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ndl4l · 1 year

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State of grace,

Part two.

I’m sorry this took so long! I hope you like it! 🩷🩷

It’s not really a trigger warning but it does get heated at some point! Read at your own risk!

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".. and then, she posted a picture of her eyebrows. Which everyone thinks was a way of mocking Selena.” She waves a nugget to his face, moving her hands as she explains the new TikTok drama to him.

“So she got the boy and she is still not happy?” Niko seriously wonders. His chin is prompt up on the palm of his hand, his head slightly tilted to the side to look at her as his full attention is on her. This all started with a simple question, little did he know how intrigued by the drama she would be.

“I think she needs validation from people, you know? like she needs someone to tell her he's more happy with her, she’s better than all his exes. I don't think it's about Selena.” She finally takes a break to breathe and bite into the nugget she has been holding for so long.

He let her talk for more than five minutes, uninterpreted. Niko hasn't said a single thing the whole time. He just gasps and makes disapproval noises here and there.

“Yeah but, what about the tweets and everything she made towards Selena? Maybe she is a fan. I mean, it's Selena Gomez!"

She nods, reaching for his coke. She finished hers as soon as they left Mcdonalds, and Niko is allowing her to sip off his. He doesn’t really care about the drink or the food, he just wanted to spend some time with her.

His car is parked in an abandoned parking lot, the only people around being them. It's quiet and they have a perfect view of the sunset.

“Maybe she's insecure 'cause she knows Selena was his first love. First love is different.” She dips her next nugget into ketchup and bites it in half.

Niko smiles, "have you had a first love?"

“well, no, but I’ve read about it.”

Niko's loud laugh echoes in the silence of the small car. It's only at that moment that she realizes there's no music playing on the radio. She reaches for it and presses the button to turn it on. She quickly opens the bluetooth on her phone to pair it with Niko's car, before he gets a chance and makes them listen to Adele again.

“Same thing!” He sarcastically mumbles to her. He watches her scroll down on her spotify playlists, unsure what to put on.

“Play Adele.” He moves his finger towards the screen of her phone and she flicks it away.

“Don't touch my phone!”

He smiles, stealing some of her fries. She only has a couple left and he takes them. They both decided to split dessert and she has been eating so slowly, it started to drive him mad.

"If my boyfriend, no husband, if my husband stayed silent whilst the whole internet was tearing me apart i would be filling for divorce, you know." She mumbles as Ciggarettes after sex start playing in the backgroud. Niko raises his eyebrows at the choise of music but doesn’t comment on it.

“He didn't say anything?”

She makes her eyes wide, to emphasize how bad she believes it is and shakes his head no.

"What a nonce."

"don't say that!" She says but still laughs. He does too.

They stay in silence for a few minutes. Soft music comes from the speakers as they're watching the sun go down. They enjoy each others company, Niko has long forgotten about the dessert, and Y/n no loger interested in the drama. Or the nuggets left in the red container.

“Do you want to get married?”

He turns to look at her, her question throwing him off. Who asks that? “What kind of question is that? I dont know!”

“I think you do. You look like someone who wants to be married.”

He snorts, his eyes on hers. “How does one who wants to be married look?”

She waves her hand up and down his face and he slaps it away.

“You’re weird.” He chuckles, but what he really means is you’re almost as weird as me and I love it.

A new song by CAS starts playing and she mouths along to the lyrics as Niko pretends to be looking somewhere outside of his window. But his attention is on her. It’s always on her when she’s in the same room as him. And it’s so painfully obvious, to everyone else but her, apparently. AJ’s voice rings in his head, “Say something man. You’re weird, she’s weird, you’re like the perfect match.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I’m just a friend to her?”

“What if you’re not?”

His heart is beating like crazy. He feels like it’s gonna come out of his body and explode everywhere inside the car and he would have to clean it up. His eyes are on her again. Her questions have been making his head spin the whole time and the only reason he kept answering and playing along was to see the little crease that forms at the end of her eyes every time he says something funny.

“Do you think I’m good looking?” His question comes out of nowhere and he’s surprised with the confidence that came over him. A second pass by and he cringe with himself. Who asks that?

“Yeah.” She answers, not thinking about it. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. She doesn’t need time to think about it, like it’s something that has been running through her mind for days waiting to be told. “Do you think I’m good looking?”

“Well..yeah. I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He feels his whole body burn and he can’t meet her eyes.

She chuckles. “No, I’m not.”

“You don’t have a say on that one, I’m afraid.”

This would have been the perfect time for their first kiss. He could just easily lean towards her and by cupping her cheek bring them closer. She would taste like ketchup mixed with coke and it would be the best kiss of his life.

But he didn’t lean on. He didn’t do anything. He stayed frozen in his seat, while another song started playing, and then another and another one. They didn’t say much after. She had no more questions to ask. He drove her home, she said ‘thank you’, ‘good night’, ‘talk soon’, and disappeared into her house.

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Two days later, he was picking her up again. This time, they were filming a video for the beta squad channel and she was gonna be taking the photos. Before even properly getting in the car, she made a disapproval sound and flicked his arm.

“Hello?” He jokingly turns to her, puzzled by her attitude.

“Seriously?” She asks him while pointing to the backseats.

“What?” His eyes follow her finger and smiles.

“You’re disgusting, why do you have this still?” She picks up the untouched dessert from two nights ago and opens the box.

“Ew don’t do that.” He closes the lid on her face, almost catching her nose, and pulls the box away from her. “I’ll throw this out.”

“Why didn’t you before?”

“I forgot,” he mumbles and starts the car. He can feel her smile and her eyes looking at him. With the corner of his eyes he checks to see if she actually watches him and when he does, he snickers.

“You are so weird. Look the road, not me weirdo.”

She bites on her lower lip, her eyes not leaving him. She wants to say something, he realizes, but what?

“Here,” he hands her his phone, hoping to get her eyes off him, “play something else.”

She takes his phone and scroll down on his Spotify playlists only to find half the songs they were listening to the other night in his liked ones. That makes the fuzzy feeling on her stomach come back and she blushes when their eyes meet for a quick second.

“When are you gonna ask me out?” She leans back on the headrest and looks at him with a small fading smile on her lips.

“Um, I mean- I didn’t know you want me to.” Speechless Niko is her favorite version of him. He doesn’t make an appearance often, but when he does he’s sweet and innocent looking— the complete opposite of his regular self.

“Oh come on. Did you really think I like football or fighting that much? Or did you think I can’t find another way to go places without calling you? And I’m not stupid, I’ve noticed how the boys tease you sometimes.”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while bitting the inside of his cheek, fighting another smile from escaping his mouth. “Okay. Go out with me.”

She shakes her head no, “too aggressive.”

He nobs. “Will you go out with me?”

She smiles. “Too general.”

He smiles too. “Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at 8. How’s that?”

“Perfect. I'll see you then.”

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He had been dressed and ready to go three hours before the date. He was passing around the house, made an appearance in sharkys live stream, and chatted with Chucks and Kenny in their backyard. What usually is a twenty-minute drive to her house, this time it took him forty minutes. He was driving slowly, trying to kill time, but still, when he parked in her street the clock was showing 7:15 p.m. He waited four minutes before ringing the bell.

She opened the door, smiling up to him. “You said 8.”

“Is it not 8?” He crunches his eyebrows, pretending to check the time on the watch on his wrist. “It must be broken then!” He throws his arm in the air, making her laugh.

“You’re weird.”

“Thank you.” He clears his throat, taking a step closer. “This..um..I got this for you.”

He hands her a beautiful bouquet of pink, red, and white lilies. Her eyes spark with surprise as she looks at the flowers in his hand.

“You got me flowers?” She reaches for them, “You got me flowers!”

“That’s the bare minimum!” Faith, her roommate yells from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Do you wanna come in for a second? I’m almost ready.”

You’re already beautiful, he wants to say but the second the door closes behind him , Y/n disappears inside her room, leaving Niko standing in the living room across from Faith.

“Took you long enough.” She mumbles from her spot on the couch, not even bothering to look up from her phone.

“Yeah, yeah.” Niko nods, “I know. I’ve been told before.”

“Oh, so you know you’re an idiot then.”

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“Hey,” he opens slightly the door to her room and peeks inside, “can I come in?”

“Yes.” She’s standing in the middle of the room, trying to zip up her dress. “Can you..” she motions for him to step closer and he walks up to her with shaking hands to help her.

“Your friend was driving me mad.”

“Asking a lot of questions?”

“She asked me what my blood type is.” His hands find her waist and she bites her lower lip, already loving the contract.

“Your hands are really warm,” she jokes and he pinches her side, playfully.

“I’m a little nervous.”

“Yeah, me too.” She whispers.

He slides the zipper up and turns her around to look at her face. “This doesn’t feel wrong, does it?”

She shakes her head, “not really. Should it?”

He raises one eyebrow, looking down on her, “I don’t think so.”

“The date hasn’t started yet.” He whispers.

“I know.” She whispers back. They are so close, if she lifts her head a little more and he leans down towards her, they could kiss.

“Can I still kiss you?”

She smiles, “if you want to.”

He brings his hands up from her waist and cups both her cheeks bringing her face closer to his. Her lips are soft and taste like cherries. The kiss is short and sweet and before he gets it too far, he pulls back. His hands are still on her cheeks, and she’s biting on her lower lip looking up at him.

“That was a good kiss.”

“You taste good.”

They say at the same time. They laugh and Niko starts rubbing his thumb in circles on her cheek. Something doesn’t help the butterflies that feel ready to explode in her belly.

“Niko?” Her voice comes out as a whisper but they’re so close, he can hear her perfectly.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

His mouth quickly finds hers again. This time her arms are around his neck and he keeps his around her waist. She takes control of the kiss, biting on his lower lip and making his head spin. They take two steps back and fall on top of the mattress, her legs closing around his waist as he uses one arm to support his body against hers.

“Is this going too fast?” He breaks the kiss to ask, his lips ghosting over hers.

“No, not at all.”

He starts kissing down her neck, her cheeks and every inch of her face he can get access to. He bites slowly on her neck, leaving open mouth kisses and licking slowly the same spot when he hears giggling coming from her.

“Are you ticklish?” He says, moving a little to the left to another spot.

“No, I was just think how I used to watch you interview and make fun of people on the street and now we’re about to have sex.”

“Okay,” He shoots his head up fast and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“But it’s true.”

“Well,” he opens his eyes, looking down on her face and smirks. “You were a fan of me?”

“No, not really. I was watching your videos every time they would come up on my feed, but I wasn’t subscribed or anything.”

He pinches her cheek, “so you didn’t want me to succeed? Thank you.”

She starts laughing, making him roll his eyes at her. “Stop it.”

