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both feeling weirdly nervous to go for dinner together. him knocking on your door when it’s time to go and his head emptying when he sees you all dolled up. trying not to let you see him checking you out as you grab your bag
being overly friendly with each other to stop it feeling so weird. saying ‘thanks mate’ when he holds the door open for you. definitely not thinking about how good he smells as you brush by him to walk into the restaurant
teasing him for not pulling out your chair when you sit down and saying it’s no wonder he doesn’t go on many second dates. he obviously gets defensive and insists that he’s a gentleman on a date, thank you very much
he genuinely thinks he dies for a second when you tell him to prove it
but he’s stubborn. so he pulls out all the stops. he pours your wine. asks you interesting questions and watches with rapt attention when you answer. compliments you so casually it’s like he’s stating a fact. he’s funny in a different way than you’re used to. smirking every time he makes you laugh
he insists on pudding. even when you say you’re kind of full, he asks what you’d get next time, and then orders it with two spoons. flirtily batting away your spoon from a particularly good looking bite, before turning his spoon towards you and letting you have it. watching as you eat dessert off his spoon and trying not to read into the way it makes his heart race
he’s almost heartbroken when you leave the restaurant. not wanting to stop pretending. he’s had fun tonight. more so than any actual date he’s been on in months
both of you laying awake that night, tossing and turning until you realise how fucked you are
the flat suddenly seems half the size after that night and you’re constantly bumping into each other awkwardly. when you come out of the shower, he’s there. when he comes back from a run, breathless and panting, there you are
cooking together takes twice as long as you ask for utensils and ingredients rather than just grabbing them for fear of touching the other’s hand. you bump into one another by the oven and babble out excuses to get as far away from each other as possible
the boys notice. obviously. they aren’t blind and put two and two together pretty quickly when you came back from dinner giggling then couldn’t meet each others eyes the next day
you both try to rationalise away any feelings and go back to normal. you live together, you’re friends. that’s all
a small part of you won’t let go of the idea though. you and chris. how could that be anything but good?
it isn’t helped when you come home from work one day to a pile of your laundry on your bed, the football shirt you wore for the 30v1 video folded neatly on top
protective!will who hears someone make an explicit comment about you while you’re all out at the pub. you don’t hear it but he moves you away to go stand with the girls, gives you a quick kiss to the temple and tells you he’ll be right back. walks up to the guy and casually says if he hears another word come out of his mouth about you, he’ll break his nose. heads back over to you like nothing happened and slings his arm around your shoulders where it doesn’t move for the rest of the night
dad!will who bursts into tears the second his baby is born. like uncontrollable, streaming tears. trying so hard to check on you and make sure you’re ok and tell you how incredible you are but cannot. stop. crying. even when things calm down he’s still crying. silent little tears when he watches you holding his baby. welling up every five minutes because he can’t believe his luck. trying not to let the tears spill when he gets to hold ‘em for the first time, staring up at the ceiling to dry his eyes out before you place the baby in his arms bc ‘not having ‘em think dad isn’t the happiest man on earth right now’. trying to explain that the baby won’t remember but he won’t listen. ‘hiya mate’
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carrying the weight of the flat chores with him because the other two are useless at housework and can barely keep themselves alive
bickering over how to stack the dishwasher in the background of george's stream to the point where he says 'I hate when mum and dad fight' and it STICKS. every video or post the two of you are in becomes flooded with comments shipping you, the boys not helping by liking every one mentioning their 'parents'
you showing no interest in football whatsoever and him using this as a reason that you clearly wouldn't work together when it gets brought up online. 'she thought arteta was a tapas dish, it could never last :('
so much flirting oh my god. in videos. on social media. at the pub with everyone. at home when it's just you two.
chris getting clingy when he's drunk, insisting on walking next to you to the next pub, holding your hand so you don't get separated, shouting over the noise of the club to tell you how pretty you look. stumbling home together and giggling as you share a portion of chips in the kitchen before bed
him categorically denying there is anything going on between the two of you whenever he's on a shoot or a podcast but when he gets home and you're laying across the sofa watching tv, he can't help the warmth in his chest. still denies to himself that it's anything more than a really good friendship though
you assuming he's not into you because he still goes on multiple dates per week, not twigging that they're all first dates because no one can quite match up to you
surprisingly him on 30v1 after the boys convinced you it would be funny.
