stylessbean

[stylessbean]

CASA AMOR || a harry styles x you one-shot. word count: 5,085 content warning: tension & arguments

summary: you and harry are the strongest couple on love island. but, when he goes to casa amor, you learn it may not be as good as it seems. movie night ensues.

this is my take on this request so I am VERY sorry if you're not a love island fan, but that's all that's been taking up my brain recently soooo sorry:

The sun had been hot in the sky that day, casting long shadows across the villa lawn where the majority of you had been laying out on sunbeds, giggling and getting to know the new boys who had arrived two days ago. The fire pit hasn’t been lit yet, but the air is buzzing with flirtation and nervous energy from the day that you had all met one another.

You’re lounging on a beanbag in your bikini top and a sarong, sipping a watered-down iced drink. Tiana’s braiding Jess’s hair, and Megan is off to the side kicking a beach ball toward the pool with two of the Casa boys who are trying to impress her with their footie skills. You hear her laugh at something one of them said.

It feels normal, but you miss them—you miss him. You hadn’t forgotten the moment that he left, even though you’re still searching for new connections here. That’s what you had both promised yourselves—and you had, for the most part. There were five new bombshells that were completely winning your approval, one in particular that you had gotten to know; his name was Connor, and he was a marketing coordinator from Galway. He had a crooked smile and dark hair and had been kind in the best way.

No, you weren’t closed off in any way, but you were being respectful in the time that you had with him because you knew that you’d had a stronger connection elsewhere.

You hadn’t had any fear or inconsistency in your thoughts. Well, until Jess’s phone pinged out with a text.

PING, PING.

Everyone freezes at the familiar sound that usually means doom—in some way, shape or form. You sit up straight, biting on the straw of your water bottle.

“I got a text!” Jess shouts out, the boys perking up with all of you as well. Your chest goes tight, what could be happening now?

Jess takes her phone and reads out to the group, “Islanders, please get ready: it’s Movie Night—it’s time to see what the boys have been getting up to in Casa Amor. Seen any scary movies recently?”

The reaction is instantaneous, girls gasping and looking at one another. Tiana drops the hair she was braiding. “Noooo, stop!”

Jess shakes her head as she puts her phone down as she takes a sip from her water bottle. “I’m gonna be ill.”

Megan, deadpan: “I knew it. I knew they were up to something.”

You swallow hard, setting your water bottle down. The Casa boys stop mid-play, grabbing their makeshift soccer ball that they had been using from the blow-up pool ball, and you notice that some try to act nonchalant

Connor reaches you with a smirk on his face and says, “I mean… depends on what you see, innit?”

Ella glares at him, then adjusts the sunglasses on her face. “Exactly what I’m worried about.”

You stand up slowly, heart beating out of rhythm because you know how this is going to go—you can feel it. One of the most interesting parts of Harry in this entire experience was that he was flirt. You’re not sure what to expect, but you’ve stayed loyal—you weren’t closed off, but you were loyal to his connection. You felt like Harry was on the same page.

Now? You don’t know anymore, especially not knowing what you’re about to see.

The girls begin making their way back upstairs to the vanity space to get ready, murmuring under their breath, nerves jangling around the small mirrors and contour sticks. The Casa boys trail behind them — it’s a bit awkward, a bit amused.

Tiana grabs your hand as you walk.

“Whatever we see,” she says, voice low, “just remember who you are, and what you stand for, okay? You’re a badass bitch, and no one is going to take that away from you.”

You squeeze her fingers, walking into the vanity space before you look back at her. “Trying. You too.”

You’re standing in front of the vanity mirror with a makeup brush in hand, swiping bronzer over your cheekbones with automatic precision.

Behind you, Ella’s rifling through the clothes rail, holding up two tops like she’s choosing between them for the Emmys. Tiana lounges on the bench, applying lip gloss and watching you in the mirror.

“So,” Megan says casually, digging through her makeup bag, “what’s the vibe tonight, babe? All eyes still on Harry, yeah? Is he going to fuck it all up?”

You give her a look in the mirror — you have one brow raised as you swipe your lip gloss over your lips, giving a hint of pink but more shine than anything else.

“I mean…,” You laugh a little bit as you trail off, “Yeah, eyes are still set on him. Connor and I had some good chats and all, but I think that’s more slow burning. But you know how it is.”

Ella chimes in, turning around with a sparkly halter in hand. “Connor’s fit, but it’s not the same, is it? I feel the same with Johnny—it’s just not Ian, you know what I mean?”

You sigh, dragging the brush down your neck to even out the bronzer that seemed to have a bit more color in the light, blending everything together.

“No, it’s not. Harry and I—there’s something there, there always has been. Since day one, it’s just… clicked. We are super solid, but I know he can be having a connection over there. Just hope he’s being respectful, that’s all.”

“But you’re open, yeah?” Tiana asks, her tone cautious. “Just in case.”

You nod slowly, eyes falling to the counter.

“Yeah, we both said we’d be open; we’d test connections. But I don’t know… it still feels like he’s mine.” You blink quickly, shaking your head as you bite on your lip. “Stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ella says, tossing a hair clip onto the vanity. “It’s real. You’ve been solid. But we just have to remember it’s Love Island, babe. Nothing’s promised.”

You laugh quietly at that, shaking your head as you place the mascara along your lash line. “Don’t I know it.”

Tiana stands and smooths her skirt down, shaking herself in the mirror for a moment to solidify her look. “You look gorgeous, by the way. If he sees you tonight, it’ll be a good reminder that he’s got a bird here.”

You smile softly, adjusting your hair one last time. “Hope he’s thinking about me and that night in the Hideaway like I’m his only savior.”

The girls go quiet for a beat, focusing on their own looks. Hair is up, clothes are one, heels are being tied around their calves with precision.

Then Ella says gently, tying the strap of her halter, “Let’s just hope we don’t see too much tonight.”

You meet her eyes in the mirror, the air going still as you try and think about what had been happening over at the Casa house. You try to laugh it off, but your chest is tight.

“Boys will be boys, won’t they?”

When you are all finished, you had made your way back to the main living space, the Casa boys following behind you girls as you are all muttering around at what you could be seeing tonight. The cushions are set on the lawn, benches ready for you all to take a seat.

You sit in the front middle row as you have Ella on one side and Tiana on the other of you. Connor is sitting behind you on the benched bleachers behind you. 

Because whatever’s coming next? It could change everything.

The projector screen flickers to life as you all sit down with your drinks in your hand. You’re sitting in a line with the girls, your heart in your throat. You’ve been loyal with him since day one, but you have a feeling in your chest.

You’ve known Harry’s flirtatious, he always has that little glint in his eye, but you trusted him to know where the line was.  

Still, your stomach’s been twisting all day. You barely touched your dinner. And now, your hands are clammy and still as the screen pops up with words written across it in white font, with a plain background.

“The Hideaway Kiss.”

A few of the girl’s murmur, your eyes focused as you lean forward slightly.

The screen cuts to a shot of the Casa Amor garden — the moon is high and reflecting off of the pool, the pool lights glowing soft and blue. Harry is sitting on a sun lounger with a drink in his hand before his eyes flicker up to another girl—Tash, a girl that came in through Casa Amor, a girl that Harry had been attracted too when they had their first kiss on a blindfolded challenge.

Tiana puts her hand on her mouth as she notices where this is going to go.

Then, a voice off screen urges him: “Come on, then. It’s quieter in there.”

Your breath stutters as you can’t even peel your eyes away if you tried.

You recognize that voice now. The screen cuts to the Hideaway door as it opens to the patio; two figures stepping out into the cut off room. The private room.

It’s Harry speaking then, “Taking me somewhere cheeky, are we?”

“Oh, Harry, fucking hell,” Ella states with disappointment as she shakes her head; her hand in in yours.

Tash tucks some hair behind her ears as she looks to make sure that Harry is still behind her as she shrugs, moving to sit on the bench swing, “We’re just up here talking, yeah? Unless you’re a bit scared.”

You try to not make any reaction—a reaction means this is going to hurt you. On the screen, Harry follows her into the smaller, more private rea before he laughs a bit dry with his drink in his hand, “Want me all for yourself, I see.”

They sit on the swing together; he’s wearing a tan button down that enhances his own bronze skin that had been kissed by the sun these past few weeks. The pink of his cheeks means he’s warm, but you aren’t sure if it’s from her or from the day by the pool.

Tash giggles a little as she faces him, pulling her legs up underneath her, “You always this smug when you’re alone with a girl?”

Harry takes a sip of his prosecco before he shrugs, the smirk is almost disgusting you right now, “Only when they’ve got something important to say.”

She nudges him with her knee, they’re close. You can already feel the blood drain from your face before Ella and Jess both break out in their own criticisms.

“That fucking prick!”

“Oh my god, Harry.”

It’s almost like you just can’t rip your eyes from the screen, you just shake your head as you murmur under your breath, “So fucked up.”

You watch as Tash blinks back at him with a flirtatious style that is matching his body language; you almost feel sick at the way that he stares at her when she speaks, “You’re quite trouble.”

He laughs then as he leans against the pillows. The exact laugh you’ve fallen asleep to every night. Easy, warm, low in his throat—almost resembles a giggle, but it’s softer than that. You can see the way that the smile reaches his eyes, and his eyes are piercing into hers like they hadn’t even broken eye contact once.

“Bet you’d like a bit of trouble, though.” She tells him quietly—quiet enough that there are subtitles to decipher them which makes you take in a deep breath.

Harry’s just grinning as he breaks eye contact to stare at his hand, focusing on the tassel on one of the pillows, “Wouldn’t say no to it if it came knocking.”

Tiana swears under her breath beside you. And then—on screen—Tash leans in and kisses him. Of course, it’s not a peck—it’s slow and her hands move to his neck, pulling him closer as they move together.

And he lets her. For a second, maybe two.

“Fucking messy, that is,” Jess comments, biting at her long nail as you hear some of the other girls gasp for a moment, shaking their head.

Then he leans back and says, “You’re naughty.”

But he’s smiling when he says it. The screen fades to black, and the villa all of the sudden has a hush of silence that you hadn’t felt before. There’s no music, no movement, no real closure to this. You sit still with an upright, stoic posture. It feels like your body is floating outside itself.

Tiana is the first to speak, then. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer right away. The image is still burned into your mind — the shape of his mouth on hers. The way he let it happen like it was nothing—like he just completely forgot what you both had.

Ella puts a hand on your back.

“I—I mean, there’s a way to be respectful, and this completely just crossed all of the boundaries that we’ve had,” you clear your throat, licking over your lips, “It’s just—I guess I’m just shocked, but I shouldn’t be.”

Jess looks down. “He looked into it. The way he smiled—”

Megan shakes her head. “He let her take him into the Hideaway. That’s not just a cheeky chat. That’s a choice.”

You nod once, and then you stand without anything further to say about it. Everyone looks up at you.

“I’m fine,” you lie, shrugging as you go to move around the boys, “Just want some air.”

You walk past the pool, away from the lights to that little corner near the tree with the bench where you and Harry used to sneak away after the recouplings to discuss what had happened. The night he kissed your shoulder. The night he told you that you make things feel easy, even when the villa’s mad and the bombshells come in and he really only wanted to get to know you.

You sit there and wrap your arms around yourself. Because now you know what he really thinks and how he really is. It didn’t take a bed—it didn’t even take a night… or even much time. All it took was just a moment.

And he took it with her.

{NARRATOR}

Somewhere in Casa Amor, the boys are just being boys—chatting in swim shorts, giving bad advice, and mistaking confusion for clarity. And Harry? He’s about to make the kind of choice that follows you all the way back to the villa… if he makes it back in one piece.

The sun is now high in the sky, painting the lounger’s gold. The air smells like sunscreen and regret.

Harry leans back in a chair by the pool, sunglasses low on his nose, fiddling with the condensation on his water bottle. Around him, the boys are buzzing; they’re talking about which girls are “proper fit,” who’s grafting, who’s playing it safe. Who they may want to bring back to the villa, who they are coupled up with now.

He’s trying to listen. But he can’t stop thinking… about you. And now, about Tash. He’s biting the inside of his lip as he takes in a breath, and turns towards Ronan when he speaks.

“Alright,” Ronan says, smirking at him. “So what’s the deal, mate? You and Tash have been getting cozy, huh?”

Harry shrugs, sitting up on the lounger as he rubs some of the sunscreen on his shoulder. “She’s actually real sound. Got that little attitude, y’know? Keeps me on my toes.”

Luca grins, leaning back on his arms as he sips on his water bottle. “And she’s into you, bruv. Like, properly into you—Christina made a comment about you both in the Hideaway?”

The others laugh at that, eyes scrunching when they ask all the questions they can think of.

“Yeah, but I think it’s fun to explore, but,” Ronan says, leaning forward. “But don’t forget what you’ve got back at the villa.”

Harry shifts on the seat, trying to make himself more comfortable against the cushions. “Don’t need reminding on that.”

“Well,” Ronan presses, looking over his shoulder as the girls sit by the kitchen, making breakfast, “you’ve been with her since day one. You really gonna throw that for someone you’ve known two days?”

Harry rubs the back of his neck as he pushes his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose; they’ve fallen a bit with the sweat of the summer heat. “That’s the thing. It’s not like I want to throw anything. But I came here to test things. You lot were saying the same.”

“Yeah,” Luca says, scrunching his nose in the hot heat. “And Tash isn’t nothing—she’s proper fit. There’s a vibe, innit?”

Harry pauses, shrugging. “…There is. With her, I mean. The sexual chemistry is there for sure,” He licks his lips, “but I think the conversations I’ve had with Y/N is unmatched from any girl I’ve had here.”

The boys nod like they’ve cracked some secret; like they’ve seen everything they’ve needed to see.

“And it’s not the same as what I have with her back at the villa, you know what I mean?” Harry says, voice quieter now. “It’s different.” He breathes in slow, then adds, “But I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t open. And Tash—she’s here. She’s flirting. It’s easy, and I do want to explore if there was more there.”

“And it should be,” Ronan speaks up, almost like a reminder. “You’re not closed off or anything.”

Luca turns towards the girls, before turning back to Harry, “What do you think she’s doing right now?”

Harry laughs once, low as he tries to remain a bit nonchalant with his words. “Hopefully not what I’m doing.”

That gets a few whoops and groans as they all smugly smile; Harry bites on the straw of his water bottle and shakes his head.

“Look,” Ronan says. “You bring Tash back; you’ve still got options. You bring no one? You’re banking on her standing there alone. That’s the risk. Guess it depends on if she’s testing her connection over in the villa.”

Harry nods, knowing the risks—he doesn’t need them laid out to him, but he takes in a deep breath.

“She’s gonna be fuming if she stayed loyal,” he mutters out, breathing out sharply before shaking his head. “Proper fuming.”

“Or she might’ve cracked on with another, mate,” Luca shrugs, throwing his arm above his head as he’s leaned back on one of the lounger seats. “You don’t know.”

Harry leans forward now, elbows on his knees, head down. “I just don’t want to be the prick that doesn’t know what’s he’s had, you know what I mean? But that’s what the experience is for, yeah? Like, it would be a disservice to not test the connection.”

“Too late if you already kissed someone, mate,” Ronan tells him, hoenstly. “Pretty tested, I think.”

Harry doesn’t respond. A beat of silence presses between all of them, Tash and a few of the girls giggling in the corner; the red bikini on her body makes her stand out amongst them. Then, Luca questions him: “You bringing Tash back or what?”

Harry exhales through his nose. Still looking down, as if he doesn’t really want to do what he’s about to do. It doesn’t feel like him to sneak around and to be testing something that’s already good. “I think I have to.”

The boys clap his back. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re just exploring, yeah?”

“Right.” Harry says, confidence not lacing his words as he moves to stand up—moving to possibly pull Tash for a chat if he can muster up the courage to do so.

But even as he grins and grabs his bottle, something inside his chest doesn’t feel celebratory or like he is certain with that decision. Something tightens then, because deep down, he knows he’s not just exploring this relationship. He’s crossing a line.

{NARRATOR}

It’s been said that love grows in the villa—but sometimes it burns. Especially after a return from Casa Amor that’ll go down in Love Island history. Someone grab the popcorn.

You sit at the fire pit in a white dress that’s pulled at your hips, hands clenched in your lap, nails digging into your palm so you don’t fall apart. The air is buzzing with tension with the other women around you, the boys who have joined you in your days in the villa, hearts hammering under pretty lashes and fake tan.

This is the moment. Maya Jama glances around at the rest of you, throwing her hair over her shoulder as she stands before you all—the boys coming back to villa from Casa Amor. You already know what’s coming. You’ve seen the clip—there wasn’t any way that he was coming back alone.

And the worst part? The kiss wasn’t the shock. It was the laugh. The stupid, giggling, flirty banter that followed. That spark in his eyes. Like you’d never existed. Like seven weeks of slow burns and secret kisses and staying up whispering in bed had just vanished the second he had new options and a game card.

The clip hadn’t shown more than a minute or two—that was all that was needed to solidify the way that this was so fluid, everything in here could change in an instant. And that was enough for you to know your fate.

“You’ve chosen to remain single, Y/N,” Maya says, her voice kind and professional as always as her hands rest intertwined against her. “Now it’s time to see if Harry remained loyal to you… or if he’s decided to recouple.”

You brace yourself to hear two voices. The doors open; the girls are leaning their heads and whispering as you stand there and await to see them start to come into the villa. Your eyes stay pressed until you hear the clinking of heels.

“Fuck.”

Then, he appears—Harry. But of course, with Tash—hand in hand. She’s wear a smug little half-smile that can only be described as knowing that she won the fight, she made her way back here. He walks in without even looking around for you, but you can see the way that his face stays stoic and possibly a bit terrified of the reaction he would receive. The girls behind you gasp softly, but you don’t move—you barely breathe as you watch them come in. You just watch it unfold like a stranger watching their own life from across the room.

Harry gives a small smile, but it falters only slightly when he sees you standing there alone, still single.

His brows twitch, confused. Tash doesn’t seem to care. Maya’s voice fills the tense silence around you all as you smile back at her and nod with a silence that makes the loudest noise.

“Harry has decided to recouple,” Maya looks at the couple, “Welcome Tash to the villa,” She looks back at you and gives you a sympathetic look, “That means, Y/N, you are single and vulnerable.”

Hearing the words, Harry flinches—almost like he didn’t know that would be coming but knowing that it hurt him more than he thought it would.

They walk toward the bench across from you. Harry finally looks at you properly, as if just then noticing something’s wrong. You can see it hit him:

She didn’t pick anyone. She was waiting for me.

A few boys bring back girls from the villa—nothing was as unexpected as Harry bringing back Tash, but there were a few surprises. You weren’t the only one left single, Tiana found herself single, as well. You bite on your lip when Maya leaves, telling you all that she would see you later.

The group starts to introduce themselves to one another—there are new boys and girls, you smile politely but keep yourself away from him for a moment before you find the sound of his voice behind you.

“Can we go for a chat?” Harry turns up near you, making your head turn quickly before you take in a deep breath.

“Don’t know what there is to say, but sure.” You give him the cold shoulder before you start walking towards the sofas. You walk ahead of him without speaking, heading to the corner of the terrace, past the fairy lights and villa walls that heard you both whisper, “I’m all in” just last week.

He stands in front of you now, the nerves that were rushing through him were obvious by now, but you wanted to make them worse. You wanted him in pain, to feel the humiliation that you felt.

“Hey,” he starts, soft, almost like he isn’t sure where to go with this. “Look, I know how that must’ve looked—”

You cut him off, shaking your head as you feel the anger boiling to a point of scalding. “How what looked, exactly? Please explain because I’d love to hear you bullshit your way through this one.”

He stares at you for a moment before he takes in a breath. He takes a seat on the sofa before he stares at his hands in his lap.

“Look—this wasn’t to hurt you—"

You cut him off, shaking your head as you stare deeply towards him, “You brought back a girl I watched you kiss—I saw all of it, Harry. You kissed her on day one, you couldn’t keep it respectful in the slightest.”

His lips part slightly before he shakes his head, a subtle pathetic laugh escapes him. “You… It looks bad, but we agreed we weren’t closed off, so--”  

“Yeah, fuck you. You knew what was respectful—we’ve been together since day one, Harry. And it took one blonde bitch to ruin this and make me look like an idiot standing there and thinking you’d wait. You think that wouldn’t have hurt my feelings? And if I hadn’t seen it, would I have been told that happened or no?”

He winces at that, almost like that could have hurt him more than he hurt you.

You press forward, sitting upwards as you shake your head at him. “Out of all of the conversations we’ve had, I want you to explore, be respectful. And you said, ‘Course I will, babe, course I will.’ Do you even remember saying that?”

“I do,” he says, tone dropping as he tries to manage in more words, but knows that he’s contradicting everything he’s said. “But it was just a kiss—I just brought her back to explore that connection but that doesn’t dissolve what we have, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t,” you say, turning almost away as you laugh a solidly angry laugh. “Don’t pull that card. The kiss, I could’ve handled. It was the laugh after, the smug look in your eyes. The way you giggled with her like I was a joke. Like I was nothing. It was just foul play to you, and I’m not here to play that—I think we’re done.”

Harry’s face contorts to more confusion before he shakes his head, almost confused that you would end it like that. “It wasn’t like that—”

“You’re naughty, bit of trouble, aren’t you?” You mock his words and accent to Tash in the Hideaway before you feel yourself starting to feel more and more angry, less and less hurt, but sincerely disappointed.

He exhales like he hasn’t taken a solid breath in weeks. “I didn’t know where we stood—I didn’t know if you would have someone. Am I supposed to think you wouldn’t keep someone here?”

“We stood strong,” you say, voice breaking now. “We were solid. You just didn’t want to admit you cracked—and you’re missing the entire point.”

He swallows hard. “I panicked—I didn’t—”

You laugh at those words — hollow and sharp with almost no feeling anymore. You watch his face, the way that his eyebrows crease, like he’s disappointed in himself, as he should be.

“So instead of trusting what we had, you panicked and kissed someone else? That’s not loyalty. That’s cowardice. You picked her, Harry. You disrespected this relationship, me, yourself—your hers now, and she can have you.” You move to stand with your cup in your hand as your ponytail swishes and you try your best to keep your emotions from turning into tears.

He’s silent; you know that he doesn’t have any excuse.

“I know I messed up,” he mutters, staring down at his hands that house the almost empty cup of wine that he knew he needed. “I didn’t handle it right.”

You shake your head, watching him straight up as you turn on your heels. “No, you didn’t. And what hurts the most is that I stood by you. I chose you every single day in that villa. And you made me look like a moron.”

He goes to stand and starts to walk with you as you want to get away from him as far as possible. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“But you did, Harry!” you turn towards him again, quickly with a bit of whiplash, “You let go first. I was holding on with both hands.”

There’s a pause. His throat bobs before he lifts a shoulder, and shakes his head.

“I regret it,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t have brought her back—you’re right, I screwed up.”

You stare at him, eyes glassy—you can’t cry, not now. Not in front of him, that would admit defeat. You’re standing on the ground, standing on what you believe before you throw away his words.

“You don’t get to regret it now that it’s real because you know that I’m single,” you say. “You don’t get to come crawling back just because you feel guilty all of the sudden. You didn’t think of me, period.”

Your eyes linger on him for a moment before you turn towards the girls, leaving him walking towards the boys, his head down in shame.

{NARRATOR}

Whew. Looks like Harry’s brought more than just Tash back from Casa Amor… he’s brought a storm. If only he could have forecasted bringing another woman back to his couple would have stirred up thunder!

[stylessbean]

teach me slowly series masterlist

Summary: Harry doesn't mind waiting, as long as it's you he's waiting for. a harry styles x inexperienced!reader series

Status: Ongoing.

Based on: this ask!

Warnings: lots and lots of smut, please read the warnings for every part of this series accordingly! not sure how many parts this one will have yet, i'm basically figuring it out along the way. enjoy x

...

teach me slowly

Harry doesn't mind waiting, as long as it's you he's waiting for.

explore me slowly

Firsts aren't always easy. Lucky for you, Harry's got patience— and a plan.

more coming soon

...

[stylessbean]

SEVEN MINUTES || a harry styles x you one-shot. word count: 3,353 content warning: teen angst & fluff

summary: you and harry are camp counselors; you've never been kissed, but you landed on him for a quick game of seven minutes in heaven. he takes the lead.

It was the last week of camp.

The senior counselors had the night off, making sure to make their own memories that felt like their early childhoods had. Most of the kids were asleep in their cabins, save for the few youngest ones still fighting dreams with flashlights tucked under their blankets.

The sun had gone down hours ago, but the woods still buzzed with life—cicadas humming, the occasional hoot of an owl, someone’s distant laughter rolling from the mess hall.

And there you were, sitting on a quilted patch of grass behind the arts & crafts shed, cross-legged and nervous, a circle of citronella candles flickering around you and campfire burning ash up into the sky. Half the counselors were already tipsy on warm beer and vodka passed around in water bottles. The other half were drunk on freedom—just a few more days until real life crept back in; many of them would go to college, or trade schools.

It was sinking in that this was your last summer here.

“Alright, campers,” Jamie grinned, a crooked flashlight held beneath his chin for dramatic effect, “time for a classic.” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

A chorus of groans and whistles erupted from the small group—about ten of you, total. Your stomach flipped at his words, knowing what it meant but also knowing that you just couldn’t get out of it.

“Oh my God, Jamie,” whined Marnie, dramatic as always, flopping back against a log. “What are we, twelve?”

Jamie twirled the empty water bottle in the middle of the circle. “Don’t act like you don’t wanna get shoved in the craft closet with Mason.”

Marnie gave a soft gasp, and kicked grass at him, but she was smiling. Mason was handsome, sure—but he wasn't even close to your type.

You tried not to shrink into yourself; this wasn't the activity you were looking for. You weren’t exactly known for being wild; you were the quiet counselor, the responsible one—always up early, always with a first-aid kit.

You were the kind who let the kids paint their nails with Crayola markers and sat in the shade reading To Kill a Mockingbird while the others cannonballed into the lake.

Then, there was Harry, the tall, broody, charismatic charmer who one simply could not resist staring at once you saw him.

He sat opposite you, one leg bent, his tattooed forearm resting lazily over his knee. He wore an old, cut-up band tee this night and those faded camp shorts that somehow always managed to sit just right on his hips and thighs.

His curls were pushed back with a blue paisley bandana, and his eyes were fixed on the bottle with amused interest, dimples barely there in the soft glow of the candlelight and fire that sat in front of him.

You knew Harry—but not just from camp, from town. He’d been in your English class junior year. He used to sit behind you and borrow your pencil just to annoy you, even though you knew he kept at least three in his backpack. He was charming in the way only someone effortlessly cool could be, never trying too hard, just… there.

He was also the boy you’d had a crush on since freshman year. But you were too quiet, too average, and Harry always felt like he lived just outside your orbit.

Until now, you guessed. Harry was right in your orbit, a little too much.

The bottle spun. Around and around, it went, all eyes watching it blur across the circle. It landed on Cara first, then Jamie, to many exaggerated “oohs”. Everyone watched as they disappeared into the tiny closet at the back of the shed while the rest of the group snickered and threw pinecones at the door, teasing and mocking them.

You watched them go and tried not to think about what it would be like to be chosen, because being chosen would mean you would have to face the fact that you had… never been kissed. Not even a small one—not even a silly, playful one as a kid. Your cheeks were already warm, and not just from the summer air or the heat of the fire in front of you.

The game went on. A few more pairs disappeared inside and came back out flushed and giggling—you hoped that they would just give up on it after a while, maybe pivot to a different game once everyone got bored.

You laughed along with everyone else, but your heart was thudding in your chest, palms clammy against your thighs.

But of course, your nightmare had become reality as you then watched the bottle land on you.

A sudden hush came over everyone until you heard Marnie next to you.

“Oooh!” Marnie squealed, grabbing your shoulder. “We’ve got a good girl up to bat now!”

You laughed weakly, trying not to shrink under the sudden attention.

“Alright,” Jamie said with a grin, staring back at you. He handed you the bottle and raised his brows at you. “Spin to meet your destiny, good girl.”

You leaned forward on trembling fingers and gave the bottle a twist. It spun fast, making the grass shiver beneath it. Around and around and around until—

For a split second, no one moved. Then the entire circle erupted.

“Oh, come on,” Jamie howled, turning towards Harry. “You landed on Styles?!”

“Harry, don’t break her!” Mason teased, holding onto his shoulder.

Another person yelled: “She’s too sweet for you!”

You could hear another: “Be gentle!”

Marnie’s eyes widened as she bumped your shoulder, whispering over at you, “Oh my god, you lucky duck!”

Harry just smirked without saying a word or making a big deal of it, and pushed himself up to his feet. He offered you a hand without hesitation, and something about the quiet ease in his eyes made your skin buzz with an electricity of a thousand voltages.

“Ready?” he asked, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded, trying to not make it too obvious that you were more than nervous. Your throat was dry, so you didn’t want to speak. All you could think about was it was going to happen… he was going to kiss you.

He led you toward the shed, ignoring the loud whistles and claps that followed you both from the annoying crowd that saw around the fire, half-drunk on excitement and half on beer.

The door creaked open, revealing a cramped space lined with shelves full of dried-out paints and yarn balls and string lights that hadn’t worked since ‘78.

He clicked the door shut behind you and the sound was final as the muffled voices faded beyond the wooden doors. You were in a pocket of silence, just the two of you. It was dark except for a sliver of moonlight leaking through a dusty window. You could barely make out his silhouette, but you knew he was taller than you and you knew that he was standing in front of you.

“I don’t think we’re gonna last seven minutes in here without inhaling glue fumes and sunscreen,” he said, voice light, trying to break the tension.

You laughed, a little too high-pitched which made you cringe. Your fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt. Then came the quiet; Harry cleared his throat as he turned his head towards the door. His hands pushed into his pockets as you sniffled.

The sounds of the party outside were filling the small shed, but you knew that everyone was talking about you.

“Have you ever played this before?” he asked, tilting his head toward you. His voice was soft and sincere when he spoke, almost like he knew that he could feel your energy. He was being kind.

That was the thing about Harry—he was the cutest and the sweetest. All the other boys there at the camp, they had such a roughness about them, but Harry didn’t. Harry was kind and playful and talked to anyone who needed it. He wasn’t judgmental or looking to make fun of anyone. So, his question didn’t throw you off too much, and you decided to be honest with yourself, and him.

You shook your head, then. “Never.”

“Me neither.” Harry admitted, shrugging. His eyes diverted down as he took in a shaky breath.

That surprised you, so you looked up at him and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiled faintly, scoffing a bit. “Usually, I’d skip this stuff—I don’t really like the whole ‘forcing people to kiss’ kind of thing.”

“Me either,” You hesitated, crossing your arms over your chest. “You could’ve skipped tonight.”

“Didn’t want to.” There was a faint hesitation before he shrugged. “Why didn’t you?”

The pause was palpable. His eyes searched your face as you went to speak and nothing came out. So, you just bit on your lip and diverted your eyes so he wouldn’t see.

You didn't have a chance to answer when he spoke again.

“You’re nervous.”

You tried to laugh again, but it broke in your throat. “A little, yeah.”

When he stepped closer, you backed up instinctively until your shoulders brushed the shelf behind you. The whole closet smelled like crayons and pinewood and dust. The floor creaked when he took a step, but he instantly knew what he was up against.

Harry’s voice was lower now as he gave you a small look and then, even in the dark, you saw the quirk of his smirk creeping up his lips. “You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you?”

Your breath caught at his question, shaking your head, just a little. “No.”

