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cornliastreett · 11 days ago

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ALREADY OVER ⎯⎯ chapter three

george clarke x singer!reader

NAVIGATION !

ALREADY OVER MASTERLIST !

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Arthur and George didn't often have guests over, and if they did it was usually one of the boys. So they never had any reason to clean the flat more than usual. But Arthur couldn't help it. How was he supposed to invite Y/N over to listen to his music when there were day old coffee mugs dotted around the living room and a pile of dirty plates next to their sink. It would be embarassing.

Which was why Arthur was busy rushing around the flat trying to clean and make sure Y/N wouldn't walk in and turn straight back around.

George had stepped out of his room, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, and had immediately stopped in the doorway to their living area and kitchen.

The flat… was spotless. Like, suspiciously spotless.

The faint humming from his roommate gained his attention. A slightly sweaty Arthur was currently wiping down the coffee table with a tea towel.

George narrowed his eyes. “Why are you cleaning? You never clean.”

George’s voice carried from the hallway as he wandered into the living room, damp curls still clinging to his forehead. He looked around like he’d stepped into the wrong flat. The coffee table had been wiped down. The floors were vacuumed. Even the throw blankets on the couch were folded—folded, like they lived in a catalog.

Arthur didn’t even pause. “Y/N is coming over.”

George blinked. “…Y/N?” Arthur had to have been joking.

Arthur straightened, adjusting a speaker on the side table. “Yeah.”

George’s brow creased slightly. “Why?”

“She offered to listen to my music,” Arthur said simply, grabbing his phone and checking the time like this was all very casual. “I mentioned I was working on demos at the pub the other night, and she messaged me the next day on Instagram. Said she was serious about wanting to hear them. So I took her up on it. Invited her round.”

George stood there for a beat, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Arthur fuss over a coiled cable like it was delicate tech. “Oh.” he said, a little too neutrally.

Arthur finally looked up, catching the tone. He tilted his head. “I thought you were going out anyway. With that girl again — I’ve forgotten her name.” George had mentioned the day before that he had another date planned, with the same girl.

“Sophie.” George muttered, already turning towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge, stared blankly at its contents, and shut it again without grabbing anything.

“Right, Sophie.”

“Not going out till later.” George said after a pause, leaning on the counter and picking at the label on a water bottle that had been left there. “When is Y/N coming over?”

“She said around 5.”

George’s gaze flicked to the clock on the microwave. 4:58.

Arthur followed his gaze to clock. “So any minute now, I guess.”

“Cool.” George mumbled. His eyes then followed Arthur as he began fluffing the cushions on the sofa. “You seem nervous?”

Arthur shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Well yeah, she’s an actual professional. She knows what she’s doing. If she hates my music then I know it’s shit.”

George made a face—subtle, but definitely there. Lips pressed, brows tugged, eyes flicking away.

Arthur caught it. “Don’t worry,” he said dryly, tossing a cushion back into place. “I don’t fancy her or anything.”

George’s head shot up. “I didn’t say you did.”

“You didn’t have to,” Arthur smirked. “I saw that look. Like I’d just kicked your dog.” George didn't say anything as he now fiddled with the towel that was still around his neck. “Come on, I think everyone could see the way you two interacted the other night. I’m not stupid. You fancy her.”

“I barely know her.”

Arthur leaned against the arm of the sofa, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Exactly. So just admit it—you fancy her.”

George exhaled sharply. “No.”

Arthur held his stare, unconvinced. “Mate,” George shifted. “She is exactly your type.” Arthur added, not even bothering to hide the grin spreading on his face.

George looked away. “I mean, yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

"Alright.” Arthur shrugged, pushing off the sofa just as the door buzzer rang. George glanced at the door, then back at Arthur. Arthur gave him a look and added with a little smirk, “If you say so.”

He strolled over to the intercom, casually pressing the button to buzz Y/N up. George, still by the kitchen, suddenly looked like he wasn’t sure whether to stay put or dive out the window.

The knock on the door came not thirty seconds later. Arthur threw George one last glance—something between smug and warning—before opening it with a grin.

Y/N stood there in a cropped brown hoodie and flared jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders and her usual confidence in full effect—until her eyes landed on George. But she didn't acknowledge him, yet, eyes going back to Arthur.

“Hey!” Arthur greeting her with a smile on his face, which Y/N reciprocated as she wrapped Arthur in a hug, giving him a quick squeeze before letting go.

“Hey, thank you so much for inviting me over.” Y/N said, continuing to smile at Arthur. She hadn't expected such a quick response from him when she had found his Instagram and messaged him. She just wanted him to know she was serious when she offered to listen to his demos.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

She then faced George.

“Hey.” she said, offering him a polite nod. She still wasn't sure how to act around him yet. And there wasn't that flirty grin plastered across his face like usual.

“Hello again.” George replied, arms now crossed, his tone unreadable.

Y/N hesitated. “Long time no see.”

He gave a short laugh. “Yeah.” It had been one week.

Arthur had then disappeared down the hall toward his room—“Gonna grab my laptop”—leaving them alone in the living room.

Y/N stepped further in, setting down her tote on the edge of the coffee table. Her eyes flicked toward George, taking in his jeans, shoes, and shirt. The towel had been discarded on a chair. “What are you all dressed up for?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Another date?”

George looked down at himself, then back at her. “Yeah, actually.”

She blinked. “Oh.” There was a pause—thick and obvious. “Same girl?” she asked casually, trying to play it cool even as her stomach tightened.

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “You must like her to get this many dates off you.”

George let out a breath, a quiet kind of laugh. “Just seeing where it goes.”

Y/N nodded, pretending to study the records stacked neatly next to a speaker beside the sofa. Her expression stayed neutral, but something in her chest sank.

George looked like he wanted to say something more—but the sound of Arthur’s footsteps returning saved them from it.

“Right,” Arthur said, dropping onto the sofa and opening his laptop. “You ready, Y/N?”

She turned quickly, with a brighter smile than before. “Absolutely.”

But George could tell—something had shifted. And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel quite so sure about the date he was going on.

Y/N settled onto the couch, smoothing her hands over her jeans as Arthur angled his laptop toward her. He opened a folder on his desktop labeled “Maybe Not Shit” and clicked the first demo.

George hovered for a second in the kitchen, then slowly made his way over to the sofa, sinking into the space beside Arthur.

Y/N was nodding along to the music filling the living room — low-key, guitar-driven, mellow in a way that made her tilt her head and close her eyes to catch the subtle layers. Arthur had been watching her nervously, chewing the inside of his cheek.

After the final chord faded, Y/N blinked back into focus and sat forward on the sofa. “Okay, that was actually really good,” she said, looking at Arthur. “Like, annoyingly good.”

Arthur grinned, visibly relieved. “Yeah?”

“Seriously. There’s something raw about it. It doesn’t feel over-produced.”

George leaned forward with a smirk. “Which is progress, considering the first demo sounded like a rejected Coldplay song from 2006."

Arthur shot him a mock glare. “It was a rough draft, man.”

Y/N laughed under her breath and glanced at George. She felt like she was getting whiplash from his behaviour.

He offered a crooked grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “They've all been rough drafts.”

She then turned back to Arthur. “Play the second one?”

Arthur clicked to the next track, and Y/N sank deeper into the couch, pulling a leg up beneath her. She was genuinely impressed—not just by the music, but by how earnest Arthur was about it. He wasn't trying to be someone else. That authenticity was rare.

The second song ended, and Y/N gave another round of thoughtful feedback—what she liked, what she’d maybe rework. Arthur typed notes furiously into his phone.

“Do you ever produce your own stuff?” he asked. “Like, fully solo?”

Y/N nodded. “Sometimes, when I want full control. But I work best bouncing off someone else. Otherwise, I get stuck in my own head.”