The loud knocking make them stop and turn to face the closed door of her room.

“What are you guys doing?” Faith asks from the other side of the door, “ You can’t skip to the last stage! You have to go out first!”

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Thankyou for reading! I don’t know if I’m making another part, but ideas are more than welcomed! ✨🫶

Let me know if you want me to make them break up now

#beta squad #ndl #niko omilana #niko x reader #nikoomilana #youtube x reader

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ndl4l · 1 year

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I just read part 1 of state of grace and i’m in LOVEEE! please can you make a part 2 i’m dying for it

This is really sweet, thank you so much 🩵 im actually working on the second part and i think it’ll be up tomorrow? Hopefully 🤞 I didn’t know people were reading part 1 so I was working on p2 really slowly BUT it’s coming I promiseee

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ndl4l · 1 year

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KIAN IS GOING TO BE A DAD 😳

#kian lawley #he’s always been daddy but 😭

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ndl4l · 1 year

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DATE NIGHT | g. clarkey

summary: you have your first date with your tinder match. [9k words.]

pairing: reader x george clarkey.

notes: woooo! first date finally posted! i think i’m happy with how it turned out 🙂 hope you all enjoy, let me know what you think! hype her up!!! 😌💞 hopefully this can help build what we think gc’s girly will be like and come up with further fic ideas and concepts 🥰 lots of lovee. don’t forget to reblog! <33

YOU COULDN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME you had nerves like this.

Then again, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone on a date, with a lad living in London, a very stunning lad at that - and on the path to fame and endless opportunities with his never-ending increase in followers online.

You just had to keep reminding yourself he was still just George at the end of the day. The one you hadn’t stopped texting, the one who clearly fancied you to some extent.

I mean . . he swiped right after all.

Luckily for you, you didn’t work weekends, so you told him you were free after four o’clock from Friday.

You talked and he’d mentioned how he’d just moved and had few places he was still yet to find out about in London, from bars and restaurants to fun activity places, there was a lot to choose from.

So, to cut short — coffee had gone out the window, and you both settled for a Friday afternoon playing mini-golf, with drinks, with drinks after with a nice meal.

But you were crapping yourself.

You didn’t know where to begin to get ready, your brain was buffering.

You didn’t think you’d took so long to do your makeup but you wanted everything to be perfect and long-lasting by the end of the night — in all hopes he didn’t ditch you after 30 mins max.

The train from Brighton to London was a little over an hour long, but you took it as a time to keep yourself collected, running over every possible scenario and thing that could go wrong.

You had a good feeling about tonight up until you started getting ready, it was like your brain started to play tricks on you the more it became real.

Oh my days!!! You were going on a date with George! George Clarkey!!

You knew he wasn’t the biggest name online but . . he was bigger than you would probably ever be, and the ladies were loving him — and you were no PLT model! You felt like an imposter buying that train ticket to London.

The sun was still up, London bright and the sky still blue at 6:30PM in the Spring, Summer finally around the corner, it’s why you didn’t bring a coat with you.

You were stunning. Wearing a white shirt with a beige pocket skirt, paired with some chunky black boots, you didn’t want to make it too formal, just stylish; you’d stuck on your favourite jewellery and brought your little handbag with your necessities inside, from your perfume to mints, you were ready for tonight.

It was odd — you felt more excited than nervous.

Your hair was flowing behind you, your makeup painted to perfection on your face, you’d done it yourself as always, very happy with your look today and proud things seemed to be sailing smoothly so far.

You had a good feeling again.

George was trying to ignore the absolute shambles he’d faced the other day which was gonna cost him today, killing time at the same time you were rushing to get ready, by filming a video with the boys.

Alex was doing a good job at taking his mind off his date by screaming into his headset as the five of them argued over something he’d worded wrong.

“Shut up, TinTin.”

“ALEX. FUCK OFF!”

“It’s the return of the TinTin.”

“LEWIS!”

“George shut up man. Hurry up and go.”

“NO!

“Go!”

“No!”

“Mate! Just go! Literally everyone is going!”

“I don’t care! I told you I’m going out,” he gave a laugh as they pressured him once again to join them on their night out.

“Meet us after?!”

“I’ll see,” he almost muttered, amused at their effort, but pretty certain he would not be seeing them after spending the evening with you.

You smiled leaving the train, waving your fingers goodbye as you stepped off, eyes immediately looking around for the boy who promised to he right there for you getting off to walk through the city with you to your first destination.

George noticed you immediately the second you stepped off, compared to every other bland person leaving the train, his features seemed to drop the second he saw your leg stick out the door, his eyes trailing up the long-legged beauty, past her skirt and her frame, up to her unbuttoned shirt where a shiny pendant hung around her neck, resting just above her chest. She swung one foot in front of the other, the intimidating boots hitting the ground as you looked to the left first and then to the right, your hair flowing effortlessly as you searched for him.

But with weak knees, he was already walking over to you, eager to get by your side and prevent anyone from swooping in to pester you and your beauty.

His saliva got stuck in his throat, not expecting you to look so . . good, so divine. It wasn’t a causal fit but it wasn’t over the top — it was perfect. You dressed perfect. Once again.

Why was he so surprised? He needed to get used to you outdoing him. Effortlessly dressing out of his league.

You looked to your right and almost jumped to find a pair of eyes trained on you, saving you from the embarrassment of looking utterly confused.

You smiled at that friendly face, clearly excited to see you, and smiled at his appearance, liking the effort of a pair of trousers that weren’t some Nike joggers or a top that was an old sweatshirt (like past dates had showed up in). He had some dark jeans on with a fresh, white t-shirt with some tiny branded logo, paired with some white shoes to match and his black padded coat to beat the cool London breeze. You could smell his aftershave before you’d even hugged him and noticed his effort to have shaved and even have gotten his hair cut.

It was the first thing he saw you noticed as your eyes glanced to the top of his head and he laughed midway pulling you in for a hug, “ignore the trim, I was sabotaged!”

“No, it’s lovely! I really like it!” You smiled from his shoulder, his body much warmer against yours as you kissed his cheek like the French. He felt so nervous with you so close to him, scared you could feel his hands shaking with them on your back. “You look lovely.”

“You look lovely. You — you look gorgeous, I mean,” he evidently checked you out from top to bottom, sending a flattering smile to your face with rosy cheeks.

“Thank you.”

“Not cold?”

“The train was quite stuffy. I should be fine,” you reassured, unable to take your eyes off him.

He . . was so attractive.

You were so charmed by him!

The haircut had fuck all affect on you — it was nice! He pulled it off!

“Oh no, is my hair really that bad?” He noticed you looking again.

“No! Honestly,” you reassured, “It’s really fine, George. You suit it.”

He raised a brow at you at that, “now that’s just pushing it.”

“I’m serious! I like it!” You convinced him, smiling up at it. Yeah, it was shorter since the event but he’d styled it to look nice. It was cute! He was cute.

He playfully rolled his eyes at you, “okay.”

You tilted your head at him adoringly, his gaze stuck on you and your dazzling eyes. “I’m serious.”

He trusted you. “Shall we?”

“Yes! Lead the way!” You nodded excitably, tucking your hair behind your ear as he offered you his arm. You took it gracefully, nervous by his strong eye contact.

Walking through London at that time was perfect: the sunlight hit just right and it seemed to empty as people abandoned the streets to head home for the weekend. You couldn’t stop looking around as George spoke to you the entire for time, rambling about what he knew so far and the stories he’d been told on certain areas that kept you intrigued.

London was beautiful, and you were happy with the opportunity to get to walk right through the centre with him.

Sitting down at the first bar you’d agreed to before your activity, you both ordered your drinks to your outside table, already poking fun at your date and his choice of drink. “Oof. A beer man. Didn’t see that coming.”

“Just one of the lads,” he fake flexed, making you laugh for getting your sarcasm.

“Real men order cocktails.”

“I actually do like cocktails,” he broke into a smile, “I’m just . . trying to impress you.”

“Wow, and it’s done the trick,” you raised your brows, before the two of you shared a coy laugh.

George smiled at you, unbelieving this was actually happening right now. That a girl like you were sitting with him. That you were with him. Laughing at him. “Thank you for coming up here, you look . . stunning,” he got all soft, dropping his gaze to the table where he scratched his nail to the chipped wooden table. It must have been nerve-wrecking to have to come all the way here on your own — and for a date. Ballsy, he thought.

“Thank you,” you beamed kindly, “of course! Here’s to hoping it’s a fun night,” you pretended to clink a glass as that would have been the opportunity had you got them yet, but he joined you in pretending anyway, hitting his fake pint to yours. “Thank you for asking me out.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

You raised your brows. “So it is a pity date.”

He panicked, widening his eyes as he sat with his arms on the table, “NO! No, I mean—” what did he mean? Great, this was great. “I mean . . I wanted to anyway, since the start. It’s what I should have done from the start instead of—”

You laughed and reached to touch his arm reassuringly to stop him, “George! I’m joking.”

He breathed. Sarcasm, George. It exists. You’re the king of it. “I’m surprised you agreed to be fair.”

“I’m surprised you asked! I thought I was so cheeky to you on the carpet, I was like what am I doing?!” You ranted as your drinks were brought to your table. George was excited to hear your side of the story because he didn’t think you were cheeky for a moment. He knew you were just getting your own back, not maliciously. Not in the slightest. He got your banter. “I was like why did I do that?! You like him?! Talk to him? Don’t—” he laughed across from you, cheeks pink from your confession, “don’t . . say exactly what you said? I swear — it was — I was like ok, get flirty, you know, just be nice and then I . . attacked you?!” You apologised?

He laughed. “You didn't attack me,” he reassured, “I didn’t feel attacked anyway, don’t worry,” he lifted his drink, “I deserved it. I’m glad you said so. I got that you were . . trying to flirt.” You had to set your drink down from laughing as he mirrored your struggle to drink his.

“Oh, great!” You celebrated your awkward efforts, “cheers to that,” you both hit glasses, you going in with too much force as his shaky hand met it and astonishingly — smashed your martini glass.

The drink went everywhere as George’s hand immediately covered his mouth while you stared with yours hanging open, in disbelief that this was how it was going.

You began to silently laugh because you didn’t know what you’d do if you didn’t!

George followed, both hands now covering his eyes as he witnessed this, “there is no . . way.”

You laughed loudly with your hand covering your eyes, and George could feel himself growing fond at the sound.

Getting another glass with a fresh drink, you clinked glasses properly this time, chuckling as you both did so and drank.

Take two.

Conversation flowed nicely between you both; you’d feared your shyness would get in the way, especially considering George was someone new to you, but surprisingly, it didn’t end. You bounced off each other, retorting back and fourth, a hundred questions to ask and hundred stories to tell.