His eyes didn’t mock, they didn’t widen in surprise, they just softened. They just settled on you, and you could tell that he was trying to make you as comfortable as you could be in a situation like this. He pulled his lips in his mouth, giving you a warm glance before he spoke again.

“Okay,” he said gently. “Well, do you want to?”

You blinked, almost shocked that he would ask you like that—you looked at him with wonder as he smirked; you wondered if his cheeks had reddened at the thought of being a bit forward.

“I-I mean, if you do, I want to do it right,” he added, like it mattered to him. “Only if you want to. I mean—you know, a first kiss is something you remember forever, so.”

You didn’t realize how badly you’d wanted to hear that until now.

You nodded, and your voice came out as a whisper: “Yeah,” you nodded again, a bit more comfortable in the situation as you prepared to ready yourself. “Yeah, I-I want to.”

He just gave you a soft smile, then leaned into you with a soft deliberant motion, giving you time to stop him if you wanted. His fingers came to rest lightly on your jaw as he tilted your neck to meet his tall length, the pad of his thumb brushing your cheek. He smelled like cedar and beer.

His lips touched yours like a question, almost wondering if you were going to pull away. Everything about it was careful and wonderous and after all of the movies and books you read, you didn’t know kissing could feel like that.

You kissed him back with a bit of tension at first, then with more confidence as his hands settled at your waist, anchoring you down to the ground. You moved with him, moved with his lips; it was just like learning to dance. His lips were warm and tasted like beer and spearmint, and he moved with such reverence it made something tight in your chest unfurl.

He pulled away just an inch, eyes on you for a moment as you fluttered yours open. “Okay?”

You nodded, dazed, almost feeling like you could have levitated. “Yeah.”

He smiled again—this time more openly. “Can I keep going?”

You didn’t have to say anything, you just nodded with a smile that had crept up on your face. Harry took it as a sign to move in again. Your hands moved into his curls that were pushed back by the blue bandana and you wondered if he liked it like that.

And so, he did. Just a bit faster now, deeper. His nose nudged yours, and you tilted your head the way he guided you to, learning as you went. His mouth moved with a lazy kind of precision, like he was in no rush, like you were the only thing worth kissing in the entire world.

His lips parted slightly this time, coaxing yours open. When his tongue slipped into your mouth—just a little—you stiffened, instinctively pulling back a breath, unsure what to do with the new sensation.

But Harry stilled. He didn’t push you to reciprocate, knowing he may have pushed you a bit too far with that.

His hands, which had gently curved at your waist, gave the faintest squeeze—like he was grounding you, letting you know he was still there. And when your hands fisted gently into the soft cotton of his camp shirt, when your lips found his again, he kissed you back like it was a gift.

You leaned into it this time, understanding how the sensation felt and understanding how it made you feel.

The flick of his tongue was tender, unhurried—there was just a bit, nothing too intense. He tasted like spearmint gum and something sweeter—like campfire smoke and warm breath and the warm beer he’d have a couple of. You followed his rhythm, let yourself feel it—you let yourself want it.

Harry let out a sound low in his throat, barely more than a hum, and you felt the heat of it vibrate between your mouths. His fingers gripped your waist just a little tighter, and for a moment, he kissed you with more urgency, almost like he’d forgotten where you were, like he wanted to give you everything.

It felt… different. It was intense in a way you hadn’t expected before, like you didn’t know if you could have just stopped yourself without something pulling you out of it.

Your chest fluttered and tightened all at once, and when his tongue grazed yours again, an unintentional sound slipped from your throat—a small, helpless whimper like you couldn’t contain it anymore.

You felt it escape before you even registered it.

Harry stilled, stopping his motions as he did. You pulled back an inch, horrified, eyes wide because you did something completely awkward and weird and you shouldn’t have done that—that’s why he stopped.

“Oh my god—sorry,” you whispered, mortified. Your cheeks burned as you pulled away and touched your lips just to make sure that they were still there.

But Harry’s eyes had gone darker by just a flicker at your sounds. His breath caught like he’d heard something he hadn’t meant to, like something inside him reacted before he could stop it. He blinked, then gave a small, breathy laugh, more flustered than amused. His hands flexed at your waist before pulling back slightly.

“It’s okay,” he said, almost under his breath; he rubbed the back of his neck. “It was… yeah, it was totally fine—I just,” Harry took in a shaky breath, “Sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say—neither did he. You felt both that adrenaline in your vein and shaky, like you’d stepped too close to a fire.

But Harry cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck like he was embarrassed now. “Sorry. I just—um. Got a bit carried away for a second.”

You caught the way his eyes darted away, like he needed a second to find control again.

Your heart was still thudding, but in a different way now. Not just nerves—something else. It was something new. And though your lips were still tingling and felt like they were on fire, and you didn’t know where to put your hands anymore, there was something oddly comforting about knowing that he was just as flustered as you. Your hands were just on his shoulders—so muscular and steady under your touch.

“Same,” you said softly, with a half-laugh. “Um—thank you.”

Harry looked up at you then from his glance as he gave you a small shrug, “Definitely don’t need to thank me. Was it good?”

You bit on your lip as you nodded softly and looked up at him, “Really good.”

Harry’s eyes were soft and understanding and looked like he wasn’t just proud, but he was glad that he had been your first—glad that he had been the one to get you in the shed, because no one else would have treated you with the same respect.

“Could do it more sometime, if you want.”

His words rung out in the small shed area before your eyes shot up at him, at his invitation. You didn’t know if you had heard exactly what you had thought you did, but your mind practically went blank at him.

“Oh—oh, um,” you took in a breath, but you were unable to answer directly before you were rudely interrupted.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been gone until there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by a few raps that sounded like the palm of someone’s hand.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” Jamie called, and the circle outside erupted in laughter and cheers, hooting and hollering.

You jerked back slightly, breathless, flushed. Harry laughed under his breath and turned towards the wooden door before he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmured to you, only you. “Let ‘em talk.”

You nodded at his confidence. You were taken aback when he took your hand, lacing your fingers together. When the door opened, there was less noise, but more nosy glances—people starting to whisper and gasp as you both made your way back.

“Well, damn,” Mason muttered, crossing his arms. “That was a long seven minutes. Some may say,” he looked at his watch, “Nine.”

Jamie laughed with another counselor next to him, shaking his head, “Look at her cheeks!  Styles had her moaning in there, for sure.”

Marnie threw a water bottle at him, “Shut up, Jamie!”

You flushed even deeper, but Harry just grinned and wrapped an arm around your shoulder and neck as he pulled you closer. “Nah, I think I just raised the bar.”

That made the girls whistle and the guy’s groaned at his words, and you just poked your cheek with your tongue.

Marnie rolled her eyes and tugged you away, but not before whispering, “So…”, she trailed off as another spin had been taking place, “Tell me everything.”

You bit your lip, smile creeping in. “He’s a good kisser.”

Marnie’s eyes widened knowing that you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, and the smile on her face was undeniably mixed with pride and wonder.

It was when you looked up and saw him on the other side of the fire for the first time since separating. Your eyes trailed over to him, noticing that he had already been glancing over at you; your pulse running a hundred miles a minute.

In an instant, you noticed that he hadn’t been paying attention the game anymore.

Instead, he stood from his spot between his friends, and walked around behind you and sat down quietly beside you on the blanket—close enough that your knees touched. He didn’t say anything right away. Just bumped your shoulder lightly with his and leaned back on his palms, eyes on the stars.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low so only you could hear.

You nodded, hugging your knees to your chest. “Yeah.”

A small silence bloomed, but you felt the small acknowledgement deeper than anything you had felt that summer.

Then, without looking at you, he added, “You’re a really good kisser, by the way.”

You turned sharply, wide-eyed, lips parted in disbelief. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I know,” he said; eyes twinkling like he knew he’d get that reaction from you, finally glancing at you with a smile so soft it made your stomach turn inside out. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

You stared at him, feeling the tightness in your chest loosen. His smile didn’t waver, either. And just like that, something in you settled. He looked away again, watching the sparks flicker up from the campfire.

His knee stayed pressed to yours the whole time. No one else seemed to notice. But you did; you noticed everything.

[stylessbean]

rrysbabydoll’s masterlist :

Dark Paradise - A night at Berghain with Harry. (NSFW)

Chemertails Over The Country Club - In Berlin for work, Harry takes Y/N to play tennis with Jeff tagging along.

Stached - Harry grows a 70s mustache just for you during his break. When you admire it, he uses it to tease and wreck you in bed, rough, a little painful, but exactly what you crave. (NSFW)

You Are Home - After two hard weeks with her distant family, Y/N returns to Harry’s arms, only to break down in the airport. He holds her, kisses her tears away, and brings her home to remind her: she’s safe, she’s loved, and she never has to face anything alone.

Ride, Cowgirl - Y/N tries to ride Harry but struggles to take his size. He takes control, pushing her past her limits with rough, overwhelming pleasure, leaving her ruined, praised, and full. (NSFW)

Temptation - Harry’s tiny red shorts drive Y/N wild, and he knows it. One blowjob and a kitchen counter later, he’s got her bent over and full of him. (NSFW)

Busy - Y/N gets bratty after Harry ignores her for a week. (NSFW)

A God On Stage - After Harry’s steamy Barcelona performance, Y/N can't contain her need. Backstage, he takes care of her, first with his fingers, then with his body. (NSFW)

Don’t Worry, Darling - Watching Don’t Worry Darling while Harry’s away leaves you so turned on that you’re all over him the moment he gets home. (NSFW)

She’s Feeling Better - At dinner with Harry’s friends, needy and whiny Y/N can’t stop nuzzling him. Seeing she’s not feeling well, Harry takes her to the bathroom for a quick, quiet moment together. (NSFW)

Whispers Of Are You Sure - Y/N’s first time with Harry. (NSFW)

Greedy - Harry teaches Y/N how to give a blowjob. (NSFW)

Bad Mood - After bratting in front of Harry's friends and being punished upstairs, you're still holding back tears until he gently pulls you into a private bathroom, realizing he forgot to give you the aftercare you need.

A Night In Rome - A night in rome with a very drunk clingy Y/N.

[stylessbean]

George Clarke Fic Recs

06/08/2025

⭒ 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐘! By @tomsparkyr

following episode one of 'inside'

⭒ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓! By @/tomsparkyr

following episode five of 'inside'

⭒ late night talking by @clarkeysbedchem

george yaps whilst you try to sleep

⭒ white noise by @/clarkeysbedchem

you live in a different city for uni which causes tension between you and george.

⭒ painting dates by @/clarkeysbedchem

after recording a podcast episode, george comes home with a bag full of art supplies.

⭒ My man by @w2soneshots

you watch George play in the sidemen charity match… along with all the trials and tribulations before and after the game.

⭒ shush, it’s a secret by @georgeclarkesgf

⭒ George Clarke smut by @/georgeclarkesgf

⭒  just like mummy  by @/georgeclarkesgf

⭒ Forgetful by @/georgeclarkesgf

⭒ Off Limits by @clarkeyzzz

george is secretly hooking up with max’s sister. what starts as no-strings-attached turns into something more

⭒ Hidden by @orchidniins

George dating ArthurTV’s sister

⭒ Finally Home by @/orchidniins

Where George is finally home after a long 2 weeks on tour.

⭒ Datenight by @clemswinecorner 

George and Y/N go on a date, without any of their friends knowing they’re dating. Or do some of them?

⭒ Flowers by @/clemswinecorner

Just a random afternoon at your boyfriend’s place

⭒ Neat by @/clemswinecorner

George and Y/N are dating, but no one is aware. It can make going out with their friends a bit… weird, a bit risky, but it works.

⭒ ❝ cuddle up to me ❞ by @clarkeybabey

clarkey loving a cuddle and the boys come home and tease him

⭒ hcs of being his gf while he plays in the charity match by @/clarkeybabey

⭒ come on over  by @forchencookie

you’re on a friend group vacation, enjoying the sun, the food, the warm weather, but not the pleasure of your boyfriend’s company… why is that? oh, well, you haven’t actually told the friend group about your relationship yet…

⭒ So Much Restraint by @whereforarthur

⭒ Musicians want to be the loud voice for so many quiet hearts by @/whereforarthur

reader is a famous singer and he basically follows her on tour and fans speculate they’re dating. he also gushes about her on the podcast and with Max about her songs and the shows fuelling the rumours

⭒ Wedding Day Bliss by @/whereforarthur

the whole wedding day leading up to the end of the night.

⭒ Possessive by @kislnd

george has to collect a tipsy y/n after a night out with her friends - there he is introduced to one of her old coworkers.

⭒ Platform Roulette by @wroetominter

In which George and Y/n are good friends, and she tags along for a platform roulette video.

⭒ number one fan  by @live-laugh-lenney

yn is the biggest supporter at wembley stadium for george during his appearance at the sidemen charity match.

⭒ Temptation by @/live-laugh-lenney

george misses his girlfriend, yn, so the sidemen bring her in during his time on ‘inside’… but her visit comes at a cost.

⭒ Take one  by @sweetfcwn

reader and George day in the life and the reader helps George film a you tube videos

⭒ mutual pining roommates by @fiftyfiftyfinchy

⭒ hey, sexy voice by @pretendyoucantseeme

⭒ beat it, punk by @/pretendyoucantseeme

you come home from work just as george is planning to head out, and you find yourself oddly turned on by his fit, so you might have to delay him for a little while.

⭒ Checked in  by @louistomlinsonslover

⭒ No so secret anymore by @tammyjackson50-blog

You and George have been dating for a few months, but you weren’t as careful as you thought, and fans started to suspect, and your friends weren’t helping either…

⭒ His favorite girl’s by @/tammyjackson50-blog

⭒ George Clarke Masterlist by @sdmnpact

⭒ 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 by @fallingforyouforeverr

⭒ emergency contact  by @georgeclarkeys

sometimes george is not as smooth as he thinks he is, but you are always there to take care of him

⭒ Nervous Laughter & New Faces  by @livvymd

⭒ Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet) by @/livvymd

⭒ Secrets in Doncaster: Part 1 by @the-internets-girlfriend

A soccer Saturday in Doncaster is spent laughing and drinking with friends… and the occasionally minion. However, can a secret go viral?

[stylessbean]

London's Fallen Angel

george clarke x singer!reader

george clarke x fem!reader angst, smau (good ending happens i promise)

summary: after a year of being in isolation, you come out with an entire album detailing your year after the breakup 

contains: angst, alcohol, drinking, mentions of substance abuse and drugs, mentions of health issues, mentions of abuse and toxic relationships, mentions of cheating, unwanted pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mental health, discussion of mortality 

notes: sorry if the pacing is weird or kind of all over the place. lowkey accidentally pulled an all nighter while writing this i got too invested oops. also the context and build up is a lot ik soz. any feedback is appreciated 

word count: 9.8k+ (oops)

In the several months you dated, you never confirmed or denied your relationship with George publicly. You both agreed to keep your relationship private and between close friends, but fans were quick to speculate and continued to ship you together. 

It started with an argument about work-life balance, that both of you seemed to never be able to make time for each other. Something about how you felt like you were a burden in the relationship. You slowly began to shut him out, and he took notice. Everyone did. When you refused to let him back in, that’s when you both agreed to end things for the better. You hated to admit it, but the break up completely broke you. 

You waited for people to reach out to you after your break up with George, to check in on you. But no one did. Your shared group of friends seemed to have picked George’s side, despite your break up being mutual.  

You made the mistake of scrolling through George’s tagged photos one night. That’s when you saw it. Photos and videos of George with a new girl. And you couldn’t miss the eerie resemblance you and her had. But in your eyes, she was somehow you but more. She was you but with everything you never had. She was absolutely gorgeous, drop-dead beautiful, everything you couldn’t be. He found someone who was a better version of you. 

You saw the twitter posts, the tiktok edits, the reddit threads, the comments under your instagram posts, all the discussions speculating your relationship and breakup and what you were supposedly up to. 

userone anyone notice the lack of y/n in videos lately?  usertwo does anyone know what happened to y/n? we haven’t heard about her in a while  userthree what happened to yourusername?  userfour i think y/n and george broke up. she’s not in videos anymore 

During the first few months, you drank so frequently that the stench of vomit and alcohol lingered in your room. Bottles littered your bedroom floor. Loneliness was your closest friend now. 

Everyone else went about like nothing ever happened, including George. They continued to post and go on with their lives. 

Shortly after your breakup, you met a guy, Zach– another influencer. You let him post about you, tag you in photos, and people ate up whatever crumbs of your existence they could find. You desperately hoped that he would be able to fill the hole left by your last relationship. 

So for three months, you went radio silent. Your socials were inactive, including your youtube channel, even your alt accounts and backups. 

To the outside world, maybe you were just taking a break. Maybe you were dead. Little did anyone know death was closer to the truth. 

The diagnosis was another hit to your fragile state. Maybe this would finally be the end. 

It started with one song, as you thought about where it all started to go wrong– your break up with George. The break up felt like it was years ago, yet you felt all the same emotions bubbling back up like it was yesterday. 

“So I’ll dance with your ghost in the living room 

And I’ll play the piano alone 

But I’m too scared to delete all our videos 

‘Cause it’s real once everyone knows” 

Your health was hanging on by a thread. You continued to go through weeks of treatment alone. Zach hadn’t cared enough to check in person with you, off to another influencer trip. Lonelier and weaker than ever, you couldn’t even touch your phone to see if anyone was checking in on you. 

Anytime you came home, he made you feel like a monster. Simply existing put him off. 

Then the rumors caught up to you. It only took some of his friends and some pictures to confirm that he was cheating on you. An argument ensued and you broke things off from him. 

You began writing more and more songs, songs that you decided would go into a goodbye album. Your last message to the world for everything you had been put through. If you weren’t going to die from this illness, you’d end up dying of your own volition. 

The next few months passed and you were done with treatment. Like a miracle had happened, you were cured. Your album was nearly complete. But you weren’t going to die, not by this illness that had occurred. But you didn’t want to die by your own volition. You didn’t want to die. That was new. 

It had been nearly a year since your break up with George. Your lonely heart still yearned for him but you couldn’t bear to see how he and your friends were doing without you. 

Your album was complete. It became the very thing that saved your life. 

You were dropping a music video tonight. For the first time in almost a year, the people were hearing from you again. 

You sat on your living room sofa, anxiously waiting for the video to premiere. You logged back into all your social media accounts, before deciding that Instagram was going to be where you would be posting. You had a few things you needed to talk about. 

Of course, you saw the comments and posts about your last relationship. People quickly caught on that you had broken up a while ago. But there were even more comments about your radio silence and disappearance. 

You made a story with a link to the music video. 

yourusername added to their story! 

“i’m sorry for dropping off the face of the earth for several months. the past year has been one of the most difficult for me, and i don’t mean that lightly. this song that i’m dropping tonight, along with the other songs in this album, were written because of the trauma i’ve faced, and i’m finally telling my story. hope you understand and enjoy the music video and my new song ‘Lucky’ x”  Attached: link 

You saw the way people were quick to start speculating online. You were surprised at the amount of people that were viewing your story, watching and listening. A small part of you thought that they had all forgotten about you and moved on, like how your friends did. 

userone HOLY SHIT SHE’S BACK ???  ↳ usertwo dude we are getting fed  usertwo “i shaved my head four times because i wanted to / and i did it one more time because i got sick” oh my god </3  userthree oh my god how much pain was she in  ↳ usertwo “then i left the doctor’s office full of tears / and i told everybody i was fine for a whole damn year / and that’s the biggest lie of my career” i wanna hug her so bad  userfour after a year she drops a fucking BANGER  userfive “And I thought I changed so much, nobody would notice it / And no one did” OHHHH MY GOD  usersix we’re so lucky to have her what the fuck  userseven we thought that she died and she actually almost did?? 

The days after your phone was blowing up from notifications, people tagging you in edits, using your song in their posts and stories, comments on your music video. You were mindlessly scrolling through the notifications when one caught your eye. 

jamesmarriottyt liked your story. 

It was from the day you released Lucky. Then you saw the Instagram DM notification. 

[yourusername] James Marriott 

I’m sorry that you’ve been going through so much this past year. Your song and the music video were incredibly well-done, excited for the full album <3 

You stared at the message for a bit, contemplating your response. Eventually, you settled on liking his message and moving on. 

You waited a couple of weeks to drop the next song, though you were eager to just release the entire album as soon as you could. 

yourusername added to their story! 

“yall are insane, i really didn’t expect this much support but ily guys so much  it really means a lot that you guys are tuning in so heres ‘In The Kitchen’ x”  Attached: link 

userone OMG SHE’S DROPPING MORE?? is this song about george???  ↳ usertwo no fucking way we havent seen them interact in almost a year  usertwo dude this whole album is gonna be insane  userthree she drops two whole songs with music videos after a YEAR we are getting fed  userfive “but i’m too scared to delete all our videos / ‘cause it’s real once everyone knows” OH MY GODDDD  usertwo bro i can’t imagine how heartbroken she was to write this  userfour is this song about her breakup with Zach?  ↳ userone i wanna believe that this is about george the actor’s resemblance to george feels like it was on purpose  ↳ userthree pretty sure that’s George’s shirt she’s wearing at 1:35  usersix dude the actor looks so much like george this has to be about him  userseven is this confirming that y/n and george broke up a year ago?  usersix DUDE she’s literally wearing George’s shirt in the music video 

You were amused at how many people were able to catch on that your song was about George. You specially chose the male actor acting as “your boyfriend” who bore a striking resemblance to him– light brown mullet and muscular build, sad blue eyes. There were also a good number of people who caught the detail of you wearing George’s shirt in a few of the shots. 

In between releases, you checked who were viewing your stories and what people were posting using your songs. You liked a couple posts you were tagged in and stories of people using your songs. 

“Stream Lucky and In The Kitchen by @/yourusername !!!” 

You switched to YouTube to see what the comment sections were looking like. Before you could even go to the search bar, a video was recommended to you. A twitch highlight of someone reacting to your songs, uploaded 45 minutes ago. That someone was none other than George Clarkey. 

Acting on impulse, you went ahead and clicked on the video out of itching curiosity. 

“Alright chat, I’ll watch and react to Y/n’s newest music videos because you guys keep asking for it.” 

Your eyes were glued to your screen, watching him closely. You did your best to ignore the way your stomach flipped at hearing his voice, or the way you realized how much you missed hearing and seeing him. Now you felt like another fangirl watching him from a screen. 

“Already, the first one we’re going to watch together is… Lucky. I believed she released this one first without any warning.” 

He let the video play and you could see his chat getting faster in the corner of the screen. You heard the instrumentals begin. 

“Everybody get in line 

And meet the girl who flew too high 

Does it all to be liked 

By strangers that she met online” 

You can see the chat speeding up, spamming the lyrics. Of course they’ve already memorized the lyrics. 

George looks focused, though you could tell he was trying his best to keep a neutral face. 

“By the way, chat,” George said, “I haven’t seen either of these music videos yet or listened to them.” 

“...When I die I won’t have time to spend my money

But I hope that you still love me” 

You watched closely at George’s reaction, if he had any. His brows were slightly furrowed at his screen as he watched. 

At this point in the music video, a younger version of yourself had walked off and an older pop-star version of yourself was singing. 

“‘Cause I’m so lucky, I’m a star

But I cry, cry, cry in my lonely heart thinkin’ 

If there’s nothin’ missin’ in my life 

Then why do these tears come at night?” 

The music video continued, and George’s expression never faltered. Though his chat continued to speed up and spam the lyrics. 

“I shaved my head four times because I wanted to 

And then I did it one more time ‘cause I got sick 

And I thought I’d change so much, nobody would notice it 

And no one did” 

You can see George’s face begin to soften a bit, the switch in tone of the lyrics catching him off guard. 

“Then I left the doctor’s office full of tears 

Almost a single mom at my premiere 

And I told everybody I was fine for a whole damn year 

And that’s the biggest lie of my career” 

In the music video, you were sitting in the doctor’s office, with a needle in your arm and an IV in the background. 

George’s eyebrows were raised slightly, glancing at his twitch chat that was still going by quickly. 

“But I’m so lucky” 

He let the rest of the music video play until the end which showed your younger self and your current self on the swings next to each other, then flashing forward to the swing with your younger self being empty. 

George was quiet for a bit before he spoke again. “Alright, next one.” 

He pulled up the music video for In The Kitchen, making some joke about you being in the kitchen but you were still thinking about his reaction to the bridge of Lucky. Did he have any other expectations of what you’ve been up to for the past year? 

Then you heard the beginning of the In The Kitchen music video drawing you back into what was on screen. 

“Women are impossible to control these days.

Whatever happened to staying in the kitchen?” 

“That’s literally what I said, chat!” George says, his eyes glancing at his chat. 

He’s quickly brought back by the sound of your dramatic but brief screaming and crying in the music video, which is quickly cut off by the beginning of the song. 

“When I walk in the kitchen 

My heart hits the floor

‘Cause it’s you that I’m missing 

I still see a vision of us cooking dinner 

And you holding me from behind” 

Then he sees it. The actor that’s playing him. In the music video, it cuts between you and “George” dancing around in the kitchen, cooking together, feeding each other, and holding each other. 

“Now it’s just me 

And a hundred square feet of bittersweet memories 

Deleted the playlist 

But I still hear all your favorite melodies” 

“He kinda looks familiar, doesn’t he, chat,” George tries to say casually, but you can see him trying to not show too much. His jaw is tense and his brows are furrowed slightly as he holds one hand under his chin. 

“Strangers to lovers to enemies” 

“Is that what everyone’s been quoting the past few days? Is this where that’s from?” 

“So I’ll dance with your ghost in the living room 

And I’ll play the piano alone” 

His eyes are back to watching the music video, which showed you and “George” dancing around a living room together. 

“But I’m too scared to delete all our videos 

‘Cause it’s real once everyone knows” 

George lets his expression falter again, caught off guard by the bluntness of the lyrics. He clearly knows that this is about him. His brows are slightly raised before he forces himself back into a poker face. 

“Could’ve at least shown me some decency 

Done me a favor and packed up your clothes” 

The music video showed a shot of you sitting on the floor, looking directly at the camera as you sang the lyrics, with mascara and all your eye makeup running down your face. Though the biggest detail that fans caught onto was what you were wearing, and George saw it too. You were wearing one of his shirts he had left behind at your flat. Everyone could tell it was his, it was big and oversized on you, drooping off your shoulders and pooling into your lap and elbows. 

He never said anything but his reaction said enough. 

“Falling in love, no, it ain’t for the weak 

So don’t try this at home” 

You decided to stop watching from there. You’ve seen enough. You knew what parts were coming up and that George had seen and heard them live on stream. 

You checked your notifications one last time to see someone comment something before putting your phone away: 

userone y/nclarkey crumbs ! 

Another two weeks passed as you wanted to release the next song. 

yourusername added to their story! 

“another song dropping tonight with a music video  thank you for the overwhelming support on the last one, it really means a lot. this album might be some of my best work and it really means a lot to be seen and heard enjoy ‘Without Me’ <3”  Attached: link 

userone oh we are getting FED by mother  usertwo ok no way this one’s also about george  ↳ userthree different actor for this music video, think this one’s about zach  userthree “and then i got you off your knees / put you right back on your feet / just so you could take advantage of me” HOLY SHIT  userone so are we not gonna talk about how she was literally wearing george’s shirt in the last music video and he reacted to it  userfour i wanna give her a hug so bad she sounds like she’s been through so much :(  userfive “you don’t have to say just what you did / i had to go and find out from them” OH SHIT  ↳ userthree does this mean the cheating rumors were true  ↳ userone no way george cheated on her  ↳ userthree no this ones definitely about zach, there’s so much proof he cheated while they were together  usersix can’t believe people are still talking about george when they haven’t interacted in like a year 

The actor choice for Without Me did not go unnoticed by your fans, who saw the resemblance to your last ex. More people were catching on about George’s shirt in the In The Kitchen music video and talking about how George reacted to it on stream. 

Another couple of weeks passed before you decided to drop one last song before you were going to release the entire album next month. 

yourusername added to their story! 

"last song with a music video dropping tonight  the past few weeks have been some of the best in a long time, and i’m excited to share the entire album with everyone. this next song is one that i wrote after a traumatic experience that i wasn’t sure i’d ever talk about publicly  heres ‘Snow Angel’" Attached: link 

userone oh she ate with this one  usertwo so what is this one about?  ↳ userthree i’m guessing drug use? cocaine maybe? that’s what i’m interpreting rn  userthree is no one gonna talk about the bridge ?? holy shit  userfour “i met a boy, he broke my heart / i blame him ‘cause it’s easier / but i still look for him in her” oh my godddd  userfive “feel the tip of my nose / it’s burning but it’s ice-cold” anyone else getting the vibe that she’s talking about drug addiction?  ↳ userone this one’s def more cryptic than the last two songs  ↳ usersix i’m scared if she’s talking about doing cocaine  userseven “the season’s change, addiction’s strange / i loved back then what i hate today” god this might be some of her heaviest lyrics other than lucky 

You were purposefully cryptic in the lyrics for Snow Angel, and honestly you liked leaving things up for interpretation. It felt good to finally start opening up again, getting things out there. You restrained from directly replying to fans, not ready to fully put yourself out there. Not yet. 

The week before you were dropping the full album you decided to drop a teaser on your instagram story. 

yourusername added to their story! 

“London’s Fallen Angel  1. Only Living Girl in London  2. Lucky  3. Letter to God  4. Panic Attack  5. In The Kitchen  6. Life of the Spider (Draft)  7. Lonely is the Muse  8. Dog Years  9. Darwinism  10. Snow Angel  11. Arsonist 12. Hopeless  13. Die 4 Me  14. Ego  15. Without Me  16. I Never Loved You  17. Hurt Feelings  18. The End  19. You should be sad  20. 929  21. The Great Impersonator  full album drops next week, here’s the pre-save link x”  Attached: link 

You kicked your feet a little, eager to release the album that took you a year to work on. You felt that bubble of excitement and anxiety in your stomach. This album would expose some of your vulnerable moments. These songs were much more raw than anything you’ve ever written, but it was all you. 