Arthur nodded in agreement.

“You two should write together,” George said suddenly, eyes still on the laptop.

Y/N looked over at him, surprised. “You think?”

He shrugged. “You’ve got similar vibes.” he said, his eyes briefly meeting hers.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “That a rare George Clarkey endorsement?”

“Don’t get used to it,” George muttered, standing up. “I should finish getting ready.”

Y/N’s eyes followed him as he left, her jaw tightening slightly.

Arthur glanced sideways at her. “He’s been weird today.”

“Is he always like that?”

Arthur exhaled a soft laugh. “Honestly? No. This is new.”

Y/N turned back to the laptop. “I’m probably just throwing off his pre-date rhythm.”

But neither of them commented on how George lingered at the edge of the hallway just a little longer before disappearing from view.

The two singers continued to listen to demo's on Arthur's laptop, playing around with sounds and lyrics, Y/N giving suggestions and Arthur trying to write down every one of his notes app. They were really starting to bond over their love for creating music and had lost count of how long had gone by as they reached to the end of the fifth demo on Arthur's laptop.

The fifth demo faded out and Y/N leaned back, letting the quiet settle. “You’ve really got something, Arthur. I mean it.” She had been impressed.

Arthur beamed, clearly trying not to show how much that meant. “Thanks, seriously. It means a lot coming from you.”

From down the hall, there was the low thud of a door opening, followed by the sound of trainers hitting the floorboards. A moment later, George appeared again—hair freshly tousled, jacket in hand, rings on his fingers.

He looked good. Effortlessly good. Annoyingly good.

Y/N blinked as he entered the room.

“Heading out?” Arthur asked, not looking up from his notes.

George nodded, giving Y/N a once-over that was unreadable. “Yeah.”

She offered a polite smile, hugging one arm across her waist. “Well, have fun.”

“Thanks,” George said, then paused. “You staying long?”

“Not sure,” she replied, tone light. “Depends how many secret bangers Arthur’s hiding.”

Arthur chuckled, eyes still on his laptop. “At least two and a half more.”

George smiled faintly but didn’t say anything. For a second, he lingered like he was about to say something else—but then just gave Arthur a fist bump and nodded once more at Y/N.

“Have fun,” he said, and walked toward the door. Y/N watched him go, something twisting quietly in her chest.

The door clicked shut behind him. Arthur tapped at his laptop. “Okay,” he said, glancing up. “Now that the dramatic exit is out of the way, you want to hear the one I hate but can’t delete?”

Y/N forced a smile. “Always.”

But as Arthur queued up the next track, her mind drifted—just for a second—to the way he hadn’t quite looked her in the eye.

Y/N hadn’t meant to stay so late.

What started as listening to a few demos had spiraled into reworking lyrics, pulling apart production choices, and then somehow sitting on the floor with Arthur, debating the greatest debut albums of all time. Pizza boxes scattered across the coffee table—some open, some half-eaten—marked the hours she hadn’t noticed slipping by.

Arthur had just disappeared into his room to find an old notebook when the front door clicked open.

Y/N looked up from her spot on the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, legs tucked beneath her. George stepped in, flicking the hallway light off as he went. His keys jangled in his hand, and his jacket was slung over his shoulder.

He stopped mid-step when he spotted her.

“…You're still here?”

Y/N blinked, straightening up slightly. “Yeah, sorry. We got into a bit of a music spiral.”

George nodded slowly, like he was processing it. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Didn’t mean to overstay,” she said quickly, shifting to stand.

“No—no, you’re fine.” He toed off his shoes by the door. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

She watched him cross to the kitchen, pull open the fridge, and grab a can of something cold. There was a pause. He leaned against the counter, looking at her over the rim of the can.

“How was it?” she asked, mostly to fill the silence.

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“The date.”

“Oh.” A beat. He gave a half shrug. “It was fine.”

Y/N nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

There was another pause before George added, “You two have been working the whole time?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “Arthur’s got a lot of good stuff. We even tried layering vocals on one.”

George’s mouth tugged into something that could’ve been a smile—or not quite. “Bet he loved that.”

“He was nervous at first. But I think it helped.”

“I’m sure it did,” George said, softer now. “You being here.”

Their eyes met across the room. Something unspoken hung there, just for a moment. Before either of them could break it, Arthur reappeared with a thick notebook in hand, completely unaware of the shift in atmosphere.

“Right,” he said, flopping onto the floor. “You ready for my old lyrics phase? I was really into metaphors about storms for a while.”

Y/N laughed, grateful for the interruption. “Bring it on.”

George lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then wandered toward his room, glancing back once as he passed them.

She didn’t see it—but Arthur did. And he didn’t miss the look. But he wasn't going to mention it, not to Y/N and not to George.

That was until Y/N's curiosity got the better of her. “What was up with him?” She asked Arthur, who had been flicking through the pages of his notebook.

Arthur glanced up. “I don’t know, he’s been acting weird all day.” Which was the truth.

Y/N pursed her lips, wanting to question Arthur more on the behaviour of his roomate but deciding against it. “Strange.”

“I think you’ve interrupted his flow.” he said, casually. Maybe he shouldn't have been so honest with Y/N but he couldn't help himself. The past few hours they had spent together, bonding over their shared love of music and songwriting, made him feel like he could tell her. That he could trust her.

Y/N looked up, blinking. “Interrupted his flow?”

“Yeah.” Arthur nodded solemnly, then gestured vaguely toward the hallway and George’s closed bedroom door. “He’s just moved to London, he’s finally getting settled. Started dating, seemed like he was enjoying it. Then you blew in like a hurricane.”

“Me?” Y/N laughed, genuinely baffled.

“Yes, you.” Arthur was already laughing, clearly enjoying himself. “You show up all confident and talented, and now he’s acting like someone rewired his brain.”

“I haven’t done anything!”

“Come on, Y/N.” Arthur gave her a look. “Surely you’ve noticed how he acts around you.”

She fiddled with the edge of her hoodie sleeve. “Just thought he was being friendly. Considering we’re probably going to keep bumping into each other and spending more time together.”

“Maybe." Arthur leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But I’m telling you, the vibe? It’s changed. He was on his little London lad routine—date here, pub there, pint, swipe, repeat—and then boom. Disrupted.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Arthur smirked. “I didn’t say you meant to. But maybe…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “Maybe he hadn’t really locked it down if it was so easy to disrupt it.”

Y/N went quiet for a second, then gave a small, slightly crooked smile. “That’s weirdly poetic for someone who still rhymes ‘love’ with ‘above.’”

“Hey!” Arthur pointed at her, feigning offence. “Those were experimental lyrics, thank you very much.”

She laughed again, but her eyes drifted toward George’s door. And she wondered—just for a moment—what exactly she’d disrupted.

ALREADY OVER TAGLIST !

tags: @lottiewills @sophiexxclarkey @sundarksposts @rkaya @lovingaphroditesworld @theresglitteronthefloor @golden-hoax @duolingofanaccount @courtjjade @dopeysunflowers @tyna-19 @just-yazz @madsclarkey @justheretoreadthxxs @happyclifford @hey-there9-its-me @clarkey4life @meikstv

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cornliastreett · 11 days ago

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Love Island - Episode 14: Brutal

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.5k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

series masterlist

The sun rises beautifully over Mallorca, spilling into the villa as the islanders slowly stir awake. Soft greetings pass between beds as they begin another day in paradise.

Rafe and Y/N are still tangled together, her face buried in his chest like it's second nature. One of his hands lazily rubs her back while the other reaches for his sunglasses, sliding them on with practiced ease.

Across the room, Cleo sits up with a grin, leans over to give Pope a quick kiss and then tiptoes toward Y/N’s bed.

