i wouldâve told you ???????? what the fuck guys itâs seriously getting creepy and a bit scary to be honest, why are you trying to doxx us đđ
also my IG is private now so please donât even attempt it anymore x
request: could you write something about george doing a platform roulette and is suuuper drunk and starts flirting with this girl in a bar they are in and the others go home and he stays there with her all night and is like super touchy and stuff, and then they go back to her flatâŚand then girlie wants to have sex but george says he doesnât want do it when they are both not sober but he stays over anyway and is so soft and gentle, but then in the morning they fuck anyway
content: alcohol & intoxication , swearing , making out
notes: havenât posted a george fic in a while! also iâm aware that the request asked for smut however iâll be doing that in a part two for those who want to just enjoy some george fluff đ honestly this feels very og ukytblr fanfic i kinda like it đ¤đ¤
wc: 2,443
A GROUP NIGHT out had swiftly turned into a solo mission as everyone wandered off to do their own things. No one was too drunk, so it wasnât like there were any safety concerns, and each person at least had another.
Excluding you.
You didnât mind too much, because they were getting to be a little too rowdy for your liking.
The bar youâd found yourself in was surprisingly quiet considering the time of night, and the music that was being played was just barely above conversation level, meaning you could actually hear everyone around you.
There was a group of boys occupying a large table, and they had some sort of camera crew surrounding them.
You couldnât decipher whether they were filming some sort of documentary or just YouTubers, but judging based off of the drunkenness of some of them, you were inclined to go with the latter.
Perhaps if you were a little more sober, you wouldâve been able to make out their faces and figure out just who each of them were, but even as one of them began approaching your barstool, you didnât recognise them.
âHello.â
âOh, hi.â You lowered your glass back to the sticky bar top.
âIâm Arthur.â
âNice to meet you.â You nodded, a little taken aback as he reached a hand out.
You shook it, amused at the formality of his greeting. âIâm Reader.â
âLovely, um, my friend George,â Arthurâs words were slurred, and he looked over his shoulder, pointing to a very attractive man with a curly mullet, âHe thinks youâre really beautiful and was wondering if he could buy you a drink.â
âI didnât realise we were fifteen and needed our friends to ask for us.â You quipped, tilting your head.
Arthur held his hands out, fingers a little bent, âOh, you want him to come? I can tell him.â
You nodded.
âOkay.â
Arthur walked back to the table, and you briefly witnessed George hiss something threatening at his friend through gritted teeth before trying to pluck up the courage to approach you.
You found his lack of confidence in himself astounding, because he truly was one of the most beautiful men youâd ever seen. You were contemplating going over there yourself until he finally walked towards you.
âUm, hello, Iâm so sorry about him,â George started off, âI didnât ask him to do that at all.â
You chuckled slightly at his panicked apology, âThatâs okay.â
âWhat did he say to you?â
âHe said that you think Iâm really beautiful and you want to buy me a drink.â You relayed back.
âYeah,â He scratched the back of his head, âCould I?â
âSure.â You nodded, quickly downing what was left in your glass, which wasnât much.
âAny drink of choice?â
You told him what youâd just had and he ordered another for you.
âAre you on your own?â He asked before sliding up onto the stool next to you.
âYeah, I was out with my mates but we all went off separately. What about you?â
âWeâre doing a platform roulette.â
âOh, wow, so youâre not local?â
âNo, we all live in London.â
âGosh, long way.â You hummed, thanking the bartender as she delivered your drink to you, âAre you going back tonight?â
âI think so? Iâm not really sure, itâs for my friendâs YouTube channel.â
You perked up at that, âI thought thatâs what you were doing! With all the cameras and stuff.â
âYeah, yeah.â He nodded, âHave you had a nice night?â
âYeah, I have!â You smiled, âWe were going from bar to bar earlier, some girls leaving our workplace so we thought weâd send her off with a lovely night out.â
âOh, thatâs fun.â
The conversation between the two of you continued to flow beautifully. There was no awkward silence or eye contact that left you afraid of him coming on too strong with an audacious kiss, nor was the touch that you shared occasionally making you want to back off and sit on the opposite side of the room.
Your fingers would graze every now and then, and even when you lowered your hand to our lap, he reached out to hold onto it. It was a delicate grasp that didnât threaten you, in fact, it made you feel comfortable.
His thumb ever so gently stroked over your knuckles as your chatter continued.
You also ended up getting progressively more drunk until you were both laughing and flirting your words, leaning into each other far more than before.
At one point, you couldâve sworn his breath was fanning your neck, and your lips were a horsehair level of thin away from interlocking, but you managed to find the will to pull back and not neck on with the bloke you just met in a public area.
It seemed like your time was about to be cut short as one of his mates came over.
âGeorge, weâre gonna get going mate. You coming?â
âUhhh âŚâ He looked to you, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue before glancing back to his friend, âNah, Iâll stay. Sheâs quite drunk, and I want to make sure she gets home properly.â
âAre you sure? We can probably take a detour to drop her home.â
âYeah, itâs alright. Iâll sort a hotel or something.â George nodded.
âAlright, see you. Message us in the morning.â
âWill do.â
Once the early hours of the morning hit, the bar began slightly hinting at them wanting you to leave.
Stumbling to your feet, you collapsed into Georgeâs arms before finding your footing.
âSorry!â You gasped for air, face screwed up in amusement, âGod, sorry.â
âItâs alright. Are you okay?â He chuckled, keeping a hand around your wrist so that he was always there as he ushered you out of the bar.
âPerfect.â You whispered breathlessly, staring at him.
The air hit you, and it wasnât as cold as you anticipated, but you supposed that was part on parcel due to your lack of judgement considering there was still a heatwave occurring.
âUm,â You swallowed thickly, trying to block out the sober part of you that was telling you your next question was about to be really stupid.
âDo you wanna come back to mine?â
âI mean, I wasnât gonna let you go back on your own.â He said.
âNo, but, like,â You cleared your throat, âDo you wanna stay the night? Saves you buying a hotel.â
âOh!â He seemed slightly shocked, eyebrows jerking up before his face relaxed and a pleased smile appeared, âYeah, Iâd love to.â
You nodded, turning on your phone and just about managing to call for an Uber through your bleary vision that you only had the alcohol to blame for.
The pair of you had managed to get very comfortable around each other, even going as far to have his arms resting around your shoulders from behind as you stood on the curb, waiting for your taxi to arrive.
It was nice.
It felt natural.
His thumbs moved up and down, stroking rhythmically over the bare skin of your arms while his chin rested on the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.
The streets were somewhat crowded, mainly full of Uni students in their early twenties, off their faces and barely standing up straight while stumbling down the road back to their accommodation (or maybe even the next bar).
George helped you into the back of the Uber when it pulled up in front of you, and you managed to slur your address to the driver.
Again, you were comfortably cuddled up, sitting with his arms around you and your head tilted to lay on his shoulder.
The radio played quietly in the back as you toyed with Georgeâs fingers in your lap.
This mightâve been the best outcome of the night, and it certainly beat going home alone to your apartment and crashing on the sofa because you were too inebriated to make it to your bedroom.
Georgeâs presence was warming, and it didnât leave you feeling creeped out or pressurised. His eyes were welcoming and kind, his arms even more so, and you found yourself feeling somewhat at home within them.
On top of that, he was just gorgeous. You were sure that youâd reiterated that to him a good handful of times throughout the night, but you had no recollection of any of them.
Regardless of how attractive and charming he was, he was actually really handy to have around because you most certainly wouldnât have made it up the stairs of your apartment building had he not been around to support you.
You also probably wouldnât have made it into the small square of what you called home, because all your keys started blurring together in the palm of your hand until he took them from you and opened the door.
