Ha! I wish

You work with George in a theatre company, but he doesn’t let you walk home alone in the middle of the night and you have to stay over at his place

Word count: 1105 words

I’ll take you home. Was his final decision. You lived too far from the theatre company, but still, he wouldn’t let you go alone all the way. It was all so unintentional, so convenient, so when he said those words your heart skipped a beat and an immediate yes came out of your mouth. Don’t be so stupid, you told yourself a moment later. You had been working with him for months-- laughing with him daylily, him seeing you at your best and your worst. All for the sake of a good production, that to the point where you stayed behind with a couple of your co-workers to rehearse some extra hours, make the final arrangements. You didn’t notice it was three AM, what you also didn’t notice is that you sipped a bit too much on wine on the process. He did. He politely interrupted you, so consumed by work, and without asking, told you he was taking you home. You agreed. He knows that you live on the other side of London, and that you walk over to your flat; its how you feel the safest. Still, its three AM. 

He helps you put your coat on, and you begin to walk. He doesn’t talk much, you notice that he is looking for what to say. You don’t say anything, feeling a bit tipsy and not wanting to spoil it. 

“Are you sure you want to go all the way there?” you ask him as you feel tiny raindrops on your scalp. 

“Of course,” he answers with a smile. That smile. No matter what he does, when he smiles, however slightly, his eyes lighten up and there are small wrinkles that are formed around them. He is older than you, but those wrinkles are only found in people who smile all the time. You give him a goofy smile in return. Oh please, don’t let me be this tipsy. 

Distracted by him, you almost slip, but he gets a hold of you, pulling you towards him. You both laugh, but you can feel the heat rising up your cheeks as you notice the lack of space between you.

“You alright?” he asks as you stare into the endless blue of his eyes  

“Shit, I think its going to pour,” you comment, separating yourself from him. Y/N why are you like this? Don’t ruin it! your inner voice says, but you know you have to be professional with him.

“Ummm, I don’t have an umbrella with me and I don’t think you have one with you. I don’t think sending you off in a cabbie would be the best. Don’t you think its more convenient if you spent the night in my flat?”

“Your house?” you blurt out, “DO I LOOK THAT DRUNK?!”. He laughs, perhaps too much. 

“No, not at all.” He pauses to smile, “Well maybe a little, but to be honest I feel a bit tipsy myself, plus its a block away. If you wouldn’t mind.”

You agree to it. Wait, YOU DO WHAT?!

You stay silent the rest of the way, unsure of what to say. Your heart is pounding in your chest, there are too many things at play. As you arrive, he opens the door for you, and helps you up the staircase. Going out to the cold being tipsy was definitely not a good idea. 

“What do you think?” he asks. Surprisingly, his flat is very normal. Pretty, organised, aesthetic, but normal. You would have thought that a person like him, would reflect his personality in his decoration, but at the same time it was humble, just like him. 

“I like it very much,” you tell him, all honesty. 

From then on, he doesn’t leave you alone. Offering you a meal, an oversized t-shirt for you to sleep in, finding a Clinique makeup remover for you. Claiming that he did not get it from a woman, but that it is his own personal makeup remover he uses when he is curious. You believing him and laughing at his justification, given that he did not need one. Him pouring both of you a glass of wine, you telling him that it had been a while since you had a sleepover. 

“Well its been a while since I have had to sleep in a couch in my own home,” he laughs. You tell him how he doesn’t have to, how you can take the couch. He insists that you sleep on the bed, you insist he shouldn’t sleep in the couch. He asks where then he should sleep. 

“The bed of course,” you reply without thinking it twice. 

He raises an eyebrow. Shit shit shit shit. Y/N, you have outdone yourself. 

“You little flirt,” he smiles daringly. 

“Who, me?” you ask, getting closer.

“Yes, you,” he answers as he puts his hand on your back, and takes a step forward. 

“Is that so?” you challenge further, feeling his shortness of breath being that close he is. 

“I do believe it is,” he says in almost a whisper.