“Good morning, sunshine.” She whispers, plopping down beside her. Y/N groans in protest, not moving.

“She says good morning back.” Rafe says dryly, earning a laugh from Cleo as she gently shakes Y/N’s shoulder.

“Come on, get up!”

Y/N cracks one eye open, staring at Cleo like she’s just committed a personal betrayal.

“What did I ever do to you?” She mumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“I need you for something.” Cleo tugs her camisole strap back onto her shoulder and leans in. Y/N immediately sits up.

“What are we baking?”

“You know me too well.” Cleo grins. “Okay, Pope loves chocolate. So, like, cookies? Brownies? Something cute. I’ll help, I promise.” She adds quickly, glancing around to make sure Pope isn't listening. Most of the girls are heading upstairs and a few boys wander outside. Pope is still lounging in bed, clearly not ready to move.

“Brownies are faster. We can add frosting or something fancy on top.” Y/N says, already reaching for her stuff on the bedside table. “Let me wash my face and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Cleo hugs her tightly. Y/N smiles, squeezing her back before Cleo heads toward the back doors.

Just as Y/N grabs her stuff, Rafe speaks up behind her.

“Wow. No ‘good morning’ for me?”

She turns to find him sitting up with his arms crossed and one brow raised, playfully wounded. She smirks, crawling back onto the bed and leaning over him, not-so-innocently.

“Good morning.” She murmurs, planting a quick kiss on his lips, then pulling back suddenly with a hand over her mouth. “Wait, ew. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t care.” He mutters, leaning in again. But she dodges him with a grin.

“Later. I promise.” She backs away, eyebrows raised in challenge.

“I’m holding you to that.” He replies.

She giggles and bolts upstairs.

Later, in the kitchen, Y/N leans against the counter beside Cleo, both girls focused on carefully piping frosting onto the cupcakes. Across the villa, Rafe and Kelce are lounging on the daybed, catching their breath and hydrating after their morning workout. Y/N glances in their direction, then turns to Cleo.

“Hey, Cleo?”

“Yeah?” Cleo looks up from the bowl, wiping her hands on a towel.

“How are you and Pope doing?” Y/N asks, hopping onto the counter, swinging her legs and Cleo’s face softens instantly.

“We’re good. Really good, actually. He’s so sweet, like, genuinely. It’s still a little awkward sometimes, but things are going really well.”

Y/N nods, watching her.

“Have you guys…you know. Been intimate? At all?”

Cleo lets out a slow breath, considering her words.

“We’ve had a couple solid makeout sessions, yeah. But nothing more than that. I don’t know…it just feels weird knowing everyone’s right there. It's hard to feel comfortable.”

Y/N hums in agreement, twisting the cap off her water bottle and fidgeting with the strap.

“What about you and Rafe? Don’t tell me nothing’s happened.” Cleo narrows her eyes slightly. Y/N’s gaze drops to her bottle. She doesn’t answer right away and that silence speaks louder than anything.

Cleo clocks the look instantly and gently changes gears.

“Okay, okay, switching topics, what kind of frosting are we thinking, chef?”

Y/N blinks and straightens up, visibly grateful.

“Umm…maybe peanut butter? That could be cute.” She suggests.

She hops down and heads to the cupboard, pulling out ingredients. As she sets them on the counter and begins mixing, Cleo rests a hand on her shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to rush anything, right?” She says softly. Y/N looks up at her.

“If you’re not ready with him…that’s totally okay.”

“I am.” Y/N admits quietly. “I just…I don’t know. I think I’m scared.”

“Scared how?” Cleo frowns.

“I haven’t been in many relationships. And I don’t want to mess this up. Not with him.” Y/N shakes her head.

“You won’t.” Cleo assures her without hesitation. “Have you told him any of this?”

“He kind of tried last night.” Y/N says, voice barely above a whisper. “To take things further. And I panicked. And I pushed him away.”

Her hands are back on the spatula now, stirring again just to stay busy.

“I feel like I hurt his feelings or something.”

“No way.” Cleo says firmly. “That boy is obsessed with you. He’s not going anywhere because you set a boundary.”

“I think I just need some time to figure it all out.” Y/N exhales shakily, eyes still focused on the frosting.

“Then take it.” Cleo says gently, rubbing her back, smiling at her.

Confessional - Cleo “Y/N’s like my little sister. I care about her so much. Seeing her stress over where things stand with Rafe, especially about intimacy, just breaks my heart. She’s so beautiful, so kind and honestly one of the wisest people here. And I get why she’s anxious, but she needs to know she’s allowed to go at her own pace. Rafe will wait. And if he doesn’t? He’s not worth her.” She shakes her head.

Kelce and Rafe lounge on the daybed, sweat cooling under the shade of the tree. A soft breeze cuts the heat as they sip from their water bottles, catching their breath from the workout.

After a beat of silence, Rafe glances over.

“Hey…can I ask you something?”

Kelce nods, chewing absentmindedly on his straw.

“You know her better than anyone in here.” Rafe starts, hesitating. “And I told myself I wouldn’t ever ask you anything about your relationship with her, because honestly, I cannot hear all that, but…” He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“Has she always been kind of…hesitant with the more intimate stuff?”

Kelce sighs, lowering his bottle.

“Yeah.” He says quietly. “Y/N’s always been like that. Cautious. When we were together, it took her a while to fully open up. Not because she didn’t care, but because trust isn’t something she gives lightly. Especially when it comes to physical stuff.”

Rafe nods slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I respect that. Like, I don’t want her to ever feel pressured. But last night was our first night back in the same bed…we were kissing and I thought maybe we’d go a little further. Nothing major. Just…a step.” He sighs, frustrated more at himself than anything. “But then she got all tense, kind of pulled back. And of course I stopped. No question. I just…I don’t know, it threw me off. Made me wonder if I’d messed something up.”

Kelce watches him for a second, then speaks evenly.

“Y/N likes you. A lot. That much is obvious. But you have to let her move at her own pace. She’s not someone you can rush. She needs to feel totally safe first. If you want this to work, let her lead when it comes to that stuff. She’ll let you in when she’s ready.”

“Yeah. Got it. Thanks, man.” Rafe nods again, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“Anytime.” Kelce shrugs. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me when it comes to her. I’m not holding on to anything. I just want her to be happy.”

He glances toward the kitchen, jaw tightening almost involuntarily.

“And from what I’ve seen…she is. With you. So don’t screw it up.”

Rafe follows his gaze, Y/N is laughing at something Cleo said, the two of them looking carefree and glowing.

“I won’t.” He says quietly.

“Good.” Kelce gives a small nod.

The two lapse into silence again, but there’s a mutual understanding between them now, unspoken, a little uneasy, but real.

As the afternoon sun blazes over the villa, islanders sprawl across the yard, some tanning, some swimming, others deep in conversation, while Pope and Cleo enjoy the brownies. But the lazy vibe is cut short by the familiar ping of a text.

“I got a text!” John B calls out, already grinning as everyone scrambles toward him.

“Islanders, it’s time to find out how well you really know each other in the Higher or Lower challenge. #numbersdontlie #truthhurts.” He reads.

Cheers erupt, but Y/N shares a nervous glance with Sarah and Maddy as they slump back onto the couch.

“This is gonna get messy.” She mutters and both girls nod knowingly.

Soon, the islanders are split into two teams, seated on opposite bleachers across the lawn. In front of them, photos of each girl stand in a row, heart stickers hiding the key numbers.

Pope steps up with a deck of cards and a grin that says he’s loving every second of this. He holds up the first card.

“I’ll read out a fact about one of the girls and reveal a number tied to it. Then the boys have to guess whether the next girl's number is higher or lower. Each correct guess earns a point. Winning team takes it all.” He explains the rules and then, glances at the first photo.