You saw fans immediately speculating based on the tracklist, analyzing the song titles and order. 

yourusername 

liked by jamesmarriottyt, bbnomula, and 76,329 others 

yourusername “London’s Fallen Angel” out now <3 ty for all the support over these past few weeks 

view all 583 comments 

userone OMG she came back when we needed her the most 

usertwo SHE’S BACK !!! NOBODY MOVE

bbnomula glad to have you back queen <3 

liked by author 

↳ yourusername thanks infant no income <3  

↳ usertwo MY FAVS INTERACTING !! 

userthree an entire album of 21 songs is insane 

↳ userone she’s feeding us good after leaving us in the dark for months 

userfour oh my god i have no one to talk to about this 

userfive she cooked a banger for us 

usersix WE LOVE YOU HOLY SHIT 

userone dude holy fuck i just finished listening to LFA and cried   ↳ usertwo she did not need to cook that hard wtf  ↳ userthree i cried during ‘the end’ dude  userfour man i just wanna give y/n a hug this album is so heavy  ↳ usertwo i can’t believe she hid so much from us for an entire year

 

userone ok so it’s pretty obvious that she’s talking about george and zach in LFA. like she’s clearly talking about two different men/exes based on the music videos for in the kitchen and without me  ↳ usertwo in the kitchen and hopeless are clearly about george. without me, arsonist, life of the spider, die 4 me, you should be sad, and 929 are all about zach  ↳ userthree i never loved you and panic attack sound like they could be about either of them. same for lonely is the muse  ↳ userone i think the end could also be about george 

userone “i came around, i figured out, should follow my gut / i don’t play anymore, i went through your phone / and called the girls in your dms and look all them home” is an absolutely crazy line it’s confirmed that she got cheated on  ↳ usertwo thought her getting cheated on was confirmed when without me dropped  ↳ userthree die 4 me has to be about zach no way its about george  ↳ userfour yall crazy for still bringing up george btw 

userone no one gonna talk the ivory powder line 929? “lost the love of my life to an ivory powder”  ↳ usertwo 929 confirmed the rumors that zach did coke  ↳ userone are we sure the “love of my life” isn’t referring to george  ↳ usertwo there’s been rumors for a while that zach did coke i think y/n’s confirming that it’s true bc she witnessed it firsthand  ↳ userthree maybe we were right about snow angel being about cocaine 

userone lonely is the muse has to be my favorite from LFA so far she really cooked with this album 

userone “no my father isn’t dead but it don’t feel like he’s still here” shoutout to y/n for having daddy issues and being able to write about it for the rest of us with daddy issues 

userone “im so glad i never ever had a baby with you / ‘cause you can’t love nothing unless there’s something in it for you” omg she did not hold back with these songs i love her  ↳ usertwo i like the idea that you should be sad is her telling her ex that he should be sad 

userone did anyone else cry listening to life of the spider for the first time?? she literally sounded like she was on the verge of tears singing it  ↳ usertwo so many of the songs sound so raw but life of the spider did smth to me 

userone okay guys which song from LFA made yall cry while listening for the first time? it was letter to god for me  ↳ usertwo it was life of the spider for me  ↳ userthree it was the end for me 

userone the great impersonator is being slept on like “this is a cry for help, calling for assistance / but you can’t tell i need it when you’re watching from a distance”  ↳ usertwo “and the girl inside is waving, but the people just applaud her” to think that she was just suffering in silence this past year :(  ↳ userthree i can’t believe more people aren’t talking about the great impersonator “does a story die with its narrator” 

userone everyone talking about the ivory powder line in 929 but no one’s talking about the rest of the song??? “because nobody loves you, they just try to fuck you / then put you on a feature on the b-side”  ↳ usertwo “and who do you call when it’s late at night / when the headlines just don’t paint the picture right / when you look at yourself on a screen and say / “oh my god, there’s no way that’s me”  ↳ userthree honestly think 929 might be the most raw song in the album 

You were nervous about this podcast interview. 

You were going to be properly seen online for the first time in a year, but you were finally going to be telling the full story and talking about your album in its full context. 

You tapped your fingers on your leg anxiously as you waited to be drilled with questions. 

The podcast interview went better than you could’ve expected. The hosts were lovely and seemed genuinely interested in your story and wanted you to talk about your experiences comfortably. 

“I wrote this album because I genuinely thought that I was gonna die. From this disease, suicide, or that my toxic ex would come to my place and kill me himself while he was on his substances. But this album ended up saving my life, and I hope that in some way it can maybe help someone else out there. This album was my way of tackling all the trauma and pent up feelings I kept bottled up for years. This is probably the most raw and vulnerable I’ve ever been publicly. It’s just me, this album.” 

People were quick to post clips and snippets of your interview online and discuss them. You saw most of it on twitter. 

The amount of support you received was overwhelming, but it felt like a huge weight was finally lifted off your back. You were finally free. You were seen, you were heard, and you were loved. 

userone “I didn’t think that there was anything left for me. Everything and everyone that I had loved was gone for a year. And in that year I had no one to confide in.” I can’t believe she went through so much without telling anyone :(  ↳ usertwo y/n deserves everything oh my god  ↳ userthree she sounds like she really needs a hug  ↳ userfour i wanna hug her so badly 

userone “To all my friends, current or former, that want to reach out to me now or feel sorry for me, just know that I don’t blame anyone. No one could’ve known, because I never told anyone anything until now.” I hope she knows she deserves everything  ↳ usertwo god she’s so sweet :( she doesn’t hold grudges against anyone despite what so many people put her through  ↳ userthree dude if i was her id be so fucking mad at the fake ass bitches that left me alone on the bathroom floor or the motherfucker that cheated while i was sick like wtf 

userone “I know there’s the obvious question that everyone wants to know. Obviously, I talked about two different exes in this album. One of which was the one who was toxic, cheated on me, a general piece of shit during my year offline. But the other one was sort of the starting point of when my life sort of went downhill. We were together for almost a year and we broke up on mutual terms. I distanced myself for two months and in those two months no one reached out to me. I saw everyone going about their lives as if I was never a part of it and felt that I shouldn’t try to insert myself back in. It felt like they had somehow chosen his side, despite there not really being any side to choose from our break up because it was mutual. And I know that I’m not a saint, I could’ve reached out. But I was so afraid to lose even more than I already have.” so we were right about her talking about two different men  ↳ usertwo so it IS about george and zach  ↳ userthree WE WERE RIGHT  ↳ userfour yall crazy 

userone “Of course, this album discusses a lot of trauma and I mentioned it a lot when I was announcing my comeback and dropping the singles. Snow Angel was the one song that was a little more vague and for a while I left it up for people to have their own interpretation on what the song meant. I wrote Snow Angel to try to understand my feelings around a specific traumatic experience I had before the first break up. I was drugged while out at a party with some shady friends. I woke up alone on a hotel bathroom floor, half-dressed and two unread texts from those friends assuming that I went home early. No one came looking for me. Safe to say I don’t talk to those people anymore. Snow Angel is also about my alcohol addiction after my first break up. I shut everyone out because I was afraid of speaking about it. I was scared, angry, ashamed, embarrassed. That incident was really what started this all. And I drank frequently to try to suppress the feelings, just wanted to feel numb.”  ↳ usertwo oh my god that is so scary i glad that she’s able to talk about it now  ↳ userthree i can’t imagine being in her situation holy shit  ↳ userfour she’s so brave for speaking up 

userone “Pregnancy and being a mother has been one of my biggest fears, especially at a time like this and at the age that I am right now. I found out that I was pregnant the same I was diagnosed. Even though I barely had any control on the situation, I miscarried and yet I felt some level of guilt. What made things worse is that he– my toxic ex– made me feel like a monster for it. It wasn’t my choice and he still blamed me for it.” she’s so valid and i can’t believe he made her feel guilty for something that wasn’t her fault!!  ↳ usertwo i feel so seen, pregnancy and motherhood is also a big fear of mine but its never taken seriously when you’re in your teens or in your 20s :( everyone always says “just wait! you’ll change your mind!” no tf i wont!!! 

userone “Yes, I did get cheated on while I was going through treatment.” dude. what  ↳ usertwo cheating on your partner is already crazy. cheating on them while they’re going through serious health issues is insane  ↳ userthree the audacity he had. he didn’t even bother to visit her while she was in the hospital and went on a brand trip??  ↳ userfour the fact that he was cheating on her on that brand trip while she was in the hospital too 

userone “It’s crazy how long it can take for you to realize that you were in a horrible situation. It took me so long to realize how shitty the relationship was and really think about the shit he had put me through. Always made me feel like a burden. Constantly told me that I was too much. He would get really drunk and really high on certain nights and start throwing shit at me. He’d start grabbing me and throwing me around the room and I’d end up with cuts and bruises from being thrown across the floor or into furniture. Then he’d start threatening to kill me and trying to pin me down and I’d have to lock myself in the bathroom until he’d stop, which would be when he fell asleep. It was either that or we’d argue for hours.” i can’t believe she went through all of this and he had the audacity to treat her horribly  ↳ usertwo oh my god ??  ↳ userthree she’s actually a survivor and i’m so proud of her for making it through 

userone “I put up with so much because I thought that was what I deserved.” god i’m gonna cry she literally deserves the world  ↳ usertwo she actually deserves so much better than what she went through 

userone “I saw all the posts discussing my health, my disappearance, my relationships. Honestly I had been gone for so long and there was such an obvious elephant in the room that I was scared to try and come back casually. I felt that if I had tried to just start posting again like everything was normal people were going to make a big deal about it. And I’m well aware that me disappearing for a long time and then just dropping an entire album was anything but casual, but I feel like I’m justified with how much the universe put me through.” I guess the silver lining is that we got a banger album ..? but it sucks how much she had to go through to write all these songs :(  ↳ usertwo it’s so sad to hear her talk about how scary it felt for her to suddenly come back online and how people would hoard her with questions about george 

userone “What’s next for me? I guess we’ll just have to see. I’m already planning on posting more and I have some more songs in the works that I’m thinking about releasing soon.” she knows we were in a drought and she’s planning on feeding us  ↳ usertwo it’s crazy how she can still smile after everything, she deserves so much 

Of course, people continued to speculate, which didn’t really bother you that much. But you knew people were talking about your last ex, asking him questions about your relationship with him and his alleged drug use. 

You went onto instagram and saw people reposting his story. 

zachsaccount

“Y/n’s always been a lying slag. I cheated because I felt trapped in a one-sided relationship. She couldn’t do shit and she was never around to give me the attention I needed. I’ve never done drugs a single day in my life. That’s my side of the story for you nosey freaks that wanted to know.” 

Your stomach dropped at his statement, but it was what you expected from him. He was always like this. Never willing to listen and never wanting to change, always escalating things. 

userone always knew she was a clout chaser  usertwo makes sense that she would try to spin a narrative like this and then profit off of it  userthree grown ass woman being dramatic as always  userfour the album’s shit anyways. it’s so whiny 

Of course there were comments taking your side and supporting you. 

userone she didn’t even mention his name once and yet people have figured out who she was talking about. i think that says a lot  usertwo this is a crazy self-report. she never said his name but he knows she’s talking about him LMAO  userthree notice how he didn’t try to say she wasn’t talking about him. he admitted to cheating and tried to blame it on her  ↳ userfour also the whole “i’ve never done drugs a single day in my life” is so corny 

You threw your phone face-down onto your couch and sighed into your arm. You knew the negative things people were saying weren’t true. He wasn’t telling the truth to save his own ass. And that’s what you expected. You took a deep breath and sat up, looking towards your front door. 

It had been a while since you had properly been out, and it seemed that now was a good time to get some fresh air. 

You put some proper shoes on and a coat, walking out of your flat in the direction of your favorite coffee place– or rather, your old friends’ favorite coffee place. You were never a big fan of coffee but you enjoyed the environment and it was a favorite spot to meet up. 

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice a familiar face as you walked past. You were only snapped out of your thoughts when you heard your name called. 

“Y/n?” 

You stopped in your tracks, turning to see the source of the voice. You felt the air leave your body as you faced a familiar face. Chris. 

You stayed staring at Chris like a deer in the headlights for a couple seconds before he spoke up. 

“It’s been awhile.” He said cautiously with a small smile. “Congrats on the album.” 

You searched for any hostility in his voice, but found nothing. 

Feeling your throat closing up with anxiety, you manage a small “yeah” to Chris. 

You felt the sudden urge to run away or into oncoming traffic, your fingers twitched nervously against your sides. You weren’t quite ready to run into someone you knew, like Chris. 

Chris seemed to see your nervousness as he spoke gently like you were a scared animal. “We really miss you, Y/n.” 

“I’m sorry, Chr-” You began, but Chris quickly cut you off. 

“No, Y/n. You don’t need to apologize. We just hope you’re doing okay now, but we really miss you.” 

They’ve seen everything. The music videos, the album, the interview. “I’m still sorry for not reaching out when I could’ve-” you tried. 

Chris cut you off again, “I’m sorry we never tried to reach out after the break up. We figured you needed space when you kept your distance. Then we saw you and him together, and we figured you had moved on, found new friends and started a new life. We didn’t know.” 

You fidgeted with your fingers, breaking eye contact with Chris, “I was scared to put myself back into a place where I didn’t belong. I saw how easily everyone moved on like I was never there and I decided that no one wanted to see me anymore.” 

Chris pulled you into a gentle hug, loose enough to allow you to pull away if you wanted. But you pulled him closer, yearning for any affection after being touch-starved for so long. “We’d love to have you come back,” Chris said softly. “We still care about you, you had us worried.” 

You ended up walking with Chris to his apartment, of which he shared with Arthur Hill and George. Chris didn’t get to knock when George suddenly appeared in the doorway, seeming to have expected Chris. 

“You forgot your wallet,” he said to Chris, not noticing you at first. 

Then as he handed Chris his wallet, his eyes landed on you. 

It felt like time had stopped. You felt vulnerable all over again under his gaze. 

Chris gave George a knowing look and began walking inside. “I think I should leave you two to talk.” 

The door closed as you and George continued to stare at each other in silence for a bit. 

And before you could get the first word out, George spoke. 

“I listened to your album. Listened to all of London’s Fallen Angel. Every single song. I saw what people were saying and commenting. I watched the music videos. I watched the interviews. I’m sorry.” His eyes softened while he looked at you, and you heard the sincerity in his voice. 

You sighed, looking down with guilt. “No one could’ve known. I logged out of all of my accounts and turned off my phone. I never told anyone until now.” 

“We tried to visit you at your flat but you weren’t there,” George said softly. “We used your spare key and it was just bottles everywhere. It was maybe two months after we broke up.” 

Your stomach twisted. “Must’ve been while I was dating Zach. I stayed at his place a lot.” You cringed at the thought that your friends saw your place in such a horrible and embarrassing state. 

George continued. “I tried to contact you. DM’s, text messages, calls, but you never responded.” His voice faltered towards the end. 

“…Must’ve been when I was in the hospital. Going through treatment. When I was physically at my worst.” You fidgeted with the sleeves of your coat, feeling vulnerable saying it out loud. “I’m sorry I never tried to reach out first in the beginning. All those months I could’ve tried reaching out first, but I didn't.” Your voice was barely above a whisper and you felt more ashamed admitting the truth to him. 

“We should’ve tried harder.” George’s voice was firm. “I thought… you were better off without us. Without me. Clearly not, and I’m sorry.” 

You didn’t have to say another word. The tears spilled out of you suddenly, and he was there to hold you like no time had passed. 

In your lonely heart, you still loved him. 

“We’re still here. And we still care about you.” 

George invited you inside, Chris and Arthur Hill in the living room on their phones. Hearing the door open and close, their attention turned to you. They both noticed the way you were holding hands with George. 

Arthur Hill stood up first and greeted you with a bone-crushing hug. “We’ve missed you so much, Y/n! The album is incredible!” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the tension in your body finally ease. 

You stayed the rest of the night, everything suddenly seeming lighter. You truly missed this– the banter, the jokes, the teasing. The conversations between the four of you felt easy, and for the first time in a year you felt whole again. 

You finally caught up with the rest of your friends, all of them greeting you with warm hugs and congratulating you on your album. Despite all the heavy themes of it, you found yourself smiling and laughing like the past year was a bad dream. This was celebrating your achievements, and making it through. 

Mr. Television was the first guest to enter the flat, followed by ItalianBach, immediately running to you and engulfing you in a hug. “It’s so long, Y/n. I’ve missed you so much!” You giggled in his embrace, “sorry about that.” 

“The album was an absolute banger,” ArthurTV said as he pulled away, letting Bach pull you into another hug. “I can’t lie, I cried listening to it for the first time.” 

You felt a shy smile tug at your lips. “Yeah, I’ve been told that quite a bit ever since I released it.” 

The next to people to show up were James and Will, to your surprise. James must’ve traveled all the way from Brighton. But you couldn’t help but light up from seeing them. They both immediately pulled you in. 

“Congrats on the album, Y/n,” James said first. “You really outdid yourself.” 

“The emotional journey it was,” Will said. “An absolute tear-jerker.” 

Some more familiar faces showed up and you felt like you belonged more than ever. This is what love felt like. The weight was finally off your shoulders, and you could enjoy being in the presence of people you loved. 

From a short distance, George watched you with a smile. 

People began funneling out near the end of the night. You said your goodbyes and it was just you, Chris, Arthur Hill, and George in the flat again. You figured it was your turn to leave, after helping them clean up. 

“I’ll walk you home,” George offered. 

You didn’t say another word, just nodded and smiled. 

The walk back to your apartment was in comfortable silence. Walking besides George brought you back to when you were still together, how he’d walk with you after a night out at the pub. Or after a ridiculous golf pub video that ended with you barely able to walk in a straight line. 

“What you thinking about right now?” George suddenly asked. He must’ve noticed your deep thinking face, he always did. 

You felt yourself being honest with him. “Just how familiar this feels.” 

You reached the door to your flat, inviting George inside. He went in without another thought. You took your shoes off and threw most of your belongings onto the nearest table. You plopped onto your sofa on your stomach, George following beside you. 

You felt his eyes linger on you as you went to look up at him. There was one last thing that weighed on you that you had kept in the back of your mind while you reunited with your friends. “I guess we should have a serious conversation, now.” 

George seemed to have understood what you meant, his eyes softening. “I hope you know that I missed you just as much as you did.” 

You looked away, your arm hanging off the side of the sofa. “Did you try to find someone to fill the hole, like I did?” You thought back to the photo of George with a new girl right after your breakup. 

George chuckled quietly. “I kept looking for you in other people. It’s embarrassing– I treated her like she was another you.” 

He ran his fingers through your hair, something that always made you relax. You closed your eyes slightly at the touch. “I also thought that you were better off without me,” you admitted, one hand reaching to him. “I always felt like I was too much.” 

George held your hand in his lap, lightly stroking your fingers. “We both handled things poorly, but I just wished you’d let me in. What happened that night wasn’t your fault.” He was referring to the night you were drugged. “I still love and care about you all the same. It hurt when you’d shut down, shut me out.” 

You felt your throat closing up a bit as he spoke, the memories flooding back. “I didn’t know how to feel, how to handle it, how to talk about it,” you said quietly. “We were both busy with work, and I felt like I would be too much to handle. I felt like a burden.” 

George’s hands tightened slightly around yours, “You are never too much. I still love you, Y/n. I want us to try again, but I need you to let me in.” 

He paused as you shifted to look up at him. His blue eyes looking at you with the kind of softness you missed. “You are so incredibly strong and brave. Everything that has happened, I feel more in love with you than ever. But I want to be there for you.” He pulled your hand closer to his chest. “You know I’ll always support you. If you can let me in– no matter what happens, I want to be with you through it all.” 

You finally sat up, shifting closer to him. “We can try again,” your voice barely above a whisper. “And I promise to let you in.” You held both of his hands, gripping them tightly. “I promise.” 

yourusername added to their story! 

“More out now x” 

userone goddammit she did it again another banger  usertwo OOOOH this is so good  userthree she’s treating us too good 

You smiled at your phone, seeing people reacting to you dropping more music. You were nestled up against George, who was sitting beside you with one arm wrapped around your shoulder. He viewed your story and liked it on his phone. “You still never told me what this one was about,” he teased, pressing a kiss into your temple. George was one of the people you allowed to hear the song before you released it. 

“I thought it was obvious,” you giggled at his touch. “It’s about you.” 

“Really?” George continued to tease, his eyebrows raised. “I never would’ve guessed.” He wrapped his arm around you more, shifting your head to be pressed up against his chest. You rolled your eyes playfully at him, leaning into his chest. 

His bicep was right in front of your face and you couldn’t help but give into the temptation of biting it gently. George reacted and loosened his arm around you slightly, chuckling. “You’ve been doing that a lot recently.” 

“I’ve always wanted to. Was just scared to before.” The admission was light, being with George made everything feel easy. 

He hummed at your response, wrapping his arm around you again. “So are you just dropping singles for the time being? Or what’s the plan?” His other arm wrapped around your waist and his hand rested on your arm. 

“They’re all gonna be a part of the deluxe album coming up,” you smiled against his arm. “Polishing up original versions of songs, songs that didn’t make the album, extended versions. Thinking maybe seven songs are gonna be added to the deluxe album.” 

“That’s quite a lot,” George remarked, impressed with the quantity of music you managed to pump out. 

“Got a lot of feelings.” 

georgeclarkeey added to their story! 

“Stream this song <3”  Attached: link

userone ARE THEY BACK TOGETHER ???  usertwo Y/NCLARKEY CRUMBS? NO ONE MOVE  userthree wait is this song about him  userfour WHO

yourusername added to their story! 

“Easier than Lying out now x” 

userone bro how many songs has she written ??? usertwo mother is keeping us well-fed  userthree oh hell yeah i fw this heavy 

You were sitting between George and ArthurTV on the couch at the Hill-Clarke-Dixon flat, with Arthur Hill and Chris sitting on the other sofa chairs when you posted your story. You giggled quietly, kicking your feet a bit, seeing the reaction of your fans. 

The boys all noticed your reaction and George raised an eyebrow before you saw them all get a notification on their phones. 

“Oh my god,” Arthur Hill said, viewing your story. “How are you still releasing new music? Right after an album?” 

“Y/n fans are staying well-fed,” George said proudly. His arm that rested on the back of the couch behind you shifted and his hand squeezed your shoulder. 

You smiled as you continued reading the replies to your story, “They have no idea what’s coming. 

Then you saw that Chris tagged you in his story. 

chrismd10 

“this is what she looked like when she posted that btw. giggling like a mad woman  @/yourusername”  tagged: yourusername

It was a photo Chris just took of you on the couch between George and ArthurTV, giggling as you scrolled on your phone. 

You had to laugh. “Can’t let them know my next move.” 

“At this rate you’re making people expect you to drop whenever with no warning,” ArthurTV said. 

George turned more towards you as you leaned into him. “So what’s this one about? You didn’t let me listen to it beforehand.” 

“Oh so he gets to listen to your music before it drops. But I– another musician– can’t?” Arthur Hill said in mock offense. 

“Jealous?” you teased, letting your smile slip through. 

You were sitting on George’s bed while he was editing a video at his desk. His eyes were glued to his desktop screen as you sat scrolling on your phone. 

He suddenly turned his chair around to look at you. “I listened to it.” 

You looked up at him, confused. “What?” 

“I listened to Easier than Lying. Looked at the lyrics.” He pulled his headphones off, “You never said what it was about.” 

You set your phone down and readjusted your position slightly. You didn’t need to say anything, because George said it himself. “It’s about Zach, isn’t it?” 

Hearing your ex’s name made you uneasy, but it was the truth. “Yeah. It was one of the songs I never finished when I was making London’s Fallen Angel. I didn’t really feel like talking about it out there while we were still in a good mood.” 

You looked away as you fiddled with the sleeves of George’s hoodie you were wearing. “It’s also partially about you,” you confessed. “The bridge. ‘Losing you is easier than lying to myself that you love me.’ I was thinking about you when I wrote it. When we first broke up I thought that losing you was better than trying to convince myself that I was worthy and capable of being loved.” You bit the inside of your cheek a little, knowing how well George could read through you. 

“I understand.” George paused, “I’m proud of you.” 

You looked back up at him, smiling a little. “You keep telling me.” 

“Because I am.” George stood up and walked over to the bed. “It’s true.” He smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on your thigh. “You’re braver and stronger than you think. You’re loved more than you know.” 

yourusername added to their story! 

“Alone out now x (spoiler alert: got a deluxe album on the way)” 

userone OH MY GODDDDD usertwo deluxe album is gonna be called smth like “oops all bangers”  userthree DELUXE ALBUM AND SOFT LAUNCH?? THIS IS NOT A DRILL  userfour WHOS ARM IS THAT

yourusername added to their story! 

“also in the new willne second channel vid :P”  Attached: link 

It felt good to be back filming with people on camera. Will invited you to record with him for his second channel, mentioning something about opening packages from Amazon. You agreed, preparing for the day when you’d come down to the office. When you sat down in front of the cameras with Will, you felt yourself ease into the rhythm of filming. It felt like no time had passed since the last time you were on camera with a friend. 

You were invited back a few more times in the following weeks, occasionally seeing Will and James filming as you watched from behind the cameras with the rest of Will’s production team. 

You were on George’s stream, along with Chris and Arthur Hill, laughing as you walked in on an argument about the cost of cows. 

“Y/n!” George called out to you. “How much does a cow cost?” 

You walked into frame, standing behind the three. “‘bout a thousand-two,” you said without missing a beat. 

“So tell me how Chris thought a cow costs 300,000 pounds,” Arthur Hill laughed, pointing at Chris. 

You continued to stand as you pulled out your phone, searching up the answer out of curiosity. “Have you guys even tried to look it up?” 

“We literally looked it up but Chris refuses to believe us!” George said, pointing at one of his monitors. A tab was open on Google with the search bar reading ‘how much does a cow cost’ and the results popped up with a highlighted ‘between $2,000 and $3,000.’  

You gave a judgemental look to Chris. You stood near George, who was sitting in his chair that was slightly off to the side and turned towards you. “The answer is literally online, how are you still arguing about it?” 

Arthur leaned in to read George’s twitch chat. “Dude, if you can show me one cow that’s worth 300,000 pounds I will leave.” 

“Wait,” you said, coming across an intriguing article on your phone. “Wait–” 

“I swear cows are more expensive than people think!” Chris argued. 

“WAIT!” you yelled, getting all three’s attention on you. You read the information from your screen. “Eastside Lewisdale Gold Missy is a 12-year-old black and white holstein cow from Canada that was sold for 1.2 million dollars.” 

“Yeah can you guys shut the fuck up forever,” Chris snapped at George and Arthur. 

“ONE fucking cow ever does not prove your point, you fucking idiot!” Arthur shot back. 

“I said cows can c–” Chris started. 

“YOU THOUGHT THE AVERAGE COW PRICE WAS 100 THOUSAND POUNDS!” 

“I SAID 30 TO 50K!!” 

You were standing next to George, who carefully wrapped both of his arms around your waist to pull you in to sit on his lap. The action was subtle, but his twitch chat was now racing as one of his arms stayed wrapped around your waist protectively. 

You didn’t mind, and it seemed that you barely noticed as you continued yelling and arguing. “Chris, you’re a fucking idiot man!” You waved your arms around and pointed at him. 

Eventually the four of you were laughing, the argument dragged out for far too long. You glanced up to read George’s chat, reading one out loud. “Chris did say 50 to 100K…” you said between giggles. 

Your face was starting to hurt from laughing and smiling so much. “Are you guys done yet?” You struggled to catch your breath as you looked at Chris and Arthur, both sprawled out on the floor. 

George looked over your shoulder with a smile, “This is so stupid.” You felt him chuckle while his chest was pressed up against you, letting you feel the vibrations. 

You looked at Chris and Arthur again. “Did you guys only call me in here to ask me about how much a cow costs?” You glanced behind you at George. 

George let out a sheepish “yeah” while Chris and Arthur continued laughing in the background.  

You rolled your eyes playfulling, looking at the two on the ground. “You guys are impossible.” 

userone did anyone else see George pulling y/n into his lap ???? ↳ usertwo they were so casual about it too LMAO  ↳ userthree we’re getting y/nclarke crumbs again 

userone [attached twitch clip] dude she’s so nonchalant about sitting in his lap im crying  ↳ usertwo get you a girl that will sit in your lap while she argues with two other dudes 

yourusername 

liked by georgeclarkeey, bbnomula, and 72,344 others 

tagged: georgeclarkeey, arthurtv, chrismd10, italianbach, arthurnfhill, willne, ieuan_thomas, jamesmarriottyt 

yourusername London’s Fallen Angel Deluxe Album out now <3 tysm ily all 

Easier than Lying 

Talk Too Much

Alone

More 

Letter to God (First Draft) 

Letter to God (Second Draft) 

Hometown

view all 786 comments 

userone HARD LAUNCH !!! WE ARE SO BACK 

georgeclarkeey we are so back 

liked by author 

↳ yourusername yes we are !!

usertwo she got her happy ending!! 

userthree YES THE DELUXE ALBUM 

arthurnfhill can you please stop constantly dropping bangers :( i’m listening to them more than I listen to own music 

↳ yourusername skill issue :P 

jamesmarriottyt i think you just dropped the album of the year? 

liked by author 

userfour glad to have y/nclarke back 

willne out of all the photos of me you could've posted

↳ yourusername be greatful you made it in

userfive SEVEN MORE SONGS??? AND A HARD LAUNCH?? oh my god she’s feeding us GOOD 

author's note: can yall tell i love renee rapp and halsey?

anyways hope yall enjoyed ik its really long i got a littel carried away writing this. also sorry if the formatting is weird still playing around with things

[stylessbean]

EPISODE 03: BE YOUR BOY

🎶be your boy by medium build 🎶 if i'm honest by trousdale 🎶 eat me alive by alessi rose

a/n: sorry for the late update y’all x have been sick this last week. definitely not the most happy with this part, but knew i'd never get it out otherwise x

Mornings were never your forte…but especially not in the Inside. 

Waking up here feels less like routine, and more like bracing for impact. From JJ’s obnoxious morning alarm to Tobi’s surprise instruction to head to the living room, dread was the one consistent thing that defined your last two mornings. 

Maybe this could be something to do with the massage gun, you decided, denying the inevitable upcoming elimination. After all, there’s thirteen of you and six more days to cut that number down to four. 

Officially on your third day on the Inside, you’ve resigned to pretending that everything is normal with George. With cameras on you at all times, you know whatever…talk you two need to have will end up being on the outside. So, for now, nothing has changed…even if that means ignoring how your heart jolts every time you lock eyes longer than needed, your hands accidentally touch, or he calls your name. 

However, right now, you found yourself grateful for George taking your hands in his; pulling you out of bed and tiredly guiding you into the living room. At least you got out of bed. 

You hummed in response, not registering Tobi’s teasing tone or George’s eyes fixating on you. “I think that’s your answer.” George joked, making Tobi chuckle. Soon, the latter motioned for you two to move along and join the group by the couch. 

Tobi clapped his hands together, immediately commanding the room. “Good morning, Insiders. Can I please ask you to clear the front of the sofa, and line up in front of it?” Everyone listened to him, lining up dutifully, far too tired to argue. “One by one, you’ll collect an envelope from this plinth here. Please do not open it until you’re called to do so.” 

You were called first to get your envelope…and were the first to open it. 

“A circle.” You announced out loud, holding out your paper for everyone to see. 

George was next, “Me too.” 

Are they putting us in teams? As more and more people got circles, that option seemed less likely. Until it reached the very end: DDG, whose envelope unveiled an X. 

“Not the big DDG!” Jason groaned, upset to see his friend on the chopping block. Is it all chance this time around? Is there any point in being a team player while here? 

Tobi smiled mischievously, enjoying the confusion and chaos that erupted in front of him. “As you can see, DDG is the only one who got an X,” he turned to him, “which means you’ll have to pick someone to go home right now.”

Is George going to go home? Your hand instinctively reached for his, squeezing it tight. You know how much he wants to win to help support his sister and her wedding. Is this what the boys were talking about Dylan last night? 

Thoughts of your own relationship with DDG quickly flew by: you got along and have definitely bonded, helping with his ‘facial’ and getting to know more about him and his son, but were you truly safe? 

“Salute!” PK repeated, over and over, enjoying the chaos amidst the shock that ran through the room. Suddenly, you thought: if you were chosen, who would you pick? You tried to rationalise everything, think of every possible outcome, but it was too early to know who was truly detrimental to the team. 

Uncle P shook his head, tsking. “This is brutal.” 

“It’s crazy,” Whitney countered, watching as DDG scanned the group.  

Should you have been playing with a strategy? Could this be your way out? 

In this one moment, it felt like hours have gone by, millions of thoughts and scenarios running through your brain. The only thing grounding you back to earth was George’s thumb, rubbing circles into the back of your palm.

“I’ll be honest,” DDG started, rubbing his hands together, “we were all up last night, chatting, vibing, but there was just one person who wasn’t vibing at all.” He turned around towards the front of the line. Fuck. “I’m sorry, Dylan.” 