He locked it behind you, helping you remove your shoes before doing the same with his own and hanging up his coat on the scarcely populated rack beside your door.
Seeing him in your home, looking so at ease within your space caused your heart to flutter a little, and your brain to go fuzzy with a desperate need you hadnât experienced in a while, and honestly, had given up on ever feeling again.
âGeorge.â You gulped, staring at him.
âYou okay?â He hummed, cupping the sides of your face gently.
It was probably intended to be completely innocent on his behalf, but to you it was anything but.
âOh my God, please kiss me.â You breathed out.
âYeah?â He smirked, âYou want that.â
Shockingly, you found it within yourself to clutch onto the collar of his shirt and hurl yourself forwards, landing your lips on his in a way that you likely wouldâve described as clumsy and unceremonious.
You could feel him grin against your mouth, slowly walking you backwards through the hallway.
It wasnât difficult to find your room considering your living room and kitchen were connected, meaning there were only two other doors in the hallway, one of them being cracked open and revealing the view of your bathroom.
He moved past that one, his hand still on your cheek while the other was on your waist, guiding your movements until you clattered through your bedroom door.
Soft giggles came from your lips as he kicked the door shut and found your mouth with his once again.
Lowering yourself to your bed, you took him with you.
His hands were now on either side of your head, digging into the fabric of your pillow as yours were on his cheeks, holding him close to you while hooking your legs up and over his hips, crossing your ankles at the base of his spine.
This brought his hips closer to you, his crotch meeting your heat in a soft grind.
The whine you let out was breathy and had his fingers squeezing the pillow, stirring something deep within him.
âGeorge.â You moaned, bucking your hips up to his and sliding your hand round from his cheek to the back of his head, tugging at his curls.
âGod, youâre perfect.â He groaned against your mouth, lowering himself even further onto his forearms.
His fingers were dancing through the lengths of your hair, not in a way that youâd feel it, but in a way that gave him something to do with them without him feeling entirely awkward and useless.
His tongue was soft against yours, not awfully invasive in a way that made you want to rear back and away, but purposeful and smoothly gliding.
Gradually, your clothes started to fall away, starting with your shirt and leading down to the leather mini skirt you were wearing, leaving you in your mismatched underwear, because you truthfully did not think youâd be going home with anyone tonight, let alone be bringing someone back to your apartment.
âReader,â George whispered, pulling back.
You hummed, lifting your head off the pillow to chase his lips and connect them to yours again.
He allowed it for a heartbeat more before detaching himself from you again.
âYouâre drunk, lovely.â
âI know.â You giggled.
âIâm not.â
âSo? I know what I want.â
âI know you do, but ⌠it doesnât feel right.â He muttered, âPlus, I want it to be good, and I want you to remember it.â
You snorted, âOkay, Iâm not that drunk, George.â
âNo, I know, but Iâd feel better about it if you were sober.â
âOh. Okay.â
You wouldnât lie and say that you werenât disappointed, because you definitely were, but you did also understand where he was coming from.
His intoxication level was insignificant compared to yours, and he didnât want to feel like he was taking advantage of someone with a clouded judgement.
Even though you could very easily recognise that youâd want him drunk and sober, you appreciated his concerns.
He pressed one last kiss to your lips, and it lingered in a tingling way, before standing up and walking towards your chest of drawers.
âWhich one has your pyjamas in it?â
âThat one.â You pointed, smiling dazedly at him.
He pulled out a pair that seemed to be appealing to his taste, and chucked them towards you.
You cackled as the fabric landed on your face before sitting up to remove your bra and slide the tank top over your head, and pull the shorts up your legs.
While you did that, George stripped down into his boxers, politely leaving his clothes in a pile in the corner instead of strewn about the room like your own were.
Shuffling along the mattress, you tucked yourself into the corner that was pressed against the wall in a position that you usually found yourself waking up to. It gave George enough space to slip into the space beside you without hanging off the edge.
Like it was a second nature, you found yourself back in his arms, his biceps tight around your head and your legs intertwined.
A sleep-slurred conversation was shared between the two of you that ended when he realised he was no longer receiving any responses from you.
When he peered down, he found your eyes shut and your lips parted ever so slightly, soft snores being released into the skin of his chest.
He smiled at the sight, finding it endearing. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he unravelled himself from you so he could switch the lamp out and get comfortable within his own space.
And thatâs how you fell asleep.
Like a couple that had been together for ages and knew each otherâs routines and preferences.
THE BOY WHO I LOVE WHOâS NOW IN LOVE WITH YOU adapt x fem!reader
1.7k words, angst ig, that's it really. Lots of scoffing.
title - cindy lou who - Sabrina Carpenter
Reader felt like she was trapped in some kind of time loop. Like the universe kept replaying the exact same situation over and over again until it finally got the reaction it wanted out of her.
Because the same thing that had happened last week was happening again.
She was stuck in the exact same position â watching Tara flirt with Alex while thousands of people watched along with her. Watching Alex awkwardly laugh it off without actually stopping it. He never flirted back properly, but he never shut it down either. It was like he didnât know how to handle it without making things uncomfortable or embarrassing himself online.
Or maybe he liked the attention more than he let on.
Reader sighed quietly, swiping out of Twitter before tossing her phone somewhere onto her bed. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her thoughts moving far too fast for her to keep up with.
Why had she ever agreed to the stupid rules of whatever this thing with Alex was?
Why had she believed him the first time this happened?
Why hadnât she just ended things completely?
Her phone buzzed somewhere in the sheets.
A second later, the buzzer to her building went off too, loud enough to drag her out of her thoughts. Someone was downstairs wanting to come up.
Reader sat up slowly and rubbed at her face before pressing the button to let them in. Sheâd ordered food earlier, so she assumed it was that.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door.
She pulled it open â then nearly slammed it shut again the second she saw Tara standing there.
âWhat are you doing here?â Reader asked sharply.
Tara blinked at her. âWe were supposed to hang out, remember?â
She even had a smile on her face. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadnât spent the past week openly flirting with the guy Reader had told her absolutely everything about.
Reader let out a short scoff. Part of her wanted to tell Tara to leave immediately. But another part of her needed answers first.
So, slowly, she stepped aside and let her in.
The second Tara walked through the doorway, Reader pushed the door shut harder than necessary and leaned back against it, blocking the exit before Tara could escape the conversation already building in Readerâs head.
âWhy him?â
Tara frowned slightly. âWhat?â
âDonât what me. You know exactly who Iâm talking about.â
A brief silence passed.
â...What about him?â Tara asked carefully.
Reader stared at her in disbelief. âWhy him, Tara? Why specifically him?â
Tara crossed her arms defensively. âI canât control who I like.â
âYeah, but you can control what you do about it,â Reader shot back immediately. âEspecially when your best friend has told you everything about that guy. How she feels about him, all the dates theyâve been on, all the late-night callsââ
âBut youâre not even dating.â
The words hit harder than Reader expected.
Because technically, Tara wasnât wrong.
They werenât dating. Not officially. But they also werenât just friends either. They were stuck somewhere in the middle â in that messy grey area between a situationship and a real relationship that Reader was starting to hate more every day.
Still, even if Tara had been in her position, Reader knew she never would have done this to her. She wouldnât have entertained it for a second.
âYouâre such a coward,â Reader muttered bitterly.
Taraâs expression fell instantly. âWhat?â she said quietly, eyes beginning to gloss over.
âOh, donât start crying,â Reader scoffed, rolling her eyes as she folded her arms tighter across her chest. âI would never have done this to you. Never. I wouldnât have even thought about it.â
Tara looked down at the floor, blinking quickly, but Reader barely cared anymore. The hurt sitting in her chest was far louder than any guilt she might have felt.