“What’s the most amount of money the girls have ever spent, on a man, in one occasion?” He reads and peels off the heart sticker from Maddy’s photo.

“Maddy has spent…$550.”

The boys react instantly.

“Damn.” JJ whistles. “What was that for?”

“I was dating this guy and he lost his AirPods…so I bought him AirPods Max.” Maddy shrugs.

A mix of impressed and mildly horrified expressions ripple through the bleachers. Pope moves to the next photo.

“Alright, Kiara. Higher or lower than $550?”

The boys huddle quickly.

“Lower.” Topper decides.

“Yeah, definitely lower.” Ryan agrees.

“$200.” Pope reveals. The boys nod, satisfied. Alyssa’s up next and they guess lower, but she surprises them with $250. Cleo follows and as expected by the boys, she’s lower at $150. For Abigail’s number, the boys guess higher and they’re right, again, at $450.

Pope steps to the next photo and smirks.

“Okay…Y/N. Higher or lower?”

“Higher.” Rafe says without hesitation, arms crossed.

“I’m not so sure. She never spent that much when she was with me.” Kelce raises a brow.

Despite Kelce’s skepticism, the boys stick with higher and Pope peels back the sticker.

“Y/N has spent…$300.” He reveals as laughter erupts as “Told y’all.” Kelce leans back smugly.

The boys look over at Y/N, waiting for the backstory.

“I took Kelce to a Knicks game.” She shrugs, hands resting on the wooden seat.

“Oh my god, yes! I completely forgot about that!” Kelce’s face lights up.

She laughs, shaking her head.

Confessional - Y/N “I feel like $300 is totally reasonable.” She says with a shrug and a grin.

Pope moves to the last photo in the lineup, Sarah.

“Alright. What do we think about Sarah?” He grins.

“Definitely higher.” Topper says without hesitation.

“She’s bougie.” JJ smirks, making the girls burst out laughing as Sarah flips her hair, proudly owning it.

Pope peels back the sticker and the boys erupt.

“$2,000?” Pope yells, holding up the card.

“I booked us a trip.” Sarah says casually with a shrug. The girls gasp in admiration and even the guys look impressed.

Pope focuses back on the stack of cards, grabs the next one and reads it before smirking.

“Okay, okay. Boys, this one’s juicy.”

Everyone leans in.

“How many nudes have the girls sent?”

The yard instantly fills with oohs and laughter. Pope turns to Maddy’s photo first, peels back the sticker.

“Maddy has sent…thirty.”

The boys look over at her, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve had two serious relationships.” Maddy explains, unbothered. “One of them ended up being long-distance. So...”

The group nods understandingly. Pope moves down the line.

“What do we think about Kiara? More or less?”

“I’m saying more.” JJ throws in and the boys agree after a quick debate. Pope lifts the sticker.

“Fifteen.”

The boys blink, mildly surprised.

“Wow.” Ryan mutters.

Next up, Alyssa.

“Higher. Definitely.” The guys say in unison.

Pope reveals the number, three digits.

“In the hundreds?” Topper laughs.

“I’m a tattoo artist. Let’s just say...a lot of clients slide into my DMs for reasons that aren’t about tattoos.” Alyssa smirks.

The girls squeal in shock.

Confessional - Alyssa “What can I say?” She grins. “I’ve had a few very hot customers.”

Back in the yard, Pope points at Cleo’s photo.

“What about Cleo?”

“What do you think, Pope?” JJ raises a brow.

He thinks for a beat.

“Honestly? I’m gonna go with lower.” He says and the boys nod, trusting the call.

“Go lower.” Rafe confirms.

Pope peels back the heart.

“Two.”

“I had just broken up with my ex…sent him two pics…and yeah, we hooked up that night.” Cleo laughs, explaining herself.

“Cleo!” Sarah yells, laughing in shock, while the girls dissolve into giggles.

The boys guess higher for Abigail and they’re right, as it is seven.

Then Pope turns to Y/N’s photo.

“Okay. Y/N. Higher or lower, boys?”

“Higher.” Topper doesn’t hesitate.

“Nah, I think it’s lower.” Kelce tilts his head.

Rafe stays quiet, eyes flicking to Y/N, searching her expression.

After a quick team huddle, they go with higher.

“Ten.” Pope says, revealing the number. Y/N just shrugs, completely unfazed, as the boys nod and move on.

Finally, Pope turns back to Sarah’s photo.

“Alright. Last one, Sarah again. What are we thinking?”

“Higher.” The boys all say in chorus, not even debating. But Sarah just stares blankly at her photo, lips pressed tight.

Pope removes the sticker and the crowd gasps.

“Wait. Two-thousands?” JJ blurts.

“One of my nudes got leaked on Twitter.” Sarah confesses and the yard goes silent.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Maddy says quietly.

Y/N immediately reaches out and squeezes Sarah’s hand. Within seconds, all the girls are around her, pulling her in for a group hug.

Confessional - Sarah “I went viral for, like, two days.” She grins, eyes wide as she looks into the camera. “But my mom’s a lawyer, so…handled.” She wipes her hands together like she’s dusting them off, done and over it, before she smirks proudly.

Back in the yard, Pope claps his hands together.

“Alright, boys. Time to find out your girl’s body count.”

Gasps echo from the bleachers. The girls shift in their seats while the boys lean forward. Pope steps up to Maddy’s photo and peels back the sticker.

“Maddy's body count is…eighteen.”

“Totally respectable.” She gives a casual shrug.

The girls snap their fingers in approval, supportive energy flowing across the yard.

“Next up, Kiara. Higher or lower than eighteen?”

“Higher.” Topper says confidently.

“No way. Lower.” Rafe argues.

The boys debate but end up siding with Topper. Pope pulls off the heart.

“Twenty. Another point for the boys.”

Cheers go up as Pope moves to Alyssa’s photo.

He barely gets a word out before the guys all shout in unison.

“Higher.”

Pope chuckles, before revealing the number.

“Thirty-one.”

“No need to explain myself.” Alyssa raises her chin.

“Fair enough.” Pope laughs, before heading to Cleo.

The guys settle on lower and they’re right. Her number is seven. Next is Abigail. The boys guess higher.

“Ten.” Pope reveals before moving on. He stops in front of Y/N’s photo.

“Okay. What do we think, boys?”

The boys gather closer and debate among themselves.

“Honestly? No clue.” Rafe frowns slightly, shaking his head.

“Wait, you haven’t asked her?” Topper looks over.

“Doesn’t really matter.” Rafe shrugs.

“Lower.” Kelce cuts in, firm. The rest of the guys nod.

“We’re going with lower.” John B announces and Pope peels back the sticker.

“Five?” JJ raises an eyebrow. Rafe looks at her with wide eyes.

Confessional - Rafe He tilts his head, clearly trying to work something out. “Five just…surprised me, I guess. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.” He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “But like, that doesn’t change anything. At all. I still feel the same about her.”

Across the yard, Y/N stares at her hands, suddenly a little tense.

Maddy nudges her playfully.

“Hey. That’s a perfect number.” She says.

“It’s…whatever.” Y/N gives a small eye roll, brushing it off, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. Maddy just smiles and squeezes her hand, holding it quietly.

Confessional - Maddy “I could tell Y/N got in her head a bit, but she seriously has nothing to be insecure about.” Maddy raises an eyebrow, voice full of sass. “If someone’s still judging people over body count in this day and age? You’re just…dumb. Period.”

Back outside, the boys turn to Sarah’s photo.

“Alright, higher or lower than Y/N?” Pope asks.

“Higher.” Topper says instantly and the rest of the boys nod in agreement.

Pope peels off the sticker.

“Sarah's body count is…twenty-five.”

A few whistles and nods echo around the yard, no one surprised.