'is that my shirt??'
'well I don't have one so I swiped it when I was doing your washing'
him knowing that it's all a bit for the video but secretly liking you trying to get his attention. smashing the mr & mrs round because you know each other far too well
getting chris' heart racing by just sitting next to him, arthur and freezy losing their minds as chris tries to defend himself by saying you were just making him laugh. the boys egg you on to see how high you can get it and there's no defence for the way it skyrockets or the blush that creeps on to his face when you put your hand on the back of his neck and play with the curls at the nape of his neck
being so shit at football but being put through to the final round anyway. you don't win, because the other girl can actually kick a ball, and you pretend to be jealous. 'you'll be coming home to me anyway'
the comments on the video being feral so chris takes you to dinner, to thank you for increasing his engagement, obviously
been helping @mirrorinthemeadow with a fun series! go check it out here! but made some fun graphics and stuff for her! take the quiz and find out your friends from work soulmate!!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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"Never have I ever had multiple orgasms." Chris grins, the group of men turning to look at me expectantly.
"Bastards." I mutter before draining my second drink of the evening. Turns out pre-drinking for your own birthday party will just involve your nearest and dearest friends trying to get you as drunk as possible.
They'd ganged up on me almost as soon as I'd walked into their flat. Some excuse about them throwing me a party, using their flat, following their rules.
"Never have I ever... slept with a man." Arthur adds, placing a fresh drink in my hands.
"Jokes on you if I puke in your kitchen." I grumble and take a drink, grateful for my turn, "Never have I ever slept with a woman."
Chris, Arthur and George all drink, cheering about being top shaggers and making me wish I'd never opened my mouth. My eyes roll before landing on George.
He pauses in thought before offering, "Never have I ever come so hard I gave myself a headache."
Prick.
"What? How does that even happen?" Chris laughs.
"Come on, you can give me one more." George's voice drifts down to me, fingers moving slowly around my clit as he fucks into me hard. My legs are slung over his shoulders, his free arm wrapped around them to pull me even tighter to him. I can barely see despite the sun beginning to pour through my blinds, too fucked out to even remember my own name by this point. I don't need to remember it though, because it tumbles from George's lips like a prayer as I begin to clench around him. "Fuck, exactly like that, doing so well, come on, please come for me."
It's the fourth of the night but George doesn't seem tired in the slightest, if anything he's more determined than ever. It's as if finally getting to fuck me has unlocked some secret stamina in him and now he can't stop. He'd just say that he likes the way I feel around him when I come.
"George..." My voice is a raspy whine that I'm not proud of but can't help as my eyelids squeeze shut, my brows knotted tightly together.
He's still speaking to me but I can't hear him over the static in my head as my body finally gives in to him--
"Frowned too hard." I mumble before taking a small sip. I don't dare look at him. Don't dare confirm the smirk I know he's trying to conceal. The boys don't notice though, my sex life far too hilarious for them to notice the cause of the issue sitting right in front of them.
Thankfully, I'm saved from further torture by guests starting to arrive. The boys go into host mode, turning up the music, dimming the lights, and making sure no one has an empty drink.
I couldn't be mad at them if I wanted to as I look around the flat, decked out in banners and balloons and a tinselled fringe backdrop for photos. They'd also gotten me an adorable pink cake, which Arthur had assured me got him several funny looks on the way home.
My heart swells as I look around the kitchen, slowly filling up with people, and I can't help but feel incredibly grateful for them. I'm not given long enough to get emotional however, when I'm scooped up by new arrivals.