âWhy?â Reader asked again, her voice cracking slightly despite how hard she was trying to keep herself together. âWhy? Iâm so confused right now.â
Tara stayed quiet.
Reader let out a shaky laugh, dragging both hands through her hair in frustration before looking back at her. âPlease. Please just tell me why youâre doing this.â
Still nothing.
âI want to know,â Reader continued, her chest tightening painfully with every word. âThere has to be a reason for it. And donât sit there and give me some pathetic âI donât knowâ because you do know. You wouldnât have done all this if you didnât.â
Tara swallowed hard, her glossy eyes fixed somewhere near the floor instead of Reader.
Reader shook her head slowly, disbelief written all over her face. âDo you know how humiliating this feels?â she asked quietly. âWatching clips of my best friend flirting with the guy Iââ She cut herself off, jaw tightening. âThe guy you know I care about.â
Tara finally looked up. âIt wasnât supposed to happen like this.â
Reader laughed again, but there was no humour in it this time. âThen how was it supposed to happen?â
âI didnât mean for feelings to happen,â Tara admitted softly. âI tried to ignore it.â
âBut you didnât,â Reader snapped immediately. âYou leaned into it. On stream, in front of everyone.â
âIt wasnât seriousââ
âDonât,â Reader interrupted sharply. âDonât stand there and try to downplay it now. You knew exactly what you were doing every single time you flirted with him.â
Tara opened her mouth, then closed it again when nothing came out.
And somehow, that silence hurt worse than any excuse could have.
Reader stared at her for a long moment before speaking again, quieter this time. âWas any of it real?â
Tara frowned. âWhat?â
âOur friendship,â Reader said, her voice trembling slightly now despite herself. âBecause I canât imagine doing this to someone I actually cared about.â
Tara looked genuinely hurt by that, but Reader couldnât bring herself to feel bad anymore. Not when her stomach still twisted every time she thought about those clips online. Not when sheâd spent days feeling embarrassed, angry, and stupid all at once.
âI trusted you,â Reader said softly. âThatâs the worst part.â
âEvery single little detail I knew about him, I told you,â Reader said, her voice quieter now, but somehow sounding even more hurt because of it. âAnd then, with all of that information, you practically threw yourself at him the first chance you got. I genuinely canât believe that.â
She ran a hand roughly through her hair, fingers catching slightly in the strands. At this point, she felt stressed enough to pull every strand out one by one.
âI canât believe you,â she muttered, shaking her head. âHonestly, I donât even know if Iâm going insane, or if youâre insane.â
Taraâs lips parted slightly. âI⌠IâŚâ
Reader laughed bitterly and held a hand up to stop her. âYou⌠you what?â she asked. âYou didnât mean it? You didnât care? You âcouldnât help itâ? Which one is it, Tara?â
Tara looked completely overwhelmed now, standing awkwardly in the middle of Readerâs flat with watery eyes and flushed cheeks, but Reader couldnât bring herself to soften. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
âWhat did I ever do to you that made you want to hurt me this badly?â Reader asked, her voice finally starting to shake properly. âSeriously. What did I do?â
âI wasnât trying to hurt you,â Tara whispered.
âBut you did.â
The words came out instantly. Sharp. Firm.
Reader could feel tears burning at the backs of her eyes now, which only frustrated her more. She hated crying during arguments. Hated looking weak in front of someone who had already hurt her this badly.
âYou knew how insecure this whole thing with Alex already made me,â she continued. âYou knew how confusing itâs been from the start. And instead of helping me through it, you made it worse.â
Tara wiped quickly at her face. âI didnât plan for any of this to happen.â
âBut it did happen,â Reader shot back. âAnd you kept letting it happen over and over again.â
Silence filled the flat again. Heavy and uncomfortable.
Reader stared at Tara for a moment before laughing quietly to herself, though it sounded more exhausted than amused.
âThe worst part is,â she admitted softly, âif some random girl online did this, I honestly think it would hurt less.â
Taraâs expression crumpled slightly.
âBecause I expected better from you.â
Readerâs flat fell completely silent.
The kind of silence that felt heavy enough to press down on both of them. So quiet it almost felt like you could hear their hearts beating.
Tara didnât say anything.
Not that Reader expected her to. Tara had never been good with confrontation, especially not when it came from someone she cared about. Normally, Reader would have softened by now. Normally she would have stepped in to ease the tension, to make things less uncomfortable for Tara.
But this time, she couldnât bring herself to do it.
Reader let out a quiet scoff and shook her head before slowly beginning to nod to herself, like part of her had expected this outcome from the beginning.
âGet out,â she muttered.
She pushed herself away from the door and pulled it open, standing to the side for someone she used to consider one of her closest friends.
âTara, justâ just get out. Please.â Her voice sounded tired now more than angry. Drained. âAnd donât contact me again. Ever, preferably.â
Tara looked up sharply at that, tears finally spilling down her cheeks properly. âReaderâŚâ
âNo.â Reader shook her head immediately. âDonât do that.â
âI donât want to lose you over this.â
Reader laughed quietly under her breath, though it sounded completely humourless. âYou shouldâve thought about that before.â
Tara stood there for another few seconds, like she was hoping Reader would change her mind. Like she was waiting for her to take it back and tell her to stay.
But Reader didnât.
Eventually, Tara wiped at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie and walked slowly towards the door. She paused beside Reader for a second, hesitating like she wanted to say something else.
âI really am sorry,â she whispered.
Reader stared straight ahead instead of looking at her. âGood for you.â
The words sounded colder than she intended, but she was too hurt to care anymore.
A second later, Tara walked out into the hallway.
Reader shut the door immediately behind her and locked it before sliding down against the wood with a shaky breath.
And for the first time since seeing those clips online, she finally let herself cry.
taglist (comment/pm if you wanna be added): @ireaiiyiikecats , @willuver , @i-get-obsessed-fast , @rosayposay @eeveso
( content warnings : 18+ mdni , sexual content , cum play, praise, george is a soft dom, mischaracterization ok )
( a/n ) : i dont fucking know how to write anyone but big daddy ab so fuck
AFTERCARE, what they're like after sex
George is incredibly attentive and tender after sex, his usual energetic humor softening into a gentle, caring demeanor that makes your heart flutter. He'll run his fingers through your hair, pressing soft kisses to your forehead as he murmurs how amazing you were. "You alright there, darling? Need anything?" he'll ask, his blue-green eyes full of concern as he checks in with you. He's surprisingly domestic in these moments, often getting up to fetch you water or a snack, returning with a silly joke that makes you laugh despite your exhaustion. George loves cuddling afterward, pulling you close against his slim but firm chest as you both come down from the intensity, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine affection and whispered praises about how much you mean to him.
BODY PART, their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's
George is secretly proud of his hands - not because they're particularly muscular, but because of how skilled they are at making you feel good. He loves watching them explore your body, his long fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver. On you, he's absolutely obsessed with your eyes, he loves watching them change as you get more aroused, the way they darken and lose focus when he's hitting just the right spot. "Look at me, darling. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you cum," he'll murmur, his voice soft but commanding as he maintains eye contact, his usual humor replaced by intense focus on your pleasure.
CUM, anything to do with cum, basically
George has a thing for cumming inside you, he loves the intimacy of it, the feeling of being completely connected as he fills you up. "That's it, darling. Take all of it," he'll groan, his slim hips pumping as he empties himself inside you. He also loves watching it drip out afterward, often pushing it back in with his fingers as he murmurs about how beautiful you look marked with his cum. When he does finish on your body, he prefers your stomach or breasts, leaning down to lick it off afterward with a grin. "i love you" he'll say before kissing you, letting you taste the combination of your fluids on his tongue.