“Okay.” Pope announces, holding up the final card. “Last question, how many sexual partners do the girls think is too many for the guy they’re dating?”

A dramatic ‘ooh’ ripples across the group.

Pope steps to Maddy’s photo first.

“Maddy thinks…one hundred is too many.”

The boys glance over at her. She shrugs.

“Honestly? I don’t care what you have done prior to our relationship.”

Everyone nods and Pope moves on. For Kiara, the boys guess lower and they’re right. Her answer was fifties.

Next up, Alyssa. The boys confidently guess higher and Pope cracks up as he removes the sticker.

“Infinity.” He reads and laughter breaks out across the yard.

“I truly couldn't care less about what you have done in your past.” Alyssa grins.

The boys nod, clearly impressed.

They go lower for Cleo and they’re right, again, as her number is thirty.

“I’m a relationship type of girl.” Cleo says seriously. “I don't want to date a player”

Respectful nods follow.

They guess lower again for Abigail, but they’re wrong. Her answer being ninety.

Next up, it's Y/N and the boys guess lower.

“Alright.” Pope says, stepping to her photo.

“Y/N thinks…” He removes the heart sticker. “Somewhere in the hundreds is too many.”

The guys groan in defeat.

“Like, live your life. Just…I don’t want to be with someone who’s been with everyone. That’s all.” Y/N shrugs, calm and unapologetic.

The boys nod, understanding while Rafe looks away.

“Valid.” John B says.

Finally, Pope reaches the last photo. The boys guess for higher.

“Okay, Sarah. You think too many is…” He peels back the sticker. “Seventy.”

A round of nods and clapping follows as Pope walks to the bleachers, while the boys start to cheer.

Cleo walks up, grinning as new photos of the boys are lined up across the yard, heart stickers ready.

“Alright, ladies, let's bring this one home!” She grins, rallying the girls, who cheer in response. She steps forward and reads the first question aloud. “What’s the most money the boys have spent on a woman in one occasion?”

With a dramatic pause, she peels the sticker off the first photo, which is Kelce's.

“Kelce has dropped $1,000.” She announces.

“Oh my god.” Sarah gasps, while Y/N just nods like she’s not surprised.

“Yeah…I, uh, booked an Airbnb in the Hamptons for a weekend.” Kelce says, scratching the back of his neck. Y/N smiles at the memory, while the girls react with impressed 'oohs'. Rafe glances over at her, but quickly shifts his focus as Cleo moves on to the next photo.

“Alright, what do we think about Pope?” She asks. The girls guess lower and they’re right. $300.

Then comes Topper’s turn. His picture appears and the girls debate before finally going with higher. Cleo lifts the sticker.

“$150.” She reads. Everyone blinks at him.

“Just dinner.” Topper shrugs like it’s obvious, making Cleo scrunches her nose.

“Whatever you say, frosted tips.” She mutters before moving on.

Next up is John B and the girls guess higher.

“Please don’t let us down.” Maddy teases, making the girls laugh.

Cleo reveals the amount is $250. The girls cheer and John B just smirks like he expected it.

Then it’s JJ’s turn.

“Lower.” The girls say confidently and Cleo peels back the sticker.

“$50.” She reads as the villa bursts out laughing, even JJ.

“Wanna explain that one?” Kiara asks, wide-eyed, her smile creeping out of her shocked face.

Y/N clutches Maddy, crying with laughter, while Sarah doubles over holding her stomach.

“I’m…not great with dates or gifts.” JJ admits, grinning. “I just grabbed some KFC and took a girl out on the boat.”

“Aww, that’s actually so cute, J.” Y/N beams. JJ shrugs but smiles as Cleo clears her throat and moves on.

“Okay, Ryan’s up. More or less than fifty?”

The girls all agree on higher and they’re right. $500.

Finally, Rafe’s picture comes up. The girls gather, whispering like they’re about to launch a conspiracy theory.

“More than five hundred is insane.” Y/N says, shaking her head.

“I don’t think it is for him.” Maddy counters. “Have you seen his closet? He’s always in designer everything.”

After a moment of back and forth, the girls lock in their answer, going with higher.

“$3,000.” Cleo pulls off the sticker, shocked. Y/N’s jaw drops. The girls erupt into cheers.

“Wait, what did you even buy?” Cleo asks, stunned.

“A Louis Vuitton bag.” Rafe replies, totally unfazed.

“For her birthday or like…a random Tuesday?” Cleo fires back, making everyone laugh, including Rafe.

“Nah, it wasn’t for anything special.” He shakes his head.

“Lucky you.” Maddy murmurs, leaning over and nudging Y/N.

“Shut up.” Y/N whispers, cheeks flushing.

Confessional - Y/N “Okay, yeah…I was a bit shocked by Rafe’s answer.” She says, raising her brows. “Like, I know he has money, the man’s always in designer stuff and he literally owns a whole company, but just casually dropping three grand like that?” She blinks dramatically. “Wild.”

“Next question is how many nudes have the boys sent?” Cleo announces as the girls get excited.

JJ immediately turns to John B, shaking his head.

“This is gonna be bad.” He says.

“Really bad.” John B agrees, both of them already bracing for embarrassment.

“Forty-five.” Cleo says, peeling the sticker off Kelce’s board. The girls gasp in unison.

“Yeah, uh…no explanation there.” Kelce says, hands raised in surrender as Cleo blinks in disbelief and moves on.

“Okay, Pope.” She doesn’t wait for the girls to weigh in. “We’re going lower.”

The girls nod and Cleo pulls off the sticker revealing the number ten.

Next is Topper.

“Higher.” The girls say, and they’re right again, as his stands at sixty-three.

Then comes John B.

“Higher.” They guess, but Cleo reveals it is fifty.

“Agh, so close.” Maddy groans.

JJ’s up next. The girls guess higher and the number on the board sends the villa into chaos.

“One-ninety.” Cleo reads aloud, stunned.

“What?” Sarah gasps, as everyone bursts into laughter.

Confessional - JJ “Don’t slut-shame me on Twitter, please.” JJ grins.

“Okay, what do we think about Ryan?” Cleo reads. The girls guess lower this time and they’re right again. “Thirty-six.”

“Okay.” Cleo says, grinning as she reaches the final picture. “What about Rafe?”

The girls hesitate, some voting lower, others whispering amongst themselves. Finally, they agree on higher.

Cleo peels the sticker off slowly.

“Twelve.”

Y/N blinks in surprise and turns to look at Rafe, who’s relaxed on the bleachers like it’s no big deal.

“Twelve?” Cleo repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” Rafe says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been in many relationships, but I’ve used dating apps…so, you know.”

Everyone nods, seemingly impressed by the honesty.

“Alright ladies, now for my favorite part, body count time!” Cleo claps her hands together.

The girls cheer as she pulls the sticker off Kelce’s picture.

“Kelce's body count is...thirty-five.” She reads.

Next is Pope and the girls go with lower. They get it right, at ten.

On Topper’s turn, they all agree on higher.

“Seventy.” Cleo reveals as eyes widen around the yard, while Topper grins smugly like he’s just won a trophy.

John B’s photo is next and the girls guess lower.

“Fifty-seven.” Cleo reads.

Now it’s JJ again and the girls guess higher, after all his previous answers. Cleo pauses, peels the sticker slowly, then stares.

“In the hundreds?” She blinks. The girls scream in disbelief as the boys erupt in laughter. Topper reaches over to dap him up.

“I had fun in high school and college.” JJ shrugs. “Well, the three weeks I went.”

The girls are still giggling as Cleo moves on.

“Ryan?�� She asks the girls, still trying to recover.

They all decide on lower and they’re right once again as his answer is twenty-five.

And finally, Rafe.