“Were you working today?”

“One of my co-workers actually had a doctors appointment and she didn’t want to cancel her client ‘cause it was for a wedding so I offered to take her,” you explained, your casualty in tone proving to George just how kind-hearted a girl you could be. Didn’t like disappointing others. “But no, not technically.”

“Do you like your job?”

“Yeah! I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t mind work. Hate the early mornings but,” you shrugged, “doesn’t feel much like work when you enjoy what you’re doing. It’s my creative outlet.”

So you were artistic.

“So do you hate nail biters?”

You raised a shoulder. “I don’t hate them but I do find it annoying.”

You watched how he nodded and slowly, jokingly, slid his hands off and under the table to hide. You laughed and quickly explained, “I just don’t know how people feel the need to bite their nails! How it’s appealing! The sight and sound of it is so annoying!”

“D’you know who would say exactly that?” He waved a sarcastic finger, feeling attacked, “a non-nail biter.”

You laughed more, and he smile, seeing how easy it was to make you do so.

You didn’t know how it happened, but the pre-drinks had turned into just drinking when you both got distracted talking the ear off each other, missing the time slot you had booked your mini-golf.

“Well! That's great! Wait ‘til 8 now!” Your date lifted his third pint, planning it to be his last as he could feel that little tiny buzz taking him.

“It’s fine! Who cares, we’re having a good time,” you shrugged, letting him know you were happy — more than happy to sit here all night and drink.

Oop, ‘cause that sounded good, Y/n. Alcho.

“I’ve never had an Espresso Martini.”

“Have you not?” You raised your brows, playing with the stem of the glass.

He shook his head. “Are they your go-to drink?”

“Not really. I love my fruity cocktails. Just thought I’d switch it up to seem more . . extravagant to you or something!” You laughed. ‘Cause Espresso Martinis gave off that vibe, Y/n.

“What would you say is you go-to? If you were at a bar?”

Anything, George. The smell of alcohol gets me off my tits, my tolerance is that bad – but why would I tell you that? “Pink Gin is my poison. It fucks me up so I stay away from that as much as I do love it it but . . probably Vodka with . . anything. Or Malibu with pineapple juice,” you raised a shoulder, “I try to be different every time I go out.”

“Do you go out often?”

“I mean . . I like to go out. My friends have all moved away now, got their degrees and living with their partners and i’m just . . not.” You laughed.

He raised his glass at that, not needing to voice another ‘cheers’ as he related to you once again. Had he not been able to find his group of friends to move out with, he’d have happily stayed at home with his mum and dad.

“I do like to go out but Brighton isn’t really the place I feel. It’s different from London,” he nodded along to your words. “Besides, I’ve been getting ready to go out before and then my Nan will text me and ask if I want to spend the weekend on their little barn and . . I can’t say no . .” you confessed, cheeks blushing at how much of a people pleaser you’d just shown you were.

George thought that was really cute of you, you were as sweet as you seemed. “I mean, they’re not gonna be around forever.”

“Exactly! I love my Nan and Grandad, and I love driving out to see them!”

“They live far?”

“They’re countryside folk. They basically run a farm at this point.”

“DO THEY?!”

“Yeah!” You grinned.

“I can’t imagine you to help out with all the farmwork,” he lowered his voice, awkwardly swirling his drink.

You feigned offense. “Why not?!”

“I don’t know! I just — can’t imagine you getting,” quick, think of something! Don’t offend her! “—your fingernails dirty.”

You laughed at that, and he smiled at your reaction. “I mean it’s not ideal but I love to help out. I like getting out there. Let my hair down for a bit, nice change of scenery . . and smell from the salon.”

“I’m sure!”

You shook your head at him.

“I like the country.”

“Maybe you’ll get out there one day,” you didn’t want to scare him, “maybe you’ll be the lucky lad to . . shoot a pheasant with my grandad,” you came up with at the top of your head.

And George could tell you’d come up with that at the top of your head from the look on your face when you said it, his laugh cackling, “what?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I said that! I don’t even think I've seen a pheasant up there! I don’t even think my Grandad shoots birds?”

He laughed more, closing his eyes while you tried to fight off another blush on your cheeks.

He didn’t think he could have experienced such a good date.

“Who’s been the ‘lucky lad’ before,” he playfully mocked your words.

“There’s never been a lucky lad.”

George’s features changed, his brows pulling together and his smile dropped in disbelief, “there’s never been a lucky lad? That’s met your grandparents?”

“There’s never been a lad, period,” you drank your drink.

George stared at you, unknowing if you were joking.

You looked back.

“ . . you’ve . . never had a boyfriend?”

That didn’t even feel right on his tongue.

“No,” it was your turn to divert your gaze to your swirling glass of liquid, “do what you will with that!”

Suddenly, George felt a lot more serious. You didn’t need to look at him to see the cogs turning in his brain. He kept diverting his eyes to your hand circling your drink and your face avoiding eye contact. “ . . are you serious?”

“I swear,” you admitted. “Okay, maybe when I was 15 — talked to a guy for a while . . went to his house once or twice, but,” you shrugged, “yeah. Talked to a guy before Lockdown but . . no. Never got ‘round to . . doing anything really: meeting the parents, making it as the other’s wedding date.”

“Wow.”

“Wow? Why, don’t you believe me?” You laughed.

“No! Or yeah! I mean—” he raised a shoulder, not knowing how to carry this conversation now. You’d given a lot away with that, he felt. “I just thought you’d have somebody. Before.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

You looked at him blankly, wondering what he was thinking.

Did that make you weird? Did he view you differently now?

“Yeah. Just too picky. Nobody’s been worth my time – met my standards,” you joked to divert the awkwardness you felt, tucking your hair behind your ear and checked your nails as he lightly laughed, playing on the perception people had of you: stuck up; spoiled; goody two shoes, too good for any boy.

He had such a pretty smile.

“So you’re close with your family.” He stated more than asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have lots of siblings?”

You shook your head. “None.”

“NONE?!”

“Yeah,” you chuckled a little, “why? Do you find that weird?”

He was surprised, rather. “Yeah!”

“Are you close with your family? Do you have siblings?”

“Yeah,” he amusingly answered, demeanour softening as he thought of them. “I have a sister.”

“YOU HAVE A SISTER?!”

“Yeah, I have an older sister,” he smiled with pride.

“Do you?!”

You would have bet he had at least one brother.

“Yeah!”

Well, that told you all you needed to know. That . . explained a lot, actually.

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ to you! You’re an only child!” He mocked you, still disturbed by this news.

“All you sibling people find only children so odd like we missed out a huge part in our childhood.” You jokingly rolled your eyes.

“You did.”

You laughed at him. “Well, to be fair, I cannot express how close I am to my cousins. They are like my siblings, we would all be very tight-knit.”

“But have you trailed them by the hair?” He spoke wisely, drinking his beer. Just sibling tingz.

“Actually! My cousin Dan,” you started, “him and I– we’re like not even a year a part, he would be like the closest thing I had to a brother — we’ve pulled the hair off each other.”

“REALLY!” George laughed at the thought of that, of someone as sweet as you participating in such hate crimes.

“Yeah!” You laughed. You could speak for hours on Dan, on all your family but Dan and you were treated like twins growing up: sent to the same school, lived 10 minutes away from each other, always sent to Nan & Grandad’s on the same days, holidays together.

You’d fully experienced that universal brother experience when you began secondary school and everyone disbelievingly asked you throughout: “are you related to Dan L/N?!”

“Yeah. We fought all the time once we turned 13 and 14. Literally sickened me,” you thought of the days. “Made me glad to be an only child.”

George looked at you as you spoke, and you couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was thinking about. “Why are you judging me. Are you making some only-child stereotypes?”

He laughed loudly at your words, clearly able to read him like a book.

“You so are! You think i’m some . . spoiled brat,” you sipped from your cocktail glass.

“I mean,” cut him some slack. Easy assumption.

Did you get everything you want? Practically, not always but . . I mean yeah, your dad couldn't say no to that face. (Your mum could). Your Nan and Grandad couldn’t, you were their golden girl, and even your Auntie who only ever had boys, she — “ok, some ti—”

“You have to be!” He laughed, seeing your expression change in thought.

“So you’re close with your sister?” You jokingly changed the subject.

George laughed at that too, shaking his head humoured at you, but went for it. “Yeah, we’re really close. I’m close with them all, it’s weird not seeing them everyday. Weirder that neither me or my sister live in Bristol now. She used to . .” then he shook his head with a laugh, “no, actually—”

“What!”

“No, no I—”

“What! Come on, just say!” You touched is arm.

He fought to lightly roll his eyes, “no, she just used,” he shook his head again, clearly amused at the memory, “she used to dress me up when we were younger. I actually idolised her,” he rubbed his eye.

You laughed at the confession, finding it the sweetest thing.

Yeah, you knew you had a good feeling about him.

“That’s adorable.”

“Yeah. She’s a prick sometimes though,” he took a drink, and you laughed even more at that — classic sibling behaviour.

You crossed your leg over the other, “I—” your knee hitting the table and ta-da! You jumped to grab the falling glass, jumping off your stool as the sticky liquid covered your legs, sending your mouth agape for the second time tonight with laughter trapped in your chest.

George had turned away with his back to you to hide the laugh fighting to get out of his mouth, not wanting you to think of him as ignorant.

Your knees bent as you laughed with your hands on them, shaking your head as he dabbed tears from his eyes, your hand signaling for you to ‘cut it’ and get going — you’d had enough. “Enough, enough. Let’s just go,” you chuckled, looking to where he pointed on your skirt — to the dark patch that looked like you’d wet yourself. You shook your head at him as he proceeded to laugh, and grabbed your things.

“I can’t believe I spilled that all down me,” you noted as you stood in the resort now, leaning on your golfclub as George got a snigger out before putting the ball. It rolled perfectly into the hole.

“Me neither,” he rubbed his eye, distracting himself not to laugh. Well, at least your skirt was dry.

You followed him to the spot and did your bit of putting the ball, not surprised when you needed to go another two times. You shook your head at the brunet again, seeing him watch humoured from the corner of your eye, clearly feeling cocky by leading this competition.

He leaned his arm on his golf club, watching you part your legs and dip your head to the floor, glancing between the ball and where it was supposed to go, watching you sway once, twice, and hit it — too hard to hit against the wall but bounce back enough to land in the hole. You looked excitedly at him and he applauded, cheering for you just as you wanted. “Woo! Only took you four tries!”

Your shoulders dropped and you gave him a ‘be quiet’ look.

He laughed more at himself, mocking you at the next hole, copying your movements, spreading his legs and moving his hips the way you had, which had you laughing with your hand to your mouth. “George!”