DIRTY SECRET, pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs
George secretly loves it when you "steal" his hoodies and wear them around the house especially when you're not wearing anything underneath. The sight of you in his oversized clothing, with nothing on underneath, drives him absolutely wild. He'll often "catch" you and bend you over the nearest surface, taking you from behind without even removing the hoodie. "Wearing my things without asking, are we? Naughty girl," he'll growl, his usual playful tone replaced by something darker and more possessive. What you don't know is that he sometimes leaves his favorite hoodies out specifically for you to "find" and "steal."
EXPERIENCE, how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?
Despite his confident self, George was somewhat inexperienced before you, mostly awkward fumbling in his younger years that never went anywhere serious. But he's a quick study. "Tell me what you like, darling. I want to be brilliant at this for you," he'll say, genuinely wanting to please you. His natural curiosity and willingness to experiment more than make up for his initial lack of experience, and he quickly becomes attuned to your every need and desire.
FAVORITE POSITION, this goes without saying
George's favorite position is missionary, he loves being able to look into your eyes, to kiss you deeply as he moves inside you. The intimacy of face-to-face sex, combined with the control it allows him, is the perfect balance for his soft dom nature. "Look at me, darling. Want to see your face when I make you cum," he'll murmur, his eyes locked on yours as he maintains a steady rhythm. His second favorite is having you ride him - he loves the view of your body above him, the way your breasts bounce as you move, but he maintains control by gripping your hips to set the pace. "That's it, darling. Just like that. You're doing so well," he'll encourage.
GOOFY, are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.
George's humor doesn't disappear during sex, it just changes a little. He's still witty and sarcastic, but now his jokes are laced with desire and dominance. He might pause mid thrust to make a self-deprecating comment about his technique, only to follow it with a particularly deep thrust that makes you gasp. "Not bad, eh?" he'll grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as you struggle to form a coherent response. These moments of humor, even in the most intense moments, show the playful man beneath it all and always leave you feeling connected to him on multiple levels.
HAIR, how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.
George keeps his body hair natural, the light brown to dark blond hair on his chest trails down to a thinner patch at the base of his cock. He's not particularly concerned with grooming, finding it unnecessary and unnatural. "Why mess with perfection?" he'll grin when you ask about it, running your fingers through his chest hair. He loves it when you play with his hair, both on his head and body, finding it incredibly intimate and comforting. The casual, natural look extends to his pubic hair, which he keeps trimmed but not completely bare.
INTIMACY, how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect
Despite his dominant nature, George is incredibly romantic during sex, he's always checking in, making sure you're enjoying yourself, expressing how much you mean to him. "You're brilliant, you know that? Absolutely perfect," he'll murmur between kisses, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine affection. He particularly loves eye contact during sex, finding it incredibly intimate to watch your reactions as he pleasures you. "Look at me, darling. You're so beautiful, especially when i'm inside you, yeah?," he'll say, his voice soft but commanding as he maintains eye contact, his eyes full of emotion as he connects with you on the deepest level.
JACK OFF, masturbation headcanon
George masturbates fairly regularly when you're not around, often to the thought of you. He's particularly into edging himself, bringing himself to the brink repeatedly before finally allowing release. "Thinking of you. Always thinking of you," he'll groan as he strokes himself. He often records these sessions, planning to show you later as a surprise.
KINK, one or more of their kinks
George has a serious praise kink, he loves telling you how good you're doing, how beautiful you are, how much he loves the way you respond to him. It's not just about your pleasure, it's about his ego, knowing he's the one making you feel this good. "You're doing so well, darling. Taking me so beautifully," he'll murmur, his voice thick with emotion as he watches you respond to his touch. He's also into light bondage - not anything too intense, but loves restraining your hands with his hoodies or t-shirts, loving the way you look at him with complete trust as he takes control. "Trust me. I'll take care of you," he'll promise, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine tenderness.
LOCATION, favorite places to do the do
George's favorite place is definitely your bed, He's not the type to go out and fuck you in public I feel. It'd be too much and honestly a bit worrying, with the amount of fans he's got watching and all. But he is no stranger to heavy petting in public, I reckon he gets a kick out of you two teasing eachother when out with friends.
MOTIVATION, what turns them on, gets them going
Nothing turns George on faster than you challenging him, even playfully. If you tease him about his frame or make a sarcastic comment about his technique, his eyes darken and his jaw sets. "Think you're funny, don't you, sweetheart? We'll see who's laughing when I'm making you beg," he'll growl, already hard at the thought of proving you wrong.
NO, something they wouldn't do, turn offs
George has a hard line against anything that truly degrades you, like alfie, I think he's less dominating then alfie so he's a bit more senstive, he's more about praising anyway. So seeing you cry in sex is just something he couldn't do, he sees you as his fragile little angel!
ORAL, preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.
George absolutely adores giving oral, he could spend hours between your legs, exploring every inch of you with his tongue and fingers. He loves the way you taste, the sounds you make when he hits just the right spot, the way your body trembles as he brings you to orgasm again and again. "That's it. Let me hear you. Want to know how good I'm making you feel," he'll murmur against your clit, his eyes looking up at you with intense focus. He's equally enthusiastic about receiving oral, but he maintains control by gripping your hair or holding your head, setting the pace as he fucks your mouth. "Just like that. You're brilliant at this," he'll groan, his slim hips pumping as he watches you take him deeper.
PACE, are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.
George typically favors a steady, deliberate pace, not too fast, not too slow, but perfectly controlled to maximize your pleasure. He loves watching your reactions as he varies his rhythm, speeding up when you're close to orgasm, then slowing down to prolong the pleasure. "Not yet. Want to enjoy this a bit longer," he'll murmur with a wicked grin when you try to speed up the pace. That said, when he's particularly worked up or feeling possessive, he'll shift to a faster, rougher rhythm. "You're so beautiful, hm?" he'll growl, his body moving with surprising power and precision as he drives you both toward release.
QUICKIE, their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.
George doesn't mind quickies when necessary - he's practical enough to recognize that sometimes you both need release but don't have time for an extended session. "Quick one? Don't mind if I do," he'll grin, already hardening at the thought. He's particularly fond of morning quickies, waking you up with his fingers or mouth, bringing you to a quick orgasm before he has to start his day. "Just a taste to get me through the day, darling. Promise I'll make it up to you tonight," he'll murmur, pressing a quick kiss to your lips as he rushes out the door. That said, he much prefers longer sessions where he can take his time exploring your body and drawing out the pleasure for both of you.
RISK, are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.
George is always down to experiment, especially if it involves trying new things that might enhance your pleasure. He loves researching new techniques or positions. "Read about this new thing. Think we should try it? Could be good," he'll say, already excited at the prospect of exploring something new with you. He's particularly interested in sensory play, blindfolds, temperature play, different textures, loving the way it heightens your other senses and makes you more responsive to his touch. "Trust me. I'll take care of you," he'll promise, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine excitement as he introduces you to new sensations.
STAMINA, how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?
Despite his build, George has impressive stamina, he can easily go multiple rounds with only short breaks in between. He particularly loves marathon sessions where you can explore each other's bodies for hours, trying different positions and techniques until you're both completely spent. "Think you can go again? I know I can," he'll grin with a wink, already ready for round two or three. He's particularly good at pacing himself, holding back his own orgasm until you've had yours, often multiple times. "Ladies first, darling. Always," he'll say with mock chivalry, his blue-green eyes twinkling with amusement as he focuses on your pleasure before his own.
TOYS, do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?