I'm not sure how they've done it but the lads seem to have invited every friend I've ever made. Mutual friends. Work friends. University friends. They're all here crammed into the kitchen.
We manage to pull everyone into one large group photo before they splinter off into unlikely combinations, all somehow getting along and forming new friendships. Something which may or may not be helped by the bottle of rum Chris has been walking around with like a shot girl.
I've just taken about seventy awful photos with my old uni flatmates, all of our eyes closed and noses crinkled in laughter in every single one, when I spot George observing the scene. He's leant back against the wall, hands tucked in the pockets of his tan trousers, with a soft smile on his lips. As the girls disperse to get more drinks, he makes his way over to me.
I'm not sure what it is about him tonight, but he looks incredible. It could be the fit of his black t-shirt, tighter against him than he usually wears, sleeves cut just above the buldge of his biceps. It could be the way he's done his hair, curls more defined than usual. Or is it the way he's trimmed his beard?
"Can we have one of me and you?" he asks, gesturing to backdrop. I nod and we collar the next person to walk by into taking our photo, who just so happens to be one Arthur Hill.
"Squidge in." Arthur says after taking George's phone.
"Have you had a haircut?" I ask George, tilting my head to the side as I assess his side profile.
"Yesterday." he confirms as he slips a hand around my waist for the photo.
"Looks nice." I say, turning to face Arthur. His hand seems to tense against my side for a moment and I'm tempted to make a joke about him being in front of cameras for a living but Arthur snaps at me to pay attention.
We take a few, varying from Instagram-worthy to cheesy grins, to George scooping me up in one arm. I like that one best. My arm slung around his neck, head thrown back, both of us laughing. George seems to like it too as we flick through them and he quickly favourites it.
"Right, birthday girl, what can I get you?" George asks as he slips his phone in his pocket.
"Nothing." I laugh, glancing round the room full of my friends, "I literally can't think of anything I could want right now."
"Damn it, was hoping you would say birthday sex." he jokes, grabbing two bottles of beer from the side, twisting off the caps and handing one to me.
"Right now? With all my friends in the other room?" I pretend to consider the idea, "Pretty hot actually, write that one down for us to try."
"I know you're joking but you saying things like that actually turns me on, I hope you realise that." George teases conspiratorially.
"Why do you think I say it?" I smirk against my drink.
"Heartless bitch." George mutters making me laugh.
My mouth opens in retort but I hear my name being called from the other end of the room.
"Go on, popular." George nudges me towards the crowd with a warm smile.
"Find you later for that birthday sex." I smirk before making my way across the room to see what all the commotion is about.
The commotion, it turns out, is my hometown best friend, Layla. In London. In the boys' flat. After telling me she couldn't make it because she was out of town. Not a lie, I suppose.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY GIRL!" she screams, wrapping her arms around my neck.
"You sneaky--" I start but her laughter interrupts me before she actually interrupts me and pulls me into a corner, demanding every details of my life since the last time she saw me in person.
We fall into old ways and talk most of the night away, observing the world passing us from our little corner.
"Where are you staying tonight?" I ask when it suddenly strike me that we aren't fifteen years old and having a sleepover in her parents' loft.
"Well I was going to try and crash at yours but your friend Chris is very cute." Layla smirks, eyeing him up by the kitchen island where a large portion of the party are playing beer pong.
I follow her gaze and noticing him looking back at her, slightly rosy-cheeked but trying to act casually.
"Go for it." I smirk. "I'm staying here too tonight anyway."
"Who are you sleeping with?" She jokes but her expression instantly drops when she looks back at me. "Oh my god, who?"
"Literally didn't say--"
"Didn't have to. I can read you like a book. It's George isn't it, you're finally fucking him!" She exclaims.
"Shut up!" I call, grateful for the noise of the music and the crowd playing beer pong.