A weight was lifted off your shoulders knowing George and you were safe, but your heart felt heavy at seeing a close friend leave the set. 

“Dylan,” Tobi faced him, “you have been nominated to be eliminated. Please pack up your things. You’ll have ten minutes to say your goodbyes.” 

You scoffed light-heartedly, immediately turning around to give Dylan a hug. “It sounds like we’ll never see you again.” 

Dylan chuckled, “You still down for coffee? On me.” 

“Of course.” You smiled, swaying in the hug–ignorant to how George tensed behind you. 

Taking a step back, you let Dylan give hugs around. “I should’ve taken that 5 minute hot shower when I had the chance.” He joked, prompting a round of (admittedly polite) laughter to echo throughout the room. 

Like an entourage, you all followed him back into the bedroom, helping him pack up the few things you were allowed on the Inside. You sat next to him while he packed as the others stood idly around, talking to themselves, not sure what to say to Dylan. 

“Hey,” Dylan called for you in a hushed whisper, “Don’t trust anyone, okay? Even George. I know you were close outside, but this is Inside, if it isn't for the money, it’s for the shock factor. How far would George go to entertain?” 

You nodded, fazed, not sure how to process his words. Surely, it comes from a sense of bitterness towards what happened…right? 

Once Dylan was done packing and was ready to leave, the group surrounded him again. “I understand where you were coming from, bro.” Dylan punched DDG’s shoulder lightly, “It makes the  most sense. And as much as my sleep schedule has helped me on the outside, it clearly didn’t help on the Inside.” 

As he said his final goodbyes, he announced that he was the one who committed the massage gun crime…and how that actually earned you an extra 10k for the prize fund. 

Everyone thanked him, fist bumping him and celebrating him, grateful that he was strict on the budget. But only you, Farah, Milli, and George walked him to the exit. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I would have voted him out, too.” Cinna whispered, now that it was just you, Milli, Uncle P, and her slumped on the couch. Everyone else was scattered throughout the house–some at the gym, some at the shop, and a few playing table tennis. “Sorry, I know you two got close, but he was the least participating. Like, I wanted him here, he was good, and he tried to save…but you need to make friends, too.” 

You nodded, now understanding the strategy behind the Inside, even though your chest still felt tight. “Yeah, no, I get it. I can’t even imagine having to choose who gets to be eliminated.” Sighing, you let yourself melt more into the pillows. “Honestly, I would’ve voted out…” You scanned the room, only spotting George and Jason in the middle of an intense table tennis rally. Leaning in, you mouthed, ‘Whitney’. To be honest, she was likely in the shop, being sneaky…again. 

“We all like Dylan!” Uncle P added, sounding frustrated with the situation. “But sometimes, we just have to make the best decision for the group.” 

“It definitely sets the tone for the day.” 

Cinna groaned in agreement, grabbing a throw pillow and burying her face into it, letting out a muffled scream. “All I’m thinking about now is elimination.” 

“And all before breakfast.” You could hear your stomach rumbling, even if breakfast was just the usual porridge and cold beans. 

Farah walked in just then, teary-eyed and sniffling. “I’m a severe empath! I can’t control my crying!” She wailed, with her loud voice, before darting straight into the bedroom. 

As you heard the door close behind her, you jumped to your feet. “We should probably check in on her.” 

Milli agreed instantly, and before long, the living room emptied as everyone followed. Even George and Jason set down their paddles.

You hung back without thinking, lingering behind as the others made their way through the hall. George immediately came beside you, his hand slipping to your waist like second nature. 

“You alright?” He asked softly, his voice a low murmur that made your chest tighten. 

You glanced up at him. “Define ‘alright’.” 

He let our a breath of amusement, but his eyes didn’t leave you. “I meant after all that…with Dylan. I know you two got…close.” 

“Yeah,” you admitted, the chaos of the morning already getting you buzzed. Surely, you didn’t even need a coffee today. “It just feels like…a lot.” 

George shifted uncomfortably, “The coffee…thing… with Dylan…is that a date?” 

You raised an eyebrow. Was George jealous? “Why? Jealous?” You knew you were playing with fire, teasing him—but it was easier than addressing the deeper truth. You were the one who left before he could even wake up.

George didn’t say anything right away. Instead, his thumb started tracing slow, careful circles over your side—like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “We need to talk soon…” He said, finally, “About…us.” 

You looked away, watching the others disappear into the hallway, grateful for the brief illusion of privacy. “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

He hadn’t sounded angry. Not once. Not even when you slipped out that morning, left him alone with nothing but rumpled sheets and silence. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted to ask you why, wanted to understand. And maybe you wanted to explain. But not here. Not with a mic strapped to your chest.

You opened your mouth to speak then closed it again, unsure what exactly to say. Then, finally, “It was easier to leave than to stay. That’s all.”

George gave a small nod, his jaw tightening—but he didn’t look away. “I figured.”

He was always understanding.

His gaze dropped to the floor as he whispered, “But just so you know—I would’ve liked it if you’d stayed.”

You swallowed hard, the truth of it landing like a stone in your throat. “I know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “That’s what scared me.”

The silence between you stretched. Everything around you—voices, movement, the rest of the house—faded.

George gave your side a gentle squeeze. Then his gaze flicked down to your lips.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. “The others might get suspicious. We should go.”

“Okay,” he hesitated. “But let’s have that conversation. When you’re ready. Just… don’t wait too long.”

You didn’t get the chance to reply before Jason came barreling around the corner.

“Yo, yo, yo—where are you guys? We have to—oh. Am I interrupting something?”

You and George jumped apart instinctively, shaking your heads in sync as Jason’s eyebrows raised.

“We’re gonna sing Whitney ‘Happy Birthday,’” Jason said, trying to play it cool. “You guys should come. But, like, if you need a moment—”

“No, no—we’re all good!” you blurted, already pushing past him, quick to escape the heat of George’s gaze and the weight of what you’d just said.

Jason looked between the two of you, then muttered to George, “What was that?” as you disappeared down the hallway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite just dropping five grand on coffee and an energy drink (admittedly, you’ll let Whitney slide on this one, after all, it is her birthday), the group stayed in high spirits. From George, PK, and Jason fangirling over Uncle P in the bedroom to Whitney and Mya doing something suspicious in the store, it was almost as if the elimination this morning didn’t happen. 

You had rolled your eyes when they bought the squiggly ball, calling it a waste of money, but now as you’re pulling at it’s ridiculous plastic ‘squiggles’, you were kind of glad for it. You and Milli turned it into a relaxed game of catch mixed with 21 questions. 

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do on the Outside?” You asked, tossing the ball her way.

Catching it, Milli fiddled with it in her lap, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “So…I actually started seeing this guy…and I think I’ll go see him first.” 

You sat up a little straighter, recognising the telltale signs of the lift in her voice and her hand going straight to twirl her hair. She was gone. 

“Oh my gosh, spill!” You leaned in, elbows on your knees, fully invested. 

She launched into the story. They met online recently, went on a few dates, and now? She’s heads over heels. “We talk everyday, and it’s been so weird not messaging him. Like, I know it’s only been a few days, but…” She trailed off, kicking her legs a little. 

“You really like him, huh?” 

She tossed the ball at you, suddenly bashful. “Shut up. Your turn. What are you going to do first?” 

You shrugged, not totally sure. “Honestly? A long nap.” 

Milli laughed, “Fair, fair.” 

You threw the squiggly ball back at her with a grin. “No, but that’s so exciting about you two! You have to keep me updated.”

She smiled, warm and a little dreamy. “Of course, of course. But here’s my next question…” She lobbed the pink ball back at you before scanning the area. “Do you want to talk about it now?” 

You caught the ball midair, blinking at the shift. Your heart thudded. 

You didn’t answer right away, just pulled at the fraying edges of the ball. Part of you wanted to. Desperately. But here? With the cameras? You’ll beg the boys to cut this from the final episode. Still, the silence between you was patient. Warm. Safe.

You trusted her. You were certain. And you were tired of carrying the weight alone.

You opened your mouth, closed it. Picked at the plastic again. And then, softly—

“I left before he woke up.” Your voice was barely audible, only to Milli and the mic strapped to your chest. “Didn’t text, ignored his calls. He didn’t do anything wrong… it was perfect. I just panicked.”

Milli nodded slowly, like she already knew. Maybe she did. Maybe George had told her something. You wondered what he said about that morning.

“Have you two spoken about it yet?” she asked.

You gave her a look. That was answer enough.

“Okay, fair. It’s a bit difficult with… all this. But you’re going to have to eventually. You know that, right?”

You let out a long sigh, sinking back into the couch cushions. “Yeah. He… actually brought it up earlier. I think he got jealous of Dylan.”

Milli’s eyebrow shot up. “He brought it up? He got jealous?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, fidgeting with the squiggly ball. “He said we should talk about… us.”

She let out a low, impressed whistle. “He isn’t exactly the type to get jealous or throw around the ‘we need to talk’ card… He’s like, one of the most chill, take it easy lads I know.”

“I know.” You stared at the floor, your heart dropping. That’s what makes this all worse. You didn’t want to hurt him, that was never the intention. 

Milli’s expression softened. She scooted a little closer. “Do you regret what happened?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know the answer, but because saying it out loud would make it real.

“No…” you said finally, voice fragile. “But I regret running.”

Milli nodded, slow and thoughtful. “You can un-run, you know. Tell him now.”

“Even with the cameras?”

She shrugged. “The Sidemen love you. They won’t broadcast this if you don’t want them to.”

You glanced toward the hallway, where laughter echoed faintly from the bedroom–probably George and Jason, messing around. The sound twisted in your stomach, acting as a reminder that someone important was right there, only meters away. That all this tension could go away if you were only brave enough. 

“I’m just scared that if I do… it won’t be the same,” you admitted. “Like I ruined it. Or what if it doesn’t work out? And our friendship changes, and everything is different.”

“Maybe it won’t work out,” Milli said gently, but with a tough love edge. “But what if it does?”

You looked over at her, startled.

She shrugged, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, babe. I think he told me because he was hoping I knew something.”

You didn’t say anything. Just tossed the squiggly ball back at her and rested your head on the back of the couch.

The tension wasn’t gone—but it didn’t feel as heavy. Someone else was helping you now.

“Thanks, Mills.”

She smirked. “Anytime. But seriously—go talk to him before it’s too late. You’ve had enough running."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m so scared to get a coffee!” Mandi squealed, “What if I get eliminated? Can someone else get me one, please?”

Part of you wanted to snap back, after all, spending money hasn’t stopped her before. But Cinna and everyone were right–this game isn’t just about saving money, it’s about making friends. And so far, you haven't spent a thing. 

“I’ll get it for you.”

“Really?” Mandi blinked, caught off guard, especially after butting heads with you all day over her jokes taking the piss out of Dylan.

You stood up, starting to head to the shop, trying to seem like spending the prize money was nothing to you (when it was eating you up inside). “What do you like?”

“Yo, if Mandi’s getting a free coffee, surely someone will shout me one, too?” Jason called out from across the room. 

Silence, until Cinna begrudgingly offered.

“Oh my God, are they finally spending money?” George cheered, clapping dramatically like you’d both just graduated university.

Everyone mocked outrage, pretending to be upset, rubbing salt in you and Cinna’s reluctance. “How dare you spend money!”

And, you pretended to be unaffected while Cinna was jumping around, showcasing her reluctance. (“It’s okay,” You told her in the shop, trying to justify the purchase for both of you. “We haven’t spent a thing yet. We’re just helping out.”) 

By the time you returned with the drinks, the chaos had calmed down. As you two sank next to Mandi, Jason, Milli, and DDG, the two now enjoying their coffee orders promised to owe both of you big time.

“I really want to play the charity match,” Jason exclaimed, and you had to resist the urge to groan. Not because he wanted to play, but because he’s showing his cards. Whatever anyone said now, the Sidemen were listening; that’s why you’ve been staying vague about your temptation.

Jason turned to you, “You’ve been, right?”

“It’s amazing.” You sighed, eyes flickering to George who suddenly tuned into the conversation.He’s been hoping to get the invite—and Harry already confirmed it with you, even asked you to help plan the reveal. But he doesn’t quite know it yet, and he’s not the type to assume he’d get it. 

“Is it that special?” DDG asked, unaware of the special event. 

You smiled, “Yeah, I could talk about it for hours, but I’m not gushing over those assholes while they’re giving us all these stupid challenges.” You flipped off the camera with a grin, knowing the boys would take the joke. 

Despite the heaviness hanging over you (mostly about Dylan’s elimination), the day had actually brought the group closer. Everyone was either at the table tennis setup or lounging on the couch, talking, strategising together,

Suddenly, KSI’s laugh crackled over the speakers like a horror movie villain, interrupting the conversation at hand.  “How’s everyone doing?”  Groans filled the room with someone about to shout, before KSI’s voice continued to echo throughout the room. “Shut up! I don’t care! Go to the challenge room.” 

You snorted. “I swear, JJ’s voice is like a bad omen.”

Milli nodded. “Morning alarms or challenges. Nothing good.”

But honestly speaking, this challenge isn't as terrible for you. The worst part? Tolerating PK’s fart. Massive respect to him for answering and eating the food, but…you kind of wished he didn’t. The whole room essentially became a gas chamber. 

At one point, you jumped from your seat in front of Uncle P and ducked behind George.

“I complimented you!” Uncle P yelled, laughing. He said earlier you were the contestant he’d most want as a daughter. “And you hide from me like this?”

“I’d love to have you as a dad,” you said from behind George’s chair, avoiding eye contact with the footballer. “But that’s just... not a normal smell.”

Cinna was next in the chair, escaping her spot next to Uncle P, as she faced the question: “Who’s the most boring Insider?”

“He’s gone!” Uncle P croaked. Honestly, these Dylan jokes were getting old. He wasn’t even here, and at the end of the day, he helped the group massively. Why keep dragging him in? 

Cinna winced, “Maybe Farah, but—”

Another fart ripped through the room, interrupting Cinna’s explanation and making Milli leap up. “Can you aim that somewhere else?!”

While chaos broke out again, George’s hand slid over yours on the back of his chair. His touch was warm, steady. Your cheeks flushed.

Eventually, Cinna tapped out—refusing to shave off an eyebrow before the Streamer Awards. Fair enough. You wouldn’t do it either.

She slumped into her seat, teary-eyed, and you immediately left George’s side to wrap your arms around her in an attempt to comfort her. 

PK was next, tasked to rank the girls by attractiveness. Oh God. 

“Least attractive is Milli,” he said without hesitation. 

Your jaw dropped. “It’s fine,” Milli said coolly. “I said he was the least attractive earlier.”

He rattled off names, ending with you and Mya. Looking between you two, he smirked. “Who’d kiss me?”

After he didn’t hesitate for Milli, you didn’t hesitate either. “I’m good.”

PK ignored you. “Don’t worry, George—I won’t go after your girl.” He winked, then turned towards Mya. “You’re my number one, wifey. We’re married, after all.”

His punishment? Lamb testicles. He pretended it was amala and went for it. Honestly, good on him for finding some way to deal with the taste. The challenge got interrupted one last time by a blaring smell. “I’m sorry, I just have to go to the toilet,” Uncle P said, finally getting up and excusing himself from the room. You love Uncle P, sure, but you were grateful he left. Unfortunately, he left a trail of fart in his wake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You feel like the Sidemen were out to get you. 

No, you know it. 

“Your challenge is called Tied for the Night,” Simon read with a shit-eating grin, “and since George failed to answer his question, instead of losing money from the prize fund, he’ll be doing this challenge with you.” You would’ve called bullshit on that reasoning, but hey. 

Jason and DDG were handcuffed together, but you and George had your ankles tied together. Forced to essentially compete in a three-legged race that lasts until morning.

“That was wild,” George sighed, head falling back against the couch. His arm was draped casually around your shoulders, reminding you of all the movie nights at his flat with Chris and Arthur. This was your normal, and your heart hurt at the fact it didn’t quite feel like that anymore. “Someone would have shaved their whole eyebrow off, but Milli is just dressed as a banana.” 

Honestly, you were kind of grateful for the challenge. It gave you a reason to be close again without arousing suspicion, without prompting any questions; just proximity with an excuse. Even if you had to bite back a million things you wanted to say, motivated by Milli’s pep talk. 

Milli stood in front of you two, arm’s crossed in her banana suit. You laughed, making her groan. “Yeah, honey, I don’t think I can take you seriously for the rest of the day.” 

As the others piled on, she turned around to argue with them. You could feel yourself drifting off, the emotional highs and lows of the day finally getting to you. Your head felt heavy, and so instinctively, you let it rest on George’s shoulder, your legs still tied, resting on the coffee table. George froze, like even his breath might make you jump away. You ignored his racing heartbeat, and the way yours mirrored it. 

“I still can’t believe you heard the chocolate packet from…” Milli turned around to face you and George again, and immediately regretted speaking up when she saw the two of you cosied up, “...here.” 

George recovered quickly, pretending he was unaffected (although his flushed cheeks gave him away). “They think they’re slick,” George said confidently, “but they can’t escape…Detective Chocolate.” 

You sleepily scoffed, “Please. That’s the best you’ve got?” 

“Alright, what about Coco Noir? Hershey Holmes?” 

You patted his chest with a laugh, “Keep trying, Clarkey.” 

Letting yourself drift off on his shoulder, lulled by his voice as he talked with Cinna and Milli, you missed the look the girls exchanged with George. If your eyes were open, you’d learn that Cinna knew as she mouthed, ‘Go for it, dude’. 

Unsure of how long you were asleep for, the TV in front of you suddenly jolted you awake. 

“Whitney!” Cinna announced, “You’re going to the Temptation Room!” 

“Fuck,” you muttered, sitting up fast. There went thirty grand. Maybe more.

George chuckled and sang under his breath, “We’re about to lose some money…”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were exhausted for this birthday party. 

Not just because it felt ridiculous or because everyone kind of agreed that Whitney fucked up by accepting her temptation, but because today has been a lot. 

Dylan’s elimination. Your talk with Milli. The challenge. Uncle P’s gas. Getting literally tied to George. 

You were overwhelmed, to say the least. 

And honestly? You weren’t expecting the Sidemen to cough up a ‘birthday feast’ worth £30k. 

To be fair, you can understand Whitney’s thinking. She wanted to celebrate her birthday and lift the group’s spirits. Maybe, she thought this was cheaper than everyone upgrading their meals. Maybe, on another day, you’d be more open to it. But the speed of her decision, barely five minutes in Room 19, was frustrating. No second guessing, no critical thought; just yep, let’s spend more of the prize fund. 

There was no taking it back now, so you were trying not to stay mad. Thankfully, you had George glued to your side, distracting you, now gleefully attempting to play ‘Vienna’ on his newly bought harmonica.

“How does it feel now that George’s attention is all on that harmonica?” Farah teased, making you roll your eyes. While part of you worried she might have overheard anything, you knew she didn’t know anything. After all, she mentioned that she saw the TikTok edits of you two on your first day on the Inside. 

Before you could answer, she added, “Also—sorry, again. For earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused about what she was apologising for. Surely you heard her wrong over George’s god awful playing. “Huh? What did you do?”

“For saying I’d marry George during the challenge,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I know you two are together. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful—I just wanted to be honest.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to deny it. “No, seriously. You’re all good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

George pretended not to hear your response—but his harmonica stumbled suspiciously mid-note.

When the party setup was finally revealed, you were shocked. Genuinely.

Was it worth 30K outside? Absolutely not.  But it was quite a surprise, and definitely not what you were expecting from the boys. 

The room was decked out in balloons, mountains of cake and snacks lined the table. Maybe—just maybe—it was lifting your spirits.

“Hey,” George nudged you, making you turn. He slipped a ridiculous paper party hat on your head and grinned. “Beautiful.”

Before you could even process the compliment, Whitney clapped her hands and pointed to Uncle P.

“It was worth it!” she declared.

Uncle P raised his arms. “It’s worth it if it makes you happy.”

You grabbed the lighters, passing one to George as the two of you lit the cake candles together.

“Can you believe we started the day losing someone, and now we’re throwing a party?” you muttered so only George could hear. 

“All in a day of Inside,” George replied, slipping into a faux narrator voice.

Whitney raised her arms. “Okay! Time to sing Happy Birthday! But, before we start, I want to make a speech.” She raised one of the plastic champagne glasses, filled with alcohol. “You guys are all so special—thank you for making this moment what it is.”

You had the admit, the party was actually a lot of fun. 

DDG and PK kicked off a rap battle. Patrice gave a heartfelt speech. Milli, still in her ridiculous banana costume, tried to seduce you with an exaggerated sexy dance. Farah had taken up the role of unofficial photographer, snapping polaroids of everyone—she even got a few of you and George. (You made a mental note to definitely steal those before the show ended). 

The whole day had been a rollercoaster. But right now, this felt like a decent landing.

Sure, you’d been mad. Upset. There were people you felt closer to than others. But in moments like this, it felt less like a reality show and more like a chaotic school trip—just a bunch of you along for the ride.

“Can we sit?” you murmured to George, motioning to the dining table. “My feet are killing me.”

Without hesitation, he looped his arm behind your back to help you up—like he’d done since the challenge started. The two of you clumsily synced your steps, giggling at your off-beat coordination.

You were too distracted to notice the massive box being wheeled into the room.

“Whitney, please open your present.” The omnipresent voice cut through the laughter, startling you. 

You looked up, spotting a huge box now sat in the middle of the room. Whitney stepped towards it, eyes wide. 

As she pulled the ribbon, the box collapsed—revealing a single slip of paper.

“In this box reveals the biggest spender and the smallest spender,” she read aloud. Then she stopped, reading silently.

“Who?” Jason called out, confused.

Whitney gasped, hand flying to her mouth. The paper slowly dropped to the ground, almost tauntingly. 

“What?” Cinna asked, as murmurs rippled through the group.

“PK and Uncle P have to eliminate someone in the next twenty minutes,” she finally said.

Not again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @rubyskies @edgyficuselastica @gmontaguesbitch @sundarksposts @canyouseethesainz @lovingaphroditesworld @maggie-readss @liz140569 @lmaowhathaha @moofilms @lalisasrealwife @courtjjade @bowielovesyou @raekensluver @cuntessaii @theresglittleronthefloor @isabelle-2934 @smzyyx @wroetominter @madforgeorge @megan-jane02 @lottiewills @cheesystylesig @suspicious-stain-in-spain @kneelforloki @wherethezoes-at @clarkey4life

[stylessbean]

inside 𐙚 - george clarke

summary: tensions are high in the inside house.

contains established (secret!) relationship, kind of a follow up to my last one but can also be read as a standalone fic. :) takes place during episode 4 when mandi leaves.

george clarke x fem!reader ⏦ﾟ♡︎

———

"it's tough in here," you spoke honestly to the camera in room 19. "tensions are high. mandi's gone. everybody's talking about everybody. people seem to be taking dylan as some sort of joke, which i think is unfair. it's just..."

you trailed off, shrugging your shoulders as your hands fidgeted with the fluffy pink cover of the sofa beneath you.

"it's just not my thing. making fun of people like that, i mean. i don't like it. so... yeah—it's not been the easiest day today."

———

you were tucked under george's arm in the living area, your shoulder pressed against his side as his arm rested on the back of the sofa behind you.

"i know, for many people, this decision can be a shock," patrice spoke through the uncomfortable silence, his words carrying a wise sort of air to them. "but it shows you, if you want to win, in this game, alliance won't work."

your breath hitched slightly. you'd been paranoid since you first started, having to pretend you and george were nothing more than just friends, and everything felt like a sly comment towards you both. even though, in reality, nobody had any idea, the paranoia was palpable.

george's hand dropped down onto your shoulder for a split second, giving it a gentle and comforting squeeze before returning to its place on the sofa.

you looked up at him, and couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as you noticed he was still wearing the bright pink party hat from earlier. you poked his side teasingly, and he became aware of himself, sliding it off his head. he held a cushion to his chest in his other arm, and gently hit you with it, trying to suppress his smirk.

"everyone talks with everyone," pk continued. "everyone has someone that they're closest to."

"as if we were dominating?" whitney asks, clearly referring to her strong friendship with mandi in there.

"not just you guys, but yeah," pk confirms, and sends a sly glance over to you and george.

your eyebrows pinched together at his look, and you tensed up slightly. usually, you weren't a confrontational person, but you were already on edge enough as it was, so it came as a surprise to everyone, george included, when you spoke up.

"what's that look for?" you asked strongly, albeit quietly, and kept your eyebrows furrowed at the man. "what are you suggesting?"

"nothing," pk responded, feigning innocence as he shrugged his shoulders.

you sat up, suddenly removing yourself from under george's arm. tensions were rising, and the game was proving harder than you thought.

pk continued before you could say anything else. "let's have a moment of silence for mandi."

"i'm not having a moment of silence, 'cause that's rude," whitney countered.

at that moment, the prize fund popped up on the screen, standing at at unimpressive £762,700.

george perked up beside you and sat up straighter, feeling the air getting thicker. he rested a hand on your knee as he leaned over to get a better view of the screen.

the number started dropping, and dropping, and... dropping.

£673,800.

you sighed heavily, slumping back against the sofa as arguments started to break out around you.

"we spent 90—that's £90k, no?"

"there's something wrong here, guys."

"we're leaving the challenges doing good, and then everyone immediately goes into the shop and spends," cinna speaks firmly, and you nod your head to agree with your friend.

"we can't keep doing this, guys. we can survive on rice and beans for a few days, it's really not that hard—"

"—let's have that minute silence," pk cuts you off, and you huff out an annoyed breath, shaking your head as you bring your knees up to your chest, your socked toes pressing into george's outer thigh.

"i'm not doing that, that's a piss take," whitney argues again. "mandi was a good vibe. we're not gonna act like mandi was dylan—"

the air changed in the room at that moment and george immediately spoke up, his eyebrows pinching together in frustration. "what the fuck does that mean? that's mean."

"it's not a mean thing to say—"

"it is! what do you mean 'we're not gonna act like mandi was a dylan'?"

you looked over at your boyfriend, sensing his growing frustration, and chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to go about this in a subtle manner.

"let me clear this before you run that mean girl narrative."

"what do you mean 'run that mean girl narrative'? no, what do you mean by that?"

george was getting more and more annoyed by the second. you'd always loved his ability to speak out about something, especially something unfair, and here he was doing just that. subtly, you placed your hand on his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze.

you tried to step in too, attempting to convey your opinions as well.

"listen, whitney, dylan hasn't—"

"you two are interesting, you know," pk's voice interrupts again, turning all the attention in the room onto you and george. "what's this alliance shit you've got going on here?"

you were taken aback by this, and nervously cleared your throat, forcing out a fake laugh. "what?"

"he's not wrong," mya adds from the beanbag opposite you, clutching the cuddly toy to her chest. "what's up with all this cuddling?"

"we've been friends for years," george counters immediately, ever quick-witted. "we're just comfortable with each other, that's all. she's like my sister—"

(you tried to suppress a grin. you'd rip the shit out of him for that one, later.)

"like your sister, huh?" jason pipes up from beside cinna, clearly suspicious, but nodding his head like he was willing to accept it.

milli grins, the banana costume she was still wearing not doing anything to allow her to be taken seriously. "why, jason? you jealous?"

the guys erupted into laughter and you felt george tense beside you. you couldn't help but grin slightly, poking his side with your foot, and he shot you a playfully unamused look.

at that moment, farah grabbed your hand, jokingly tugging you towards her. "well, unlucky for you, george, cause if you don't have her, i will."

...

later in bed that night, you whispered into the darkness, a sly grin on your face. "i'm like your sister?"

"shut the hell up. so, jason, huh?"

"now you shut the hell up."

[stylessbean]

SURPRISING GREETING ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you and george had been friends for a while, albeit mutual due to arthur hill, and being on INSIDE only seems to strengthen your bond. a/n : i did say that i would be willing to turn this into a series and someone requested it be a full series rather than a few odd chapters here and there, so bare with me while i edit the ones i already have uploaded & maybe take them down ALSO pink text = an interview in room 19 content : friends to lovers ,, reader is described to be very feminine & girly (sorry if you don’t like that ): )

─────── IT WAS DEEPLY unusual for you to be involved in a reality tv show where your screen time and presence on set was determined by your personality and like-ability. Being a social media influencer and ex-dancer, you’d faced enough criticism in your life, but now you were getting in face-to-face.

You stood in the elevator, clutching the handle of your light pink suitcase tightly, fingers fidgeting along it and looking around at the bright white rectangular box you found yourself.

“Really making me feel comfortable here guys, like I’m in solitary confinement.” You muttered.

“Hi, my name is reader, I’m 23, and I’m a social media influencer and ex-dancer, I can also sing too, but that’s like . . . back up content I post.” You laughed at your awkward addition.”

Once the elevator doors opened, you stepped into an airport security-esque room. You walked through the metal detectors and flinched as it beeped.

“Yeah, don’t mind me, entering INSIDE with illegal contraband.” You joked poorly, grunting as you lifted your ridiculously heavy luggage onto the conveyor belt.

“I think I’ll be okay about money spending, hopefully anyway. When I do buy things it’s usually impulsively and because I like the look of it … That doesn’t really bode well, does it? I think the main thing for me to get out of this is the experience of … not relying on my phone to do things and reminding myself that although my phone has everything on it, it’s not my entire life. Also I like the idea of doing weird challenges.”

Your white and grey New Balance 550’s shuffled along the floor, the tops of them covered by your flared grey joggers. You pulled the neckline of your baby pink tube top up, nervously running your fingers along it as you heard people already conversing.

“Hello …?” You called out, peeking your head around the corner.

“Oh my God, new person!” A curly haired girl exclaimed loudly as everyone stood up from around the marble table.

“Hi!” You grinned, waving as everyone suddenly surrounded you.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous! I’m Mandi, what’s your name?”

“My name’s reader,I love how you do your makeup!” You complimented her back.

“I follow you on TikTok!” A blonde girl in a coral tracksuit exclaimed, holding your wrist, “Reader, right?!”

“Yeah.” You chuckled.

“Oh my God, I’m Milli, I used to watch all your old dance videos wishing I was you!” Milli said excitedly and you laughed at that.

“You were a dancer?” A dark-skinned girl asked, hugging you in greeting after Milli stepped away.

“Yeah, until I was like 17.” You answered.

“Oh, that’s so cool, I’m Whitney.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled.

“Your nails are so cute, wait—!” She exclaimed, holding your hand in hers as she examined the cute acrylics you had done two days ago, “They’re like so different to mine, we can be like opposite besties, ennit?!”

“Yeah, yeah, one hundred percent.” You nodded before moving on to greeting everyone else.

All the girls were really sweet and happy to see you, as you introduced yourself to Farah, Cinna and Mya as well. The guys also seemed really nice but you didn’t get much time to say anything to them as your eyes landed on a familiar face you definitely didn’t think you’d find here.

“Oh my God, George!” You gasped, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming on here!”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me either, that’s kind of the whole point.” George poked fun, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently lifting you off the ground in his embrace.

“Oh, it’s quite nice to see a familiar face, I was expecting to have to introduce myself to ten people.” You laughed, pulling away after a while.

You and George had been mutual friends on Instagram for about five years now, but only met two of those ago due to being invited to a Sidemen shoot.

You got semi-close to him, becoming one of his closer friends and spending a lot of time at his apartment — but that was also credited to you and Arthur Hill being thick as thieves since day one.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Cinna asked, her finger moving between you two.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” You answered, your body still standing instinctively close to him. “For a while now, actually.”

“Ah, that gives you an advantage already.” PK hummed, rubbing his chin, “Lucky, y’know.”