George has a modest but growing collection of toys that he loves using on you - vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, you name it. He gets a thrill from introducing new toys to you, watching as you experience new sensations under his careful guidance. "Think you can handle this, sweetheart? It's supposed to be brilliant," he'll say, already hard at the thought of using the newest addition to his collection on you. He doesn't use toys on himself often, preferring to focus on your pleasure, but he's not opposed to it if you express interest, i don't think he'd like it but i just think he's an open guy - especially if it involves you taking charge for once, which he finds unexpectedly hot despite his dominant tendencies. "Your turn to be in charge? Could be fun," he'll say with a nervous grin.
UNFAIR, how much they like to tease
George's teasing is a psychological game, a slow burn that's all about the build-up in his mind long before he ever touches you. He'll plant the seed hours in advance, sending you a single, cryptic text while you're at work: "Thinking about last night. Specifically, the sounds you make." He won't reply to your frantic follow-up questions, leaving you to stew in a mixture of arousal and anticipation all day. By the time he gets home, you're already a mess for him. He won't rush to touch you either. He'll just watch you for a moment, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your flushed cheeks and the way you can't quite meet his gaze. "Eager, are we?" he'll ask, his tone light and conversational, as if he's commenting on the weather. He enjoys the power of knowing he's completely unraveled you with just a few words and the promise of what's to come. For George, the teasing isn't just a prelude to sex; it's the main event, a delicious torment that he savors almost more than the act itself.
VOLUME, how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.
George is surprisingly loud during sex, he's not one to hold back, groaning and murmuring praise with each thrust, he's particularly vocal when he's close to cumming, his usual conversational tone becoming more guttural as he loses himself in pleasure. "Fuck, darling. So good. Gonna cum," he'll groan, his slim body tensing as he pounds into you. He loves hearing you be loud too, encouraging you to scream his name as he fucks you. "Let me hear you, darling." he'll demand,.
WILD CARD, a random headcanon for the character
Despite his dominant persona, George has a secret soft spot for post-sex baths - he loves drawing you a warm bath with bubbles and candles, washing your hair and massaging your shoulders as you both relax in the warm water. "Just taking care of my darling," he'll say simply when you ask about this unusually romantic gesture, his green eyes soft with emotion as he tends to you. These moments of tender care are rare but precious, showing the loving man beneath the dominant exterior. He particularly loves it when you return the favor, washing his body with gentle hands, your touch conveying the same care and affection he shows you.
X-RAY, let's see what's going on under those clothes
not overly large, but perfectly shaped to hit all the right spots inside you. He's uncut, with a sensitive foreskin that he loves having you play with during foreplay. His balls are average size, tightening against his body as he gets closer to orgasm.he'll grin when he catches you staring, already hardening under your gaze. He's not particularly boastful about his size, finding it crass, but he's quietly confident in his ability to please you with what he has. "It's not the size, darling. It's how you use it. And I intend to use it very, very well," he'll say with a wink.
YEARNING, how high is their sex drive?
George's desire for you is less about a constant physical readiness and more about a deep, consuming preoccupation. His sex drive isn't a raging fire but a slow, deliberate burn that's always present in the back of his mind. He doesn't get hard at random moments thinking about you; instead, he finds himself mentally replaying your encounters, analyzing them with an almost academic intensity. He'll be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly zone out, a faint smile on his lips as he remembers the exact way you gasped when he did that thing with his tongue last night. It's not about immediate gratification for George; it's about the anticipation, the slow build of desire throughout the day. He's more likely to send you a text like, "I've been thinking about you all morning" than a crude demand. When he does initiate sex, it's rarely spontaneous in a frantic way. It's a calculated decision, the culmination of hours of mental foreplay. He'll corner you in the kitchen, not with a desperate kiss, but by simply standing too close, his presence a palpable thing until you're the one who breaks, turning to him with a look that says, "Now."
Zzz, how quickly they fall asleep afterwards
George typically falls asleep fairly quickly after sex, but not before making sure you're comfortable and satisfied. He'll clean you up gently, get you water if you need it, then pull you close against his slim chest. "Sleep now, darling. Need you rested for whatever we get up to tomorrow," he'll murmur, his eyes already heavy with sleep as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. He's a light sleeper though, often waking up during the night to check on you, adjusting the blankets or pulling you closer if you've drifted apart. He particularly loves waking up before you, watching you sleep for a few minutes before starting his day, sometimes unable to resist waking you with soft kisses or gentle touches that lead to morning sex.
summary: returning back to normal will be hard, but living with the truth makes it a little easier
content: mentions of death and violence , minor injury description , angst w/ comfort
notes: and this is the final chapter regarding arthurâs hunger games!! weâve finally tied it off after a month and three quarters. iâm shockingly proud at how quickly i got this done, and iâm hoping that i can finish alfieâs and georgeâs in that amount of time too because i really wanna get around to my other auâs before the end of the year LOL but thank you to everyone who stuck around for this series! you mean the world to me <3
WAKING UP AFTER becoming a victor had to be one of the worst experiences of your life, and youâd just been through hell and back. Since your body had had time to decompress, when you finally started using it again, every muscle hurt like hell and felt like you were carrying ten extra pounds with everything.
On top of that, you were pretty sure you were losing your mind.
When you had opened your eyes for the first time after being escorted out of the arena, you realised that you had been completely hosed down. All of the dirt and grime was no longer embedded in your hair and under your nails. Any nasty spots that had raised on your face had disappeared, and the underlying stench of sweat and earth that youâd actually gotten used to, had vanished.
But worst of all, the last remaining thing you had of Arthur had gone too.
His blood, the one that was staining your hands the last time you remember being awake, had been completely stolen from you, scrubbed out of the creases in your hands and rinsed out of the clumpy knots in your hair.
All of it was gone.
You donât remember exactly what happened when you found out, but you remember Tigris being there, her face one of sympathy and care before you blacked out again, and when you awoke, your throat was raw and scratchy partnered with your eyes being slightly puffy and irritated.
âHey, shh, shh.â She hushed you as you rose for the second time.
âTigris?â You croaked, turning your head on the pillow to look at her.
âYeah, everythingâs okay. Youâre back in the Capitol now.â
âD-Did they bring Arthur?â It hurt like hell to speak, but you just had to know, âI asked them to. T-They could fix him.â
âNo, my darling, they didnât.â She shook her head, stroking her long, bony fingers through your hair, âIâm so sorry.â
Your face screwed up into an expression that you were sure reeked of agony, with your eyebrows knotted firm in the middle of your face and your nose all crinkled as tears sprouted and spilled.
âI know, I know.â She whispered, nodding.
A sharp breath of air was sucked in, causing you to choke on your own tears.
âHere, here, letâs sit up.â She started adjusting the bed you were lying back in, setting up some pillows against the headboard and helping you into a sitting position. âIâll go and get Claudia, okay? Sheâs better at this.â
The time you were alone was short, but the silence really got to you, and in that soundless room, noises started coming back to you. Arthurâs words (his last ones, to be exact) and the gruesome spurts of his blood pooling out of his mouth.
Claudia walked into the room, replacing Tigris, and thatâs when your dam broke.
âOkay, okay.â She breathed, sitting on the edge of your bed and bringing you into her arms, tucking your head into her chest.
âItâs not fair.â You wailed.
Everything hurt, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.
The weak feeling of your ribs was miniscule compared to the tempest storming in your head, creating this awful banging against the inside of your skull.
Your hand came up, weakly clutching onto the wrist of the arm that curled under your chin with her hand splayed across your cheek, keeping you close.
âThey killed him, Claudia! They took him from me!â
She frowned, pulling your face away from her chest and cupping it in her hands and staring at you.
âWhat?â
âI couldnât save him!â
âYou tried to save him?â
âYes!â
Again, she pulled you back in, a little more frantically this time as her hands scrambled for your limbs, keeping you close to her.