He was glad you could take a joke.

He smiled smugly coming to stand next to you, too good, getting it in a hole-in-one, and you looked at him peeved, his eyelids lazy as they dropped onto you, eyeing the proximity. “Stop the showing off.”

“Hurry up and score or we’re not making dinner!” he teased.

You straightened up, leaning your back forward but keeping your legs straight, unable to find the flag to put the ball at with the darkness of the room, and George was too busy rubbing his hand down his face at the sight to tell you. “Where’s the hole?”

His loud rupture of laughter had you abandoning your club with flaming cheeks, having enough of his childishness.

“Come on, I’m not doing this anymore,” you subconsciously tugged your skirt down, accepting defeat. He laughed even louder.

You were both in the taxi, heads feeling a little fuzzy when you spoke up from his side, trying not to laugh at your realisation, “. . I don’t know if I can do dinner. I think I’m a bit . .”

He looked down at you humoured, the same word on his mind. “Same.”

You both laughed in the backseat, your hand subconsciously touching his leg as you tried to collect yourself, not wanting to piss off the taxi driver who’d pin you both as your average pissed young couple he wanted to charge more for being annoying.

George’s blood hit the roof, his hand gripping the handle bar above the window at your hand on him.

But for a moment — it was nice. It was natural. He felt like . . he could get used to this, but at the same time, never get used to this, because there was no way a girl like you would stick him that long.

You were surprised he hadn’t been put off by you, as you seemed to have something most lads didn’t like.

Self-respect? Maybe?

You were shocked by how easily up bounced off him – you could be quite shy around new people and new settings - it was strange.

Another bar turned into another bar, and talking the night away, chatting each other’s ears off, you’d managed to spill another drink between you as you’d smashed the stem of your cocktail on the table, and George, whilst trying to be funny, picked up his glass that seemed to slip right from his fingers and smash under your table.

Now it was his turn to cover his face with a hand.

“I don’t think I’ve met a better-suited pair,” the bar-maid pettily joked, cleaning your mess up.

“Sorry,” you apologised, meaning it truly but you could’ve guessed she wanted you gone in your tipsy state.

Oh no. It wasn’t supposed to get like this.

“Think I should order a water.” George looked at you.

“Me too. For me.” You specified.

“D’you think — oh for fuck’s sake,” he quietly grumbled as his phone rang for the third time.

“Just answer it!” You encouraged, finishing the sip of your drink.

He looked at you and you nodded, watching him bring it to his ear, “what?”

You crossed your leg and watched him, biting your lip to hold back the bubbling laughter at the tone of his voice and expressions of his face.

He was so freakin’ cute.

“No! I told you already—” his brows pulled together, “arth—Arthur! No! . . ‘cause I’m out already! . . yeah! I’m in . . no! Around the corner from there, yes! . . no! Why would I do that? . . no, I’m not bringing them along, are you joking?” he looked at you as his friends continued to ramble on the phone, “no, we wouldn’t make it anyway . . Arthur, I don—” he facepalmed, hand dragging down his face and you laughed softly, leaning on the table to grab his arm, holding just past his watch.

“Are you okay? Are they okay?”

He lowered his phone with a petty shake of his head, “just being a headache. They want me to meet them on the tube to go back to some houseparty—”

“We should go!” You unexpectedly perked up.

He paused, looking at you. “Huh?”

“Or — you should go. It’s getting late anyway and I’m sure you’d be needing to get home — keep the night going!”

“But I . . . I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

Your heart exploded at his confession. Your eyes had to be twinkling looking at him if they hadn’t been all night. “I’ll come with! I don’t mind! Or I—I mean if they don’t mind! It’s your friends, right?”

The side of his mouth perked up, “yeah.”

“Then why not! You wanna keep the night going, I wanna keep the night going, we should!”

George smiled wider as he brought the phone back to his ear, not taking his eyes off you, “right, yeah. Sod it — we’ll meet you on the tube you freak.” He annoyingly rubbed his eye.

Even you could hear the cheers from the phone’s speaker.

He was clearly looked up to by his friends.

“Bye.”

“I feel like I just invited myself to your friend’s party—”

“No, don’t be ridiculous — I wasn’t going anywhere without you tonight,” he timidly admitted, necking the rest of his drink before jumping from his seat and grabbing his jacket, picking your handbag off the floor for you so you didn’t need to bend down.

You smiled and took it from him, catching his eyes, forever feeling intimidated with how he stared through his eyelids, clearly something turning in the back of his mind every time he gazed down at you, and that little smirk didn’t help either.

“Christ, it’s cold,” he noticed, feeling the immediate different from inside to out, however, the alcohol in his system seemed to be doing its job because although he could feel the nippy air, he still felt comfortable in his skin.

You on the other hand were crossing your long legs over the other to help keep warm whilst George checked his phone for the quickest backstreet leading to the underground.

Without a second thought, the Bristol boy took one look at you from his phone and held his coat out to you, ashamed he hadn’t said sooner. “Here!”

“O — are you sure?” You blushed, “it is freezing.”

“Yeah, of course, take it,” he smiled, watching you take it before eyeing his phone again.

“Are you sure? Just take it back if you get too cold,” you advised, appreciatively taking the padded coat from him. The second you slipped it on, you were wrapped up in warmth — his aftershave filling your nostrils as you tried not to get so giddy in the oversized article of clothing. “Thank you so much George.”

“It’s alright,” he was barely paying attention, trying to get the fastest shortcut, which only made your heart flutter because of how casual he was about it.

A natural gentleman.

Thank God he was engaged on his phone, or he’d had seen the way you gawked at him, once again in disbelief you were on a date with someone as attractive as him, as funny as him, as enticing.

You fancied him so much.

The side of his face was so handome, and his arms — oh Lord, his arms were beautiful, he didn’t need to move much for his muscles to flex.

“Ok, think I found it,” he quickly locked his phone and shoved it in his jeans pocket, “come on,” he was ready to break out into a full-blown sprint in order to make this train. But he held his hand out beforehand, promoting a girly smile to your face and a light glow by your dimples as you secured a hand on the strap of your bag on your shoulder and took his with the other, laughing the entire way he maneuvered you both through obstacles of people and slip through tiny spaces under the cool, London sky.

The night felt like a dream.

You chased behind him, holding your bag, his hand, his large hand gripping yours, secure enough so it wouldn’t let go. You followed behind him, tucking in closer and gripping him tighter when you went underground, a natural wary feeling taking over you at the acknowledgement of being in such location at night and as a woman.

“You ok?” George pulled you over closer to him, sensing your timidity as you looked around the strangely emptied surroundings.

You glanced to him at the feeling of his hand squeezing yours, and the sight of that face looking down at you, eyes soft but demeanor showing you he was ready to fight anyone who came near you — your chest wasn’t the only thing with a thrilling heartbeat.

You nodded, throat dry as his eyes danced across your face, your body subconsciously tucking itself securely behind his toned arm.

Fuck!!! He was so fit, you could have cried.

His eyes flickered, investigating your eyes before your lips, your face the closest it had ever been to his tonight sending a rush to his heart.

You were even more perfect up close, truly not a flaw he could pick out.

“George,” your voice dropped, playfulness to your tone as his face eased and his grin grew, his arm pulling you close and then raising above and over you so it was wrapped behind your neck, your hands now connected on your shoulder — even he was surprised by how smooth it was! “Yeah?”

You barely tilted your head at him, raising your brows when you let your eyes level at his mouth, at those pink lips.

His arm tightened by your head as he pulled you into him, your lips meeting his in the most romantic kiss that rattled your stomach with nerves.

His arm relaxed behind you as you shoulders slouched, your free hand coming up to rest on his shoulder before inching to his face where you didn’t hold him but let your fingers brush against his cheek, almost guiding him in the direction of your mouth, encouraging him to stay put, rather than pull away.

You kissed long once, not opening your eyes as you went for another, lips softly smacking as you transferred your lipstick on him, releasing a soft breath as you locked lips for a third time.

Clearly, an unexpected urgency seemed to crawl up you as you let go of his hand to slip it round the back of his neck and instinctively hitch your leg up, lips smiling as you opened your mouth more for him, he grabbed it and almost hooked it over his hip.

Your whole body felt on fire.

Electrical.

You pushed close against him, his hand placed strictly by your thigh, you felt the unusual feeling of both nerves and arousal pooling in your stomach when suddenly — you heard a smash, and you flinched!

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE — ARTHUR!”

The loud ruckus of voices had you pulling your heads away to face the direction of the booming voices and behold, your split just in time to see the bodies appear from the steps, shards of glass sprinkling down the concrete stairs that had just slipped from Arthur Hill’s hand.

“HOW WAS THAT MY FAULT?!” A younger-sounding voice laughed back, a head of dark hair craned at the other’s direction as he argued his defence, avoiding the broken ping glass and sticky liquid.

“HEY! HEY!! There he is!” Another called the moment his eyes landed on George, who’s although body was still facing yours, his neck was craned to look at the walking buzzkills skipping over to you, his mind feeling a little hazy after the crude interruption — like he’d just been rudely woken from a dream.

“Finally made it to the gates!”

“What d’you mean finally? I was here before you?” He bluntly reciprocated.

The dark-haired boy shrugged, his hands not leaving the pockets of his jacket.

“Just dropped my pint.”

“It was your own fault,” the youngish-looking one retorted.

“Arthur, no it wasn’t!”

“ARTHUR! YES IT WAS! HOW—”

So they were both Arthurs. Interesting.

Either that or you were really drunk.

“And who are you?”

You blinked by surprise, caught watching the other two bicker when another face addressed you. Another dark-haired boy with blue eyes looking down on you.

“Oh! U— Y/n” your nervous hands wiped at the back your skirt, instinctively pulling it down after, your eyes flickering between all these boys now. “Y/n.”

“Alex, give her some space. Take a step back. There’s a good boy,” George’s dull tone instructed him as he didn’t want you to feel like you were suddenly being interrogated by his roommate.

“Alex. Arthur and Arthur,” he held out his elbow to the two still fighting with each other.

“Where’s Lewis?”

“He’s at the next stop with Cam.”

You observed the trio who had just showed up, and how they seemed incredibly unbothered by your presence. You didn’t know if to be worried or thankful for it. However, watching them interact and speak to one another — it was obvious they had also had their own round of pre’s.

Which probably explained their lack of enthusiasm to you.

George guided you both a step back as the train slowed on the tracks, stopping in front of you before opening the doors. A comforting hand found your back as it guided you through onto the transport.

You’d felt so safe in his company all night long.

On the tube – you hadn’t felt a mood like this since your days in school — when you tried your best at keeping a straight face as to not break your good-girl act when all you wanted to do was burst out laughing along with the rest of the class at the class clown.