He leans in, and you don’t think twice. You put your lips on his. 

You look at him as you pull away, a millisecond, just to measure the damage done. He smiles at you and shakes his head, “why do you do this to me, Y/N, consume me like this?” 

He kisses you again, gently, but gentle is not enough. Theres a fire inside you both that you have not ignited. You search for him with your hands, your tongue, and he meets you with his. He kisses your neck, and you let him. You take the t-shirt he has given you and tug it upwards so lightly so he understands. He looks into your eyes, looking for a wordless ‘yes’ he needs to hear. He carries you, he lays you down. He kisses every inch of you as you call out his name. He answers with kisses and touch. George, why do you consume me like this,  you want to ask, until he does. Air leaves you, you forget your own name, until he says it over and over as if it were some sacred chant. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N”, he says in a song, in prayer, in awe. 

“Power to the people: stick it to the man!”

Type: George Mackay x Reader. (A series hopefully if it has enough notes!)

Prompt: while working in an awards afterparty you meet George Mackay

It is overwhelming. All the celebrities present, all the dresses, all the secrets you will have to keep due to your discretion contract. Who would say that you, you, were actually hired for this party. Sure, you knew that the catering team you work for were going to be at an important event, but you never suspected it would be the an awards season afterparty. You only came to that conclusion when you were given a cocktail sequin dress instead of your usual bow tie. It made you feel special, until you noticed that compared to all those celebrities you feel absolutely plain, another face that serves drinks. Merely a nobody. You are reminded that you are nobody. A nobody that will never have an inch of success of what all the people around you have. 

You have always been good at what you do. Walking amongst people, smiling, offering a glass of champagne. That’s it. Somehow you feel sloppy around dresses that are worth thousands or dollars, or the occasional bodyguard that glances your way. Still, no one pays you much mind. You are invisible, remember? Invisible to the point where someone knocks over the drinks you are carrying, expensive champagne perfuming your cheaper sequin dress. 

‘God I am so sorry!’ you hear a familiar voice say, but every voice is familiar. You have seen them all in film, heard their song, watched them in youtube. God, it sounds so stalkerish. Its somehow revolting how much you know everyone, but no one knows you. 

‘I-its alright’, you stammer, ‘I am sorry, I should have been more careful where I was going’. Clients like it when you make it your fault. In reality, you knew exactly where you were walking by. You always walked where there was enough space between people. 

‘No, no, the truth is that I am a bit disoriented, that’s all’. You finally look up. Why does he look so familiar? Tall, handsome, his hair is a copper-y shade, but you can’t distinguish the color of his eyes. ‘Let me help’, he takes the tray from your hands and begins to straighten the fallen glasses. ‘Where to?’ he asks, gesturing to help you take the glasses back to the catering team. 

You begin to walk between the celebrities, hoping no one notices you. You are sure that they won’t look for you, but for sure, they will be looking for him. You are thankful that the kitchen is empty for some reason. Also, you are thankful there is light. 

‘Shit, your dress’, he comments. You look down, and indeed, there is a massive stain in your borrowed dress. He starts looking around for something to clean it with, but his efforts are useless. ‘Ummm, stay right here,’ he asks you. There isn’t much choice for you anyways. 

Five minutes pass, then ten. Should you be going back to catering? Before you can make up your mind, he comes back. You suddenly stand up straight. 

‘So two things: I talked to your boss and apparently with my charms I convinced her to let you out, and secondly here’s my coat for you to put on. We, are going to find you a new dress.’

‘Is this some sort of asking me out?’ you challenge, amused. You try to hide it as hard as you can but your heart is beating rapidly in your chest.

‘I mean, I came here without a date, I then bumped into you, ruined your night... this afterparty still has many hours to last, and finding you a dress hopefully will not be too complex. So yeah, it might be a date.’ Unbelievable. 

‘You are mad,’ you answer between laughter. ‘But I dare you, Mister...’

‘George’

‘Mister George, I dare you to try and find a dress in the middle of a night like this one.’