She knew what was going to come of this.
Propaganda. A false narrative. Throwing the starving Capitol citizens a story that never even took place.
âI just want him back.â You croaked weakly, losing your grip on Claudiaâs wrist and dropping your hands to your lap.
âI know. I know.â She nodded.
She didnât.
In fact, she didnât even know that you felt any remorse over his death whatsoever, because thatâs not what had been relayed back to the viewers.
âYou have your final interview with Lucky in two hours, and then you get crowned, and then you have to do your District Tour, okay?â She explained softly, her fingers still gliding through your hair in a way that made you feel five again, and curled up in your mothers lap.
Tigris appeared back in the room then, face full of sympathy.
âWhat happened in that arena?â
âWhat?â You sniffled.
âWhen Arthur died. What happened?â
âA tiger came after us? I-I donât know what you mean.â
âThe gamemakers manipulated your games, Reader.â Claudia sighed, rubbing the space between her brows, âThe power shut off for a minute, and when they turned back on, youâd won.â
Your breath caught in your throat, and what followed was a sensation that you could only describe as someone reaching into your oesophagus and stealing the air from it.
âBut Iâ I didnât kill him.â You gasped out, âI promise I didnât, I would neverâ I tried to save him.â
Tigris and Claudia shared a look.
âWell thatâs not what everyone in Panem thinks.â
âOh, his family. Oh no, his family thinks I killed himâ I didnât, I swear I didnât.â
âWe believe you, but I think âŚâ Claudia sighed, âI think for the safety of you and your own family, you have to run with that narrative. You go out there in that interview, and you puff your chest out and you act like you donât care.â
After a few more minutes of pep talking and planning, Tigris whisked more stylists into the room to begin readying you for the interview.
You hated Lucky Flickerman enough based on your first meeting with him, so you expected that youâd walk out of this one wishing you could wring his neck out with your bare hands.
The interview was a dramatic avalanche of brightly flashing lights, empty laughter and beaming smiles.
Your outfit was nowhere near as representative as your original one, instead wearing something white and flowy.
It felt like a statement, like the designers had tried to preserve your innocence and turn you into something you werenât, which was funny, because you didnât think your games were that bad.
You knew you had an absurd amount of blood on your hands, but they were just strangers to you.
Nobodies.
And the blood that mattered wasnât even real.
Arthurâs death wasnât your fault.
Right?
After youâd breezed through the interview, Tigris had helped you strip out of your dress, which looked somewhat basic to the eye, but was full of numerous hidden little details that made it feel like a rope trap to get in and out of.
Sat on your pyjamas on the edge of your bed, you stared down at your lap, thinking over the questions youâd firmed with nothing but a mere nod and a smile or a sentence full of lies.
Youâd bluffed your entire way through those thirty minutes, and the crown you received at the end didnât even feel remotely worth it.
It sat on your chest of drawers in your bedroom on the train, and you probably werenât going to pick it up or wear it again now.
You didnât feel worthy.
âReader.â Tigris spoke up.
You hummed, glancing at her.
Her fingers stretched out, unravelling to reveal something hidden.
It was small, like a chip of some sorts, and it fell into your palm.
âWhat is it?â
âThe truth.â
She dispersed from your room as if she hadnât just dropped a very ominous and vague line, leaving you to your own devices.
There was a TV on the wall across from your bed, and you fancied your chances that this chip held some game footage that mightâve been lost and buried amongst the lies and brainwashing.
You were right.
Rewatching Arthurâs death and the gruesome manner in which it had played out had tears streaming down your face and hiccups catching in your chest.
From this angle, it was worse.
There was no shot of your faces, but the futile desperation was evident as you continued to strain to heave his body up, despite the odds stacked against you.
This was reality, not whatever chopped up version the gamemakers had sold the Capitol.
You tried not to dwell on it, you really did, because you were going to be speaking for the majority of the day tomorrow, and you needed the energy to deal with people.
There was no doubt in your body that the people from districts Eleven and Twelve would start an outcry at the mere sight of you in their area, and you didnât want to be running on a couple of hours of sleep in the case of that happening.
The first three visits to the districts felt easy.
They werenât hard on you, nor did they really care that their fellow members were dead.
Being back home felt somewhat nice, but all of that was drained away when all your dad had to say to you was âCongratulationsâ. Nevermind an âIâm here for youâ or âIâm proud of youâ. Just a nonchalant nod paired with one word that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Thankfully, your brother was a lot more happy to see you.
He hugged you tighter than ever, and you wouldâve complained about the way his uniform dug against your ribcage painfully, but there was no need, because this was all you ever needed and or wanted.
You blinked the tears away that gathered in your eyes, refusing to let your family see another moment more of weakness from you.
The reunion between them was brief, and you wished you had more time to sit with your brother and just talk, but things needed to be done.
You shouldâve expected cold indifference from One and Two, because any death was a failure in their books, however the reactions from District Three shocked you.
They seemed bored, like they knew your speech was a scripted mess of false representation that neither you or your team really believed in.
You supposed they were kind of used to losing their own members given that they werenât a career group, but you still expected a bit of emotion from them.
District Four was different.
It was worse.
Your gaze didnât soften around Cove, no matter how sorrowful you felt for her people.
She had still killed your brother, and you still wanted to take her next.
However, throughout your practiced speech, you found your gaze naturally dragging back to the large family standing across the courtyard.
You couldnât make out their faces from so far, but Arthurâs was being projected behind them, and the sight of him, fresh and untainted and alive made you want to break down then and there.
Inside the District Four town hall, you requested something you werenât sure was going to be permitted.
âIâd like to speak to Arthurâs family.â You swallowed thickly, âIn private.â
You expected anger, of course you did, but you didnât expect it to manifest itself physically.
You were on the receiving end of an outraged slap from his mother, one that you took gracefully without any concern or order for punishment.
In fact, you stopped the peacekeepers when they tried to intervene.
âYou killed my boy!â She screamed at you, âAfter everything he did for you?!â
One of the men in white uniform equipped a baton, getting ready to strike.
âStop!â You snapped, standing in front of his family, âYou gonna hurt a new victor? Not sure how the Capitol will respond to that.â
He faltered before sheathing his weapon again.
You rolled your eyes at him as he saw himself out, and turned to face his family.
Wordlessly, you held out your palm.
Within it was the chip that Tigris had slipped your way just hours before.
âWhatâs this?â Arthurâs mother spat.
â⌠What happened during the âpower cutâ.â You muttered.
As his family was forced to rewatch his death, you stood to the side with a thumbnail in your mouth, anxiously gnawing away.
You were unsure as to how they were going to take this news, but all you hoped was that they didnât think youâd betrayed their brother and son.
The youngest girl was sobbing loudly at the sight of her brother being mauled, along with her siblings who sniffled and cried silently.
The footage halted at the end, and you were quick to hurry forwards and turn it off, sparing them the sight of their beloved boy a cavern of himself on the floor.
âThank you, for that.â His brother swallowed thickly, his hand on his mum's back supportively.
You nodded, âYouâre welcome.â
âYou need to show everyone!â One of the younger girls exclaimed, standing up, âEveryone thinks youâre horrible but youâre not! You tried to save our brother! You have to tell them all!â
âViola!â An older girl hissed, pulling her back down onto the sofa.
âPoppy, itâsââ
âHey.â You whispered, crouching in front of her, âIt doesnât matter what the rest of Panem thinks about me. What matters is that you and your family know the truth. I can live with everyone else thinking I killed Arthur, but you all deserved to know that he meant ⌠so much to me in that arena. And I wouldnât be standing here without him.â
The girl beside her was blubbering an awful amount, and you were slightly worried she was going to make herself sick.