“Everyone seems to be really nice and welcoming, and I’m hoping that they’re not just putting an act up and being fake to win because … mmmm, actually I guess that’s quite strategic. Anyway, yeah, everyone’s…” You held your thumbs up, “Also, it’s nice to see George again.”

After everyone got acquainted with you, the group wandered off to explore the areas, including the bedroom situation, which consisted of eight single beds and two double beds.

People immediately began claiming their beds and sitting on the mattresses, trying to get used to the new surroundings.

“They must’ve spent all their budget on the set, because these mattresses are not it.” You commented, trying to show how not bouncy it was by bouncing on it on your knees.

“No, guys, stop trying to take my bed!” George fake-whined, sprawling himself out on the surface.

You and Dylan laughed at his slight dig towards the girls who were being overly picky with where they laid.

You just chose the bed in the tightest corner so that you couldn’t accidentally roll off in the middle of the night.

You tended to be a fidgety sleeper.

Once you all were content with where you were situated, you returned to the living room and gathered on the sofa to talk about yourselves in more detail.

“So you used to dance?” PK asked as he sat on the other side of the couch, you sandwiched between George and Mandi.

“Yeah, from, like, 2 to 17.” You nodded, smiling as you spoke. “I quit ‘coz I got bored, really. My teacher knew what I was best at and just kept giving me the same choreography to do so I would win trophies and it would look good for her.”

“Well, at least you were getting wins and that.” PK said, arm resting back on the sofa.

“How do you two know each other then? What’s that about?” Mandi spoke loudly, looking at you and George.

“Well, we have a mutual friend, Arthur Hill, don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him—“

“No, never.”

“Oh, the singer?” Cinna piped up, nodding.

“Yeah, so him and George are friends and I’ve been friends with him since I was … 12?”

“Wow, that’s bare time, y’know.” PK huffed.

“Yeah, so we sort of met through him on Instagram at first, and then the Sidemen invited us both to the same shoot, so we met in person. But then, ‘coz I was friends with Arthur and George lives with him, I ended up spending more time at theirs, and … yeah, that’s it, basically.” You summarised quickly.

“And the music video.” George scratched his eyebrow with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah, we were both in Arthur’s music video, too.” You added with a slight blush, the memories of that filming time filling your mind.

“Oh, no way!” Dylan gasped, “That’s awesome, what song?”

“Too Much Ain’t Enough.” George answered. “It was … an experience to say the least, it wasn’t supposed to be me, but the guy literally dropped out a day before, so I had to fill in. Nightmare working with this one.”

He nudged your side and you feigned offence, clutching your chest.

“So, you’re an actor too? Mad, you’re like a double threat.” PK said.

“She sings too, so make that triple.” George bragged for you.

“Yeah, cheers.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your stomach as you leaned your elbows on your knees.

“You sing too?!” Mya sat up straight, shocked by the information.

“Can you give us a little taster?” Farah pleaded.

“No, absolutely not, not unless it’s for a challenge.” You shook your head, laughing.

“So how did you get big?” Whitney asked George specifically.

“Am I?” George frowned, patting his stomach.

“Not like that! Like on social media.” Whitney rolled her eyes.

He laughed, successfully pranking her, “I started on TikTok, um …”

“Do you talk on TikTok?”

“Yeah—“

“Why don’t you talk in real life?”

“— Should I stop?” He joked, making you and Farah laugh.

“But you don’t talk in real life.” Whitney repeated, “I’m like, ‘George’?”

You laughed slightly at his awkward chuckle in response, nudging his shin with your foot, to which he returns the gesture.

There was a silent, telepathically conversed agreement that you and George would stick by each other no matter what, no matter how much the money went down or how tough the challenges got or how much other people tried to pit you against each other.

“Hello …” Toby said slyly as he, and the rest of the Sidemen, rounded the corner into the living area.

“Hello, everyone!” Simon greeted.

Everyone started getting really excited, making funny noises and exclaiming oddly. You saw George visibly relax at the sight of some familiar faces and you smiled softly at his reaction.

“Welcome, to a new series of Inside.” KSI introduced, hands out. The group whooped and cheered, clapping. “You will all be battling it out, for a prize fund that starts out at £1 million.”

“Yep, cheers mate, didn’t know that.” You quipped sarcastically, causing a good portion of chuckles.

The cheers were less enthusiastic but still energetic.

“You’re snarky and I don’t like that.” He scoffed, so in response you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Is that not enough for you guys?”

“They already knew.” Simon tapped his friends shoulder.

“There are going to be challenges that you will all be in every single day.” Vikk spoke, resulting in a few groans, “If you do badly in these challenges, you will lose money from the million-pound prize pot. So just don’t do badly, alright?”

“And as you can see, there’s not much in here because everything costs money.” Harry spoke up, adding his usual dramatic flare of finger waggling and poor posture, which Farah mocked. “But you’ll be glad to know—“ Everyone laughed at the mocking. “You’ll be glad to know, the shop is now open.”

A loud eruption of cheers happened, as KSI said, “Good luck, motherfuckers!”

“What a lovely way to speak to your contestants.” You mumbled.

“Wait, can I ask? When is the first challenge?” Farah put in before the Sidemen could leave.

But it proved pointless as the only response she got was from KSI, in which he stated: “Shut up.”

“Rude boy!” Farah shouted, eyes wide, “What you call this timing?! We were supposed to be collected at 10 AM, brother!”

“We’re not spending any money!” Mandi yelled as you all rose to your feet.

“Let’s go to the shop.” Farah said at the same time.

Quite the juxtaposition of sentences there.

You knew Mandi’s statement of no one spending any money would last approximately … five minutes, especially as you all moved to congregate in the shop area now.

“Let’s try and keep it at half a million, bro.” Farah offered.

This followed in a long winded debate as to what the goal amount of prize fund to have at the end would be. All hands were placed in the middle as you cheered for £800,000.

You shook your head at their naivety and George snorted, noticing your expression and placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to follow everyone as they viewed the shop items.

When you walked into the small room, you took note of the variety of items on show … in words.

“Oh my God, I’m not spending any money!” You cheered, turning around and giving George a solid high-five.

“What? How do you know already?” Dylan asked.

“She has this thing where, as long as the item isn’t physically presented in front of her, she’s not tempted by it.” George explained for you and you nodded in agreement with his words.

“That’s so weird, oh my God!” Mandi gasped, “How? Do you not even like … hear something you might like and think ‘Hm, yeah, I like the sound of that’.”

“Not really, not unless I 100% know what I’m getting, like …” Your eyes scanned the menu and you pointed to the item listed as a ‘golden straw’, “I don’t know what that is. For $2500? It could be anything. Knowing these guys, it’s most definitely just a normal straw painted gold and they’ve thrown it in to make us second guess ourselves. But I’m not tempted because I don’t know and don’t care.”

“That’s crazy, I wish I was like that.” Mya laughed, hand grazing your arm slightly.

“It’s a blessing in disguise.” You shrugged smugly, feigning nonchalance.

As a group, you all decided to purchase a table tennis bat and ball for £2,000, and upon finding out it was only one bat, Milli purchased another.

“I think we should get some snacks.” Whitney proposed.

“Yes, but in groups of two, so whatever you order you share with someone else to save money.” Farah pointed her finger.

“Do you want anything?” Milli asked you, “To share something?”

Your eyes scanned the menu and you shook your head, not entirely thrilled or enticed by the snack option, “Nah, but if you want to buy something I can share with you.”

Milli whined, “Ugh, okay.”

You laughed and squeezed her arm.

You looked back at George, who seemingly shared the same unimpressed demeanour about the menu variety, and took his hand, slipping back into the living room with the table tennis bats and ball.

“I don’t think our promise of 800K will last a week at all. I don’t even think it’ll last a day.” You laughed, “It’s just … everyone says ‘Oh, I won’t spend, I won’t spend’ but they’re already buying unnecessary shit that we don’t need. Like … we do get fed here, y’know that, right? It might not be the best, but I’m sure you can live on … rice and beans, or whatever the fuck they give us, for a week.”

“Whitney, would you share a pot noodle with me?” Milli shuffled into the corridor.

“The thing is, I don’t like pot noodle.” Whitney replied.

“Oh. Reader?”

“Sure, if you’re getting it.” You hummed, biting your bottom lip as you focused on smacking the ping pong ball at George.

After losing the game, you gave up in a fake strop and plopped yourself down in the bend of the couch, and George annoyingly sat next to you.

He slung an arm around your shoulders as you spoke with Dylan and Mandi.

“It’s great that we’re all on the same page, I think.” The TikTok news reporter expressed his opinions.

“It could be somebody else walking away with that 500 grand.” Mandi countered.

“Think about how great your life is outside of this. You only get one week to be put in deprivation, to be hungry, to not be on your phone—“

“For somebody else to win?” She sassed.

“Well, you’re not doing it for that. You’re doing it for the experience of, like, when are you ever gonna have deprivation, like, again? You may never.” Dylan philosophised.

“We had COVID. That’s enough deprivation for me, alright?” Mandi threw her arms out.

“Also, if you think about it. This isn’t really deprivation.” You hummed, looking over the back of the sofa at them, “We have light (natural and electric), semi-descent beds, other people to talk to, and food. Plus, we’re given the option to buy things to keep us entertained. If you want to experience deprivation, you should try solitary confinement or a high risk psych ward.”

After a short while of continuing this vaguely theological conversation, a ruckus began and Farah came into the room, exclaiming that: “PK is not to be trusted! He hid the pot noodle behind the sofa, and I sniffed it out.”

“I tried to order more guys, and then they closed the shop.” Whitney sighed.

“And if we do shit, we need to deliberate with each other.”

As everyone else congregated in the living area, discussing the non-issue, the TV chimed with a notification.

‘Lunch is now ready in the shop.’

There was a mixed variety of reactions, majority being optimistic and jovial, whereas George opted for a fed up approach. “You’re taking the piss. Lunch?”

“C’mon, grumpy bollocks, get up.” You heaved him up off the couch.

“What time is it?” He continued to complain, “Should be dinner.”

“Well, it’s not!”

By the time you’d arrived in the shop, it was already in a shambles, with people spending money on me an upgraded and an endless supply of moaning coming from Mandi and Farrah.

“This is fine.” Cinna shook her head as she ate the rice and beans.

“It’s rice and beans?!” You exclaimed, diving for a pot and opening it with a laugh. “I called it! I called it in Room 19, that they’d be giving us rice and beans!”

“Nah, you defo jinxed it, y’know.” Whitney groaned, cringing at the tastes in her mouth.

You screamed as George flicked a spoonful of rice at you, causing grains to get stuck in your hair.

“George, fuck off!” You cursed, hitting him with a closed fist and glaring.

You shimmied off out of the shop and took a seat on one of the bean bags, preferring to eat your food sat down. George followed you, taking the bean bag and putting it plonk next to yours, sitting and entangling your legs together.

His foot kept sliding up your leg, purposefully pushing your flared leggings up to annoy you.

“Would you give it a rest.” You growled with fake animosity, shoving the cloth back down to cover your shin.

He cackled and shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Guys, there’s food in there that was uneaten.” Cinna announced, coming back in with her arms full of containers. “And, who bought this?” She held up the golden straw.

“Can I have it? I don’t care who bought it.” Whitney reached for it and Cinna gave it.

“It was you, ennit?” She accused, looking at you, “Saying it don’t tempt you and then you bought it for yourself. Clever play.”

“What, no?!” You exclaimed, covering your hand with your mouth as you ate.

“I can— I can confirm,” George held his hand up, “She was with me the whole time and didn’t buy that.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it you?” Cinna walked towards Mandi, laughing and grazing her shoulder, “It was— It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I swear it wasn’t.” Mandi said smugly, not even trying to hide the smirk on her face.

You laughed, slapping your knee, “Your face! There’s no way it isn’t you!”

“Someone did it though!” PK argued, pacing the floor.

“It was me!” Mandi admitted, standing up and flapping her arms about.

“Was it? Was it actually you?” Milli asked.

“Yeah.” She shrugged.

“And you … nobody had any idea.” George joked sarcastically and you laughed, leaning into him.

“I wanted the straw.” Mandi defended, shrugging like it didn’t matter, because it really wasn’t that deep.

£2,500 of £1,000,000 wasn’t that much at all, but it was the knowledge that every dollar spent would eventually add up that irked the group.

“Why?” Jason questioned in a whiney voice.

“I wanna drink my coffee with it, so I don’t damage my teeth.”

“Babe, I wanted to use it first!” Whitney complained, looking upset.

“We can share!” Mandi took the straw from Jason and put it on the table.

“If any one wants to buy and food from the shop — even if it’s just for yourself — it’s fine, just tell everyone.” Farah reasoned as everyone settled.

“Who’s good at math? Should we have a calculator?” Whitney put forward.

George scoffed and gestured to you, resulting in a harsh glare.

“Reader! Reader! She’s excellent at maths!” He said dramatically.

“Are you actually?” Cinna hummed, arms wrapped around her knees.

You shook your head rapidly, “No, dude, I got a C. I barely passed.”

“Hello, Insiders …” The voice of Tobi rang through the speakers, “It’s time for your first challenge.”

Everyone screamed in excitement, getting up and enthusiastically moving to leave towards the Challenge Arena as instructed. The corridor was grey stone, as was the rest of the set, with purple and dark blue lights shining from underneath it.

You had to credit the Sidemen, it was clear a lot of thought and money had gone into making this a real thing, and now you were living it.

“No pressure, yeah?” George muttered to you, a personal whisper that he shared with no one else as you waited outside the Challenge Arena doors.

“Yeah. Sure.” You nodded, blushing slightly at the close proximity of his mouth to your ear. “No pressure, at all.”

[stylessbean]

INSIDE STRESS ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : during an INSIDE challenge, you lose a lot of money, thankfully your best friend (and crush) is there to reassure you that everything's okay. a/n : first george one-shot, hope it's okay. also might turn this into a series of events that happened on INSIDE? :) content : flirty friends (could be interpreted as establish relationship)

─────── THE SIDEMEN WERE an evil group of boys for organising a challenge specifically at night time. You were already exhausted and drained from constantly keeping up appearances for the abundance of cameras littered around the somewhat-apartment, not to mention the lack of nutritious meals you were served.

You were slumped against George on the couch, him wearing that ridiculous hi-vis vest. Your back used his side as a prop, and his arm came around one shoulder, laying flat on your stomach, thumb stroking back and forth.

You were so grateful for George's presence for this week. Honestly, it was so hard to tell where you stood with most people because they were all obviously here for themselves and already had alliances with other people, but at least you knew where you stood with George.

Friends.

Best friends.

Flirtatious best friends.

You couldn't deny how gut-wrenchingly beautiful George was. You'd always noticed it, always had a thing for him, but now, there was something different about him and it was becoming blatantly more obvious to yourself that these feelings were no longer light, fluffy butterflies in your tummy, but hardcore, heart-racing tremors that you couldn't reign in.

If only you knew he thought the same.

"Y/N! Y/N!" Millie Jo and Farah screamed as they ran back from the security room, sock-covered feet slipping along the floor.

George prodded your stomach, "Y/N!"

You jolted up, hearing your name snapped you out of your near-sleep state.

"Go! Go!" Farah shouted as they came into view.

"Just me?!" You clarified.

"Yeah!"

"Go girl!" Mya whooped for you.

You jogged down the stairs, running into the security room with enough time to spare, and when the ten seconds hit, you typed in the four-digit code, resetting the timer.

You let out a strong huff of breath and relaxed back in the office chair, catching you breath.

"It's lonely being in here on your own." You muttered to yourself.

You'd gotten used to having small monologues and conversations with yourself, knowing that it would most likely be used in production to fill gaps of the show when no drama or challenges were happening.

Your head flicked to the side as the screen changes, the words 'BACK TO SCHOOL' being presented on the television. You frowned in confusion but then the door to the side of the equipment buzzed and you knew you had to go through it.

Once you were on the other side, you whined, covering your face with your hand.

There was a small desk in the middle of the room, a chair in front of it and the INSIDE cards lay on the surface. There was also a green chalk board, in which a man stood, dressed in a suit and tie.

"Oh my God!" You laughed, recognising the man to be your Year Nine maths teacher, "Mr O'Leary!"

He laughed slightly but said nothing, and you assumed that that was the instructions he was given.

You walked over and picked the cards up, eyes scanning the cards before reading them out loud.

"Y/N, you are now back in Year Nine, as you can tell by your old maths teacher stood in front of you. To pass this challenge, you must answer three Year Nine questions correctly, the subjects will be science and maths. For every wrong answer, $10,000 will be deducted from the prize fund. Put that brain to work."

Your hand covered your mouth and you cursed to yourself and sat in the chair, shaking your head.

You'd barely passed maths and science GCSE, and now your entire challenge revolved around it. This was just cruel.

"Y/N, what is the formula for photosynthesis?" Mr O'Leary asked.

"Word or symbol?" You sighed.

"Either."

You bit your lip, your leg bouncing under the table. "Water plus carbon dioxide . . . arrow?" You drew an arrow in the air with your finger, "Oxygen?"

A loud buzzer rang out and the lights went red, making you jump.

"I'm afraid, you missed 'glucose plus oxygen' after the arrow." Mr O'Leary corrected you, not giving you another second to think about it before moving on, "What is the area of a sector?"

"Whatever the angle is, over 360, times pi times radius squared." You hummed, chewing your thumb nail out of nerves.

The light went green and you silently celebrated.

Two more questions later and you had deducted the prize fund by another $20,000. You were growing increasingly annoyed and embarrassed, because this was supposed to be easy. Some of the viewers watching are probably answering better than you were.

"What is the physics equation for work done?"

You groaned and dropped your forehead to the table, "I don't know!"

"Is that your answer?" Mr O'Leary chuckled.

"No! No!" You shook your head before rolling your eyes and taking a guess, "Force times distance."

The light flicked green and you actually cheered for yourself, breathing a sigh of relief.

All you needed to do was get this last question right and then you could get out.

You hadn't even thought about the timer counting down for the next INSIDEr to be a security guard.

"What is Newton's 2nd law of motion?"

Shit.

"Take the money. I don't know." You sighed, running your hands over your face.

The light went red and you closed your eyes, awaiting the next question.

"What is an isotope?"

"Oh my God! I know this! I know this!" You shot up from your chair, bouncing on the balls of your feet, "A thingy with the same number of protons but different neutrons!"

The light went green and the door buzzed. You'd never left a room so quickly.

Just as you sat back down in the chair, you scanned the TV screens and cursed as the name 'Jason' was on it, the time going down from '00:35'.

"Jason!" You shouted, standing up and running back. "Jason, it's you!"

You nearly tripped on your feet about ten times, but eventually you made it, panting and voice raw.

When you got there, Jason leapt to his feet, ready to dash, but a loud alarm rang out, signalling that it was too late.

"Y/N, you took too long with your task, and therefore lost another $10,000."

"What does she mean 'another'?" PK asked, rubbing his chin as Jason made his way to the security room.

You hid your face in your hands and shook your head, feeling embarrassingly emotional over a stupid challenge, but it was the guilt that clawed at you.

"Y/N?" George muttered, standing in front of you with his hand on your shoulder, "Hey, talk to me."

You let out a weak cry and he sighed, pulling you into his arms. His chin rested on top of your head and one hand cradled the back of it, carding through your hair.

"It's okay, hun." Milli said softly, stroking your back.

You pulled your hands away from your face and rested your cheek against George's chest, arms loosely around his waist as you sniffled.

"What happened?" Whitney asked, voice surprisingly calm considering she usually spoke at a volume of 90 decibels.

"I lost us like $50,000." You croaked shamefully, bottom lip trembling, "I'm so sorry."

"Ah . . . shit." DDG inhaled sharply, "How?"

"They gave me a school thing. It was all like Year Nine questions and I had to get three right, but for every one I got wrong I lost $10,000. It's fucking humiliating. And then I didn't get out with enough time to call for Jason."

"Nah, you know what though, you probably did better than me, y'know." PK said, "I'd have lost way more."

Mya laughed at him, which made everyone else chuckle, even yourself.

"It's okay." George muttered, kissing your head, "You did your best, yeah?"

You nodded, and pulled away from his embrace, wiping your tears with the backs of your hands and hiccupping, "Sorry, guys."

"You're all good." DDG nodded, and everyone murmured in agreement.

"Like PK said, you did better than any of us probably could." Mya hummed.

"Not George though, he's a privately educated twat." You scoffed, making everyone laugh.

"Excuse you!" George exclaimed, dragging you down onto the sofa with him.

You sat facing him, legs curled over his lap and his hand stroking back on forth on your knee. You placed your cheek on his shoulder and his arm fell around your back.

"You did good, promise." George whispered, toying with the ends of your hair.

"It's just embarrassing. How am I 24 and getting questions for 14 year-olds wrong?" You belittled yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach.

"Don't do that." George said, "We all forget things from school. It doesn't mean your dumb, it just means your forgot the bullshit nonsense they taught you because you don't actually need it."

You shifted, looking up at him and he smiled down at you, pecking your forehead.

"Don't cry, poppet. You did the best you could've. Besides, it's over with now. Don't dwell on it."

You nodded, curling into him and beginning to drift off in his arms, completely at peace in your current state.

The challenge and money loss left your mind and all you could focus on was the biceps that held you tight and the rise and fall of George's chest as you buried into it.

[stylessbean]

😍 😘 I get it Ethan, it's George after all

[stylessbean]

The First Night - George Clarke

George Clarke x Reader

It started with a drink, a smile, and a quiet kind of pull. She didn't know who he was - only that something about him felt like home.

warnings: alcohol consumption,

masterlist x

Chris smirked before Max even finished the sentence as he sat in the podcast room.

"So," Max said, turning to him across the studio, "you've known George for years, live with him. You've gotta have a story. Like... first time he a brough a girl home or something."

Chris barely contained a laugh, "oh, I've got that story."

George gave Chris a look - pleading for him to stop.

But Chris just leaned in. "This was before anyone knew who he really was. Before the recent collabs. He met this girl in a random bar..."

George, across from them, just smiled - now realising it was in fact going to be a good story, one he wanted out for fans to know. His fingers tapped once against the table.

Max grinned. "Go on."

I hadn't meant to stay out that long. A bad day turned in to a missed train, no charger, freezing wind - the perfect combo.

I ducked quickly into the first open bar I saw after leaving work - an attempt to stay out of the cold weather, and the raining beginning to make it's way to central London.

The bar was warm, the lights creating a hue over the bar, and quiet music humming in the background, as groups nestled around small tables chatting.

I order a drink - nothing too fancy, something just to help time go by.

I was halfway through the drink, cheap cider - and pretending to be busy as I fiddle with the coasters sat on top of the bar - when a voice cut in beside me.

"You look like you're trying to convince yourself to like that."

I turn to see him - soft brown hair, easy smile, dark washed hoodie. A little stubble, and a lot cute.

I decide to engage in conversation, hoping for the time to go by quicker as I wait out the rain, "it's not working," I said, nudging the half full glass. "But I've committed now... Well at least until the rain stops."

He gave a toothy grin, "name?" He asked, as he pulled out the leather stool next to me and sat down.

"Y/N."

"I'm George. So what brings you here tonight?"

I gesture to the rain outside and my work bag sat on the ground at my feet. "I worked late, and missed the train so just waiting until the rain disappears before decide my next course of action, what about yourself George?"

"My mates just left," he starts, my faces becoming confused as to why he didn't leave with them, so he continues, "but I was looking at you for a while, and would've hated myself if I didn't come and say hi before I left."

A grin replaces my puzzled look, a faint pink blush rushing to my cheeks.

We continue talking. Nothing too deep - just banter. He was funny, but not loud about it. Kind, but never too polite. Said he worked in "media", whatever that meant, I didn't pry him for answers.

Eventually an hour had passed and the bartender alerting us the bar will be closing soon. I glance out to the rain still pouring outside, and pull out my phone thinking it would be best to call an Uber.

My phone was flat. George takes notice of the black screen on my phone and offers, "I live five minutes away. You want to come back? Just to charge your phone, honestly. My flat's got a ridiculous window view."

I pause, unsure of what to do - he seemed safe and respectful.

He added, "You can leave the second it gets weird."

I smile. "Only if there is a cup of tea in the equation then lead the way."

His flat was a brief walk from the bar - a walk that was shared with giggles and constant banter. The flat looked like three men lived there. It was warm and messy in the way that felt lived-in, not lazy.

As we entered, George took my coat from me and hung it on the coat rack to dry. I admire more of the flat - spotting two guys sat on the couch, of who were both staring at me.

"This is Y/N," George said carefully. "Chris, Arthur." George continues, pointing at the two boys.

The two boys gave a smirk in the direction of George, and I put two together and figure these were his friends from the bar.

"Evening," Chris said, already eyeing George like something was up.

Arthur gave me a polite nod and a smile.

The two boys turned to look at each other, and let out a whisper.

George ignored both of them. "Come on - I'll show you the view then make a cup of tea for you."

I follow George to the other side of the living space, a large window sat centered - an amazing view of London. The lights scattered like gold, the hum of the city distant and soft.

"Okay," I whispered, "I get it, this view is amazing."

He leaned close to me, our shoulders nudging each other. "Told you."

When I glanced at him, he was already looking at me - not in a creepy way, just like.. he was really seeing me.

Then, quietly, he said, "tea?"

I followed closely behind George, a mug of hot tea steaming clutched between my palms. George was taking me to his bedroom, where I would be able to charge my phone and wait for the rain to settle.

As the bedroom door closed behind us, I still felt the eyes of the housemates on me.

George sat his tea on his bedside table and took mine, settling it beside his - like it belonged there. He took a long cord and passed it to me, allowing for my phone to begin charging.

"You can stay as long as you like. No pressure."

I knew my phone would need a while to charge and I nodded. I took a seat on his bed, my back against the headboard as I took my tea and began sipping at it.

I felt the bed dip beside more, and then move again, I saw George standing and making his way to his wardrobe.

"Here, you must be freezing." He passed a grey hoodie, towards me and I took with no argument, wanting to feel the warmth of something other than my tea.

We both now sat on the bed together engaged in conversation - both unsure of the space between us but wanting less space.

After a while, George asks, "want to watch something?" Already reaching to grab the remote.

"Sure," I said. "Whatever you like."

He didn't ask. Didn't listen options. Just was on a mission to find something casual to watch.

The screen blinked to life. The opening swirled in - blue, spinning stars and that familiar, eerie theme.

Doctor Who.

My breath caught - that chord hit lie muscle memory.

George sat up sharply. "Wait - oh god, I can turn it off. I just picked something old and that I love, I didn't think -"

"No!" I said, grinning. "Don't. Are you kidding?"

He blinked. "You... like it?"

I grew up on it. My mum and I used to watch every Saturday. Ten was my Doctor. I cried so hard when he said he didn't want to go."

George visibly relaxed, a smile gracing his lips as he looked down at me. "You're joking."

"I literally has a sonic screwdriver. This is, like... my childhood."

The smile continued to bloom on his face, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "You are the coolest person I've met this month!" He exclaims.

He shifted, settling beside me.

And then - soft, unsure - he reached over and pulled the blanket a little tighter around both of us, his arm brushing mine.

"You don't mind?" He asked.

I shook my head. "No. I'm good." I take the next move with shuffling closer to him and leaning my head against his shoulder.

We didn't talk during the first episode. Not much, anyway. Just a few whispered lines, little gasps, shared glances.

But then a second episode started, and we didn't stop it - my phone charging long forgotten, just happy to stay with George.

Halfway through our second episode, he leaned in closer - his breath was felt on my ears as he said, "what was it about Ten that made him your favourite?"

That was it - the start of something.

We kept talking. About favourite episodes. About things we loved that no one else really got. About childhood fears and comfort movies, and what we'd do if we had a TARDIS.

As we spoke, we both moved closer to each other, George even moving his arm I leant against and draping it around me pulling me closer - but he didn't try anything. Just sat with me as we used each other for warmth.

At some point of the third episode, I must have drifted off. I woke hours later to find the lights have been dimmed in the room, a blanket tucked around me, and closing the door softly behind him with two glasses of water in his hands.

"You stayed up for me?' I whisper, taking the offered glass of water from him.

He sat down in the bed, placing his glass beside the empty tea cups. "Didn't want you waking up alone."

The softness in his voice did something to my chest.

So I stayed the rest of the night.

And then I kept staying.

Chris finished the story to the camera with, "we thought she'd vanished by morning. But she didn't, she sat at the kitchen bench with a cup of tea in her hand."

Max leans forward with a grin on his face - already knowing the answer to his question he was about to ask, "so...who was she?"

There's a pause.

George now realises what the plan between Chris and Max was - it started when George mentioned he was finally happy to go full-on public with his relationship, and now realises he has been set up so he can't back out.

George clears his throat.

"She's my girlfriend," he says finally. "Still. Going on one year together."

Chris whoops, and Max claps his hands in amusement.

"Oh, I never would have guessed." Max says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

George gives him a look. "Max you have literally met Y/N, I've just been set up by Chris telling the story." He says, with a chuckle.

Chris and Max go on to tease George.

George just smiles.

And somewhere, I'm listening to podcast once released - and still wearing that same hoodie I was given over a year ago.

I hope you all enjoyed this little one-shot. The idea came to mind when I was rewatching Doctor Who last week, and obviously is inspired by when Chris reveals the first time George bought a girl home.

See you next time,

mwah x

[stylessbean]

THE USELESS HOTLINE | g. clarkey

summary: george’s girlfriend goes on the useless hotline where she discusses their first date, princess treatment and shagging whilst parents are home. [18k+ words.]

pairing: reader x george clarkey.

notes: the second i finished this i had to get it out to you so sorry for any mistakes!!! i hope you enjoy! it’s long as heck but pod fics will be! i tried to squeeze so much stuff in 🤣 lmk what you thought! i’m so glad she’s done, maybe one day you’ll get a part 2 🥴 *also just a lil warning, mentions of spiking/hospitalisation* don’t forget to reblog! <333

“HELLO! I’m Max Balegde!”

“And I’m George Clarke, and welcome to The Useless Hotline. TikTok wasn’t working out for us so we decided to set up our own little business.”

“The Useless Hotline is a place where we help you with your queries no matter how weird, disgusting or embarrassing they are.”

“But it won’t always just be us! Sometimes, we’ll be joined by a special guest as an interviewee! Like today!”

“Woo!”

“And she’s already mouthing every word we’re sayin’, it’s almost as if she knows how things work around here!”

“—it’s almost as if she comes here every week to hear us say those same exact words!”

“It is!”

You smiled cheekily at their sarcasm, letting them do their bit before bringing you on. “—anyway! Our interviewee is here! Shall we bring them in?”

“Let’s do it, before they get anymore fed up waiting,” your boyfriend’s eyes flickered playfully beyond the camera, smile etching his face as he got up out of his chair to switch sides. You shook your head and pushed yourself off the table you were leaning on and walked over to his previous seat as they got ready, playing the jingle.

“Can’t I sit beside Max?”

“What? No,” George dramatically shook his head, “we are the interviewers here.”

“Why?” Max laughed.

“‘Cause I'm used to him being on this side, and I don’t like being by myself over here,” you laughed loudly, feeling isolated from the duo, you pushed your chair closer. “Can I?”

“No!”

“So!” Max cut in, making room for his co-host, “hello! Welcome! How are you!”

You ignored George’s eyes staring at you, trying to put you off and make you laugh. “Hi! I’m good, I’m good, happy to be here.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

“You should be.”

“Oh,” you broke at the same time as Max, neither of you able to be serious around each other.