"About time, he's hot and into you." She comments and turns back to watch Chris step up for his turn. He notices and tries to act cool when he sinks the ball into the other team's cup. It's cute really.
My gaze moves to George, draining the cup in his hand.
"It's just casual." I mutter, not really paying attention to the conversation as he throws the ball effortlessly into the cup opposite him.
"Sure."
"It is and no one knows so keep your mouth shut." I warn.
"Secret's safe with me." She says, putting her hands in the air. "I'll try and keep Chris distracted for you."
"My hero." I say with a roll of my eyes. She just grins and clinks her drink against mine.
The party starts to thin out as the night rolls on. The noise dies down. Music gets softer. We join the stragglers round the island for another game of beer pong. In my best attempt to wingwoman, I insist Layla joins Chris' team, making up some nonsense about us being unstoppable together. I join George's team, whispering to him that we need to lose. Ever the competive man, he isn't thrilled with the idea. But he does as I ask and we both play poorly. It works a treat and Layla and Chris are soon celebrating together upstairs.
Too easy.
Everyone eventually leaves around 1am. Arthur passed out upstairs around midnight so it just leave George and me playing beer pong.
"Strip beer pong?" George suggests when I miss an easy shot.
"Shut up." I laugh, the smile quickly wiped off my face when he sinks yet another of my cups.
"Winner has to do whatever the other wants?" he quips when I miss another shot.
"I'd do that for you anyway." I say softly as he aims. He misses. "Would it still be birthday sex even though it's after midnight?"
His laugh is soft but there is a definite change in his eyes when they meet mine.
The sound of the ping pong ball bouncing across the floor echoes around the room as George walks around to my side of the island. He doesn't say anything as his hands lock on my waist and lift me on to the countertop.
My legs are spread and he slots himself between them. Palms drag over my bare thighs. Fingertips dig into the flesh of my hips. His eyes are dark now, promising.
The room is cooler with just the two of us in it. Goosebumps appear along my exposed flesh. He notices, a smirk playing at his lips as his eyes cast over my body. My little black dress doing nothing to disguise my nipples pressing against the fabric.
Something about being so exposed in the middle of his kitchen excites me. Either of the boys could walk in, see George's hands on my body and that look in his eye, and there would be no denying it. Maybe that's the part that entices me the most; knowing we can't hide it. Both so desperate to be near each other, touching each other.
His head drops to my leg, pressing a soft kiss to my thigh, lips sending a jolt through me. My body arches towards him against my will.
George stands, somehow still taller than me, and a hand comes up to lay at my neck, thumb dragging up and down my jaw.
"What do you want from me?" he asks, voice low, words unhurried.
My response comes out before I can even think. "I want you to use me."
His own jaw ticks as he exhales deeply through his nose.
"Anything for you, birthday girl." His voice is deep now, raspier.
George slips his hands under my hips and lifts me from the island. I expect him to set me down but he doesn't. Instead, he carries me through the flat, up the stairs and into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. He carries me the whole way yet I'm the one who's breathless when he sets me down gently.
He kisses me softly. His lips are tender and careful as they meet mine, pulling me deeper into him. Strong hands cup my face, thumbs tucked under my chin to make me look up at him when he pulls away.
"Really want me to use you?"
I nod, a little more desperately than I'll feel proud of tomorrow.
"Take your dress off." he commands and takes a step back. Watching me. Testing me.
My hand snakes up my back, tugging down the zip and letting my dress fall to the floor. I couldn't wear a bra with it so I'm practically naked before him while he's still fully dressed and still looking so good.
His eyes travel over my body patiently. He must notice the way the rise and fall of my chest quickens because there is a sadistic glee behind his smirk when he reaches my face.
"Come here." he gestures me towards him with a nod of the head and I do as he says again.
His gaze on me softens for a moment and he exhales deeply. His fingertips trace up the lengths of my arms, ghostly touches that have me leaning into him.