âWhatâs your name?â You spoke softly.
âF-F-F-Flora.â She hiccuped.
âYou have a beautiful name.â You smiled, âAnd you have Arthurâs eyes, you know.â
âWe all do.â Viola spoke again.
A little quip of your lips appeared at the tone in which she spoke.
She was strong and unwavering, but you knew beneath all that was just a little girl, scared and upset without her big brother.
It was like looking into a mirror.
âArthur told me a lot about you.â You admitted, âYouâre Viola, yeah?â
She nodded.
âHe said that I would like you a lot, and so far heâs got a good judge of character.â
The smallest of smiles appeared on her face.
âItâs okay to miss him, you know? I miss my brother all the time.â
âArthur was really angry at Cove when she killed Sebastian.â The girl next along said, âIâm Willow.â
âItâs nice to meet you Willow.â
âHe said that she was wrong for doing that, even though it meant we won.â Viola carried on, only to be interrupted by Flora.
âThatâs why mummy was so angry, because she thought you did the same thing to Arthur what happened to your brother.â
âI would never.â You shook your head.
âPoppy, we should take her to Arthurâs favourite place!â Willow gasped.
âIf thereâs time, I wouldnât mind at all.â
âI donât care if thereâs time or not. Everyone else can wait.â
Flora giggled, âYouâre so cool.â
The docks that Poppy had taken you along had some of the most peaceful atmospheres youâd ever experienced.
With your feet dangling over the edge of the wooden ledge, your toes grazed the softly lapping water, letting the sound of waves hitting the shore fill your ears.
She sat beside you, honey brown hair blowing in the wind ever so slightly.
The soft stench of fish lingered in the air, much to be predicted due to where you were, and if it were for anyone else other than Arthur, you probably wouldâve excused yourself to go inside and get away from it all.
But this was his favourite place, and the entirety of you wished you could move here and revel in the same air that he had.
âThank you.â Poppy said.
You turned to her, eyebrows furrowed lightly.
âFor not killing my brother.â
The fact that she was thanking you for that alone was enough to make you snort, but you held it back, because there were some people (that you hadnât even been face to face with yet) that couldnât say the same.
You nodded, âIâm glad I didnât.â
âHe really liked you. I could tell.â
â⌠I know.â
âNo, he liked you.â Poppy emphasised.
Again, you nodded, âI know.â
âDid you âŚâ
âLike him back?â
âYeah.â
You swallowed, thinking of your answer for a short moment.
It would be wrong to say no.
You were purposefully delaying your tour experience and the time you got with other districts to accompany his family and socialise with them.
You were letting the sea salt crystallise in your hair, and grains of sand stick to your skin in the hopes that you could carry them back home with you. You wandered if heâd ever touched one of the grains on the balls of your feet, or if he would only ever continue to live on in memory.
âI did.â
âDid he know?â
âI hope soâ I mean, it wouldnât have mattered if he did or not.â
summary: youâre usually really good at hosting events, you donât know why this one is so difficult
content: mafiaboss!ab , swearing , discussions of problems conceiving , mentions of sex , misogyny & sexualisation , protective!ab , panic attack , angst w/ comfort , threats of violence
notes: ellie (kinda) paid me for this ⌠also i donât really like the beginning so đ˘đ˘đ˘
wc: 2,427
YOUR BALLROOM WAS massive. The floors were full of moving feet in expensive shoes and the rich laughs of wealthy businessmen and their wives filled the room. Caterers stalked around, holding silver platters of imported food and addressing everyone higher up than them with manners and politeness that had been engrained into them.
Youâre bustling around upstairs, trying not to break a sweat as you try and push your earrings in with one hand while fiddling with the buckle on your heels.
Your personal helper, Maryln, was rushing around you, making sure your hair was laid perfectly and there were no strays that could cause you problems, while also double checking that your dress was done up properly.
It was a long, silky black material with a slit down the skirt that showed the skin of your leg a tantalising amount, enough to have some men wondering what was being covered.
You didnât do it for attention, of course not, you had a wonderful husband on your arm who did nothing but make the world spin for you, but it gave people something to think about, and this entire event was centred around you and your husband.
âYou nearly done, darlinâ?â Alfie peeked his head into the bedroom door, âThe people are waiting.â
âThe people can fucking wait.â You got out through gritted teeth, sportizing yourself with double the amount of perfume you usually would. âDonât rush me, Alfie.â
He sighed, stepping into the room and gesturing for Maryln to leave.
She slipped out of the door as he placed his hands on your shoulders, making you pause.
âAlfie, I donâtââ
âAngel.â His tone was firm and unmoving, tilting your head up to look at him, âBreathe.â
âI am breathing.â
âYou know what I mean.â He chuckled, tucking your hair back, âYou look fine. Stop rushing yourself.â
âYou donât get it, do you?â You muttered, âKeeping up personas for you is just looking nice. I have to look nice, smell nice, act nice, have nice posture, not eat too much, not talk too much, but I canât talk too little or Iâm meanââ
âReader, stop.â Alfie huffed, shaking you slightly, âI get it, okay, I do? But you like fine, you smell great. Youâre perfect, okay? Stop stressing.â
âAre you sure?â
âPositive, now letâs go.â
You let out a huff, fluffing your hair a little more, and wrapped your hand around his forearm and let him guide you down the stairs.
Your entrance was grand and over dramatic, heels clicking loud on the ceramic floor, making a statement of announcing your arrival. Dozens of faces turned your way, lit up with joy at your appearance alongside your husband. A round of applause broke out, and had you only been used to this for a few weeks, you wouldâve blushed heavily and tried to dash for the nearest door, however the either adoring or envious looks from women double your age were something you were familiar with.
Maybe not comfortable, but familiar.
You stood beside Alfie as he conversed with wealthy businessmen and those he shared alliances with.
You quickly disbanded from him after getting bored of their empty talking, finding a group of women your age and dispersing into mindless chatter with them, discussing the things their husbands do that annoy them, the latest pair of overpriced heels and a dress that they wished would fit them but didnât.
âWhat about you?â
All eyes were on you.
âSorry?â You hummed, taking a sip out of your champagne chute.
âAnything Alfie does to annoy you?â
âUh, no, not really.â You shook your head.
âOh, come on!â One of the other ladies laughed, âThere has to be something. Surely, with all his power and money. Doesnât it get to his head?â
âNo, heâs not really cocky like that.â You explained, âHe knows his worth, but he doesnât rub it in peopleâs faces.â
âOf course not.â Another chimed, obviously sarcastic as she gestured to the large hall around them.
âYou know, you really are lucky. Your life is ⌠well, itâs perfect.â A blonde woman spluttered, âYou have this extravagant house, a loving husband, whoâs stupidly attractive,â
Your gaze narrowed at that, eyes becoming dark and a little less friendly.
Alfie was beautiful, there was no denying that, but you didnât need other women to tell you that. You saw it with your own eyes every single day.
âI mean, what donât you have?â
You shrugged, taking another sip of champagne.
One of the ladies gasped, âKids! Oh my God, you must be planning on having them soon. Youâd have the most beautiful babies ever.â
Your face faltered a little, but you tried not to let it show.
Bringing your finger to the rim of your glass, you traced it in slow circles, trying to use it as a guide to regulate your breathing and not get yourself too wound up.
âItâs ⌠I mean, weâve spoken about it.â
âOnly spoken? Reader, you have to have kids with him, like, thatâs your life complete. And like Sophie said, theyâd be absolutely stunning.â
âUh, you know, weâve been trying.â You hummed.
Instead of seeing the depth in what youâve said, they immediately started batting their lashes and letting sly comments slip.