“Introduce yourself,” George swooped in to save the day and rescue this interview, already trying not to facepalm.

“Yes, introduce yourself, what’s your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?”

“My name’s Y/n Y/l/n . . . I’m almost 22 . . . and I live down South,” you didn’t know why you were trying to hold back laughter, the question not even funny.

“She’s a Brighton girly.”

“I’m a Brighton girly,” you nodded.

“What’s that like?”

“Um, yeah it’s a very nice place to grow up.”

“Quiet?”

“I mean where I grew up, yeah, it was a nice, quiet place. Sheltered area.”

“Yeah, you give me that vibe.”

“Oh.”

“Stability.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he tried not to laugh, “um, I love Brighton, personally, I said I would love to raise a family in Brighton.”

“I mean it’s all I’ve known, I’d say the same, but then I said I would probably live there forever and then—” and then you met George and suddenly London had a more homey vibe to it. “I’m growing used to London. I don’t know. I’ll always love Brighton though.”

“And what do you do?”

“Not much!” George hit the table with his lame joke, but was met with the perk of your eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” you deadpanned, tucking your hair behind your ear, “I work in a nail salon . . and upload to TikTok sometimes?”

“—but you’re shit at nails and got sacked and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Max connected the dots.

“Yeah! Yeah, exactly.”

“Yeah! So!” The three of you looked between the other, not knowing what to ask next. “Do — so, you’re 22, are you finished with Uni?”

“I graduate soon.”

“Are you excited?”

“Yeah.”

Goodbye stress, goodbye breakdowns, goodbye referencing.

“Can I come?”

“Yeah, if you want,” you raised a shoulder with a smile.

“Who’s coming?”

“Um, probs just my mum and dad. Nan and Grandad, maybe. George, if he wants,” you nodded at him, feeling weird at the thought of having so many people want to be there for you.

“Are you going to go?” Max turned to him.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“I’ll be screaming the loudest for you from the crowd,” Max promised, shuffling closer to the table, “um, and what about school? You must have been good in school to have gotten into University, I’m assuming,” he laughed, realising he should have asked the other first.

“Yeah, school was alright.”

“Didn’t you go to an all girl’s school?”

“Yeah. Why is that funny? Why you laughing?”

“I’m not! Ummm, were you well-behaved in school?”

“Were you a goody two-shoes?” George mocked in a patronising tone.

“I was well-behaved,” you held your hand up to his face to block him out, “yeah I was . . I mean I like to think I was liked by everyone, I was never part of like . . groups, you know? Got involved in any drama.”

“Not a mean girl?”

“No, no, I talked to everyone, I kind of just minded my own business and . . got the work done.”

“Did your teachers love you?”

“Uh, obviously,” the three of you laughed.

“And you do nails, I don’t know why I’m trying not to laugh. Do you still do nails in Brighton?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, this is an exciting interview,” your boyfriend commented.

“Shut up! How long have you been doing nails for? Isn't it called the Teal Salon or something?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause the building is painted a mint blue, teal colour. Very Brighton vibes.”

“Was it your first job?”

“No, I worked in a nursery school and also in like . . a cafe-bakery thing when I was really young.”

“REALLY?!”

“Yeah, but only as a server. They didn’t let me bake or anything but like . . yeah. To help with the social skills – this interview is so exciting!”

“That’s what I’m saying—”

“Shut up!” Max interrupted, “we need to get to know our guest before we can jump into the juicy questions! Trust me! I’ve planned most of this interview!” He looked between you both, “now what —I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t do this with you - it’s like when Andrew— oh by the way! For those who don’t know ‘cause we didn’t say — y/n is George’s girlfriend,” the boys laughed again after realising they’d left out such a primal piece of information. “I feel like we didn’t establish that.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, so, you could say this is going to be a very biased interview, um, yeah — d’you want to get yourself a drink first? Are you gonna make me that cocktail you were telling me about?”

“Yeah, did you get the juice?”

“Yeah, I brought some.”

“Sure!” you grinned, spinning around to open the cabinet. “Is this my first task?”

“It is, you have to make us a really nice drink to help win us over.” Max watched you stand up and hunt for a certain bottle in particular, stepping on your tip-toes to check the top shelf, “it should be at the back.”

They watched your hand reach for the top shelf to feel around, looking at them confused, unable to locate it, bottles clanking and hitting off each other, making you panic and take a step back to see if you could spot it first.

There was an accident waiting to happen, “George you may get up and get her it, I put it so far back so no-one would pick it,” Max didn’t even get to his fourth word when George got to his feet and joined you at the cabinet, seeing your struggle. He stood behind you and saw the drink directly in his eyeline and passed it to you. “Here.”

“Don’t forget the mixer,” he added, “y/n, how tall are you?” He had to ask, amused by the height difference.

“I don’t see it.” George interrupted.

“5’5 but if you want specifics I say 5ft 4 and a half,” you peered below his arm to answer his question.

“So George has 6—7 inches on ya? In ya too—”

“—yay! Max can do maths!”

“Max don’t start, I haven’t even poured my drink yet,” you looked to the floor with a laugh, knowing what you were getting yourself into.

“It’s definitely not in there, Max.”

“It is, George!”

“WHERE?!”

“I’m not seeing it either,” you checked the other shelves again, your plan for making a quick and easy cocktail plummeting.

“Guys, it’s definitely in there, I remember putting it in my bag,” Max said from the desk.

“It’s not,” your boyfriend argued.

“It is! I swear I brought it in my bag!”

Either you and George were really lazy or the bottle was genuinely not in the cabinet and you were wasting time, but George took a seat in his original seat in defeat after 5 minutes of looking as you stopped searching also, unscrewing the cap on the bottle you did have to sniff the sweet liquor.

“Max, you find it,” the lid dropped to the floor.

“I put it in my bag,” he thought back as your boyfriend wrapped his arm around your leg to lean down and pick the cap up.

“Ruining my interview,” you took a seat on his knee while the blond grabbed his bag from off set.

“I swear I— OH MY GOD. I put it in my bag. It’s still in the bag,” he slapped his hand to his mouth, “SORRY!”

“Are you serious!?”

“You twat.”

“I am. I’m sorry,” he laughed, giving you the mixer he’d promised to pick up specifically for this occasion. “Ok, get to your cocktail making,” he slid his mug over to you, taking a seat again.

“It’s barely a cocktail, I’m just mixing juices here,” you free-winged the recipe.

“Oop, cheeky.”

“Yeah, you’re used to that love.”

“I’m leaving,” you set the pineapple juice aside, “Are you wanting a cocktail?” You looked to George.

“Um . . no. I’ll just have a beer.”

“A peroni,” you mocked, adding the next fruit juice as he leaned to reach for his drink, “here you go, darling!” you slid him the drink.

“Are you gonna have one?”

“No, I’m just gonna have one of these VK Vodkas,” you grabbed the cherry one, “where’s your keys?”

George got up as you finally cleared the table and got back on track, assuming the majority of that would be cut. You passed him the drink and he opened it with his bottle opener before returning to his seat next to Max, getting comfortable again.

“Is there a mug?” you asked.

“Shit, we did actually order you your own mug, we ordered one for Andrew but they didn’t come in time. They were actually quite funny,” Max laughed, looking around for one.

Let’s just say it went very well with George’s.

“Give me his mug then, I’m not drinking out this bottle,” you reached for the Daddy mug. “Not getting a . . cold sore.”

“HERPES!”

“It wasn’t herpes,” you groaned.

“Is there a difference?” Max asked.

“Yeah, herpes is through sexual contact . . I think. Cold sores can be caught like . . drinking out a dirty glass or from the sun or even if you’re really stressed. Or kissing as well.”

“And you got a big dirty cold sore before.”

“George gave me one,” you poured your drink.

“I did not give you a cold sore!”

“He gave you herpes, that’s the title.”

“I DIDN'T!”

“You literally did but ok.”

“Listen . . all I’m saying, for those that don’t know – early on in our relationship—”

“I didn’t give you herpes.”

“—is that George,” now you were laughing, “when George went to Ibiza for a week for a brand deal, when he came back, the first night, I stayed with him and was obviously,” you shrugged to the camera with the empty bottle, “kissing him and stuff–”

“—don’t say ‘and stuff’—” he grimaced.

“—and by the end of the next day, I had a big, ugly cold sore on the top of my lip, so,” you passed the empty bottle to be put in the bin, “I’m not accusing you of anything but I mean . . what hoes were you getting with in Ibiza ‘cause you passed your disease back to me.”

Max was laughing so loud, always loving that story because of the exact reason is sounded like that. “You did think he cheated on you!”

“I said to him who was he doing over there ‘cause he messed up my face,” you laughed, pushing your chair into the table. “Was wearing a covid mask in work for the next week.”

“I’ve never even had a cold sore myself! So,” he hit the table dramatically, also laughing because he knew it sounded exactly like that too. You knew back then though he obviously hadn’t dreamt of doing that, and that you probably had just drank out of a dirty glass or something.

But it was funny trying to blame him. “Passing your infections onto me.”

“I didn’t give you anything, what are you talking about?” He shook his head, feeling flustered as he rubbed his eye.

“Yet,” Max perked a brow at the camera.

“. . no.”

“No, Max.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah . . . so your ‘Starter kit for dating George Clarkey’ will consist of cold sore cream, some CeraVe moisturizer and birth control.”

“HA! Is that the starter pack?” Max laughed.

“Yes! The CeraVe is for the bloody dry skin you get from his beard,” you looked at him across the table, “I have quite sensitive skin and when his stubble starts growing back it pricks my skin and can give you Beard Burn? Beard rash? Which is why I always want him to shave! . . . I mean I think he looks better without it as well,” you gushed to the camera, “but I am the type of person who has the luck to get that. I would get red patches on my face and have to put that cream on, so there you go. Moisturizer for that, cold sore cream for the herpes he will give you and a pill soooooo—”

“So he can hit it raw.”

“So it postpones your period and he doesn’t need to deal with your complaining,” you tried, blushing trying to ignore the crude comment, “boys have it so easy.”

“OH HERE WE GO! Not even properly into the podcast and she’s already complaining!”

“Shut up,” you smiled at him.

“Fun way to kick off this episode, we’ll get into it more later but let’s start from the beginning, why don’t we?” Max announced, lifting his mug, “oh, cheers!”

“Cheers!” You clinked glasses.

“Thanks for coming on. So many of you lot asked for y/n and we delivered so, I want a big fat thank you in the comments!” Max sassed the camera, “anyway! This drink is really nice, y/n, by the way, I really like it, thank you. Um — yeah! Sorry! Anyway! Y/n, you date George, is there a reason you didn’t reveal that when I told you to tell us about yourself? Are you embarrassed of him?.”

“Oh yeah it’s humiliating,” you raised your brows, “no, of course not, I don’t know. I mean I feel like everyone already knows that. That is actually what I’m better known as, I should have said that first. George Clarkey’s girlfriend.”

“You were the Nail Girl first, now you're George’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah. Talk about downgrade.”

“You’ll get your own name some day,” George quipped, pursing his lips.

“Thanks. I know it’s coming. I was talking to that about Andrew the other day, how people know him as Andrew now instead of your boyfriend,” you looked at Max, “I miss Andrew. I wish he was here.” You laughed.

“Yeah, if you didn’t know, Andrew and y/n literally sit over there and listen in on our podcast like every week.”

“And sometimes get bored and wander off,” George added.

“Yeah, when we start laughing too loud and you tell us to leave.”

“Yeah, after his episode, the people only thought it was fair you get on and here you are. They want the leeches, leaching off our fame,” Max fakely tucked his hair behind his ear. “So tell us what that’s like! How — do people know how you two met?”

You looked at George with squinted eyes as he mirrored you, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Oh my God, it’s so long,” you facepalmed.

“Heard that one before.”

“George,” you shut down his joke, too busy thinking of how to tell your story, “so—” now you couldn't look at George because you’d start laughing again because you knew how much you both would slightly cringe when explaining the start of your relationship.

“‘Cause it was a bit all over the place, wasn’t it?”

“It was complicated a bit at the start,” you threw your boyfriend a look. “No, we – I found out about him online, obviously,” you looked to the camera, “and long story short—”

“—she’ll end up telling the long story anyway.”

“Shush! Basically I had gotten invited to these events where there was Tiktokers, that’s where I first met Grace. Grace knew who I was, or she recognised me anyway, got talking to her, got close to her ‘cause we kept getting invited to the same beauty events. So I started to follow her and like, the group surrounded around her – you were popping up, George and Joe were popping up – I knew who you were beforehand,” you held your hand out to Max, not needing to mention how it was a Disney-related video you’d discovered him on, “Joe and George I knew from Gogglebox and I was just discovering this whole different side of Tiktok ‘cause I found it very American-based before and didn’t know there were UK influencers using it— anyway! Started following her friends and that’s when he popped up,” you held your hand out to your man who smiled. “And . . I liked the look of him.”

“You fancied him.”

“I thought he was really funny, yeah, and like — but this was the thing: I knew he was good-looking and his videos were funny. I liked what I saw, like he just seemed so lovely! But also in some videos, it was like . . I sussed him out straight away.”

“Sussed me out?”

“I knew exactly what type of lad you were,” you jabbed your finger into the table, “I was like he is the type who is liked by everyone, and loads of girls fancy him, and he acts awkward and can’t talk to women, says he can never get a girlfriend when really — we all know they could get a girlfriend if they wanted to.”

“What do you mean—”

“YES!” Max clapped in agreement.

“I was like ‘he’s definitely the type who complains he never gets girls’ — not in a pick-me way but just acting like girls wouldn’t be interested in him — are you joking? He’s got the height, he’s got the build, he can make you laugh,” you unmeaningly complimented your boyfriend, “like if he wanted to . . you know . . if he really wanted to get with someone— ”

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know what I mean, though? Sticking to this narrative where he couldn’t get girls and he’s just — I just knew what type of guy he was — not that it meant I didn’t like you for that but like,” you gave him a c’mon look, “I was just not entertained by that narrative, ‘cause I felt it was very much lies.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah! Comments were flooded with wanting a bit of him!” you agreed with Max. George was watching you both with the most displeased look ever, which made it even funnier. “ANYWAY! Long story short, he followed me, would like a few of my things, then unlike them,” you gave a clueless look to the camera, “don’t know what that was about—”

“—oh here we go.”

“Why did you like and unlike them?!” Max shouted, hearing this 100 times.

“‘Cause I—” he laughed ‘cause he knew it sounded bad, “I dunno! I just thought it was weird, she’d post her little beauty . . nail stuff and—” and then he felt awkward and you’d think he was weird for liking that kind of content.

“Were you scared you’d give the wrong impr—”

“—ANYWAY! Giving me mixed signals, I was like ‘right you either like them or you don’t mate’, then he replied to my story once—” you raised your brows at him with a smirk.

“I reacted to it,” he corrected, “with an emoji.”

“Yeah - DELETED THAT TOO,” you gave another look at the camera.

“WHY?” Max wanted to cringe at his co-host.

“Changed my mind.”

“—because I was going to reply to it when I got home ‘cause I was in work at the time and . . you know, shoot my shot; finally start conversation to get to know him — NO. Deleted it, so I was like ‘you know what, I don’t care anymore, i’m over it.’ I don’t care—”

George was laughing so much into himself because hearing it out loud every time got funnier each time, hearing from your perspective. “—to cut short, we then matched on Tinder, not sponsored by the way—”

“Yeah! We matched on Tinder! So I knew he liked me . . I mean he swiped right, so he liked what he saw,” you looked at Max as if to confirm that theory, “so then met at a event and he asked me to do an interview for him—”

“—and she said ‘no, piss off!’—”

“I did not, George, be for real,” you tilted your head at him, “but the way he said it . . you said it so . . like you were too . . I dunno—”

“Great explanation.”

“Forward?”

“No! He was . . I don’t know! Just the way you said it, I was like no, why are you confident I’m gonna say yes? Like you said it as if we w—”

“Pretty sure all I said was ‘care to do an interview for me’ but ok—”

“NO! You said something like that! You were like ‘do this for me’,” you mocked a wink he didn’t do, “and I was just,” you were shaking your head, “like I knew you fancied me or liked me in some way and I wanted you to acknowledge it! I thought this is his chance to like . . compliment me and own up to everything — and you straight up acted like I was your mate.”

“Your mate?!”

“George you were! You said it—”

You bickered for the next 4 minutes, Max laughing in between, watching you both talk like a game of tennis how his head went from left to right. “This is brilliant.”

“-but that’s how I took it!”

“How do you know I meant it?”

“—i know because I know what yo—”

“But you didn’t know how—”

“You say this—ANYWAY! I called him out. He asked me a question about icks or whatever and I basically said. . you,” you looked at him, lips perking up in a smile as you joked. George lifted his brows at you, knowing fine rightly that was a lie.

“Well I mustn’t be that much of an ick if you agreed to go out with me the week after.”

“Well.” Touché.

“That reminds me of how I almost stopped talking to Andrew ‘cause the first he sent a voice note, he was doing an impression of a pig.”

You laughed out loud at the reminder of the funny story and nodded, “yes! That’s the vibe I was on, I was like . . . mmm wait.”

“. . . ‘Cause I asked you for an interview.”

“Because of the way you asked me, George.”

George’s smug smile grew as he watched you get defensive over the whole scenario - and he validated your point completely - he was too knobhead in asking.

“Do you still have that video?” Max asked.

“Yeah.”

You perked your eyebrow up because even you had never thought to wonder that.

“Would you ever post it?”

“Nope.”

“You’d never post it?!” Max exclaimed.

“No,” he said in an obvious tone.

“I haven’t even seen it,” you spoke up.

“Are you serious?!”

“Yeah,” George laughed, “and it’s staying that way.”

“But that could be like, your How I met your Mother moment!”

“I have it saved, I just won’t post it unless, like . . anniversary or something. Maybe one day, never say never but . . definitely not now. Still too fresh,” he coughed, forever too embarrassed to watch it back and see him get owned.

Max barely rolled his eyes and shook his head moving on, “so where was your first date? Can you explain that?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, half-laughing because yet again, it was another dreadful story to tell.

“Jesus.”

“What?! I thought your first date was good!” Max laughed. He knew full well, the ins and outs of the story, he’d had to deal with George’s anxiety the day after he’d come to him with the fear he’d ruined it. “It can’t be as bad as mine and Andrew’s, come on now. We drank Vodka under a bridge and fucked, how can— actually, get fucked! That’s a good date if I ever heard one! We’re still together and just bought a house, so!” He raised a sassy shoulder at the camera.

You laughed and looked at George, “great, we’re not gonna last because we didn’t get drunk under a bridge and . . .”

“And what?” He knew. He knew you wouldn't say it. “And what?” He repeated, confused.

“George.”

“What?”

You sat with your eyes closed, cheeks shading pink as a smile took your face, “no.”

“This is actually funny ‘cause you can expose George and any kind of details to our weird viewers who for some reason think he’s fitter than me,” he held his arms out. “Is he packing?”

“For what?”

Even George silently rubbed his head at the joke flying over yours as you wondered where he’d set his suitcase.

“Tell us about your first date!” Max moved on.

“Ummm. Our first date didn’t go the way I wanted it to go—”

“Oh. Alright,” your man acted offended.

“NO! Not like—” you laughed again, feeling like this interview was going to be an utter shambles. “It was good! But when I look back on it, I think that . . I wasn’t . . in a way I just felt like I wasn’t myself? I wasn’t on my best behaviour, per say. Like there was so many things I reflect on and I’m like ‘oh my god, I am so lucky he didn’t see me this way or think this of me.’”

“Why?!” Max laughed. “What do you mean?!”

“I mean like . .” you thought back to the night that both felt like yesterday but also years ago. “So for starters . . we - we were drunk at times,” you looked at George as you felt like you’d finally admitted this to each other for the first time. “Like, we get dabbling in and out of sobriety, one minute we were sober, one minute I was a drink away from treating it like a night out, so I kept trying to pace myself but I-I definitely felt the weight of a few drinks and if definitely had an effect on my confidence.”

“What’d you mean? You’re confidence was great?” George looked at you lost.

“YEAH! ‘Cause I was four pints gone!”

Max laughed loudly. George did too, kind of relating to that statement himself as he knew he’d needed a drink or two to have been able to have even spoken to you.

“Then I was showing off, doing cart wheels, smashing glasses, talking nonsense to him in some random person’s room—”

“Yeah! This is what I agree with! I didn’t like the fact Arthur and Alex and such all ended up being with us. And you!” George pointed to the blond, “I thought you were gonna take that the wrong way as if I’d just invited my mates out!”

“Was I there?!”

Now that he’d said, you’d realised Max had been there, “yeah! You were!”

“What? I don’t remember that at all!”

“Neither did I until you said!” You looked at your boyfriend. “Yeah! You were!”

“Y/n I introduced myself to you for the first time like . . at dinner.”

“-and you’d met her before that as well, so.”

“Shut up, no I didn’t!” He looked at George, “how?!”

“At the fuckin’ event I met her at,” he stated.

Max sat with his hand on his mouth, in deep thought as he tried to recall the first time he’d spoken to you face to face. “Was I drunk?”

“Yes.” You both answered in sync.

“On both occasions?”

“Yes.” You both repeated.

“Oh my God, get fucked,” he gasped, “really?!”

“Yeah!” You laughed. “No but I told you I didn’t mind that,” you addressed George again, “we’ve been over this, but I felt bad about that too ‘cause I basically told you to get them out—”

“That’s not the only thing she told you to get out that night—”

“Oh my days,” you shook your head at him amusedly, “no but I thought that too, and then . . just when I think of everything I did, I think ‘no! Why did you do that!’ Even kissing him, beforehand I was like ‘y/n, if it goes well, don’t be afraid to give a little kiss. A little peck’ — no. I was a whore on that train platform.”

Max and you laughed out loud while George shook and dropped his head to hide his face at your take, “NO! I don’t know what happened! Couldn't get my leg up and around him enough! My skirt - oh my god my skirt was a nuisance the whole night, it wouldn't stay down—”

“Huh, clearly.”

You opened your mouth but closed it knowing you’d just laugh, “-no, it wouldn’t stay down—”

“Wasn’t the only thing unable to stay down—”

“Ay up.”

“I KNEW you were gonna say that!” You looked amused at your boyfriend biting his tongue after making his little joke. “What was I talking about?”

“About you being a mega slut,” Max snapped his finger.

“Oh yeah! So even kissing, the next day I was like ‘who the hell do you think you are?’ I can’t even remember if there were people around, I don’t know—”

“Y/n, we didn’t shag in the underground,” George piped in.

“—WELL it felt to that extreme for me ‘cause I was barely planning on going in for a kiss and then—”

“–and then she had one too many beers and- weren’t you drinking beer?”

You cringed again, hiding your face in your hands, “yeah I was drinking flippin’ Guiness.”

Now it was George's turn to laugh because this would be a memory he would never forget. “YES!”

“But I put them in Martini glasses so they looked like Espresso Martinis,” you peaked through your hands awaiting Max to laugh some more at you. You were convinced some of the crew were laughing as well. “‘Cause I took a craving for one, it must have been when everyone was posting about Baby Guinness or something and I wanted a proper pint and I don’t know! I just didn’t want him to think I was like . . some weirdo — who craves a Guiness?! Didn’t want him to think I was like,” you could not tell this story with a straight face, the laughs and giggle slipping out of you between every word, “a pick-me like ‘oo, I’m not like other girls, I drink beer’ whatever, but then I didn’t want him to think I was spiritually some frickin’ 50-year-old man—”

“Spiritually a 50-year-old man,” they laughed at you as you deflated to a facepalm, cheeks pink and sore from smiling with embarrassment.

“Yeah, it was just . . not how I would have liked it to have gone but . . here we are.”

“But it worked out.”

“Yeah, I was just scared I’d given an awful impression ‘cause I did really like him, and I wanted to prove I wasn’t . . that.”

“Aw, bless. And you did get to prove you weren’t just a Martini-drinking liar.”

“Yeah! The one after was much more . .”

“Orderly,” George announced.

“Yes, orderly. The first was fun but we just . .”

“It wasn’t us.”

“Yeah. I mean it clearly was but as a first impression on a date, I would have never— George, we didn’t even go to dinner, did we?”

George laughed even more as he thought of that, “no.”

“Like we didn’t even go to dinner,” you spoke with your hand out, laughing with his co-host, “we went to mini-golf but didn’t make it to dinner.”

“Who won mini-gold again?”

“Oh shush,” you rolled your eyes, “literally made fun of me from the first date, critiquing my golfing skills!”

“Of course he was,” Max rolled his eyes for you as he spun in his seat.

“You know what, it was a good date, ultimately, I mean we came back for each other so we clearly weren’t that . . put off. I was just filled with anxiety after it, in case I ruined it, but it’s fine.”

“How did you ask her to be your girlfriend?”

George looked at you as you looked back at him, letting him tell this story, probably in a much shorter, time-saving way.

George asking you to be your girlfriend was nothing big, nothing extraordinary, but the most adorable situation you could have witnessed. You’d just came back from a day full of activities, very . . casual if you both. A little shopping, quick Nando’s date, running more errands, cute movie date, and a nice walk home at night through London, arm in arm in your padded coats, talk and laughing, smiling like idiots next to the other:

You both fell to his bed, too lazy to move, already making plans for tomorrow for all the things you didn’t get to do, wanting to get out of your jeans but not having the energy to rummage through your case for a pair of pjs. You didn’t know what triggered it but George started being all weird, you were just talking about how you’d had a nice week off work and how you got to spend the whole week with him, expressing your growing fondness of London, and he got all . . not George.

No wittiness, no sarcastic remark, he started fiddling with the bit of paper on his dresser, a receipt you’d both inspected like an old married wondering why their weekly Tesco shop was up £1.40. You watched him be all cute, rambling words, not looking at you, trying not to laugh himself because he knew he was being awkward. You knew it was coming. You knew by his face and the way he was behaving, and it was the cutest an funniest thing for the both of you. ‘I was supposed to get you flowers.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged.

And then he passed you a little makeshift ‘bouquet’ from the receipt: rolled up in a cone shape with more crumpled balls of paper inside as some flowerheads. It was actually impressive and . . genuinely romantic on his end? ‘Thanks,’ you beamed in awe. ‘What kind are they?’

‘Uhhhh Peonies,’ he went with your joke.

‘Aw,’ you beamed, genuinely adored by them. Anyone would have crumbled it and put it in her bin by now. But you looked at him in awe at how cute he was, but still could see him in his head. He knew you were looking at him over your shoulder. ‘Peony for your thoughts?’

He looked at you with his mouth open.

You expected that, ‘that was so bad! Wasn’t it!’

‘Did you just — did you just make a flower pun?’ He said in disbelief.

You nodded breathlessly, embarrassed to be laughing at your own terrible, terrible joke. You didn’t blame him if he didn’t want to see you anymore, but you had one opportunity and you took it. Oh well.

‘Be my girlfriend?’

The laughter stopped.

You looked at him with raised brows, not knowing you’d heard properly, but he looked up at you and both your expressions had curious yet nervous eyes. You could feel your heart swooning, seeing his little shy smile and his bloody thumb nail between his teeth he bit at anxiously.

You nodded, excitedly, mouth too dry to speak. ‘Y—are you serious?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughed. Of course he did, are you kidding?!

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughed, touching your leg to show his genuine ds. Now he was laughing at your behavior but you were so taken aback and flattered. That was the most wholesome thing you’d ever experienced, oh my god!

You loved him so much already.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

“I just asked her at home, it was nothing special.”

“BOOO! Y/n you deserve better, darlin’.”

“No it was actually sweet, it was casual but not too casual like . . it was cute. It was perfect. For me.”

“So what’s it like? I don’t mean to sound like a married man of 50 years, I been with Andrew almost 2 years but like, you’re both still in that firsts time period . . I mean how long have you been together? 7-8 months?”

“Yeah.” It’d be a year around Fall/Winter.

“I mean it feels longer, for me, personally,” Max already said, “I’m sure the same feels for you, i’m like is that it?”

“Yeah. It is weird because this time last year we didn’t have a clue about each other. November-December is when I started coming up to London a lot more and meeting everyone. Your podcast launch party was the first time I was around everybody, even his old friends back home and his sister, I met them but not as his girlfriend ‘cause we were playing it on the down low!”

“Oh yeah,” George smiled lazily as he recalled. I mean he’d introduced you, Max and Andrew to Emily at the same time and although he didn’t outright say ‘this is my girlfriend’, Emily knew her brother was up to something from the way he’d taken his time to bring you over. Also, from your shyness and his lack of description about who you were — it didn’t take much to put together the pieces a little something was there.

“I mean yeah, I guess you’re right, I feel like we’re just now . . growing out of those firsts.”

“She can now officially go downstairs in my house make herself a cup of tea without me needing to be there.” George looked at the camera.

It panned to show who was hiding your face embarrassingly because even though it sounded so silly out loud - it was true.

“I GET THAT THOUGH!” Max defended you.

“No, she was the biggest melt—”

“GEORGE! You have a cheek to say this when you were the same in mine!”

“NO! Y/n, you — even in the flat, you used to make me come downstairs with you to go to the kitchen when Arthur and Alex were in their rooms.” He deadpanned.

“I know but it’s a matter of principle, I don’t want Alex or Arthur walking in on me looking like I’m making myself at home, taking over the house like it’s my own.”

“. . . ‘cause you’ve made yourself a cup of tea?”

His sarcasm made you want to scrape out your eyeballs at times.

“I get that, you don’t want to make it look like you’ve made yourself comfortable in their home and them wishing ‘she’d go back to her own place’.”

“Exactly. Like especially in his Mum and Dad’s,” you defended yourself.

“Oo yeah, so how did meeting the parents go? Was that fun?”

“First time I met her parents, her dad!—” George interrupted to tell the story himself, “her dad—the first thing I hear her dad say the second we open the door is ‘fell into that bastard tree again, arms pissing blood, Susan.”

“Susan?! Is your Mum’s name Susan?!”

“No, I just said it ‘cause I didn’t want to expose her name, I dunno—”

“Wait, her Dad was just bleeding out when you met him?” Max laughed more.

“Her dad is nothing - her parents are nothing like her,” he stated, “I mean they are, but also not.”

Removing your face from your hands, you interrupted, “I told them to be ready! I told them we were on our way, I said be ready. Make sure the house is tidy, yada yada yada— step through the door and they both look so surprised to see me? My Dad’s just stood there in the hallway, in his bloody illuminous work jacket, sleeve rolled down, arm scraped with blood from the flipping tree he was was clearly to fight?”

Max laughed out loud.

“My Mum’s behind him with her glass of wine like ‘oh. Hello love!’ I’m mortified, I’m thinking ‘have these two just seriously forgotten about what we were doing today? The thing I've been texting them, reminding them about the past week to be prepared’ and this is how it goes.”

“Chaotic greeting.”

“I liked it ‘cause I was obviously shitting myself,” George looked to the ceiling for a second, thinking back to the anxiety he faced the entire journey. “I was mentally preparing myself in my head the the whole time. She was obviously being all ‘no my dad’s cool like you’ve nothing to worry about, they’ll really like you’ — the same thing everyone says, but I was like no. No y/n. Don’t take this in a bad way,” he held his hands out defensively as you perked a brow at him, “but judging you just by your mannerisms and-and the way you say things when we first met—”

“—I’d expect your parents to be very . . classy people.” Max gave his 2 pence. “Like I can see where your going with this — I imagine your parents would be the same, actually,” he looked George up and down, “posh boy.”

George understood. “Yeah, I fully prepared them to be like . . reserved.”

Reserved?

“And like . . solem—”

Solem?

