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when was the last time you truly felt at peace? or are you in that state at he moment?
my bad on the tardiness, umm, is it bad that I dont think ive ever truly felt at peace? atm no and im no where near but I'll stay striving to eventually be at peace 24/7.
WAIT ok so I've truly felt at peace seeing the 1975 live in 2016 which only lasted for like 3 hrs lolol.
and meeting the whole band. matty healy changed my life and I pray to God he gets clean and stays sober [obviously from the hard stuff]. George Daniel said he loved my hair and touched my random rat tail braid.
here is the primary source -- yeah i was so shy and awkward....and George apologized for smudging his autograph w his thumb [atm in my mind I was like fuck I do not deserve this mans thumbprint]. And i let him have my sharpie marker too.
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note: this took me like a week to write. im so lonely wish i had a clingy lovesick george
⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆
r&b music is pumping through the speakers of the club. it’s dark in the vip section where you sit and a bit damp with sweat, everything is.
adam went home early tonight, you all bid your goodbyes and a parting farewell hug to him before he slipped out the door a few hours prior. it’s now nearing midnight and your fresh nail polish is chipped.
you sit alone in the private booth with ross. the two of you are tag-teaming being designated drivers tonight, figuring if you both only get mildly tipsy tonight, you can both be equally responsible enough for your two knuckleheads you’re supervising tonight.
speak of the devil, knuckle head #1 comes waltzing up to the table, looking a little lost, but when his gaze meets yours, he freezes in his spot like he’s just remembered he left his stove on, then squeezes in next to you.
“scooch over, i’m tired,” george whines, spilling onto you over the leather seat and your velvety dress.
you give hime a quick smile, feeling as though it sufficed as a brief greeting to your lover as you continue your conversation with ross. “i saw your dad at the store the other day, it was weird, he recognized me and everything.”
ross chuckles, “what was he buying?”
“i think it might have been like a few apples, maybe a-“
knucklehead #1, however, does not feel quite welcome enough, so he scoots even more into you, hand on the back of your neck, right at the roots of your hair and the other gripping your waist. “hey.”
you pause to stare at him, “hey.”
“and what else?” ross tries through stifled giggles to reanimate your dying conversation. george busies himself placing wet kisses to your neck.
“a carton of orange juice, laundry detergent,” your words are broken apart by george and his suffocating attack to your neck. when he realizes you’ve stopped talking, he uses his grip on your neck to his advantage and pulls you in for a full, smothering kiss. you humor him, not entirely enjoying the taste of tequila on his tongue but bearing it because he’s clearly needing something from you.
he pulls away, surprising that he chose to before you did, and presses his cheek into your chest for a moment, “ross, this is my woman, did you know that.”
“i did, mate.” ross glances back at you repeatedly, making fun of george without even having to say anything. george evidently does not pick up on this one bit.
“and did you know that i love her?”
“mm, it’s news to me. maybe you should let everyone else know, too.” you shoot ross a deathly glare, knowing that he knows how much you hate making a scene and you can tell he’s only joking but the knucklehead didn’t quite pick up on that.
with a cackle, he stands up, much to your horror, clinking a fork onto your glass and pulling you in close to him. you’re mildly freaking out, glad that the music in here is just loud enough that the entire establishment won’t hear this, maybe just the people near.
“everyone! listen up, im sorry. i am in love with this gorgeous woman right here! she is the love of my life! i am going to marry her!”
you swear your heart almost stops as people begin to clap. you try to pull him back down to sit and be out of the public’s eye but he resists. “kiss?” he puckers his lips already and points to them with a finger and you pout at him for only just a moment. you soon realize it’s the sole way to get him to stop, so you cave
you mean for it to be a small peck but he holds you in like he always does, the one thing that never changes about him when he gets drunk like this, pressing his lips messily to yours and holding your head too tightly that it roughs up your hair. you pull away this time, pushing him down to sit in your previous spot in the booth, trapping him in as you sit at the end.
“wow, that was beautiful, george,” ross grins wickedly and you set a mental reminder to shave his eyebrow off in his sleep when you get the chance. he’s a deep sleeper, you might just get away with it
“she deserves it. this woman right here, she single handedly saved my life. i love her. will you go to the bathroom with me?” you don’t even realize the last sentence is towards you until he nudges you with his elbow.
“to do what?” ross raises an eyebrow, wondering why he’s so involved in this conversation that has nothing to do with him.