There were quite a few people riding the train with you and truthfully you felt sorry for them having to deal with this group you’d clearly discovered to be quite chaotic when put together. The people not in on your jokes must have found them quite annoying.

“ARTHUR!”

“Would you stop trying to grab his big toe!”

“Tell him to shoving his finger in my ear!”

You sat amused across from them, unable to divert your attention.

Alex had been sitting across from you also, his foot on his other knee as he observed you for the last 5 minutes, trying to suss you out as he suddenly realised George Clarkey was with a girl. “We didn’t even ask how — what you’re — what are you two doing together?” he dropped, something finally clicking as he questioned this pairing. Seriously — where did you come from? Who even were you?

“We . . just met up, after—” George was irritably rubbing his eye again, coming up with something on the spot as he was not in the mood to explain to Alex when he clearly wasn’t going to remember anything.

“Are you a homophone?”

You blinked at him, unknowing if he was joking. What he meant. Wasn’t that what you learnt in English? “Am I a what?”

“Say yes.” George grumbled next to you.

“Are! You! Homophobic!” He thudded his foot (playfully).

You hurriedly shook your head, appalled if he’d picked up such thing that made you come across that way.

George was staring sternly at the little twerp, almost warning him to stop being so weird and putting you on edge. You were yet to learn to never take Alex Elmslie seriously.

“Ok.”

“Literally, never take anything he says to heart,” your date told you.

You timidly looked at the group, worried what else they might have already thought of you. If these were his friends and you already were making a bad impression — well you just didn’t know what you would do. You really liked George and another day spent with him felt like something too good to happen to you.

“Hello — AH!” A ringing rang in your ears as two others of George’s friends, you assumed, approached but one missing the pole which he’d bung in his head on.

You covered your mouth as you felt it was too mean to laugh.

The others — they did.

The scottish one took a seat next to ‘Alex’, rubbing his head, “who’s this lassie?”

“Y/n.” Alex answered also.

“Who is she?” He turned to him, feeling rude to not have known you like everyone else seemed to.

Nope. I am in fact a new face to see!

“George’s . . dunno. Are you datin’?” He asked casually. Savagely.

“No.” He shot down. Not yet.

Oh right.

The boy looked confusedly at you. “Oh. Alright. Well I’m Lewis,” he held out a hand for you to shake.

“I’m Cam,” the other copied.

“That’s Arthur and that’s Arthur,” George re-explained to you the others who had clearly forgotten to introduce themselves, “Hill. Frederick — or we call him Arthur TV. He’s Alex, as you know. I live with those two.”

If that didn’t put you off — he didn’t know what would.

You raised your head in acknowledgment. “Cool!”

“And I . . want to die,” he huffed, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms as he realised what he’d just signed you both up for.

“Now come on! No you don’t!” Arthur Hill’s hand slapped his leg which got him to smile. “You’re glad we’re all here, family reunion!”

Truth be told, the train ride was probably one of the funniest you’d ever had — watching this boys interact had your stomach hurting from laughing so much, no longer feeling as drunk as you watched their antics. If anything — you felt sober — maybe even sobered up seeing them mess with each other.

Little Arthur TV (which was ironic because he was supposedly the oldest of the lot!) skipped off the train while Alex finished off the beer Lewis no longer wanted (clearly already getting a headache) while you laughed into yourself as George walked alongside you, his hand on your back as you exited the transport. “I’m sure you didn’t expect the night to end like this.”

“Nope, actually better than I imagined,” you reassured, tilting your head up to give him a smile, and if it weren’t for his friends prancing in front of you two, he would have pulled that sweet face in for another kiss.

Your words were reassuring as George was fully convinced he had brought you out on the worst date ever — what date ended with the girl tagging along with your group of mates?!

And they said chivalry was dead!

But the circumstances had worked in his favour as it not only resulted with you laughing and engaging with his friends with the biggest, most beautiful smile, but also sharing a seat with him — your bum barely on the arm of the chair as he kept a hand on your cold legs propped on him.

His friends were quite funny, and you’d quickly learned a bit about them - including Alex’s dry and blunt humour.

The house you arrived at put you in mind of an influencer lifestyle - the kind you could only dream of being able to afford some day, very big, and very modern. “Who’s house is this?” You asked George.

He paused, as clueless as you were. “ . . I dunno.” There were quite a lot of people but all you’d come into contact with were extremely nice.

You’d even noticed the famous head of blond hair begin an argument with your date when you’d both retrieved drinks from the kitchen— “GEORGE CLARKEY.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mumbled, hating the singling out but a smile took his face as one of his dearest friends stomped up to him, “alright mate—”

“DON’T ‘ALRIGHT’ ME. WHERE WERE YOU?! WHY WEREN'T YOU IN HEAVEN?!” Max stopped right in front of him, before turning to you, “—the nightclub, not upstairs,” he laughed proudly at his joke and you couldn’t believe you were as blessed to have gotten to have witness a drunk, Max Balegde.

The party was good fun and you’d been kindly offered endless drinks, a few you’d even brought with you on your journey to the next house Max had advised you all go to — yet another person neither of you knew but went to because — let’s keep the party going!

Once again, you got that buzz back on your way to the underground once again, the high of excitement before the low when you wanted to slump it in bed.

George was humoured by your excitable ways, the most he’d seen you so animated, he was almost a little worried you would do something unpredictable.

“What the hell are they doing?” He rubbed his head at the sight of Arthur doing tumbles on the path.

“My party trick!”

“I don’t think you can class that as a party trick, mate.”

“What’s your party trick then?” You nudged him.

“What’s yours?” He threw back.

You raised your brows and strutted back, handing him your bag and tin, “hold my cocktail.”

George’s eyes lit up in anticipation of what you were about to do.

The boys applauded you as you made space. “GO ‘AN GIRL!”

“YESSS! GET YOU ARSE OUT!!!” Max’s eyes were barely open and his boyfriend (you assumed) was rubbing him back to prevent him being sick.

You were pretty sure he didn’t even know your name.

You steadied yourself, tugging your skirt down before placing a leg in front of the other, all eyes on you, you raised your arms before doing a little skip, placing and flipping your body in a kart wheel and then a backflip, before doing another slickly kart wheel again before allowing your legs to fall in a straight, perfectly-landed splits position with your arms held out in like you’d finished your display.

The boys screamed and thudded their legs on the ground excitedly while the tall brunet with the dodgy haircut stood with his jaw on the floor, not expecting such capability to come from you.

How does — where — how did your body bend— your legs—

“Ow Y/n! What the fuck!” Alex couldn’t even imagine the strain along his thighs if he tried to do such thing himself.

You pulled yourself up and immediately hoisted your skirt down for the 100th time tonight, taking your things off a dumbstruck George with a pleasant smile. “That count?”

The edges of his lips curled upward. “What the hell?!”

He was mesmerised.

“I can get my leg up next to my head, but I don’t know if I’m ready for you to know the colour of my knickers just yet,” blink and you’d miss the quick closing of one eyelid, but George didn’t and the comment alone had a blush chasing his cheeks, a skip in his heart when you playfully bit your tongue at your playful comment.

He was worried you’d noticed the little nervous shudder in his hand passing you your tin back.

It was 1:35 by the time you arrived at the other house, and the crate of beer Lewis had stolen from the previous party had been opened and finished off — not that you knew — as you’d found someone’s room on your way back from the bathroom after spilling yet another drink over yourself - and threw yourself down for what was supposed to be a moment. George eventually found you and joined you, the pair of you sweetly talking over your night where you reassured the other it had been the best date you’d both gone on in a long time.

And you both meant it - as messily as it had gone.

“I promise. It was so good. I hope you know I’m never like this,” you referred to your current state — you weren’t even that drunk but more so just tired: with working all week and that morning - it had finally hit you.

But George knew that. He knew you were (both) fighting off the drunkenness but those were sleepy eyes, and bless her, he thought, you must have been trying to keep awake all day for him as to not seem a bore.

“I hope you know not all my dates end like this, I had better intentions,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a smile.

“I really had a good night George,” you told him slightly underneath, considering he lay propped up on an elbow, “even though you beat me at mini golf. And we ditched dinner. And we spilled about 10 drinks between us,” you listed on your fingers, “I hope you know I really enjoyed my night out in London. With you. And I’d do it again.”

His face was the equivalent to a kid waking up on Christmas morning. “Would you?!”

“Yeah, would you not?”

“Yeah! Of course I would.”

You smiled up at him, still in his coat, lifting your arm to pull him down, “and I still think you’re fit — even with that haircut.”

He embarrassingly laughed against your mouth before meeting your lips, sneaking another kiss which filled your stomach with butterflies because oh my days, how were you kissing George Clarkey right now?! You couldn’t remember falling asleep but you did remember the last thing you’d told him in your half-slumped state. “Want to know something funny?”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t drinking Espresso Martinis. I’ve been drinking Guinness all night long,” you covered your mouth to your hand as you let the secret slip.

George could not believe his ears, he opened his eyes to look at you and burst out laughing at the confession.

What?!

“I told them to make them in Martini glasses so you didn’t think I was some . . 50-year-old beer-belly bloke regular,” you breathlessly laughed as you realised how dumb it sounded, eyes crinkling with delight, “or one of those girls who say ‘tHey’Re nOT LiKE otHEr giRLs!’”

You both laughed on that bed for ages, your stomachs both badly hurting.

George was in absolute awe.

He was in for it.

You couldn’t even remember falling asleep as you’d simply woken up almost laying against the headboard, still in his padded coat, your arms folded like every dad ever. But George was next to you, also asleep as well as Alex who’d slept at the foot of the bed — and Lewis who’d taken the floor with a person’s coat thrown over him.

He told you he wasn’t letting you go home at that hour in the morning on your own anyway — to get a train from London to Brighton all by yourself and make your way home by yourself under that night sky — he’d apologised and told you he couldn’t let that happen. He, in the nicest way possible, put his foot down in his expression for your safety. And it meant a lot to you.

But that didn’t mean you’d expected to slum it in some randomer’s house together.

You laughed when you took in your surroundings, wondering how the hell you’d ended up in such a position, in someone’s house with a group of boys you barely knew — and your date!

God, you would have even surprised if he asked you out for a second. Genuinely.

But he did. After waking up and assuring him you’d be fine getting the train home on your own, as it was now bright and morning time, he saw you off, still disbelieving such a date had gone like this.

“Oh! Your coat!” Your immediately started to shrug it off, but George stopped you and shook his hands.

“No, keep it on. You’re still in your skirt and . .” he shrugged, really not minding, “I’ll get it next time,” he winked.