He cups my face in his hands again, catching my lips with his. Firmer this time. His lips slot between mine, tongue slipping into my mouth as his hands caress my body. A hand trails over my bum, squeezing harshly before it comes up and tangles in my hair.
His lips are hot across my skin as they travel across my neck and collar, tongue dragging across the skin there and leaving a wake of goosebumps. He wraps his lips around each nipple, tongue darting out and circling before his lips suck gently. My hands find their way into his hair instinctively, desperately holding him to me as soft gasps tumble from my mouth.
George must hear how desperate I'm becoming for him because he untangles himself from me and tells me to turn around.
"Bend over." his voice is practically a growl at this point.
Again, I do exactly what he says, hands braced on the edge of the mattress, anticipation growing between my legs as my thighs press together, back arching, desperate for any kind of friction at all.
I hear him exhale as he observes me; obedient and needy, and make a mental note to explore this more dominant side of him at every available opportunity.
A hand caresses the curve of my hip, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of my underwear. He pulls them down gently, completely exposing me to him. A whispered 'fuck' reaches my ears and, as if he can't help himself, his hand slips between my legs. His fingertips glide gently down my pussy, and I'm certain I hear him hiss when he feels how wet I am.
A harsh gasp leaps from my lips when he drags slow, messy circles around my clit.
"That good?" he utters, desire lacing his voice. A whimper falls from my lips in response.
The sound of his zipper is like heaven as my hips push back against his hand, desperately rocking against him in an attempt to get more friction.
Not being able to see what he's doing seems to excite me even more, and when I feel the head of his cock tease against my pussy, I'm a goner. Soft whines fall freely from my lips.
He pushes inside of me with ease and a low, rumbling groan. It's bliss being filled by him, feeling all of him as he brings his hips back before gliding back in. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, desperate not to wake anyone up.
It's an effort to stay quiet though, when one hand settles on my waist, the other on my shoulder, and he pulls me back against him. He gives me no reprieve as he begins to fuck hard into me.
My breathing is dysregulated, catching in my throat between each thrust. His fingertips dig into my flesh as our bodies meet over and over again. My hips grind back against him desperately, following his lead and rolling against him.
My knuckles begin to hurt from my tight grip on his sheets and I can't stop the moans that slip past my lips, his name a whisper as I try to cling on to reality.
I feel his body against my back, hips slowing as his lips reach my ear. His breath is hot on my neck, words laboured when he mutters, "Need to be quiet if you want me to keep fucking you."
I nod eagerly, not trusting my voice to stay even. I can feel his smirk, a soft, smug chuckle in my ear as he slips a hand between my legs.
"Good girl."
It's too much. My head drops to the bed, face desperately buried in his duvet to muffle my moans.
His hips pick back up, thrusting hard and fast into me as his fingers swirl around my clit. It's too much. Too good. Too fucking hard to stay quiet. My chest drops against the bed, pathetic and helpless, just silently begging him to keep pounding into me. To use me. Claim me for himself.
He doesn't let me rest though, grabbing my hand and dragging it between my legs to replace his. "Make yourself come."
It's a struggle to move or even think but I do as he says. I copy his motions and twirl my fingers softly around my clit, face burying further into the bed to keep myself from calling out, especailly when he stands upright and finds a new, deeper angle. He's relentless. The sound of his hips meeting mine doesn't leave anything to the imagination and I just have to pray that the boys are sound asleep because there is no way I'm asking him to stop.
George's hand caresses softly over the fullness of my behind, touch gentle in comparison to the force of his hips slamming into me, so deep it makes my eyes cross. His breathing becomes more laboured, primal grunts and low rumbling exhalations radiating from him as he loses control.
"Look so good right now." he growls, fingers digging even harder into my flesh as he pulls my hips against his. "All mine, aren't you?"
My moans turn into gentle sobs, fingers speeding up as I feel myself getting close.
"Come on, sweetheart, answer me." His words are sharp, clipped, demanding.