“Alright. What about Rafe?” Cleo turns to the girls, but all eyes turn to Y/N.

“I-I have no idea.” She says honestly. “We haven’t really talked about that.”

“What do you think though?” Sarah nudges, gently. Y/N glances toward the bleachers, then back to the group.

“It’s gonna be higher.” She says quietly. “I just…I just know.”

The girls nod and look to Cleo.

“We’ll say higher.” Sarah confirms for the group.

Cleo removes the final sticker.

“Forty-two.” She reads.

The girls react with surprised nods as the boys cheer and clap Rafe on the back. Y/N’s lips part slightly. She doesn’t react outwardly, but a weight settles in her chest.

Confessional - Y/N “Like…I knew he had experience. I mean, obviously, have you seen the guy?” She says, eyes wide. Then her tone shifts, more thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t…scare me a little?” She admits, her voice softening with a flicker of vulnerability.

Rafe chuckles from the bleachers.

“I’m 27. I went to business school. I ride a motorcycle.” He says with a shrug, earning a round of laughs from the boys. The girls smile as Cleo claps her hands together.

“Alright ladies, last question!” She grins as the girls cheer. “How many sexual partners do the boys think is too many for the girl they’re dating?”

She heads to Kelce’s photo and peels off the sticker.

“Kelce thinks fifty is too many.”

All eyes turn to the bleachers.

“Okay, but let me just say.” Kelce jumps in, holding up a hand. “I’m not the guy who asks that kind of question or cares about it. What someone’s done in their past? Not my business.”

The girls clap, impressed by the answer and the boys nod along in agreement.

“Aww, okay, that was sweet. Moving on.” Cleo says with a grin. She stops at Pope’s photo. “What do we think, ladies?”

They guess higher, only to get it wrong.

“Pope said 30.” Cleo reads, surprised.

“I totally agree with Kelce.” Pope says quickly. “I just grew up super religious and you know, I haven’t had as much experience as most people here.”

The girls nod respectfully.

“Well, good thing mine’s lower.” Cleo adds with a mischievous grin before bursting out laughing. The rest of the villa joins in.

Next up is Topper. The girls guess higher and miss again.

“Ten?” Cleo reads, blinking.

Topper cringes at his own answer as JJ elbows him. The girls exchange looks, confused and not happy.

Confessional - Alyssa “That was some double standard bullshit.” She says bluntly. “Like, what do you mean ten is too many for your girl when you’ve slept with seventy people? Make it make sense.”

“Wanna explain yourself?” Cleo narrows her eyes at Topper.

“I, uh, I don’t really care about that stuff.” Topper says, stumbling.

“Mm. Sure.” Cleo mutters, unconvinced, before turning to the next board.

John B’s up. The girls guess lower and they’re right. His answer was one hundred. Then it’s JJ and they guess higher.

“Twenty.” Cleo reveals.

“That’s such a fake answer.” Kiara squints.

“Okay, yeah, I was kidding. Honestly, that stuff doesn’t matter to me. It’s your business, not mine.” JJ raises his hands in surrender.

He shrugs, but no one looks convinced. Kiara just rolls her eyes.

Next is Ryan. The girls confidently vote higher. Abigail crosses her fingers, hopeful.

“Infinity!” Cleo reads and bursts out laughing. The girls cheer and clap while Ryan laughs along.

“Yeah.” He says. “Doesn't really matter to me. Your past is your past.”

And last but not least, Rafe.

“Alright, what do we think?” Cleo asks.

“We’re going lower.” Abigail declares. “Obviously.”

“Excuse me?” Rafe gasps dramatically.

“You can’t go higher than infinity.” Abigail smirks.

“Infinity and beyond?” Rafe fires back, sass in full swing. The girls laugh as Cleo removes the sticker.

“Two hundred.”

The girls clap, amused and a little impressed.

With that, the game wraps. The boys are declared the winners and erupt into cheers, hollers echoing across the villa. The girls shake their heads, rolling their eyes, already plotting to win the next challenge.

The islanders start drifting off into smaller groups around the yard, voices buzzing and laughter echoing in the background. Rafe and Y/N grab their water bottles and head to the daybed, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over them.

She settles in beside him, legs crossed as he stretches out, one arm behind his head.

“You mentioned something about riding a motorcycle?” She asks, raising her brows, a playful grin tugging at her lips. He chuckles, his hand naturally coming to rest on her thigh.

“Yeah. Been riding since I was seventeen.” He replies.

“That’s…ridiculously hot.” She mutters, locking eyes with him.

“Yeah?” He smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t. I already regret saying it.” She groans, looking away.

“No, no, say it again, baby.” He teases, voice low and gravelly. His hand gently finds her chin, turning her face back toward his.

Her breath catches as she meets his blue eyes. His thumb traces her cheek, slow and tender. The tension crackles between them like static.

“I…uh…” She pulls back, clearing her throat. “Can we talk about…the challenge?”

He immediately drops his hand, sitting up and nodding, the playfulness fading into something more sincere.

“Of course.” He says, taking a sip from his bottle, while she fidgets with the cap on hers.

“I just…you heard it already, but I’m not…super experienced. And I think that’s why I haven’t been able to go further with you, yet. I’ve always taken things slow and being in here…just...everything moves fast. Like, really fast. And knowing you’ve had more experience…it kinda freaked me out.” Her voice is quiet, vulnerable, as she finally meets his eyes. Rafe shakes his head gently.

“There’s nothing to be scared of.” He leans in, his tone soft. “I would never rush you. Ever. Whatever we do, it’s gonna be when you’re ready. I care way more about you being comfortable than about moving things forward.”

He reaches for her hand.

“And yeah, I’ve had more experience, but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. We can go at your pace. Only your pace.”

“So…you’re okay with taking it slow?” She blinks slowly, emotion flickering behind her eyes.

“I’m more than okay with it. I want you to feel safe. That’s what matters to me.” He cups her face again, his voice steady and sure.

“Did…did my body count bother you?” Her voice trembles.

“No. Not at all.” His response is immediate.

“But…it’s low.” She admits, a whisper.

“So what?” He scoffs softly. “Y/N, I don’t care if it’s one or zero or a hundred. I like you. That’s what I care about.”

“You mean that?” Her eyes widen slightly.

“Of course I mean it.” He says firmly. “You never have to stress about that kind of stuff with me.”

She exhales deeply, the relief visible on her face. Her smile grows and she leans in, pressing her lips to his in a soft, thankful kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispers as she pulls back slightly.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re safe with me.”

They hold each other’s gaze, quiet understanding passing between them.

Then, suddenly, Y/N lets out a happy squeal and wraps her arms around him tightly, knocking them both back onto the pillows. They burst into laughter, limbs tangled, hearts light, warmth radiating between them.

“Oh, by the way.” Rafe says, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You still owe me that kiss from earlier.”

She smirks, fingers reaching up to toy with the chain around his neck.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten.” She murmurs.

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Not a chance.”

He leans in again and this time, she meets him halfway, closing the distance between them before curling up by his side.

And just as the villa settles into that rare calm, a loud ping cuts through the air.

“What now?” Rafe groans, head flopping back.

Y/N grabs her phone and grins.

“I got a text!” She shouts. The villa immediately perks up as everyone turns toward her.

“Islanders, it’s time to get dressed up because tonight you’re having a blue party! #party4u #glamup.” She reads aloud.

The villa erupts into cheers, already buzzing with excitement.

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cornliastreett · 12 days ago

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arthur, the man that you are 💋

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cornliastreett · 13 days ago

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BED CHEM ⎯⎯ chapter fourteen

drew starkey x singer!reader

NAVIGATION !

BED CHEM MASTERLIST !