“Are you sure? . . It’s North Face, George.”

Why were you so fucking adorable?

The way you spoke his name made him feel fuzzy.

Yes. Of course yes. In fact — keep it. I don’t even want it anymore. Better still — take all my coats. Have them all.

“I promise. You’ll text me when you’re home, won’t you? Or call me?”

“Yes. I’ll call you when I’m all pretty and fresh-faced again,” you smiled at him, an inch away from his face.

He gave you a look, disagreeing there. You’re already pretty. You’re always pretty - the sight of you first thing in the morning with your makeup still on was a million dollar sight.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous,” his head barely shook as he was almost disgusted at you for lying to him, and your chest fluttered as he threw an arm around the back of your neck.

Those big arms.

You smiled. “Debatable, but thank you very much,” you leant up to kiss his cheek goodbye, “I had the best time.” You double-checked you had all your belongings with you before approaching the doors of the train.

“Same. Hopefully the next one doesn’t results in some randomer’s houseparty.”

You laughed with a cute tilt of your head. “It’s the company that counts,” you pushed yourself to gently cup his face before giving a sweet, little goodbye kiss.

He smiled sweetly from the platform, and waved, looking like the cutest boy ever in his sleepy state as you took a seat on the train.

And it wasn’t long before you were back on that train, headed straight back to see him.

#me n him when 😩#this was so good #but you never disappoint all your fics are *chef kiss* 🥰#🩷

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ndl4l · 1 year

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Can you plsssss plssss write for Sharky ? That man is soooo fine omg (no pressure) 😫💖💖💖

YES 🙌 sharky is really pretty and he seems like a genuinely nice person! Give me ideas and I’ll put something together for him 🩷🩷

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ndl4l · 1 year

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INTERVIEW ENCOUNTER | g. clarkey

summary: you finally meet your match (in the flesh.) [6.2k words.]

pairing: reader x george clarkey

notes: more detail revolving the first encounter of the two and their first impressions! i split this is two so the next one will have everything to do with the first date (so last minute ideas welcome!) i’ve been debating changing this lots but here i am, give or take 🤣 lmk what you thought, and don’t forget to reblog! <33 (fyi bog fic next!)

“—how did you meet? Because it was — you said it was a little bit all over the place?”

“Yeah! It felt . . very much mixed signals. Delusions even!” You laughed, a smile taking your voice every time you thought of the time you had your first ever conversation with your boyfriend, George Clarkey. “So basically—”

You were sitting in the salon, balancing your phone between your shoulder and your ear, talking to your boss, the owner and manager of the shop you worked in, the cutest, girliest nail salon down a little street in Brighton, one that you’d been working in for almost 4 years now — well, four if you could say that, with the months missed due to Covid. She was telling you all the details of the little awards ceremony the business had been invited to, considering the past year it had done shockingly well despite the hits it had taken from Covid.

You could say you played a huge part in that, showing the salon’s talent and what went on in the shop, showcasing your team and the things you offered - your clients cups of tea and selection of biscuits, a TV for Corrie and range of Yankee candles they could purchase. You mainly recorded your process of doing nails, and tips and tricks for people at home to try at home as you put it in the simplest of terms, as well as inspiring or being the inspo for the most beautiful nails as you were for sure the most creative mind in the room. Most artistic, the youngest also, so therefore — more in touch with the never-changing trends clients came to you to try.

You loved your job. You loved your work. Doing nails was your artistic outlet, you loved designing.

You loved doing funky nails with smiley faces, 10 different colors for your 18-year-old client besties, as well as doing your regulars like Debbie and Sandra their classic Ruby Red almond nails or square french tip. You loved it. You loved them. It was such a supportive, comforting setting and the day was never dull. Your co-workers were all like mums to you, but treated you like you were just as old as them, providing you with the gossip just as you did on people your age. It was the best. You doted on them all, including your clients — they always looked forward to nail day with you in the office.

Your manager, Jemma, had told you earlier this month about the event and had already appointed you the representative of the business, which, all the lovely ladies didn’t argue with — you were the perfect fit, if anything, they’d all voted you be the one to go. Like at home, you were just as favourited in work as you were at home — everyone’s favourite girl. How could you hate that face?

The event had been partnered with Superdrug in London, and so, other salons and beauty parlours around the UK had been in attendance, as well as celebs you could easily recognise from the telly, whether they were Love Island stars or famous influencers in the British industry - they were there. It was a little nerve-wrecking being on your own but it was something you just had to get on with - so you put on your big girl shoes and sat at your appointed table.

You’d seen the winners of love island take the stage and popular accounts you followed accept their awards, but you couldn’t deny the fan-girling you did when you saw the one, the only — GK Barry. Grace Keeling. She’d liked one of your nail vids on your personal account (as you didn’t want to spam the salon’s with just your work and your tips) which your heart had fluttered over. Of course she wouldn’t even know who you were though if you were to walk by.

However, she did recognise you when you had to take the stage after your little cozy condo salon had been announced the winner of its category, and you walked up in your stunning, silky gown with little block heels to gracefully accept it. You couldn't believe it had won out of the tip-top businesses in London that won every year, considering they were where all the high-profile celebs and influencers went. “Oh my! Thank you so much! The girls back home are not going to believe this, oh my gosh!” You smiled brightly to the crowd, not wanting to milk it; live out your oscar-winning fantasies. “—so yeah. The Little Teal Salon thanks you for this. I hope our TikToks aren’t so much of an eye-sore for your feed,” you smiled back at the loving grins. The teal salon . . that rung a bell in most’s minds, including Grace’s, who could see the comapny profile pic of the logo you had also created! Grace immediately made the link to your account and the salon (as you’d always mentioned and linked it in your vids) and was a little aw-struck at the pretty face that was behind those videos – that talent!

You took the award home and the girls were thrilled to have it placed in the shop, applauding you when you clocked in that morning, showering you with praise and compliments for your speech and appearance that weekend.

Beautiful girl, inside and out.

You had made a video on your account, the first of your face, your full identity, your flawless face and sweet voice, giving your own personal thanks and rundown of your time at the event, sharing the bit of footage you’d collected.

Well . . that video fucking exploded.

Absolutely viral, 5 million views and over 700k likes, 10.5k comments mostly voicing their shock over the reveal of your face and their stunness of your beauty. You were fucking gorgeous.

username1: OMG YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL

username2: what’s your insta 😭😭

username3: make a youtube!!

username4: omg more vids like this pls 🌟

username5: girl you’re BEAUTIFUL!!!!! 😍😍😍

username6: she’s gorgeous wtaf 😭😭

username7: why did i not expect her to look like that 💀😭

username8: she’s fucking stunning like

username9: mark my words — love island will snatch her up this summer

username10: she should be on TV

username11: you should start a youtube channel!! i’d adoreeee your content 🫶🏼

username12: can’t believe you were invited to this! that’s so cute 😭🥹 you remind me of a london girly

username13: why is nobody mentioning the fact she could literally model

username14: she seems so sweet. so posh! love your dress!! 💓

username15: she the type of girl you walk by in the street and think about 5 years from now

username16: GKBARRY!!!!!!!

username17: i want to be her

username18: you should be a vlogger! xx

username19: this video just made me go do my skincare routine and wash my hair

username20: she looks like someone straight out of a movie 🤯

username21: she seems too innocent for love island 😭😭

username22: girl next door vibes 🌸🐰✨🕊

username23: @PLT sign her immediately

username24: mark my words, next IT girl on the internet 🙌🏼

The comments were endearing. They brought back dreams you used to have when you were 14. Funny enough, you’d bought a ‘vlogging’ camera in Lockdown but never used it (pussying out again.) Huh, wonder where it is.

You’d mentioned in your voice-over amongst your complimentary of the lush drinks and design of the place, that you had your small fangirl moment of seeing GK Barry, and the comments joined in with you, loving you even more for that as you revealed a little more to your personality.

GK Barry commented back, stunning your little fangirl heart: ‘omg, i couldn't believe it was you. wish you’d come and said hello! see you at the next one, gorgeous’ with a trio of emojis. Your heart swooned. Your younger cousins had first thought you’d been talking to a boy with how you’d acted.

And the next one came!

This time, Superdrug had invited you personally out to their launch of a partnership with some influencer, following your new wave of attention and hype. You of course accepted, and you’d received a DM from the very girl who was serious when she’d first commented it:

You going to the next one?

Yeah!

You arranged to link up, and once did, Grace whipped out her phone, immediately videoing a TikTok: “guys — look who i’m with! The nail girl!” you both laughed, you being sure to cover your mouth as you laughed at the name. Grace was taken back by you once again this time ‘round, knowing she’d had hired her hair and makeup to be done as well as help with her outfit being picked out — you had completely dressed yourself today. Sparkling white teeth, makeup beautifully painted on, your cute little BooHoo dress clinging stunningly to your figure — you were simply gorgeous. Inside and out. You were a breath of fresh air and Grace needed everyone to see the hype.

Since that video, you had your second wave. The same kind of comments that had your cheeks blushing pink and smile hurting your face. Your follower account spiked up a little and it was overwhelming seeing how many likes you now got, as well as on your Instagram. The amount of influencers who gave you a follow or so much as commented — I mean Chloe Burrows?! And Millie from Love Island?! Commenting on your nail vid, saying how they were all over it? You wanted to cry at their kindness when replying to them.

There were a few questionable followers you inspected, Superdrug being one — you wondered if they were up for sending you anything, ‘cause come on now . . a freebie was always nice.

Bambino Becky. Talia Mar. George Clarkey.

You weren’t as invested in TikTok and YouTube as you’d think — you just about knew who these people were. Like . . barely. Talia went with a Sidemen . . but who even were they? That group of lads that boys from your school used to watch and praise in Year 8? Big whoop.

Bambino Becky was a flex, you knew her and knew she was friends with Grace . . as was George Clarkey. But who was he to follow your beauty account? Was he looking a set of acrylics done?

You’d stalked his profile, and it refreshed your memory: you knew who he was too, who he hung out with, and you could see the small hype he was getting. Yeah . . he was a nice boy.

Again . . unusual to be following you, you thought. He had quite a few videos with Max Balegde — him you definitely knew because oh my gosh — who didn’t know him?! The Disney Pin guy! He was probably the only TikToker you actually laughed at. He was the best, you’d kill to go on a night out with him.

But time passed and you rode the wave out. There wasn’t that many events you were invited to after that, and you still did your regular 9 to 5 every weekday of painting your favorite ladies’ nails.

You didn’t post much on your Instagram — your stories though? Yes. A selfie never made it to the main but it made it to the story, and you got your love on that — Grace’s name always popping up with either a heart-eyed emoji or a simple ‘fit x.’

You saw who viewed them too.