“so i won’t be lonely.”
with an eye roll, you stand up, holding out both hands to pull your boyfriend up, “come on, big boy.” he laughs at the pet name and it’s not missed by you just how hot he is when he laughs like that, you never do.
he wraps an arm around you and you lead him outside instead of the bathroom, as fun as it sounds to take a piss hand in hand with him, you’d rather get your man home.
he stumbles outside with you, nearly taking you down with him but you steady the both of you with gentle hands on his waist. “hey. you wanna get out of here?”
his sly grin is valuable in your gaze, “any time, baby.”
“i mean, i’m going to take you home, okay?” you realize your second attempt doesn’t sound all that better.
“your place or mine?” he smirks. you decide to just let him have it if it means he’ll agree to leave.
“yours, sweets.”
he calls a cab for you, glad that he remembered how much you suck at doing so.
you snuggle up to him in the backseat while he informs the driver of the address. your rest your head on his strong shoulder and he rests his broad hand on your thigh out of instinct.
“you okay, honey?” everything about him is comforting, from his overwhelming kisses and public proclamations of love to the way that he constantly has the urge to take care of you in any way he can, even when he’s wasted. you almost feel bad about how bad his hangover is going to be tomorrow morning.
“i’m alright, handsome.” adding in the last bit just to mess with him and it works as well as you expect, his cheeks blush and a shy smile breaks upon his face.
“you really think so?” it’s not like him to ask for a bit of reassurance like this so you lean in to kiss his cheek.
“of course. i love you. so much.”
“that’s the first time you’ve said it tonight.”
you kiss his cheek again, “but do you really need me to say it for you to know?”
he smiles warmly, “no.”
⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆
you sent ross a text informing him that you had left and he replied something about how he had assumed so, doubting the pair of you spent a half hour in the bathroom.
you tucked george in with a loving kiss to the forehead and he was passed out asleep before you even climbed in next to him.
it’s now hours later in the late morning, and he was still asleep when you woke, so you decided to set up camp on his couch, mentally double fisting watching supernatural on the tv and reading a book.
it isn’t until 30 minutes of this quiet time alone that george comes slumping in, groggy and tired but awake. he stands in the doorway, looking around in confusion for a moment. “did we fuck last night?”
“no.”
you’re scared he’s going to continue with this, getting into some speech about how you’ll always have his consent, no matter what. it’s something you already know, something you’ve already established with him, but you don’t think you could ever bring yourself to be intimate with him when he isn’t fully present for it.
you know that he’s the same way when it goes for you, that he’d never lay a hand on you if you hadn’t explicitly agreed to it.
he doesn’t, however, and you’re even more grateful when he shuffles to the kitchen and begins to cook breakfast out of habit. you let him be, coexisting with him in the open floor plan of the room, you with your book and your show and him with the food and the stove.
after a good chunk of time, he returns to you, two plates in hand. passing one to you, “careful, love, it’s hot.”
“thank you.” he doesn’t say anything, feeling like he shouldn’t be thanked for simply cooking you breakfast, it seems like the least he can do.
he settles down next to you and your stretch your legs out over his lap, allowing him to rest a hand over your thighs.
you eat in comfortable silence for a moment until he interrupts it. “have you started your period?”
you almost choke, “pardon?”
“has your period started yet?” he doesn’t elaborate any more, likely until you give an answer.
“how did you know?”
he rubs up and down your leg. “i track it for you. cuz i know you always forget to. it also helps me plan our date nights better.”
“why? i mean, thank you, but why?”
he shrugs. “because i care about you.”
you study him over your slice of toast but decide to leave him be. if he chooses to show his love to you in unconventional ways, that’s his decision and you’ll accept his affection in any way you can get it.
once he finishes his plate, he sets it to the side on his coffee table and begins to busy himself with kneading and pawing at your legs. he focuses in on the fleshiest part, your inner thigh and you continue to study him like an creature nearing extinction.
“this is the best part, this right here.”
“of my thigh?” he nods.
“it’s good thigh. prime thigh.”
“ok.”
he sighs now, not loud and dramatic like you do, but a forced exhale. “i’ve got to go to the studio today, my love.”
“so go.”
“i don’t want to leave you. barely seen you this week. finally got you to myself and i’ve got to leave again.”
“i’ll stay here. i’ll be here when you get back and we can hang out some more.”
“is that too much to ask?”
“course not, babe.”
“thank you. i just love the idea of coming home to you. keeps me going. and i hate coming back here after a long day away and being all alone.”
you giggle and poke him with your foot, “god, you’re so obsessed with me.”
“i know, baby, im sorry,” he pushes off your legs and sets your plate to the side, not caring that you hadn’t finished yet. he crawls forward to lay between your legs and rest his head on your sternum.