“Uhhhh,” he nervously laughed, “yeah. And then we walked in and your dad said ‘that bastard tree got me again’ and the tension was already broken ‘cause I got to see what he was really like. And then he proceeded to tell me his struggles trying to chop down the trees out your back garden and how he was fighting with your neighbors because they wouldn’t give him permission to cut down the one in their garden and him proceeding to say he was gonna do it anyway in the middle of the night and make it look like it was the wind.” He rambled.

You laughed and laughed because that was exactly true. Max was baffled to hear this and completely amused at the information of your very reckless father. Nothing like you at all! “What?! Your—your dad?”

“Her Dad is nothing like her!”

“My dad is the type of dad who . . got arrested when he was my age whilst I . . never even got a detention in school,” you riddled off.

“NO!”

“Yeah.”

“Shut up! Where’d you come from then?!”

“This is what I’m saying!” George turned to him.

“Yeah. I mean he’s still like me in some aspects, but . . yeah, he’s that type of dad.”

“What about your mum?”

“My mum is more like me I’d say?”

George shook his head.

“George yes she is!”

“She’s not, she’s more laidback.”

“She’s like a 50 year old woman, she doesn’t care about certain things the way I do. They don’t care how they come across at that age,” you squinted your eyes.

“Your mum is like you in the way she speaks and mannerisms but like . . she’s-she — put it this way: she literally had me talking about . . your thongs in the living room.”

You facepalmed with both your hands with a slap.

The boys laughed at your easy embarrassment as you recalled how your mother had in fact, brought up your quote-on-quote ‘skimpy underwear’ in front of your new beau. Complaining whilst saying she’d done your laundry and left a pile of the ‘strings’ on your bed. George laughed, and she nodded at him: ‘aren’t they! They’re like bloody dental floss! I’m surprised the washing machine hasn’t sucked them in yet!’

“She’s a comfortable person.”

“She just doesn’t—I don’t—if I can sum my mother up: I am more of a ‘mum! close the door!’ person while she is a ‘oh we all have the same bits, y/n’ type gal.” You mimicked her perfectly. “And then I’ll probably be that at her age with my daughter and the cycle will continue, but for now . . no. Let me hide my bits.” You laughed across from Max.

“That is such a perfect way to describe your dynamic,” he was impressed.

“Yeah. But yeah, she literally brought up my knickers to him within an hour of talking to him—”

“She strikes me as that mother who is like ‘oh well I know he’s seen your knickers before!’ or like ‘we all have sex, y/n!’”

“Yeah! And it’s like calm down!”

“Yeah! I get her vibe,” he smiled.

“Like there is a time and place.”

“That’s so fun, though. I mean I met your mum. And so did Andrew, actually, not too long ago.”

“Yeah,” you laughed.

“Legend. But we’ll not get into that,” he wiped his eyebrow.

“The dog approved too.”

“Oh yes! Your dog! What’s her name again?”

“Guess,” George said, poking fun at you. “Guess what she named her.”

“Isn’t it like . . Princess or something?”

“No! Her name’s Roxy?!”

“Like from Eastenders!”

“. . . yeah.”

“Mongrel.”

“DON'T EVEN ACT like you aren’t obsessed with her. George doesn’t know how to act around her, I swear, he doesn’t know what to do first! You love her.”

He couldn’t even lie ‘cause he did - he loved that dog. He was a little obsessed. “He used to think I was weird being an only child ‘til I found out he’s never had a dog? Never had a family pet?! Sorry but that’s even weirder, love. A red flag even.”

“Uh, had a hamster.”

“Very different from a cat or dog. I’m gonna top up my drink,” you grabbed a different tin. “But yeah she approved. She’s obsessed back, to be fair.”

“She’s actually such a good dog, she’s so good?” George clearly showed his lack of never having a pet. “She walks so well and runs with me when I take her out?” They were like 2 kids.

“Yeah, you’ll be able to take care of her no problem if we were out of the country or something, she’d love it,” you awed, missing the Beagle. “I bought her a new collar the other day.”

“What colour is it, pink?” George mocked you, already pulling up pics on his phone he’d taken of the pretty dog.

“. . yeah.”

What was the point in a girl dog if you didn’t have her in pink collars, leads, bowls, beds and bows?!

“She is cute. Probably more liked than my dog,” Max laughed, thinking of his little, old dog.

George continued scrolling through pics, distracted. “She loves me.”

“She does. He takes her out all the time and tries to get her to sleep on the bed but I don’t let her.”

“So you don’t love her that much,” he quipped.

“I’m not getting dog hair on my bed! And she takes up so much room!”

“Don’t love her.”

“And what about George’s parents then, how'd that go? I assume they hate you, like everyone else because . . well you’re just the worst. Miserable bitch.”

George was laughing, rubbing his eye but hit co-hosts arm as well. “Shut up.”

You responded with a shy laugh, “I mean I think they like me, I like to think they like me as I have been welcomed endlessly back to their house and invited ‘round every chance I get. And also been included on the family holiday in the Summer.”

“Have you!” Max awed, “that’ll be fun! You didn’t tell me about that!”

“Was only booked like last week.” George shrugged.

“Aw! How fun! So with your Mum and Dad? And sister?”

“Yep.”

“And her boyfriend?”

“If he can get it off work, yeah. If not — Em can do the third wheeling this time,” he said smugly, knowing it had always been him to do it. I mean is there anything worse than walking behind your mum and dad holding hands and your sister and her boyfriend whilst you walk next to nobody.

“Oh my God, how you gonna shag with his Mum and Dad next door?”

“Jesus Christ,” George sighed.

“Is this part of the interview still?” You laughed.

“Yeah! That’s actually our deal breaker question,” Max cackled, setting down his drink from laughing. “Seriously though! Would you?” He wondered, “have you? Have you ever had sex with your parents in the house?”

“Here he goes off in one of his sidetracks,” you looked over at George who nodded in understanding.

“Why you both ignoring my question?” He tried to stand his ground, although laughing because you were right.

“Have you?” You backfired.

“I,” he paused, “I don't know. I don’t think I have, you know. Not with Andrew anyway, I don’t think. Maybe when I was younger and had no other choice. I didn’t have a house, I didn’t have a place to go to,” he laughed to himself. “Have you?” He asked again. “Have you? I feel like you would have to.” He turned to George.

“I . . would never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I would never,” he emphasised, throwing his head back.

“I dunnoooo,” Max teased, completely clueless to any truth in your answers. “I mean— wait.”

Your head was in your hands anyway..

“Because how . . . you literally live with your parents, and you share a flat, so— who— how,” he became very confused, “how do you actually?”

“I’m a virgin,” you replied.

He snapped his fingers. “Oh yessss.”

“Yeah. Duh!” You played on the internet’s little interpretation of you. I mean you might as well have been before you met George. “Are you kidding?”

“Sorry, sorry, that’s right,” he played along, “forgot.”

“Yeah, Max, we’re waiting ‘til marriage?” George said sassily, but his eyes told different as he looked playfully at the camera.

“I forgot! I’m sorry!” He tried to be serious. “Of course! You have your purity ring on right now.”

“Yeah.”

It was a cheap ring from Zara.

Besides, answering that question was difficult in itself. You weren’t even going to go into detail about how you forced George every time to come with you downstairs to the garage to use the toilet that wasn’t even a toilet — but it had to be done because you were certainly not getting a UTI!

But you weren’t going into Arthur Hill’s room either, in the middle of the night after getting your back blown by his roommate.

But God, George hated you for trailing you both down there:

‘Hurry! up! Come down with me now! Please, darlin.’

‘Can you not go by yourself?’

‘No! I’m scared!’ You’d squeak at the thought of going down that scary underground, ‘and my legs,’ you’d whine, laughing pathetically trying to guilt trip him.

He’d scoff, and you’d have the ultimate excuse. ‘Maybe if you had a proper bathroom, I wouldn’t need to do this’ you’d say, holding his hand in the dark as you’d go downstairs with trembling legs.

“Moving on. So the parents approved? And siblings?”

“Yeah. I mean I think so.”

“My Mum loves you,” George sighed like it was obvious and he didn’t need to tell you.

But you did like to hear it anyway.

“Em was a bit protective, she wasn’t as easy as your Mum and Dad, I feel.”

“Ooo, why’s that?! Spill!”

“Just because like,” I mean to save the full story for another day, you kept it short, “I don’t have a brother but I have my cousins and I know what it’s like when they bring someone home that you might be apprehensive about. I think Emily thought I was some . . stuck up, prissy influencer w—”

“You are.”

“GEORGE?!”

“Literally, spot on? Princess of the family- what?”

Your mouth hung open, not fighting your case.

“Are you the princess of the family?”

“IS SHE?!” George responded sarcastically, the joke noe turning serious, “you’re not prissy, stuck up-“ he quickly sidetracked, “princess of the family?!! Absolutely.”

You crossed your arms across from him and raised your brow.

But he took it as a challenge and mimicked you with his facts, “you are, Y/n. You know you are.”

“How?!”

“How are you not?! You’re,” oh he was getting heated, not irritated but maddened how you played dumb to this statement. “Only child, only daughter. First Granddaughter on one side, youngest granddaughter on the other,” he looked baffled, “what else do I need to say?”

Now you were smiling kind of bashfully in his direction, knowing he was completely right and you couldn’t even joke a lie. “Ok and what?”

“So don’t say you’re not?” He replied, the both of you looking across at one another.

“I don’t know how that makes me a ‘princess’—“

George just tilted his head unimpressed.

You looked back at him, sassily.

You aren’t the princess, right?

“Spoiled.”

“I am not!”

“You are,” he laughed. You just weren’t bratty.

In most ways.

“Are you saying i’m spoiled?”

“I’m saying you’re . .”

“You’re . . ?”

“Uhhhh what was the question,” he smiled, looking at his notes.

“George!”

“Favourited?” Max gave his 2 pence.

“Oh yeah! Em! You thought she didn’t like you.”

“No, I know she didn’t like me. Well, unsure of me is better put. What I saying before I was rudely interrupted,” you jokingly shot a look at your boyfriend who couldn’t have given less of a F, “I think she was very apprehensive, which I get and validate completely, I know what it’s like to have that protective streak over your younger relatives, especially when they have a heart of gold and deserve someone as loving as them. Trust me, there is nothing worse than your —I don’t have a brother but my cousin Dan is literally the closest thing I have— relative to bring home someone that is just . .” you didn’t even have the words, “appalling.”

“Dan, the ladies you bring home are wonderful, she doesn’t know what you’re talking about—”

“GEORGE!” You scolded and he immediately laughed because even he knew he couldn’t joke about that, “no! Don’t even! Like Dan knows he has bad taste, he attracts the worst— I’m sorry, I am not a judgey person, I see the best in everyone, do what makes you happy, but when you go on a date with a girl and she’s already expects you to get her a £400 Vivienne Westwood watch— I think you need to sit back and look at what you’re dealing with, mate.”

“YOU WHAT?” Max gasped, appalled.

“Some girls expect flowers on the 2nd date, some expect Rolex watches, you can’t—”

“George,” you sighed, not even giving him a laugh. “Yeah, we’ll not get into it. Dan, I love ya: sort your life out. But yeah! She was perfectly valid for holding back.”

“—but she did think you were an influencer with no proper job, stuck up and a bit prudish.”

“She did,” you agreed, “and I laugh at it now but I was genuinely upset about it. I didn’t tell you ‘cause you wouldn’t get it but I got it as a girl-to-girl thing? And then overtime it just . . she found out I did work and didn’t plan on being an influencer and noticed the effort I was putting in being with you, and–and didn’t threaten to break up with you when you tried to smother me under your disgusting sweaty armpit after being at the gym,” you grinned, thinking back on the memory.

Now Em couldn’t imagine you out of the family. She couldn’t comprehend how you had picked her brother. How her brother had landed you.

“Yeah you’re best friends now.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“She thought you’d take advantage of him.”

“Yeah,” you looked dead at the camera. “Me . . take advantage . . of him.”

George laughed out loud.

“What did Alex and Arthur say first time you came to the flat?”

“They were nice. The first few times I was obviously timid like, I feel like your friends approvals is such a big thing, but I think they liked me. I annoyed them at the start because I was so shy and just wasn’t breaking barriers and Alex especially was like ‘you were asking me to help you do a handstand on Saturday, don’t act all awkward now eating breakfast,’ know what I mean? He knew what I was like and didn’t get why I still felt shy.”

The house didn’t have the thickest walls either, not backing your sweet and shy facade anyway when you were up in your man’s room for the night.

“And then one day I did his nails for him, I just painted them black, but it was our bonding experience. And now I seem to do them.”

“And do you like London? Can you actually tell us like, what your routine is as a couple? Like how do your schedules work, do you feel like you see each other a lot or do you wish you had more time— run me through it.”

“In the beginning it wasn’t as much as it is now, because I was taking on clients for my coworker who was on maternity leave so I was working more than I usually do? And for that reason I thought like . . this wasn’t going to work out. I thought George wasn’t gonna have the patience and get fed up with us having to suit each other’s time slots, which I wouldn't have blamed him for. I was very apprehensive at the start. I really thought he wasn’t going to stick to it, ‘cause he was traveling down to Brighton more than I would be going to London, it’s a 2-hour drive, 3-hour long train journey — yeah. Fully expected him to give up. Which - fair enough. Whatever.”

You’d be crushed, let’s face it.

“Did you ever consider thinking of breaking it off?”

But George casually shook his head without missing a beat.

You tried not to smile so obviously.

“I said I wouldn’t do long distance. I thought an hour was long, two hours a hassle — I was still in Bristol not officially moved out, that's a three hour drive,” he emphasised, pushing his finger in the desk, “and I did that willingly, so. Don’t ever listen to what I say ‘cause I speak a load of balls—”

Max was already laughing, remembering him clearly say so about his thoughts on that almost a year ago.

“But yeah, we made it work. My shifts went back to normal, kind of runs well anyway ‘cause he’s usually doing stuff during the day anyway. I just stay over all the time and get the train back and forth. Although the only thing that annoys me is the time he chooses to go to the gym,” you couldn’t hide your expression as you spoke on the topic, “goes at stupid o’clock.”

George laughed, knowing how much that did get on your nerves. You were all for him doing what he needed to do, but I mean . . “I want to get into bed, tired after a long day, doing whatever we’ve done and then he’s like ‘right i’m off to the gym’ — no?! Get into bed so we can watch a movie or something and snuggle? I have to deal with him coming back all energised, messing about — throwing himself on me after I’ve showered and got changed into my pyjamas!”

He was laughing, knowing it was true as he thought of you in that sleepy state, fighting the agitation as he would try to annoy you by getting you under his armpit with his sweaty t-shirt, ruining the calm, relaxing aura you had created for yourself. But you always laughed whilst fighting him off. ‘I actually can’t stand you,’ you’d say with the biggest grin, finally pushing him away.

“Have you been to the gym together before?”

“We've done it like once or twice but I can’t be bothered. I’d be needing to go again, oh my days! I’ve got so bad at eating healthy, I have packed the pounds on since being with you,” you blamed George, “and I wouldn't even be annoyed if it mean I wouldn't need to buy new clothes! My skirt,” you dramatically paused, holding a hand up, “the skirt I wore on our first date, not even a year ago, doesn’t fit me anymore!”

Max clapped his hands with a laugh. “HA! Brilliant!”

“NO! It’s awful!” You cried, “I made a TikTok the other day of me trying to put it on and I don’t even want to post it! George is behind me, tugging it with his life, he is lifting me off the floor — and this skirt will not go past my hips.” You frowned amusingly. “Literally off the floor from the belt loops.”

“It’s so funny,” your boyfriend commented.

“It’s a joke! I’m so annoyed,” you groaned, “it’s ‘cause by the time I get home, I always just grab something on the way to his house. George, what am I like coming home from work with a bloody kebab or chippy under my arm? Every time! She’s getting beefy.”

“She’s getting thick is what I’m hearing.”

“I’m not complaining about anything,” George added, not knowing there were cons to you (as Max said) getting thick.

“It’s annoying ‘cause George, like every boyfriend, will eat twice as much as I do. On a daily basis. He’s a big boy. He eats my leftovers, if there is food left- he will eat it! He eats the scraps. He’s a bin! It’s boyfriend law!”

“It is boyfriend law.” George agreed.

“But he actually burns it off! I’ll bring a chippy home, he’ll ‘pick at it’ -he eats it all- and then will go to the gym to burn it off while I . . . don’t.”

But hey, wasn’t packing on a few a sign you were in a very healthy relationship?

“I’m with you,” Max agreed. “I’d need to lie down after a few goujons.”

“I’ve gotten so lazy.” You ushered.

”You are lazy, you literally try to nap the moment you get through my bedroom door—”

“‘Cause I been working all day and travelling all day!—”

“Yeah, and you don’t want to do anything ev—”

“Yes I do! I literally just need to close my eyes for 15 minutes—” you laughed, hating how he was calling you out.

“She comes in, falls on my bed, I’m usually editing or eating at my computer—”

“I step through the door and he’s like ‘what d’you want to do!’ and every time I’m laying there going ‘let me lie down a minute’—”

“She honestly takes a 15 minute break—”

“It helps! It’s all I can do before I have to get up and we do something!” Afterall, you of course wanted to spend time with him, you didn’t buy that train ticket just to sleep in his bed. But you did need a moment after a long day.

“She will not move ‘til she gets that 15 minute ‘nap’ which is basically her just closing her eyes but she’s convinced it is what gets her through the rest of the evening—”

You were laughing too much to interrupt him, finding it funny yourself. “I do?!”

“Is that your pet peeve? What’s your pet peeve about one another? Does the nail biting annoy you?”

“It’s not a pet peeve but it does annoy me a bit, the sight and sound of it is annoying but I don’t be raging. He looks at me and does it though,” you held your hand out to the very childish 23-year-old.

“What’s yours?”

George shrugged, biting his nails.

You shook your head at him, seeing his grin, “you’re a dick.”

“WOAH! Language please! This is a workplace!” Max shouted, “y/n doesn’t actually swear that much so that’s actually kind of funny but um,” he fake tucked his hair behind his ear, trying to seem professional.

“Uh, yeah she does!” George looked at him extremely confused, pointing to you, “what you—”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Yes she bloody does,” he looked at Max amused, “are you joking?!”

“I literally never hear her swear.”

George looked at you with him mouth open, offended by these lies. “I’m sick of this narrative—”

“I don’t?” You sided with Max.

George tilted his head, not even kidding around.

“I don’t?!”

“I can confirm right now such profanity does leave her mouth on a daily basis—”

“GEORGE!”

“IT DOES?! See!” He pointed at your uncontrollable smile, “you know yourself!”

“I don’t even,” you laughed.

“I get called a dickhead first thing in the morning!”

“GEORGE?!” How could he out you like that? Without context?

“SEE! You know!” He laughed, not letting you get away with that facade.

“‘Cause you are,” you lowly giggled, knowing exactly why you would say such thing. I mean who was a morning person? And who wanted to get woken up by the sound of their boyfriend waking you up in the most annoying ways possible?! Who liked to be held back in a headlock when you were bursting for that first wee in the morning?! “You are a nuisance going to bed with and waking up to.”

“I just know you bring out all the swearing from her,” Max typed on his keyboard.

“N—Wh—HOW?! What do I do?!”

“HE DOES! You’re so right!” You nodded with Max, “he provokes it.”

“So I deserve it?”

“When I’m barely awake and you’re tickling me to wake up, yeah, I’m not gonna be ecstatic, mate,” you deadpanned. I mean you always said it in a night-hearted way.

“Mate.”

Your giddy smile grew as he stared at you, nodding, knowing you knew you messed up.

“Probably my pet peeve, I’m not your mate . . I’m your employer,” he neatly tucked the papers in line, provoking a laugh out of his co-host.

“Yeah keep if professional please, leave whatever fights you had at home— what was your first fight? Have you had a proper fight yet?” Max let his curiosity get the best of him as he asked the question without overthinking it. “Is that too personal?”

But you and George were already staring cockily across from each other, knowing smiles on your faces the answer and full story sitting in your heads. You knew the camera would just cut from you to him with the silence.

“What’s going on?”

“You can answer that.” You piped.

“No you can answer that,” he smiled, directing his attention to something on the desk.

“WAIT! I remember your first fight!” Max smiled widely, “I remember this! Wasn’t it over—”

“Ah! Let’s not get into it,” George jokingly silenced him.

“‘Cause he knows it was his doing,” you teased, watching him refuse eye-contact.

You’d get the full story told one day, but for now, you could do with a short sum up.

“It was your fault to be fair—”

“It wasn’t even a fight, it wasn’t even an argument - it was more of an argument-disagreement thing where like, I was like, fine, I’m going home for a few days. I’ll not see you then,” you explained your side. “But it was over . .”

“Tell them what it was over.”

“It was basically over fake tan and make-up and mess— but! In my defence! I—”

“NO! You don’t get to explain your side!” George hushed you, moving his hands like he had 3-inch acrylics on.

You looked at him baffled by his sass. “It was your doing—”

“Of course it was, of course it was my fault,” George sarcastically rolled his eyes like he was so stupid for thinking it was anyone else’s. “Silly me!”

“No it literally was! Don’t even get on like that!” You held your arm out.

When you’d explain it, it would make sense.

But it was. It was his fault. His bad combination of loving a clean room and having a beauty queen significant other who doesn’t tidy up after her makeup routine ‘til the following days.

“Your fault.” He said after 2 minutes.

“George!”

George was hiding his grin in his hand while Max grabbed the photos from the printer to ask his next segment of questions. “So, here we have a few pictures we found on the internet. Some from your Instagram, some from yourmum’sfacebookwegotGeorgetoscreenshot—” he coughed, “and I just want you to tell us the story behind them, okay?”

“Ok.”

“Here is your first photo,” your boyfriend pushed over the page. Behold, it was actually two photos on one sheet, the first of you in a pink leotard, sitting in on your ballet class at 4 years old. The one next to it was you around 13, catching your Mum taking the picture before a recital you clearly could not be bothered to do, as you could see from your unimpressed gaze.

“Great.”

“Are you a ballerina then? You’ve done some ballet lessons?”

“Yeah,” you tried to say with pride rather than embarrassment. “Yeah, I did ballet for about 12 years, yeah.”

“I just wanna dance in the ballet!” Your boyfriend mocked the sound on TikTok.

“Wow! That’s impressive, what made you choose that?”

“I don’t know, just . . intrigued me I guess, at that age.”

“Huh. We have our ballet babe and you who did rugby, what a contrast in aesthetics?” Max compared you both.

“Literally, you couldn’t get any different,” you smiled.

But hey, what ballerina didn’t want a big rugby lad to pick her up?

“And did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, ‘course. As I got older, I got tired of it, the more ‘extreme’ it got, I suppose, new teachers getting more and more less empathetic— yeah, dropped it I think after GCSEs. But I did enjoy it growing up.”

“I’m imagining it to be like Dance Moms? Was it as extreme at that? Or is that reality TV just brainwashing my brain.” He embarrassingly laughed.

“Personally, my class and teachers were grand when I was younger - as I got older, I suppose it’s like anything, it’s more serious, there’s more pressure in perfecting displays when competitions came along and the fun is taken out of it. I was one of the nice ones, I wouldn’t say anything, but there were girls who would fight our corner and . . release their inner Dance Mom I feel.”

“Did they put you on certain diets and stuff?”

“I mean it wasn't mandatory but they did push a healthy diet.”

“I imagine your Mum to be an Almond Mum.”

Silence fell on the table as you looked to one another, your boyfriend eventually breaking it with a loud, uncontrollable tee-hee.

“Like your Mum gives me that vibe.”

“I get that. She’s not though. Thankfully,” you smiled, tilting your head at the blond. “But yeah. I look back on it and think of the cute memories and lifelong friends I made, but you just outgrow stuff. I mean it’ll stay with me forever,” you raised your brows.

“How high can you get your leg up?”

You looked at an excited Max while George leaned back in his seat, ready to observe the show, knowing his co-host would push you to show off.

“I wish I was a flexible queen,” Max watched with his chin on his hand as you stood up, showing the swiftness you had to crank you leg up ‘til your foot was by your head. A very lazy développé.

“OH MY GOD!” Max imagined the discomfort whilst his co-host laughed at his reaction next to him. “Right, let me try.”

Nothing was funnier than watching the blond hate on himself for nothing being able to to raise his leg any higher than the table top. “WHY CAN’T I DO IT?!”

“Sit down before you hurt yourself!” You and George were like parents trying to get him to stop. While trying not to laugh.

“WHY—” his croc kept hitting off the table when he dropped his leg. “OH MY GOD!”

“Look what you’ve started.”

“He asked!” You excused.

“Fuck you Mum for not pushing me to stretch every morning. Now look at me.”

You hid with your hand, not wanting to take part in his one-on-one with his mum.

“Flexible bitch. I’m sure that comes in handy.” He sassed, jealous, flipping his imaginary hair.

“There is nothing I can name that comes in handy,” you reassured.

“I can think of something,” he didn’t even want to look at you with his faux bitterness.

George swayed in his computer chair, eyes flicking from one to another, and apprehensively to the camera.

He could think of something too.

He could think of a few things.

“I’m talking about when George bends you into a pretzel—”

“Oh my god,” you dropped your gaze to the table, nothing else to say. George put his head in his hand, like he was already tired of him in this interview and it’d only just started.

“Did you like that one?”

“No! You just compared me to a pretzel!”

“Remember the days George used to complain he was as single as a piece of celery? Well now he’s a whore,” Max aggressively tucked the pages in line, “shagging machine—”

George was so confused but so amused by his tangent. “What the fuck?”

“I hope your Mum and Dad are listening,” he pulled the mic closer, “your son is a horn—”

“What is he actually talking about?” You chuckled across from your man.

“I don’t know because we’re both obviously virgins,” he got to his feet to get himself another drink instead of bothering you for one.

“How do you actually shag in your houses?” Max broke from his phase, the question still wondering his mind.

“Max, we’ve been over this already, we’re waiting!—” George leaned down to your mic from the drinks cabinet, speaking in a funny voice.

“OH SHUT UUUPPP!” Max groaned, “make me another?”

You laughed and grabbed the juice George was already handing you.

When you were all topped up and things were in order, you continued, “sorry about that, things got a little heated there because—”

“—because Max was bitter he couldn’t touch his toes.”

“Fuck you!” He snickered at his co-host, “anyway, next photo—” he passed you the photo of you standing at your grandparents front doorstep, covered up to your neck in dirty, mucky water with a 5-month-old Great Dane puppy hanging in your arm, also soaked from top to bottom in muck.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, inspecting the picture your Grandad took at the time. It had been the funniest sight ever had the pair of them laughed for hours that night after you came back with the dog.

“So,” you laughed as well, “this was me after offering to take my Nan and Grandad’s new dog for a walk at the time. He was like 5 months old and trailed me off my feet. Clearly.”

The two laughed at the photo, and you smiled sweetly, just as you’d done in the photo because it was funny having to explain to your grandparents. “This was only like a year ago. My Grandad got him and I came up to see them and took him a walk — but he went flying off his lead and jumped into this river seeing a swan or whatever -my grandparents are countryside folk-“ you looked to the camera, “and I had no other option than to . . go in after him!”

“Dive on in!”

“Yeah! He was a puppy! I don’t think he knows how to swim!” You inspected the photo again, the state of your hair in a bun and the specks of mud on your face. “He doesn’t know how to swim!”

“He’s big for a puppy.”

“He’s massive now. He’s huge.”

“Huh, calm down love,” George faked flattery.

“I don’t know how my Grandad walks him, George had to walk him the other week when we went up. He’s so strong,” you thought of the pup who thought he was a lapdog. “Just pulls your arm the entire time.”

“But you saved his life.”

“Yeah. I had to trail all the way back down those country lanes, looking like that.”

“Can you just imagine her, trailing back to the house, holding the dog like that, looking like that, smelling worse probably,” George laughed loudly, hitting Max’s arm, who laughed at the image too. Yeah, you’d definitely be a miserable bitch that 15 minute walk.

“Stupid dog,” you rolled your eyes playfully, knowing you’d take a bullet for him.

“Next photo, I picked this,” He passed the photo of you on a field a few years ago, game face on and thigh muscles on show as you played hockey with your team from school. “I picked this because you both did hockey, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” George agreed, watching you inspect.

“Yeah, I did hockey in school. I didn’t like it though. Well, I did but I was terrified everyday. I was waiting for the day the ball came flying at my face.”

“Hockey balls are no joke.” Your boyfriend said.

“Honestly. And girls are savages, playing with ones who clearly didn’t like you showed. They were aiming for that ball to crack my nose, you know what I mean. I hated it. Preferred my ballet.”

“Isn’t that weird you both did hockey though? Oh my! You’re so gonna be that couple who has the photos of you both young, leading up the stairs in your London Townhouse for your kids to say to their posh friends about like ‘oh yes, Mummy and Daddy played hockey in their youth, ballet and rugby’,” Max perfectly mocked a perfectly done snobby accent, the pair of you laughing out loud at his vision. “I’m serious! Mark my words!”

“It is weird. We do have so many coincidences, sometimes it’s like . . is it just a coincidence?” You looked at him wonderingly, “like, hockey for one — I dropped hockey a year before there was this match event with other schools, and George went to it, he was there,” you told, “like we both would have been there.”

“Or Uni.”

“Or the same with Uni! I didn’t even go to Uni at that time, but my friends, friends of friends even, they would go to Bristol all the time to see them, you know, Freshers ‘n that—”

“Big up Bristol universities,” Max did his famous hand sign.

“—seriously! And I am was in the same building as him, we both have photo memories on our phones from the same night!”

“And you never spoke?!”

“We never met!”

“It is weird, isn’t it? Out of all the universities,” George scratched his neck.

“Yeah! And we were in the same airport at one time, on the same day? Or that photo of you, your sister and your Mum walking along somewhere in Brighton! Spontaneous trip to Brighton, walking along the seafront - who took a picture with their Mum walking the same path an hour or so later?” You pointed to yourself.

“Shut up! You’re taking the piss!”

“I swear, we both have snapchat memories from that day, the times are so close, we figured it all out!”

“You could have walked by him and been like ‘oh my god, who is that fit stranger and why am I not married to him’ and now—”

“And now it’s come true! You were the random stranger I wished for,” you laughed, talking to George. He laughed.

“It’s scary when you think about it though. Is that just a coincidence or like . . was the universe just tryna shove you two together,” Max laughed skeptfully.

When he said it like that . . yeah. Was very strange.

You and George both eyed each other, wondering the same thing.

“Anyway, we’ll never know, next photo because we’re taking forever: what can you tell us about this one?” You grabbed the printed photo.

It was a picture your Mum has taken, to most likely show all her friends over Facebook, how strong you were as you lay as a barely 16-year-old, in a hospital bed.

“Ooo. So . . . this is when I almost died!” You clapped cheerfully, Max and George doing their best not to find that funny. Max failing more so as George already knew the story behind it. “Yeah, so, this was me, pretty much after I went to my first concert-festival thing? I went up to London with some of my best friends, and it was all good fun, we were having a great time, being senisible for a bunch of 16-year-olds, I mean we weren’t absolutely smashed ‘cause we knew we had to get the train home and stuff. But! I . . I got spiked,” you appealed to the camera, “and almost died!” You hoped not to sound so dull and depressing . . even though you had quite literally been hospitalised.

“Was it that bad? I mean I remember you told me this like just about but I don’t know the ins and outs. Is that what happened? How’d you get home? What do you remember?”