And some of them viewers . . you followed back.

God, he was so fit. Cute, but fit also. And funny.

Still a lad though, and probably on everyone’s to-do list.

If always being one of the firsts to view each other’s stories was a flirting technique as well as liking their posts — well that was what you were doing. The pair of you.

George Clarkey had really grown on you and the more and more his face appeared on your feed, the more you realised how good-looking he was. You liked how he spoke, and how his witty humour reminded you of your own – the one you inhabited from your dad. You liked how he dressed himself, but also made fun of himself when he got a shit haircut. He was just . . dorky. But, you also saw how he still had his nights out with his friends and his presence at events he’d clearly been invited to, reminding you that you wouldn't be the only one to think this of him — one of the lads at the end of the day. You could see right through him. He may seem funny and dorky and all jokes — but he had the ladies. You called it. They act like they don’t get lucky but you knew — you knew he could have a PrettyLittleThing Model-reject if he wanted!

So that little ‘crush’ fizzled out eventually, you got over yourself. However, it felt like when you try to forget things . . they seem to pop up everywhere you go from then on.

You were in work, filing Etta’s nails when the notification came through that georgeclarkeey liked your TikTok.

Huh? The one you’d just posted this morning? The one of you . . complaining about being hungover and re-doing linework on a set of acrylics? You set down your file with a confused face and granted Etta the smoke break she was clearly yearning for, and while she went outside, you checked your feed.

He definitely liked it.

You did nothing of it, I mean what were you supposed to do?

You just stared at the notification, scratching the side of your head as to what this could mean.

Nothing probably. You set your phone down and went about your day. Alright then.

A week or so passed when you were pulling on your shoes to go to work, a rough Monday morning, your body still not fully recovered from your night out on Saturday. You hadn’t even seen Sunday, you’d slept the whole way through it. You were eating your bagel in the car, eyes heavy, throat sore, the thought of being surrounded by the scent of nail polish and acrylic powder making your head sore.

You’d been sitting at the table again, doing your second set of hands at 11:30 when you got a notification on Instagram.

The selfie you’d taken on Saturday but posted on the Sunday after forgetting to do so was still up on your story after 19 hours. You squinted your eyes at the pointless notif, seeing it was someone responding with one of the set of emojis — the heart eyes.

You looked away.

And then you looked back again, your brain waking you up.

George Clarkey reacted to your story: 😍

“What’s wrong, love?”

You paused, wondering if you needed to lie down again and go home. “I don’t know, Denise. I think I’m seeing things,” you brushed her off, fighting the urge to pick up your phone. Yeah, that was enough of that. You locked your phone and put it in your bag, not wanting to be on it ‘til the work day was over.

When you’d got home, got showered and freshened up and jumped into bed — you went through all your messages that day, clicking onto your notifs.

Instagram.

You clicked on your messages, pulling your brows together, trying to find the one from earlier and grimaced when you couldn’t find it.

No, he had definitely liked my story.

You looked up his profile and clicked on your conversation, to find there had never been one started.

NO! Are you kidding?! He definitely had liked that! You weren’t delusional.

You sat up, your hair falling to your face, now on a mission to prove you hadn’t made this up. You went to TikTok, to the video he’d liked a few weeks ago and dropped your mouth when you saw it had also disappeared!

What the hell was this guy’s deal?! What was he doing?! Was he just playing into your subconscious?

You felt a little crazy after that, afraid that you were seeing things, or that George Clarkey was just having you on. Changing his mind like a prick, pussy-footing out. Boring.

Take your likes, I don’t want them anyway, you mentally grumbled in your head after spending half an hour scrolling through his tiktoks, snuggling back into bed to forget all about him.

Weeks passed after than when you’d been sitting in the salon, waiting on your next client, swaying in your chair at your desk as the girl’s asked you when your next outing was. You responded with how a perfume brand had got in touch with you after you’d shared a video on all the collection of scents you had, explaining their one was something you used regularly, fond of the scent.

“It should be good, i’ve seen celebs write about attending it. It’s an event and then they’re hosting an after party, but I’ll go to the event, see how I’m feeling – if I want to stay, ‘cause I still don’t really know anyone.” You’d feel like such an outsider being surrounded by top influencers. You were still just a regular girl from Brighton - working in her nail salon.

“Free booze!”

“Yeah! Exactly,” you agreed, “it said dressy so . . may fish out another BooHoo number!”

“Silk is the way.”

“Silk is your material!”

“You always look a dime in silk.”

“Aw, thanks girls. I hope I find something. Don’t want to look like a bin bag compared to flippin’ . . Ekin-Su.”

“IS EKIN-SU GOING TO BE THERE?!”

“No. But people like that will be . . influencers. I’ll just go for the free gifts. I mean it’s a night out, so. It’s all paid for me. Free drinks. Free food. Good bantz. Night out in London.”

“Definitely, you’d be stupid not to.”

You’d been sitting at your dinner table, talking trains to London with your Mum, scrolling on Tinder and Hinge to pass time as you did when you had nothing better to do. An app you never took serious but rather to entertain yourself; seeing how guys responded when you said something unresponsible or how long it took for them to pathetically send a dick pic. Truly, a good source of entertainment.

However, you froze when the familair face popped up on screen - the mirror selfie you’d seen on Instagram, the name that popped up on your phone but couldn’t be traced.

George Clarkey.

What’s this idiot doing on here?

You stared at the profile for about 5 minutes, ignorant to the story your Mum was telling as you read through his account, seeing it really was him, verified tick and all.

Your thumb hovered above the photo.

“What you doing?”

“Nothin’.”

You considered it. Imagine we matched, though. That’d be funny.

You swiped right, bracing yourself.

It’s a Match! You and George have liked each other!

You set your phone down on the table at that and palmed your hands to your eyes, making your Mum laugh.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Well it’s clearly something! What are you laughing at?” She saw your smile, your stupid smile because what the hell?! What was this guy’s deal?! For real?!

He actually was having you on. Swiping right on your profile now? Nah. He’s a joke. You locked your phone and ignored that, sure as hell not being the one to send a message first.

Oh? Had you mentioned how he’d also liked your most recent Insta post you’d actually posted to the main? Or at least he had, sometimes his name liked to sit there and then disappear.

Yawn! Fuck off!

Two days later, you were on the train to London, your outfit ready to slip into once you checked into the hotel you’d booked for the night. You were growing real fond of London.

You spent 2 and a half hours dolling yourself to perfection, your hair hanging in loose curls behind you, your makeup looking airbrushed onto your face, skin flawless, not a lash or brow hair out of place with jewellery locked in your ears and around your neck. You had the most prettiest, beautiful baby pink dress slipped down to just above your ankles, allowing your delicate white block heels to be on show. The silk just melted onto your body, complimenting every curve and your skin tone, feeling weightless. You were in love with this look.

You saw the usual lot who went to these things posting their ‘Get ready with Me’ TikToks already or uploading their selfies to the Gram, which had you flicking through your own pics.

The setting of the place was stunning, beautifully decorated and very . . sophisticated. Girls were in dresses and the men were in shirts and fancy trousers, if not suits and ties.

You quickly found your angel sent from heaven above to accompany you through the night — Grace. She had you glued to her side, a pain in it from all the laughing already. You’d introduced yourself to a few others, including no other than Max Baledge and even Coco from Love Island. It was so strange, but both were so lovely.

You hovered in that group, some coming and going, but Grace stuck by you, genuinely happy to be in your presence and making her laugh. She felt like she didn’t belong either, and she reassured you the other influencers felt the same.

“Love the stuff! Love spritzing half the bottle, me!” She made a video with you by her side, spraying the liquid from the small, glass bottle. It was ironic because you weren’t even wearing it tonight, but your usual scent, your everyday perfume you sent others into a daze from the rich, sensational smell.

You left Grace for a bit as she had duty to carry out, interviewing people as many others did, finding yourself in the company of Bambino Becky. “Do you need another drink?”

“Yeah, I could do with one,” you admitted, letting her pull you by the hand to the bar.

“Oo! There’s the Baggs. And Andrew. OH! Where’s Max? He was looking for him!” she stood on her toes to try and see anyone else, “Oh! Aaaand Clarkey’s coming over.”

Taking a nervous step back as he walked over, you blinked at the sight of the very man in a suit! It felt like a celebrity sighting! Wearing a soft grey suit with a black tie, paired with black boots, fiddling with his watch on his wrist – you couldn't look at him, a moment of inferiority taking over and for some reason, a hot flush crept up on you.

God!!! He was so fit!!!

“Alright?” He greeted Becky, trying to grasp your attention but you were clearly distracted by others in the room, sipping on your cocktail that matched the colour of your dress. “Seen Max anywhere?”

“No,” his friend responded, “how’s the interviewing going?” She responded in her Welsh accent, drawing your attention back round to him. His eyes flickered to you and he smiled, trying not to be rude and looked back fo Becky, answering her question.

“Eh.”

“Eh?”

“Eh.” He confirmed, his voice making you smile. “Want to come do one for me?”

“I’ve been trying to find a toilet for the last half hour! Have you seen them?” She set her drink down, craning her head again for the sight of a door with a toilet sign on it.

“Ermm,” he looked around also, a lot taller and helpful in this situation, “no. WAIT! Yeah! Over there!” He pointed behind her shoulder where a set of doors with a toilets sign hanging above them stood. Becky had never downed a drink so fast and sprinted. “Do you need to go?!”

“No,” you smiled, taking her glass from her.

You and George watched her go, the boy growing nervous at being left alone with you for the first time ever. To be left alone with a girl was one thing — to be in the company of the one you fancied was another. The setting suddenly felt hotter, as he wondered if you knew you’d matched, that he’d swiped right.

That he also liked and unliked your posts, too afraid it came across too strong, that you’d assumed he was shooting his shot . . which he was, but . . y’know.

Oh! And also strangely liking your TikToks on painting nails because they were the only videos you posted, not because he was planning on getting that design on his nails next.

You turned back around, setting the glasses on the bar countertop as he looked down at you with a hopeful smile, playing it cool. “Want to do an interview?” He offered, holding up a tiny mic.

You didn’t know what got into you but you almost wanted to say no, because his antics had been really annoying. Had he been more straightforward – you probably would have been able to have flowed in conversation, but he kept taking his likes back and his messages.

Did he not like them anymore? Did he change his mind? Think you weren’t famous enough?

He might not have thought any and you might have been thinking too much into it all! You weren’t some control freak, but . . it was a little annoying to catch him doing that. Teasing you almost. Mixed communication.

You knew he was a jokester, and part of you kind of wanted to take him out of his comfort zone. “Don’t really do interviews . . ” you ruined his comfortability as, assuming he’d assumed you would just say yes because you were ‘the nice nail girl on TikTok’. He relaxed his raised brows, and you knew you were on the money.