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user how DAMN y/n wow

madelyncline i hope nobody heard the scream that just left my mouth

user madelyn is me

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BED CHEM TAGLIST !

tags: @esquivelbianca @ts1mp0ne @anothertimegirl @soincredible @ursogorgeous13 @drewsephrry @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @hypnotizedstarkey @harrys-housewife @st8rkey @lyannesworld @bxbychxrry @midnight-and-books @dontknow3m @amel1ee @dreamybabbyy @lolasangelz @nai12 @blog-luvdance @darlingstarkey @chillgal135 @blushmimi @fveapplestall @rlalliehayes @moonssyrup @pamwired @kissesandmartinis @sereneera @imtalkinnonsense @starkeybae @voidangxls @mysticbby2009 @harryzcherry @k4yr14 @shortnverysweet @bambijuicee @goodnight224 @lynoriax @slutellite @scoobysnacksandstuff @chunbyun @dullypully @hakukohaku @myjaeyuns @diorzs @jaehyunsroses @luvrclub @kaiparkerwifes @harringtonsbowgirl @meetmeintheemeraldpool @drewsbabydoll

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cornliastreett · 13 days ago

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people will be like “don’t worry it’s all in your head!” like babe… yes… that’s the problem… how do i get it out of there…

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cornliastreett · 16 days ago

Text

BED CHEM ⎯⎯ chapter fourteen

drew starkey x singer!reader

NAVIGATION !

BED CHEM MASTERLIST !

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yourusername posted a photo !

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user drew liked

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whitneypeak thank you for blessing my eyes

user how DAMN y/n wow

madelyncline i hope nobody heard the scream that just left my mouth

user madelyn is me

user i know drew LOVED scrolling through these photos

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liked by whitneypeak, taylorswift and 866,309 others

yourusername são paulo! 🌼🥥

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cornliastreett · 17 days ago

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LORDDDDDDD . god is good and real

#holy mother of jesus #he’s so hot #george clarke

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cornliastreett · 25 days ago

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nsfw alphabet - george clarke

masterlist | main masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

softest boy alive. george is all kisses and mumbled reassurances after sex. tucks your hair behind your ear, tells you you did so well, pulls you into his chest and won’t let you go. if you’re sore, he gets the heating pad. if you’re quiet, he checks in gently. he’ll hold your hand under the blanket and press soft kisses to your temple until you fall asleep.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on you: your back. he’s obsessed with trailing his fingers down your spine, kissing every inch, gripping your waist like he’s scared to let go. also loves your smile—especially when it’s for him. on himself: his lips. he knows it drives you mad. he smirks when you stare at them, and he uses them well - kisses, teasing, and a whole lot more.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

george is a little possessive about it. he prefers cumming inside—likes the idea of filling you up, seeing you messy but in a soft, intimate way. not into super flashy messes; more into closeness and the quiet heat of it. the way you cling to him after? it gets him every time.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s fantasized about you wearing a vibrator while he controls it in public. he acts sweet and polite on the outside, but he’d ruin you with a flick of his wrist and a smirk, whispering, “stay quiet, sweetheart, you don’t want anyone to notice, do you?”

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

george is experienced, but gentle. he’s the type to take his time learning exactly what makes you tick. he doesn’t rely on past knowledge—he customizes everything to your reactions. quick to pick up on subtle cues, and eager to please.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

cowgirl. george loves watching you ride him—loves the view, the control you take, the way he can grip your hips and guide you through it. he’s a groaner, always murmuring, “just like that, baby,” while his eyes stay locked on yours. your pace, your pleasure—it undoes him.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he can be a bit giggly if things get clumsy - he’ll smile into your skin, make a cheeky comment, kiss your shoulder to smooth it over. but once you’re both locked in, he gets serious. quiet. reverent.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

keeps it trimmed, clean. natural but groomed. nothing too fussy. he likes you however you are, but if you ever groom just for him? he’ll be down bad about it for days.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

intimacy is everything to george. he wants to feel emotionally connected the whole time. he’ll kiss you endlessly, keep whispering how much he loves you, hold your hand while he fucks you. even when it’s rougher, there’s this underlying devotion in every touch.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he does, especially when you’re apart. uses pics or videos you’ve sent him, sometimes moans your name under his breath. he always messages you after—sometimes it’s flirty, sometimes it’s just *"i miss you."

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink, big time. loves telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel, how proud he is of you. he’s also into overstimulation- keeping you coming until you’re breathless and begging, whispering, “you can take one more, right, baby?”

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

bedroom is sacred. but he’s also into the couch, your lap, and especially the shower. something about steam and skin and soapy hands sliding down your body has him weak every time.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you in his clothes. sleepy kisses. you looking at him with that smile that means trouble. also? neck kisses. whisper something filthy in his ear and he’ll be hard in seconds.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into extreme pain, anything involving bodily fluids, or full dom/sub contracts. he’ll degrade a little if you like it - call you filthy, say you’re being needy- but only if there’s still that soft, teasing affection behind it. if it gets too cold or disconnected? he’s out.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving is his thing. he’ll spend ages between your legs, groaning into you, gripping your thighs like a lifeline. he lives for the way you moan his name. receiving? he’s shy about it, but he’ll melt if you take your time with him.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

mostly slow and sensual. wants to feel every inch, every shiver. but if he’s frustrated or jealous? pace picks up fast. deep, deliberate thrusts while his mouth is on your neck, voice in your ear.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he likes them now and then, especially if you initiate. gets flustered easily when you’re bold. a quick handjob behind a locked door? you’ll have him blushing and grinning like mad after.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s cautious, but open-minded. if you bring up something new, he’ll listen. might be shy at first, but if he sees it turns you on? he’ll commit fully.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

one really good round that leaves you breathless is his standard. but if you want more? he’ll go again. he’s not a machine, but he’s thorough, and he makes every second count.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

a few, mostly for you. vibrators, plugs, things that make you squirm in his lap. he likes watching you fall apart while he whispers soft praise.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’s a known menace. he'll act all soft and innocent, but will tease you under the table, murmur filthy things in public, and edge you in bed just to watch you beg. he’s gentle, but unkind in the best way.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

low groans, breathy moans, soft swearing under his breath. when he gets really into it, he gets vocal—panting your name, muttering how good you feel, cursing when he’s close.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he’s turned on by making you breakfast while you wear nothing but one of his t-shirts. he’ll pull you onto the counter and have you right there, coffee forgotten, eggs burning, all soft giggles and kitchen sex.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

length above average, not massive - but he’s thick. veiny, with a curve that hits just right. when he presses in deep and slow, you see stars. and he knows it.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

higher than he lets on. he plays it cool, but he’s always thinking about it. the smallest touch, the way you say his name—he’s ready.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he likes to wind down with you. quiet cuddles, light kisses, hands tangled in your hair. he’ll fall asleep once he’s sure you’re warm, happy, and smiling against his chest.

#george clarke

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cornliastreett · 27 days ago

Text

SO HIGH SCHOOL ! chris dixon (chrismd)

chris dixon x fem reader

summary: being with chris makes you feel like you're back in Year 10, doodling hearts in the margin of your notes again.

based loosely on 'so high school' by taylor swift

masterlist | main masterlist

You're not entirely sure when it happened.

Maybe it was the moment he sneakily took your last chip while out for dinner with your friends and gave you that cheeky grin like he was proud of theft. Or maybe it was the time he invited you to film a 'completely serious' 1v1 football challenge and ended up tripping over the ball in the first two seconds, nearly taking you down with him.

Or maybe...maybe it's just always been there.

That thing.

That stupid, ridiculous flutter in your chest every time Chris looks at you like you're the funniest person in the world — even when you've just told a joke that doesn't even land. Especially then.

And it gets worse.

Because Chris Dixon is in love.

And so are you.

And neither of you are any good at hiding it.