"Yours." I manage to groan out before my orgasm hits me like a tidal wave. My hand drops from between my thighs, both needed to pull his sheets in front of my mouth and stop me from waking up the whole flat.
It seems to set of a chain reaction, him fucking me even harder through it, the sensation of me coming around him drawing out his own orgasm. He slumps down on top of me as his hips slow, stuttering to a halt as we catch our breaths.
My eyes are still squeezed tightly shut when I hear him breathe out, "Happy birthday."
The duvet muffles my laugh. I pull myself out of the sheets and turn to look at him; slightly red with a soft sheen covering his forehead.
"Not a bad present." I mumble. He chuckles and pulls out of me, grabbing a pillow and slotting it under my head as I roll over on to my back.
He lays on his side next to me, propped up on one elbow, eyes casting over my face cautiously. An undeniable smirk makes its way on to my lips when I catch him checking over me. Worry lodges in his brow as he scans my expression.
"I liked it, stop worrying."
"I'm not." he counters quietly but the tension in his brows remains so I lift my head to place a soft kiss to his lips.
I'm not sure how long we lay there, sharing lazy kisses and tracing gentle shapes on each other's skin. It's nice. It's easy.
Later, when the hot water of the shower casts over our shoulders, George mumbles against my lips, "Those perameters of yours are getting a bit blurry."
The next morning, when we wake up tangled together, hungry for one another all over again, I try to rationalise that we're sticking to our rules and there is probably still technically alcohol in our systems. But when he covers my mouth with his hand and presses a kiss to my forehead as I come, I can't help but wonder if he's right.
evolution. not florence. we’re talking villa!arthur, friends (duh it’s me, no other tropes exist), forced proximity, suncream, big fat yearning, bbqs and tan lines, the most besotted man you’ve ever seen
dad!arthur who you visit on tour with your lil toddler, he's carrying him round the venue on his hip, pointing out literally everything, ‘those are our sound engineers, that’s the lighting booth, that’s mummy over there say hi to mummy’.
you make a baby-size version of his merch and surprise him with your son wearing it and he just melts, one, because it's the cutest thing he's ever seen and two, because he's so in love with you. you do so much for him and still find time to make him feel extra special he's obsessed with you.
baby getting in the way of sound check but no one minding at all as he toddles on to the stage, getting him to speak into the mic to test levels instead.
so many photos of you all! professional ones, late night blurry ones, photobooth ones where you're both kissing one of baby's cheeks as he giggles in the middle.
travel cot in the green room for baby's naps. catching arthur stood just watching his son sleep, hand on his tummy, misses him so much when he's away that he can't help but keep hold of him whenever he can.
coming back to the bus after a show, seeing baby passed out in his pjs, you waiting with a cup of tea, all cosy despite the chaos of touring, so happy to have his home with him for a while on tour.
dedicates each show to you ‘couldn't be here today without her and would not be the man I am if not for her’.
so besotted with his family, sees you walking round the baby, speaking to the band who are all precious with your son, let him try and play ther instruments, feels like his heart could burst. his phone background is a photo of baby sat on your lap in front of a drum kit.
constantly inspired by you and scribbling down lyric ideas. also has voice notes of baby saved for a song, sent while touring, ‘love you daddy' 'see ya wouldn't wanna be ya!’.
when you have to go home he’s heartbroken, tries to hold it in for baby so he's not upset but is devastated when you’ve gone.
when he gets home he hugs you both so tight and doesn’t let go for so long, even when baby's attention span runs out and he fidgets. arthur insists on all of you sleeping in the same room that first night back and spends most of the night wide awake, watching you both sleep, so grateful to be home.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
RHS Question of the Week 🫶🏼 Do you have any creative superstitions like for example you always have to write in the same place?
(i'm a terrible person who forgot to check her inbox sorry!!!!)
physically cannot write unless there's music on in the background and sometimes I'll listen to the same song about ten times if I think it's helping me focus...
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