But you still wanted to talk to him. You still liked him, who were you fooling! Just look at him! “ . . but maybe I can do one for you,” you brought your eyes back on him, looking at him through your lashes.

His were stuck on you. You took him for being awkward but he had not diverted his gaze once.

His lip curved and he held out an arm for you to take after seeing you struggle to fix the strap of your heel, and you kept it there as he led you back to the mark he had on the carpet to get some footage.

What were you doing right now? “What is it? The interview?”

“It’s an Icks question,” he looked back at you in the second he had to fix the wire, “so, maybe say about someone smelling bad for me,” he put on a voice, and you almost didn’t like how casual he seemed. Where you supposed to teehee at that one as well?

Ok. This whole liking and unliking situation had clearly bothered you more than expected. Had he not unliked them, you could have sent him a message on Tinder to say ‘oh! saw you liked my vid the other day, you looking a set done?’ you know, to break the tension?! With a little joke to let him know you’d saw? But no! He was getting cold feet.

Maybe you were offended. Probably because . . you actually liked him. Fancied him.

“Are you ready?” He stood beside you, tiny mic between his thumb and finger.

You nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear and over your shoulder as the video already began recording.

You caught sight of yourself on the phone and subconsciously began picking at yourself, wanting to do him justice and tweak your appearance. You fixed your hair and shifted on your feet on the screen, oblivious to the way this man was full-on drinking you up with his eyes, pupils dancing all over the place as he took as much of you in as he could.

God, what a hot duo. His suit perfectly complimenting your dress colour — delicious.

“Are you ready?” He asked quietly again, a little humoured by how you were still fixing yourself on camera, when you literally looked flawless, and you exhaled a laugh that time, breaking your sight to look at him and nod, your teeth twinkling as you smiled up at him, “yeah.”

Oh God, he was in love.

“Hello everyone, today I’m asking people about their worst icks. This evening I'm joined by?—” He held the mic to your lips.

“Y/n.”

“Y/n, what’s your worst ick?” He asked into it, holding it back to your mouth whilst turning his head back down to you, lowering it a little so he could hear you clearly over the noise of the room.

He smelt so flippin’ good as well.

You smiled up at him as he spoke and tore your eyes away, exhaling a breath, “my worst ick is when they like your posts and then unlike them,” you smiled angelically for the camera, “and reply to your story and then delete that as well,” you looked up at him, his mic slowly drawing back to himself as he realised what was happening. “And then match with them on Tinder - or Hinge or whatever! Just for them not to say anything,” you added sweetly.

You weren’t being malicious, not at all and you felt like it was the best way to address the elephant in the room - break the tension?

But George was catching flies. He quite literally didn’t know what to say.

Maybe this was just a huge coincidence?

You grabbed his hand to pull the mic closer and raised your brows playfully at the phone recording you, getting butterflies at the touch of your hand on his, “—and then ask you to do an interview for their TikTok,” you let go and looked up at him, nervously biting your lip as you stared up at him.

. . . since when . . did you grow a set of balls?

George looked down at you with the most disbelieving smile, his ears burning red. “Oh. Alright then!” He nervously laughed, showing the most guilty looking face to the camera as you laughed next to him. He couldn't do anything but laugh too, cheeks pink. Fuck my life, his demeanour evidently read. You’d completely humbled him.

You were still smiling beside him, your hand holding his forearm, the action both easing and spiking his nerves as you were about to say how you were only kidding . . that it wasn’t personal (yes it fucking was) and you were only having him on, ready to chat and really get to know him this time — when suddenly, a hand was seen from the side of the shot and plucked you away! “Y/n babe, quick! I have the best video idea for us to do, sorry mate! Not really though!” Grace apologised to George, midway dragging you away.

George was dumbfounded, he looked to Authur behind the stand with his mouth agape before he burst out laughing, because did that really just happen? Did he just get owned by a girl he actually fancied but also — did she just do it on cam?

Kinda embarrassing. Kinda also the hottest thing to ever happen to him. She had him fighting for a breath. “Did you get that?” He laughed, fanning himself with the cue card in hand, the grin couldn’t be wiped off his face. That felt like a fever dream.

Of course that would happen with the first girl he’d began crushing on in years.

You were long gone, on the whole other side of the building, helping the idea Grace had come up with for her account. Max was drunk by this point as interviewing you alongside two other girls but you hadn’t even spoken a word, more so in a trance at him, biting your tongue to conceal your laughs at his slurred words and weirdly blinking eyes. He was finished and the after-party hadn’t even started yet.

You hadn’t made it to the after party either, with the traveling taking over an hour, the thought of having to travel that length and further on the way back on your own was just not appealing, so you got back to your hotel after a good night and were soon back in the comfort of your own home in Brighton, laying on the sofa with you head in your mum’s lap.

“—MUM!!!!! WHY DID I DO THAT?!”

It would only be you to be cheeky to a guy you fancied as a flirting technique. What the fuck?!

“Honestly, I don’t know where I got you from,” she mumbled, too engrossed in Coronation Street to advise you on this dilemma. You felt so bad thinking through your little stunt with the tiny mic. Anyone who knew you would know straight off the bat that you were behaving in a light-hearted manner and if anything flirting with the boy — but maybe George didn’t know you like that, and if anything, most likely thought of you as a massive C-word.

But you were getting too in your head, as Clarkey had thought about you all night, seeing you perfectly envisioned in his head in that glamorous dress. He watched the footage back the next day along with all the other people he’d managed to interest for an interview, and felt his heart squeeze at the sight of the girl in the pastel pink dress show up next. His heart actually fluttered, he had to hold his chest to control the ticklish feeling.

He inwardly grumbled though, not at your accusation, because he was all for your calling out of him and quite frankly, found it kinda hot. Ballsy.

But — more so at the motive behind it: you let him know that you’d seen his actions, and that you’d voiced your disappointment to him constantly backing out.

You had practically flirted with him and he didn’t know how to respond.

He liked to blame the reason being the camera was there and recording him but really he was kind of thankful because then he could blame his lack of wanting to address the situation. He was going to blame whoever he wanted to blame! Really, he’d just got nervous!

He saved the clip but he didn’t include it — absolutely not, he wouldn’t do himself like that — but watching it back in his hungover state, he realised how compelling you were.

He has seen that in the flesh, he knew what that looked like up close, what you smelt like. Your soft, flowy voice. Your dangerous giggle.

He wanted to punch his head for being such a pleb. Biggest L of the century.

He grabbed his phone, immediately opening up the dating app after collecting a boost of confidence and clicked on your profile.

Fuck it.

It was unlike him – but he was doing it.

He wanted you, so . . he had to do something about it. Doing nothing wasn’t going to get him anywhere!

He typed the message and hit send.

You were in bed, holding your mug of tea on your chest, enjoying the day off for once as rain patted against your window.

You received a message on Tinder.

Sooo . . coffee? Drinks? 🙂

You looked at the message for a while, acknowledging the flutter in your chest.

So he’d finally texted! But, letting your brain do it’s bit and overanalyse the whole situation, you nervously but your pinky nail. Pick him apart once again.

What, a pity date is it? 🙂

No 🙂

Mm, i’m getting that vibe

WHAT WERE YOU DOING, Y/N?! YOU'RE BLOWING YOUR SECOND CHANCE WITH THIS GUY! STOP LETTING YOUR EGO GET IN THE WAY!

Oh. 🙂

That, for some reason, the idea of him being let down at the thought of you no longer being interested, changed your mind.

He was no longer putting on his act of faking confidence but now back to his antisocial ways at least when talking to a woman. You loved it.

Just kidding. I love coffee. Don’t know where we’re meeting for it though, I don’t necessarily see Big Ben from my window 🙂 x

George had never felt so giddy over a message. He felt his shoulders relax.

He wasn’t fucked just yet.

He’d practically skipped to the office that day — no, not a literal office, but the set of his podcast, with none other than the man himself.

“—me! Max Balegde! So! What did you get up to this weekend?”

“Nothin’ much . . do I smell nice?”

“You do! And you can too! No, actually, not spons. Fuck you—” he stopped the free advertising and didn’t name drop the brand. “Like they need anymore money. Rich pricks.”

“That’s what I say to people about you!” George pulled, hitting the desk as his co-host rolled his eyes.

And then his phone buzzed as he forgot to put it on silent and his eyes flickered to it immediately, itching to text back as he knew who it was but instead - rightfully turned it on silent.

He didn’t want anyone knowing, not only to save himself the stick but also the fact in case it went tits up or he jinxed himself. But — little word got out.

“Actually — jokes aside, we can cut this part out—”

“Oh no.”

“Did you end up messaging that girl?”

Max had heard he’d encountered someone at the event and the others like Grace and Becky had poked fun at him for it — Max didn’t have a clue who it was, but they knew they weren’t wrong to tease him and say he’d liked you, because when they brought it up to him, he did that thing where he tried to play it cool and shake his head; but his cheeks turned pink and his embarrassed smile gave it away.

George sighed.

“YOU DID! DIDN’T YA!”

“What?” He played dumb.

“Oh shut up, you have! What’d she say? Are you meeting up?!” Max fired a hundred questions a minute.

“What?! No!” He looked at him, and a minute passed, and the two burst out laughing because one: that was very defensive, and two:

“What are you, five? Are girls gross to you?”

George laughed at him, sitting up in his seat before going all quiet.

Max stared at him excitedly. “You have.”

“I did text her—”

“I KNEW IT! Are you meeting up? Or does she think you’re a weirdo?”

“No, no, I thi— we’re . . talking. Planning.”

“You going for drinks?”

He raised a shoulder. “Probably.”

Max covered his mouth with his hands. He felt like a proud mother, watching his little hen take on the world. “Shut up!”

“Ok.”

“NO! Say more!” He rushed, “what’s she like?! D’you really fancy her—”

“La, la la, la—” he pretended not to hear, “moving on.”

“Did she say yes to meeting up?”

George looked at him, like he knew he didn’t want to speak much on it but he kept going on anyway, asking dumb questions. Well he obviously wasn’t going to be boasting about her if she’d said no!

“Wow.”

He nodded.

“Got some rizz in ya after all.”

“You could say I’ve . . nailed it,” he raised his brows at the camera.

“Oh dear God,” Max sighed, his hopes and expectations ruined in an instant as he held the mug of drink in his hands like it was a hot cup of tea, “you don’t deserve her. I don’t even know who she is but she don’t deserve ya. Run, whoever you are.”

#yeah I read this like 4 times last night #it’s soo goood💕#I actually said I wont crush on another YouTuber but here we are

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