âWe all know what that means.â
âOoo, I bet you have.â
âIs it good then?â
Your head shot up, âExcuse me?â
âObviously it is, thatâs why theyâve âbeen tryingâ.â
Seriously, what did these women want from you?
If you stayed silent, theyâd continue to badger you for a response, but if you opened your mouth and crudely explained the way your husband fucked the shit out of you, youâd receive horrific looks and would no doubt be the topic at hand during their weekly gossip sessions for at least a month or two.
âWhat, you ladies need something to fantasise about because your men arenât adequate enough?â You chirped.
You kept your tone sweet like normal, but there was a hint of something in your undertones. Snarkiness, something that was malicious and intended to sting.
But they were all dense, and so it didnât hit them.
Instead, they started laughing and shaking their heads, brushing your comment under the rug.
Unfortunately, with your attention now on them and not of the circling of your finger on the rim of your glass, the panic in you flared up again, causing a dull pain in your chest.
You dismissed yourself from the huddle of strong perfumes and bitchy remarks with an excuse of needing to use the restroom.
Leaving your chute on a side table, you unhooked the rope banning off the stairs and began to climb them in a rush.
You just about made it up to the landing before you were leaning on the bannister entirely, trying to use it to pull yourself toward your bedroom.
âMaâam?â You heard Marlynâs voice from behind you, âIs everything alright?â
Somehow, you managed to shake your head.
Everything around you felt like it was blurring into one big black hole, and you couldnât make out the difference in her voice compared to the bustling, overlapping conversation of your guests downstairs.
Her hands gently found your waist and upper back, guiding you in the right direction until you were sitting on the edge of your bed.
When the door clicked shut, tears fell hard and heavy.
Your mind was unable to concentrate on the thoughts swarming your mind, and the method in which youâd learnt to breathe since the moment you were born.
Macara was undoubtedly streaming down your face, smudging through your perfectly layered foundation and concealer.
Presumably, Marlyn was the one dabbing at your cheeks with a light cloth.
âShould I take off your shoes, miss?â
Instead of agreeing, you reached down, and to the best of your ability, tried unbuckling your heels.
âLet me.â She said, crouching down and sliding your foot out of them.
They were your favourite shoes (black with a golden YSL logo as the heel) and she knew that if you damaged them, youâd end up even more overwhelmed and upset.
Back in the ballroom, Alfieâs eyes were scouring the crowds of people, trying to spot you.
Whether it be from the back or front, he would know it was you, so when he saw numerous bodies but none of which he recognised, he began getting slightly concerned.
He zoned out of the conversation he was part of, only joining back in to dismiss himself.
âGonna go find my mrs, Iâll be right back boys.â
âOh, yeah, gonna go and âfindâ her are you?â One of them smirked, âWe all know what you mean by that.â
âPardon?â Alfie was stunned.
âHey, donât let us stop you.â He held his hands up innocently, âJust make sure you both look presentable after, yeah?â
Alfieâs tone lowered into something sinister, âI want you out of my house immediately. If I come back and find you still on my grounds, Iâll put a bullet between your eyes. Got that?â
The man blubbered and stumbled over his words.
âIâm not joking. I wonât make an enemy out of you as long as you do what I say.â
And with that, he walked off.
God knows what type of state you were in right now, but to have people who were supposed to be his allies talking about you in such a disgusting, objectifying way struck him right in his heart.
And in his head apparently, because he got a thirst for blood whenever a man directed his sexual words at you.
He heard the sounds of your harsh sobs from the other side of the door, and when he pushed in, he was positive that his heart cracked immediately.
Marlyn sat beside you, rubbing your back and trying to feed you water, all while you were blatantly caught up in your own head, face screwed up into an image of distress.
âOi, whatâs going on?â Alfie hissed, shutting the door and rushing over, crouching in front of you.
âShe hasnât said anything.â Marlyn sighed, patting your hand that was trembling in your lap.
âThank you, Marlyn.â He nodded, letting her see herself out.
She left your cup of water on the bedside table.
âTalk to me, darlinâ.â Alfie pleaded, cupping your face in his hands, âWhat happened?â
You let your head collapse forward, forehead resting on his shoulder and causing your sobs to echo down his ear louder.
âAlright, alright.â He muttered, lowering you down onto the floor with him.
Your body collapsed into his, clinging to him for dear life and undoubtedly creasing his perfectly ironed shirt.
Not that he cared.
âIâm here, Iâm here.â He whispered.
Your legs were sprawled out, your neck arched at an awkward angle as your cheek was pressed to his chest.
âI need you to breathe properly, Reader.â Alfie said, lifting your head, âCan you follow my breathing?â
It took a while, and a few set backs, but eventually it managed to level out into something bearable that didnât cause a flare of burning in your lungs.
Your tears were still strong and continuous, but at least you werenât struggling for air anymore.
âTalk to me.â He hummed, pressing a kiss to your hairline, âWho do I need to kill?â
âAlfie âŚâ You sighed.
âIâm serious. Anyone getting you this wound up deserves at least a gunshot to the leg.â
âJust ⌠women,â You muttered, âAsking about kids.â
Alfieâs hand froze in your hair.
It had been a sensitive topic between the two of you since you went to the doctorâs and found out the truth.
Conceiving was going to be hard for you.
Not impossible, but hard.
Multiple failed pregnancy tests later, and you were already beginning to lose hope.
It was mentally and physically draining.
You loved intimacy with your husband, there was no doubt about it, but there were times that youâd get caught up in your own thoughts during it, and all of a sudden you werenât just having sex anymore, but you were trying for a baby.
A baby that had less than a 35% chance of even growing in the first place.
He resumed his petting, âSaying what?â
ââWhen are you having kids?â âYou have to have themâ âTheyâd be so beautifulâ. Stuff like that.â
He hummed, âWhat did you say?â
âThat we were trying.â You shrugged. âI didnât know what else to say.â
âThatâs okay. You didnât owe them a response anyway.â
âI just ⌠theyâre right, Alfie. Our life is perfect, apart from that.â
He shook his head, even while you were talking.
âReader, we donât need to have kids.â
âBut I want them.â Your voice cracked, âAlfie, I want them so bad.â
âI know you do, I know.â He whispered, stroking your hair back, âAnd so do I, but putting this constant pressure on yourself wonât help.â
âItâs not fair.â Your bottom lip trembled violently.
âI know, angel.â Alfie sighed heavily, âBut itâll happen one day, okay? I promise you, one day we will have our own little baby, and you can shut all those women upâ Speaking of, who was it.â
âAlfie.â
âTell me.â
You sighed and rolled your eyes, âSophie and Kayla.â
âBen and Tomâs wives?â
âAlfie, do not start trouble over something as stupid as this.â You hissed, sitting up.
âStupid?â He stared at you, gobsmacked, âReader, you were having a panic attack on our bedroom floor because of them. Thatâs not stupid.â
âIt wasn't because of them.â
âIf they hadnât stuck their nose in our business, you wouldnât be in this state, would you?â
You faltered then, looking down with pursed lips, âI just donât want you to get hurt.â
Alfie shook his head, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your head, âIâd get hurt a hundred times over if it meant bringing you justice.â
âThatâs silly.â
âItâs true.â
You smiled softly at that, leaning into his touch.
âWell, Tom relies on me for help regarding his betting, and Ben uses my security from time to time.â
âAlfieââ
ââGuess theyâll just have to start paying me a little bit more.â
You stared at him for a moment, âI canât talk you out of this, can I?â
âNope.â
A heavy sigh came from you and you let your body fall forwards into his.
His back was propped up against the side of your bed, and his arms folded around your body instinctively.
âI love you.â You croaked.
âI love you too. Iâd do anything for you, you know that?â