It had started with a prank war. Not an official one. Not the kind that's declared. One that is quiet, subtle, the kind of ridiculous only best friends — or people on the brink of something more — could come up with.

You drew a moustache on his face with eyeliner while he was napping on the sofa.

He filled your shoes with cereal.

You hid all his camera batteries before a shoot.

He replaced your Spotify playlist with a loop of Barbie Girl.

Somewhere between your evil laugh and his terrible attempts at playing innocent, it morphs into something…else.

Flirting.

The kind of flirting that makes you feel like you’re fifteen again, sneaking glances across the classroom and hoping your crush notices the way your knees knock under the desk.

You catch Chris looking at you during dinner with his friends, that warm, ridiculous smile on his face like you’re the only person in the room. And when you raise an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs, still grinning. “What?” he says. “You’re kinda distracting.”

One night, you’re sitting on the carpet of his living room, both of you full of takeaway and bad movie commentary. His hair is a mess. Your hoodie’s definitely one of his. The whole night has been nothing but laughter and teasing and mostly over your embarrassing Year 9 school photos.

“I was hideous.” you say dramatically, flopping onto your back.

“You were adorable.” he replies immediately.

You blink. He freezes.

It lingers in the air between you, soft and loud at the same time.

“…That was a weird thing to say.” he mumbles, suddenly finding a great deal of interest in the empty pizza box beside him.

“No,” you say quietly. “It wasn’t.”

He looks at you.

You look at him.

You both break into nervous laughter like two kids who just got caught passing notes in class.

A few days later, he texts you out of the blue:

Chris: do u wanna come to the park i’ve got a football and a lot of energy and i want to embarrass myself in front of you again for old times sake

You grin. He doesn’t need to ask twice.

You’re on the grass, sun on your skin, wind in your hair, and Chris is chasing after the ball like it personally insulted his family.

“I swear you get worse at this every year.” you call, dodging him easily.

“That’s so rude,” he shouts, panting, “Coming from someone who just fell over her own feet.”

“That was graceful, thank you very much.”

He catches up to you, grabs your waist, and you both go tumbling into the grass, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You are a tangle of limbs and joy, and there's something unspoken that's bubbling just beneath the surface. When the laughter dies down, you're lying side by side, breathless and grinning. He turns his head toward you.

“I always have the most fun with you.” he says.

And your heart does that stupid flutter again.

The next time you hang out, it's different.

You're watching some awful rom-com, one of those “best friends fall in love” clichés with too many musical montages. And then, in the middle of a scene where the guy runs through the rain to confess his feelings, Chris says it.

Not in a grand, dramatic way. Not like in the movies. Just soft. Honest.

“I think I like you.”

You turn to him. He’s staring at the TV, pretending to be casual, but his leg is bouncing like crazy and he won’t meet your eyes.

“Chris.”

He finally looks over.

“I like you too,” you say. “Obviously.”

He grins, wide and slightly disbelieving. “Wait—seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

There’s a beat.

Then you’re both laughing, because of course this is how it would happen. Awkward, dorky, perfect.

Like high school sweethearts finally figuring it out at the lockers.

The first kiss happens two days later.

He walks you home. You linger at the door. It’s cliché, it’s predictable, it’s completely earned. And when he leans in—hesitant, hopeful—you meet him halfway.

It’s not fireworks. It’s better.

It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s the kind of kiss that tastes like inside jokes and long summer nights and way too much shared history.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You make me feel like I'm sixteen again.” he murmurs.

You smile. “Good. Because I feel like doodling hearts in my notebook again.”

From then on, everything changes and somehow stays exactly the same. You’re still best friends. Still bickering and teasing and arguing over who makes the better cup of tea.

But now there are kisses on your cheeks when you’re cooking. Hands intertwined under the table. His hoodie always ending up on you—and staying there.

You start calling him “boyfriend” just to make him blush. He retaliates by loudly calling you “babe” in public until you threaten to change his YouTube password.

It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect.

And it’s so, so high school.

One night, you’re scrolling through your phone in his bed, his arm around your waist, when he says,

“You know I was into you way before the prank war, right?”

You glance up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I think it started the first time you beat me at FIFA and then danced on the sofa like a maniac.”

You burst out laughing. “That was your moment?”

“You were so smug. And loud. And proud. It was infuriating. I think I fell in love a little.”

You turn to face him properly, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair. "I think I started falling for you when you turned up at my door with chocolate and Bend It Like Beckham on DVD when I was writing my dissertation."

Chris looks at you, amused. "I didn't even say anything that night."

"You didn't have to," you say. "You just...knew. And you sat with me, and let me cry through half of the movie. That was it."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "So you're telling me all it took was chocolate and background noise of a crappy movie?"

You gasp, playfully. "Bend It Like Beckham is not crappy."

Chris leans in, forehead against yours, smiling like the chesire cat. "Sorry, it's a classic.

You nudge his nose with yours, grinning. "That's better."

He hums, eyes flicking from yours to your lips and back again. "Good to know where the bar is, though. Chocolate, Keira Knightley, and minimal talking. I can work with that."

You laugh, the kind that bubbles up without warning — the kind he always brings out in you.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad it was you."

He doesn't say anything right away. Just pulls you closer, his hand resting gently on your cheek, like he's trying to memorise the moment.

"Me too," he says quietly. "Every version of you, every day—I'd still pick you."

And then he kisses you. Tender and gentle, like he's been waiting his whole life to get it right. And this time, he has.

A few months in, Chris surprises you with a late-night picnic at the top of Primrose Hill. It’s spontaneous, chaotic, and entirely him—he forgot plates, brought three kinds of crisps, and somehow remembered your favourite drink.

You’re wrapped in his hoodie, the city lights twinkling below like fairy lights on a school disco ceiling, and he’s lying beside you, hands behind his head, gazing up at the stars like they owe him something.

“I used to dream about doing stuff like this with someone,” he says, almost to himself. “You know... like, proper movie moments. That cheesy, slow-dance-under-the-stars kind of thing.”

You glance over, your heart doing that thing again. “And here you are. Living the dream—with zero cutlery and a half-crushed packet of Wotsits.”

He laughs, soft and genuine. “Exactly. Nailed it.”

The breeze picks up, but neither of you move to go. It’s too perfect, in the clumsy, mismatched way real life tends to be. You shift closer, your shoulder brushing his.

“I would’ve had the biggest crush on you in sixth form.” you say suddenly.

He tilts his head toward you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’d have been the loud one in the back of the class who never brought a pen.”

He grins. “You’d be the one who let me borrow one anyway.”

You bump his arm. “Reluctantly.”

Chris turns onto his side, eyes shining in the dark. “I would’ve found a way to sit next to you. Every lesson. No matter the seating plan.” You don’t say anything, just reach out and intertwine your fingers with his. After a moment, he adds, “I would've asked you to Prom. Pretended it was casual. Sweated through the whole thing.”

You smile, leaning in, forehead resting against his. ��I’d have said yes.”

And then you kiss—slow, certain—while London hums quietly below, and the sky above stays brilliantly, perfectly still.

Chris and you.

You, who never thought love could feel like laughter at 2am, like Sunday lie-ins and shared playlists and inside jokes about your shared hatred of slow walkers.

Him, who makes you feel like the world is a little less serious, a little more possible. Who sees you—really sees you—and somehow still wants more.

And the two of you, tangled up in this story that feels like stolen glances in the hallway and laughing too loud in the lunch queue.

The kind of love that still feels like a game of Marry, Kiss, Kill whispered across a crowded classroom — and when your name comes up, he doesn't hesitate.

Marry. He would say.

Every time. Without question.

And this time, you're not blushing into your hoodie or pretending not to care. Because now you get to grin back and say,

"Right answer."

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