“So from what I can remember, is it was getting late and it was coming to an end, and I remember . . I needed to go to the toilet, but my head was busting and like, I wouldn’t move? I suddenly felt so confused? And sick? And just not okay. I remember feeling like I couldn’t open my mouth, like I couldn’t talk, and I thought maybe I just needed to be sick ‘cause I’d been drinking, not lots, but drinking nontheless,” you shrugged. “And then, apparently I just fell and my friends got me to the medical tent and then I was brought to the hospital in an ambulance and they phoned my mum and dad and . . yeah, it was really bad. It was scary for them. I was in hospital for days, like I was basically in a coma for a few days and everyone was convinced I was gonna die,” you said. It was weird talking about it with such a lightness to your voice, when in reality, your family were convinced there was a strong chance you wouldn’t make it.

But you lived to tell the tale ‘cause you were that betch.

“I laugh about it now and my family laugh about it but it really wasn’t funny at the time. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” George responded sarcastically.

“Oh my God, it was really that serious, ‘cause I know some people are spiked and don’t even realise until the next day! But yours was extreme.”

“Yeah. My frail teenage body couldn’t take it. I remember I woke up and being so confused and scared and my Mum just crying next to me when I looked at her. It’s weird ‘cause like . . it was a whole family trauma thing and I just . . didn’t feel part of it?” You laughed. “I remember by Grandad being like . . you’re getting a smack for putting us through hell this past few week. And my cousin Dan got me a card with ‘attention seeker’ on it.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah. I didn’t realise how serious it was until I got home again and was making jokes and my Mum was all ‘no y/n, we seriously thought we would lose you, don’t joke about that’ and explained the situation and started crying again and then I-I shut up.”

“That would be me. Is that why you’re so protective over her when she goes out drinking?” Max looked at George.

“I mean I look out for her whether she’d been spiked before or not, it’s — what’d you’d mean? It’s like a subconscious,” he answered confused. “I’m alert anyway incase anyone bothers anybody in general but obviously, yeah, I’m gonna watch her the most,” he explained. “Also she can’t handle her drink, so.”

“George,” you breathed, “yes I can.”

“Okay darling.”

“Did that not put you off drinking? Do you have any trauma from that?”

“Now I don’t, I mean I don’t let it stop me but I am conscious that it could always happen again. To anybody. I will always keep my drink tucked into my chest like I’m never stupid to go back to drinking an unattended glass, but no, I’m fine to go out and let loose. I wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, I didn’t go out a lot but I built my confidence back up from drinking in friends’ houses and stuff. It was more so my mum and dad — anybody in my family, really, that moaned when I told them I was going out or had an event ‘cause they always just go ‘OH Y/N! DO YOU HAVE TO GO? WHO YOU GOING WITH? ARE YOU DRINKING? DO YOU NEED TO DRINK? WATCH YOURSELF WONT YOU, OH PLEASE DON'T DRINK. I'M GONNA BE A NERVOUS WRECK THIS ENTIRE WEEKEND.’ But other than that, we move forward.”

“Oh my God, there you go. Bet you didn’t expect that from your favorite nail girl,” Max commented. “Couple Goals: when you both nearly die as a child,” he made a hashtag with his fingers as he linked how George had a near-death experience when he’d overheated as a tot.

“Literally! What was that about?!” you laughed.

“Has he told you that story?”

“Yeah! I found out really early on! He dropped it on me like one of the first times he was staying over! It was obviously Winter time and I, a girl of comfort, had my room all cozy for him coming, candle lit, electric blanket on—” that’s when you shot a look at the camera, “he came in, cold for once, and I said about the blanket— no. He was like ‘but you turn that off?’ and in my head I was like: obviously not, safety hazard who? That stays on love, but I was like ‘yeah . .’ and then he said how he would actually overheat. At this point, he’s already slipping his coat off, jumper too, warmed up already and he just said how he like almost died! I have never opened windows so wide or turned off - I think I pulled the plug out the socket and everything, I was shocked. And even to this day, I am so cautious of this—”

“It’s not even like a big dea—”

“It is George! I am so serious when it comes to him and heat, it’s actually a second nature now. He says i’m being dramatic but he’s almost traumatised me into it. I’ve bought a fan and all for my room whenever he comes over and keep a wireless one in my handbag and car and stuff for when we go out—”

“Aw, stop it,” Max couldn’t help but awe. “Does the fan not annoy you?”

“I hate white noise, like I am a dark room, sleeping mask, complete silence, type of sleeper, but I got over it pretty quickly with him. I’m used to it now, I probably do need it to fall asleep.”

“D’you think that’s why you’re funny about her drinking and you’re funny about him in hot weather?”

It was something you never considered, and looking across from each other inquisitively, it did make sense, although it was just a coincidence. “No, although it makes sense.”

“Hm. Much to think about. Ok, what about this photo to end on a higher note,” the last photo was one you felt so guilty of. It was actually from a TikTok, in the background of an interview your man had been doing on a carpet. You’d been waiting behind on him to get done before going to the bar together, being patient and being careful to not to get in the way.

However, in the TikTok clip, that had gone viral on your behalf, you had been filmed evidently looking on of his interviewees up and down with a perked eyebrow, a slightly sour look taking your usual cheerful face which was why it was so funny. You didn’t even remember doing it, your smile resuming seconds after, but you’d been caught lacking as a known star made her way over to your man to try and make him laugh.

“I can’t believe you,” you muttered, disappointed they’d exposed you.

“What’s – what’s going on in that pic, hmm?” George smiled smug, inching it closer to you.

“That—” you didn’t know what to say, laughing yourself, you shrugged, “nothing! That’s nothing!”

“Y/n is the fakest bitch about, you heard it here first. It’s all a facade,” Max slandered.

“NO!”

“—me when I see Ekin-Su. JOKING! Actually, bleep that, bleep that!”

You laughed out loud.

“Ok, well that was fun. I feel like you are ready to take on the final task of helping us with some queries from our lovely callers,” Max cleared the table while you took a sip of your drink.

You immediately scowled with disgust over the strength of the drink your beau had made for you. You were getting tipsy, you weren’t that drunk. “Fuckin’ hell George.”

“What?” He gave his confused look despite laughing.

“What do you mean ‘what’, you trying to kill me here,” you coughed more, pushing the mug away, “get that away from me, urgh! Daddy.”

“What’d you call me?”

“Grow up, you blimmin’ poisoning me here!” You grinned.

“Did we not just talk about her getting spiked?” Max joined in, laughing at the sight of you struggling to collect yourself. “He always does take the piss, he makes them far too strong.”

“Lightweights.”

“Shut up,” you coughed, “pour that out.”

“No! You have to drink it!”

“No! It’s not even nice!”

George tilted his head. “Y/n.”

“George, it’s gross.”

“Oh! I hear the phone!” Max called out. He smacked the button.

“Hello Max and George . . and potential guest.”

“HI!” You cheered, delighted to be included.

“Hopefully you can help. I’m calling because I have had a dilemma for quite some time now. I’ve been with my boyfriend for over a year now and I am sick to death of him trying to get me to get on top and do all the work every bloody time! No! I don’t want to! I know that’s not a good sight! And every time he lays there all annoyed with me after we’ve finished! Please help because I am on the verge of going celebite if this lad asks me one more time to get up there.”

You know when silence gives away your answer to something? It kind of tells you all you need to know?

Well, even if the silence at the table wasn’t enough, George’s struggling expression of holding in his laughter and you looking at him, warning him not to do it definitely was.

The camera would cut to you and cut to him once again, and then to Max who felt like he’d missed out on a joke. “Whaaaat?”

“S—” he couldn’t hold it, spit of a laugh coming out, “sounds familiar.”

“NO!” You shrieked.

Laughs filled the room, disbelief taking you he’d made such comment.

“What?” Max chuckled.

“I think she is perfectly valid and should not—”

“No, she’s lazy.”

“NO, she’s not confident in h—”

“No, her boyfriend clearly thinks she’s good enough otherwise, he wouldn’t keep askin—”

“NO, her boyfriend—”

“Listen love, you need to suck it up—”

“NO!”

“YES! Her wouldn’t boyfriend keep saying to her if neither of them enjoy it—”

“But she doesn’t!”

“‘Cause she thinks she looks bad and clearly doesn’t if her boyfriend—”

“Do you know how it feels to be sitting up, everything on show, rolls ‘n everything right in front of your face, my tits—”

“Y/n giving her input from personal experiences,” Max spoke into the mic, bringing you out of your passionate rant in the midst of forgetting you were making a podcast.

“N–no! I’m–I’m just putting myself in her position—”

“Clearly.”

That made you look at him with such an unimpressed gaze, it was almost funny.

You knew he was kind of right though.

“I mean I don’t know if I can help with this question, personally. I personally have never ridden like a cowboy, although I do have a pink cowboy hat for when that occasion may arise. Um, yeah, any further input? I mean it’s a growing experience for the both of you, and I’m sure you look banging from down below, darlin’.”

“I agree.”

“What? Do you know what she looks like?” You crossed your arms with a raised brow.

George shook his head with an unnecessary nervous laugh, “no.”

“So why?—”

“‘Cause I imagine her boyfriend wouldn’t keep asking her if he thought she looked ugly—”

“I think—”

“I THINK RIDE HIM LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW BABY!” Max mimicked a lasso in his hand as said pink cowboy hat was placed on his head.

“Let that be a message to all your apprehensive ladies.” George sent his encouragement, nodding to you to give your final comment.

“Giddy up.”

Max laughed, disrupting him, “sorry. Y/n, I can just . . imagine you through,” he snickered, “I know you’re hating your whole life.”

“Max, don’t even,” you laughed, thinking this was just you two conversing and it’d be cut from the pod, “I am like that Spongebob meme of him leaning on the wall out of breath after about 2 minutes!” You laughed hysterically, doing the pose. Now George was the one slightly covering his face, knowing those tins of Gin were getting to you.

Max cackled.

“Seriously. No cowgirl in sight, just cow.”

He really laughed at that, even the crew while George shook his head and looked at you trying not to join in with them, “you—this is the pink gin coming out.”

“It is! It is,” you agreed giddily, nodding at him, “you know it.”

“I do.”

“Same. Oh! I have an email come through!” Max typed on his keyboard. “Here you read it.”

George cleared his throat. “Hi Max and George, pretty big dilemma here. So, my parents were gone for the weekend and so I had my boyfriend over for the time being. They told me they would be back Sunday afternoon. Anyway, Sunday morning rolls around and I had woken up to the sight of my boyfriend between my legs. As you can imagine, feeling loved up on this particular lazy Sunday morning in a very empty house, we were soon able to fill the silence by shagging like there was no tomorrow. Got me kind of excited to get our own house someday as I don’t think I’ve ever been able to make that much noise in all my life. Probably would have been the best sex ever if I hadn’t found out 20 minutes later after going downstairs to make our breakfast, that I’d find my Mum and Dad standing in the kitchen, having a cup of tea, back early from their trip—”

“NO!”

“—Part of me is convinced it might not have been that bad as they both struggle a bit with their hearing, but the other part of me is convinced the neighbors down the street could have heard me. It’s been a couple days and I can’t help but feel like there is an unspoken silence. What do I do? Also . . wh— ho— do you know what that says?” He pulled a face whilst passing you the sheet.

“—also . . I too would ride George into battle— wow, completely fell for that one,” you crumpled the page up as he laughed.

“Fuck’s sake,” Max scoffed, “how does that make you feel by the way? All these people want to ride your man?”

“I was gonna say get in line but after today, you can bloody have him,” you stressfully rubbed your face, smiling across at him like he was your walking headache. He laughed at your answer, before going back to the question.

“I personally would not even risk shagging with the possibility my parents could come home any second, I’m sorry. As a teen, maybe. Not now.”

“Yes you would?” George dramatically scoffed.

“I wouldn’t! You would?!”

“I—I’m saying if you—”

“If your shagging — this is bad as it is, how do people have sex with their parents’ in the room next door? Even in the same house?! I don’t care if my Mum is downstairs, preoccupied with Eastenders! I don’t even think I could get in the vibe!”

“Yeah, it’s odd,” George bit his nail.

“And if you’re a loud mouth like her—”

“Me?” You pointed.

“No, our caller. But you too . . . Y/n you sound like you’re having an orgasm when you stub your toe, love,” he slipped out, laughing in doing so.

You covered your face for what felt like the 100th since being here, knowing you couldn’t argue.

George was giggling next to him, agreeing with him, “she actually does.”

“I DON'T MEAN IT! It just comes out!” you defended how you tended to let out quite sultry groans when you bung your knee on a table. They just sounded the same.

“It’s just a risky situation never worth taking. Unless you’re up for that risk: carry on love.”

“Let’s be honest: you’re never quiet enough. No matter how good you think you’re doing at keeping it on the DL,” George moved his hands, “you’re probably not.”

“Yep. Exactly.”

“Sometimes life is about risks,” you argued, playing with your hair.

The brunet looked at you. “And you . . biggest scaredy cat known to man . . definition of goody-two-shoes . . is willing . . to risk that.”

“And don’t you know it,” you winked before the three of you burst out laughing. “No! I'm joking!”

“I don’t think you are, darlin’” Max laughed, not having a clue.

“I can hear the phone ringing.” George swayed on his seat, legs sprawled beneath the table as he reached for it.

Max tried to calm himself down as you did, waiting for the last caller to come through. You stretched in your seat, not having enough room to do your legs, triggering you, as a person who sat at a desk all day with no room to stretch their limbs. “Oh my! George! Move your feet!” You tapped his foot with your shoe, moving him out of your space. “That’s my pet peeve! Oh my days! Anytime we’re sat down, he always has his legs stretched all the way over to my area!”

“I have longer legs?!”

“It’s annoying! Move your big ass foot,” you tried not to laugh ‘cause you meant it. “I sit like this all day,” you mimicked your work posture of tucked in legs and straight back, “so I wanna let go and relax and stretch but no! GEORGE! MOVE IT!” He kicked your foot back to make room for himself.

“This is my space,” he defended, looking in the viewfinder to see. Obviously it was not.

“You guys are matching today,” Max commented, seeing both white shoes on your feet. “Oh my god, George, your foot looks massive!” He made fun of him.

You put your soles against each other, your foot obviously making George’s appear bigger, “I actually had a different outfit planned but he didn’t lift my bag,” your scratched your head, “had brand new jeans, nice little top, pink cardigan and stuff — no,” you looked at the camera, “someone left all my stuff back in Bristol,” you observed the regular t-shirt and mom jeans fit.

“Tell Max what your Mum said about your change in clothes,” he giggled.

You laughed, “oh my, so I was back home for a few days and my Mum –she’s made a few comments like this recently -she’s not helping fight the Almond Mum allegations- I was sitting in the living room, I had leggings on, old sweatshirt,” you held your hand out to George, “no makeup on, hair was just thrown up, I was just chilling. I wasn’t going anywhere, like, sounds normal right? My Mum goes to me . . . ‘are you alright, y/n?’, I was like ‘. . yeah? Why wouldn’t I be? What’d you mean?’, I think she thought I was going through something?! she goes ‘well it’s just recently like, you don’t get ready like you used to anymore, like did you get showered today?’” Your baffled look had Max and George laughing, imagining the situation. “I was like ‘yes Mum, obviously?’ Sorry I can’t get my skincare routine done, dab the makeup on and lounge about in a pair of jeans. I’ve got showered but no, I haven’t curled my ponytail today! I’ve got a 3-hour train journey to Bristol hun! I’m not sitting in jeans for that!”

It sounded like since you met George, your mum would think you were slacking. . not wearing makeup around the house and in lounge clothes a lot more, but it was because you realised you didn’t need that anymore. What was the point? You needed to save that make up when you were going out with him, needed those nice outfits for your strolls around London. “Like I don’t have the desire to sit in a good outfit all day. I am constantly travelling back and forth, I need to save as much clothes as I can, I need to keep all my stuff together, I forget so much stuff in between houses. My straighteners are in Bristol, my makeup bag is in London and my skincare is in Brighton. I had to buy a toothbrush last night. You know what I mean? Why would I bring my makeup bag down from Brighton when I’m not going out and gonna be back in London in 2 days? My Mum thinks I’m going through something but it is ‘cause I just don’t have time to put makeup on on the morning!”

“She thinks you’re ugly without it,” George retorted.

“Also you just can’t be arsed.” Max shrugged.

“Well yeah! She sees me in a tracksuit two days in a row and thinks I’m giving up on myself!”

“She is sounding very Almond Mum to meee—” the blond sang.

“She’s not beating the allegations, is she? I was like ‘no mum, I am fine. Trust me, George is not depressing me, I just have to wear those jeans tomorrow when we’re going out.’”

“Bless her. She just thinks you’re a tramp now,” he snickered, hitting a few buttons on the phone.

“I was offended.”

“Hi Max and George. Potential guest—”

“Hello darlin’!” You smiled, sitting on your hands.

“—I need help. I’ve been with my boyfriend for almost 3 years now, my first proper boyfriend in my opinion as we’ve been together since we were 17. However, the other day we ran into this boy I used to see before I met him. Technically, he could be classed as my ‘first boyfriend’ as we were together for about 4 months and did all the firsts stuff, but I still would say my current boyfriend is my first proper relationship. Anyway, my boyfriend made a comment on how he was my first love instead of him and we began bickering and long story short, we’re kind of not talking. I guess I’d class him more like a friend than an ‘ex’ and it started the argument, like I wouldn’t not acknowledge the first guy if he were to say hello?! I don’t know. Who’s in the wrong here? Bearing in mind, this guy was erased from my memory until we saw him a few days ago. Is he being dramatic or am I not being a good girlfriend here? Let me know. Love you both.”

“Hmmmm,” Max tapped his chin, “wow.”

“First loves.”

“You’ll be experienced with this question, how does Andrew deal with you and your long list of past hoes?” George got back at Max.

“Are you slut-shaming me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he nodded jokingly.

“It’s hard because . . to me it just sounds like her boyfriend is annoyed that she just had something before him. Even though it was small, only 4 months.”

“Yeah, but it’s like . . four unnecessary months of something that gives her this excuse to still be friendly with the guy she had something with. I’m not defending the boyfriend but I see why he’s . . like . .”

“Insecure?” You raised a brow.

“It sounds like it’s not a big deal but it is a big deal to him because whilst you’re disregarding the important of ‘yeah, firsts are firsts but they didn’t mean anything’, he feels like that isn’t true? Am I right in saying that?”

“Yeah, I get you. But then that’s his problem,” you shrugged. “He’s just letting it affect him.”

“Put it into perspective: did you have something with anyone before George?”

“Mmm . . nothing serious.” You squinted your eyes, “like . . sort of seeing someone.”

“No, no, no, you can’t say that,” George immediately cut in, “you weren't boyfriend-girlfriend but you were more—”

“George’s jealousy is showing, this is why I can’t talk about this,” you spoke into the mic like an ASMR episode.

“NO! Listen! Listen, right—”

“Like I wouldn’t class him as my first boyfriend? Certainly not my first love. Yeah, we did—”

“DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! DON'T CARE. DON'T WANT TO KNOW. BORRRRINGG. NEXT QUESTION—”

“But I’m serious! ‘Cause if I saw him—”

“You’d what?” You looked at him surprised, raising your brows, “what would you do? You had a girlfriend in what? Year 12 anyway?!”

“No?!”

“Yeah?!”

“Not a girlfriend—”

“OH, SO, SHE WASN'T A GIRLFRIEND BUT MINE—”

“NO NO NO—”

“You two are toxic as fuuuck and need to break up immediately,” Max’s sarcasm could not be heard over your bickering. He had never been so entertained by sitting on a couple before. It was fun when it was other people.

“You’re raging!” You grinned.

“I’m not! I’m saying yours is di—“

“If you’re saying I had my boyfriend at that ag—”

“But he was—”

“—WHAT I’M HEARING is George is gonna scrap your Year 8 boyfriend and you’re gonna scrap George’s Year 8 girlfriend.”

That made you giggle. “Yeah, actually. Precisely. Well he can, I don’t care.”

“Get the boxing match sorted,” the boy cracked his fingers.

You shook your head at him, rolling your eyes. Like he would ever.

That’d be an unfair advantage in itself anyway. George was like twice his size.

“Listen love, you just need to reassure your boyfriend that he is your one and only and if he can’t take what he’s dished out, he needs to grow up. You’ll sort it out, he’ll forgive you and you forgive him.” You have your take.

“He’ll maybe forgive you quicker if you climb on top of him,” a mumbled voice noted.

“Huh?”

“Huh?” He played dumb. “What?”

“I cannot stand you,” you threw your head back, a smile on your lips.

“Oh my God! My Disney ice tray just got delivered!” Max exclaimed excitedly. “Sorry.”

“Oh my god! We can put them in our drinks on Saturday when we’re in our matching Disney pyjamas!” You gushed, looking at Max with excitement.

“Oh my god, yesssss!” He wiggled his fingers, “and yes before anyone asks, me and Y/n have gotten matching pyjamas for our slumber party on Saturday, we got paired together, don’t judge.”

“I’m excited!”

“Me too! We’re gonna get so drunk and talk about bitches we hated at school and our celeb crushes! Who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Ummm . . . is it weird if I say Ben 10?” You laughed.

Max laughed louder, “is it weirder if I say no?”

George was so done with you two.

“George kind of looks like—”

“—NO! I know who my first real celeb crush was,” you frantically interrupted, “Michael from Benidorm.”

“Michael?” Max had to type him up. “I’m pretty sure eveyone was crushing on the man from the bar.”

“Mateo!”

“YES!”

“No, I fancied Michael. My mum watched for Mateo, I watched for Michael,” you laughed.

“George . .” Max looked at the photo, “you could have played him when you were this age,” he began to laugh. “I’m serious! After that photo you showed me of you as a child, you could’ve been him,” he drunkenly laughed at the thought.

“Shut up, Max.”

“I’m serious! Twins!” He held up the phone. “Your type is showingggg.”

They could barely pass as cousins.

“Yeah, first TV crush. Pretty sure we’re the same age in real life, so. Who was yours?”

“I don’t know, I’ll tell you at the slumber party,” he winked.

George leaned his head on his hand. “Can I come?”

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Are you a girl?”

“No.”

“Then no. Sorry,” Max typed on his computer. “Ummmm, wow. We have no more dilemmas for today! Congratulations on your interview, you did well!”

“So did I get the job?”

“No.” George deadpanned. “There were some requirements you did not meet, I'm afraid.”

“Can you tell me what they were?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“If you guys enjoyed this episode, please make sure to like it, rate it, share it on whatever you are listening or watching from today.” He carried on the outro.

“Yep, and send through your dilemmas through email or our instagram via voice note where you can also follow us, and yeah. Thank you for coming in today. Follow our interviewee too on all social media platforms.” You posed with your hands under your chin.

“She has a real hunky boyfriend appearing in a few of those pics,” George yawned as he stretched with his arms behind his head.

“Uh-huh.”

“And until next time—” Max glanced to you. “Don’t shag with your parents in the house.”

“Ride your boyfriend.” George said.

“And don’t have an Almond Mum.”

[stylessbean]

“why do you still use tumblr?”

listen— i have to keep track of my hyper fixations somehow

[stylessbean]

Love Island (ML)

SHORT SERIES: Harry’s arrival on Love Island stirs Y/N’s feelings, sparking tension with her partner, Tom, and the rest of the ladies, as she’s drawn to Harry’s charm and intrigue.

The full series is already completed and available to read over on my Patreon. 🖤

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

⭐️ Please consider submitting your one shot request -> Forms

pt. 1

pt. 2

pt. 3

pt. 4

pt. 5

pt. 6

[stylessbean]

Love Island — part 5

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: Please, please don’t hesitate to send in your requests — whether it’s blurbs, one-shots, or even just a fun idea you want to see come to life. If you're feeling a little shy, no worries at all — you can always send them in anonymously through Tumblr! I’d love to hear from you and create more content you’ll enjoy 🌞💌

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

⭐️ Please consider submitting your one shot request -> Forms

Y/N sat with Chloe, Amber, and Lila on the sun deck, still buzzing from the night. The girls were all leaned in, hanging on her every word as she recounted the details of her date with Harry.

“And then,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing again at the memory, “he asked if he could kiss me. It was so sweet—like, proper gentleman vibes, you know?”

Chloe squealed, clapping her hands. “A proper prince charming moment! I mean, can you even? And the kiss? Was it fireworks or what?”

Y/N laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It was… perfect. He’s definitely not what I expected when he walked in, but I’m glad he surprised me.”

Amber smirked, nudging Y/N’s arm. “Sounds like he’s got you properly smitten.”

Meanwhile, by the pool, Harry was sitting with Lucas, who was grinning ear to ear as Harry shyly recounted his version of the night.

“Mate, she smiled when I asked, and I was like, thank God. Thought I might’ve been reading it all wrong.” Harry ran a hand through his curls, laughing at himself.

Lucas gave him a friendly slap on the back. “You smashed it, man. About time you stepped up. She’s been waiting on you.”

Harry was mid-sip of his water when his phone buzzed on the table. The sharp ding drew the attention of the nearby boys, and Harry picked it up cautiously, already suspecting something was up.

His eyes scanned the message, and his expression shifted from confusion to mild panic. Clearing his throat, he stood up and held the phone high. “I’ve got a text!”

The villa immediately went quiet as everyone turned to listen.

Harry read aloud, his voice steady but slightly unsure: “Harry, please get ready for your next date. A new girl has entered the villa, and she has chosen you to join her for her first date. #IncomingBombshell #DateRoundTwo”

The reaction was instant. The boys erupted into cheers and whistles, while the girls exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Y/N’s heart sank slightly, her lips tightening into a small smile as she tried to hide the twist in her stomach. Chloe, sitting beside her, immediately placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Don’t overthink it, babe. It’s just a date.”

Across the villa, Lucas laughed, shaking his head as he looked at Harry. “You’ve got a busy week, mate.”

Harry gave him a wry smile, but his gaze instinctively darted to where Y/N was sitting. She was already looking his way, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment.

The narrator chimed in, ever the cheeky commentator:

"Well, looks like Harry’s dinner date might’ve been the starter, but the villa gods just delivered the main course. Y/N, time to find out if that kiss was sweet enough to keep his attention… or if this new girl’s about to turn his head faster than a spin class!”

Harry stood at the small, secluded patio where the villa hosted its first dates. The table was set simply, with two glasses of chilled lemonade waiting in the evening heat. He fidgeted slightly, running a hand through his curls as he wondered who this new girl might be.

Moments later, she arrived.

The newcomer strode in with confident steps, her posture straight and her smile dazzling. She was striking—tall, with a cascade of dark hair framing her face and eyes that sparkled with mischief. She wore a flowy, green dress that moved elegantly as she approached.

“Harry, right?” she said, extending her hand. Her voice was smooth, her confidence unmistakable. “I’m Sophia. Lovely to meet you.”

Harry smiled warmly, shaking her hand. “Sophia, hi. Nice to meet you too. Welcome to the chaos.”

She laughed as she took her seat. “Oh, I’m ready for it. Believe me.”

They settled into light conversation at first, with Harry asking about her background. Sophia explained she was a marketing executive from Manchester, had a love for traveling, and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

“So,” Sophia said, her tone shifting to something more direct as she leaned slightly closer, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “What’s the situation in the villa? Anyone caught your eye?”

Harry hesitated, not wanting to dive too deep into the complicated dynamics of the house. “Well, yeah. I’ve been getting to know someone—Y/N. We’re sort of… seeing how things go.”

Sophia tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Oh, I see. So it’s early days, then?”

Harry nodded cautiously. “Yeah, you could say that. She’s great.”

Sophia leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she regarded him thoughtfully. “Listen, I get that. She sounds lovely, but let me be straight with you, Harry—I didn’t come here to play it safe. You’re the one I wanted to meet, and I’m not shy about saying it.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard by her candor but unable to hide his amusement. “Straight to the point, then.”

“Always,” Sophia said with a wink. “Look, I’m not saying you have to throw everything away with Y/N, but what if I’m the love of your life? You’ll never know unless you give me a chance.”

Harry let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief at her boldness. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“Not when I see something I want,” she replied confidently, her gaze unwavering. “You’re here for the same reason I am—to find someone who makes you feel something real. So, why not explore it? Worst case, we don’t click, and you can go back to Y/N without any ‘what ifs.’”

Harry leaned back, studying her for a moment. “Very confident”

Sophia grinned. “You’ve no idea, Harry. But you could find out.”

The narrator’s voice chimed in:

"Well, Sophia didn’t come to make friends, that’s for sure. A bold strategy—let’s see if it pays off, or if Harry’s loyalty to Y/N is stronger than a well-executed sales pitch. Grab your popcorn, viewers; things are heating up.”

As Harry stepped back into the villa, the buzz of chatter around the fire pit dulled for a moment as the boys turned to see him. He made his way over to Lucas, who was lounging on one of the outdoor chairs with a drink in hand.

Lucas grinned up at him, already suspecting why Harry had come over. “My turn, mate?”

Harry nodded, holding up his phone. “Yeah, just got the text. She’s waiting for you now. Good luck, mate.”

Before Lucas could even stand, the rest of the boys swarmed around Harry like moths to a flame.

“Alright, give us the rundown,” Zak said, leaning forward eagerly. “What’s she like?”

“Yeah,” added Ethan, his eyes wide with curiosity. “On a scale of one to ten, what are we saying?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head at their enthusiasm. “She’s… confident. Really confident.”

The boys groaned in frustration. “We don’t want personality yet, mate. Is she fit or not?” Zak pressed, his grin wide.

Harry rolled his eyes but smirked. “Alright, alright. She’s tall, dark hair, green dress. Proper striking, honestly. And yeah, she’s fit.”

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Lucas muttered as he got up, brushing off his shorts. “Anything I should know before I head in?”

Harry gave him a knowing look. “She’s direct. Like, no messing around. Be ready for some bold questions.”

Zak burst out laughing. “Lucas? Handle bold? This I’ve got to see.”

Lucas shot him a playful glare as the boys chuckled. “I’ll be fine, cheers. You just stay here and be jealous.”

As Lucas made his way out of the villa, the boys immediately turned back to Harry, still brimming with questions.

“Did she mention anyone she fancies?” Ethan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Harry hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “She’s here to see where things go, same as everyone else.”

The narrator’s voice chimed in cheekily:

"And by ‘see where things go,’ Harry, you mean straight to you, don’t you? Well, lads, buckle up—looks like Sophia’s confidence is already making waves in the villa!”

Y/N sat on one of the sun loungers with a glass of red wine on her hand but her attention wasn’t on the words. Her eyes flicked toward Harry, who stood surrounded by the boys near the fire pit. He was animated, laughing and gesturing as he described his date with Sophia. The excitement in his tone and the eager reactions from the boys only made her jaw clench tighter.

She had waited patiently for him to come over after his return. Surely, after the date, he’d seek her out—offer her reassurance, a kind word, something. But instead, he’d gone straight to the lads to gush about the new girl.

"Unbelievable," Y/N muttered under her breath.

“What’s got you fuming?” Chloe asked, slipping onto the lounger beside her with a cold drink in hand.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temple. “It’s Harry. He’s just like the rest of them. I really thought he was different, Chloe. Like, more mature, you know?”

Chloe glanced toward the fire pit, where Harry and the boys were still deep in conversation. “What’s he done now?”

“It’s what he hasn’t done,” Y/N replied, her tone clipped. “He didn’t even come to me first. I mean, after our date, after that kiss…” She shook her head, struggling to find the right words. “It would’ve been nice if he’d just—ugh—checked in with me, reassured me that his head wasn’t going to turn the moment a new girl walked in.”

Chloe winced, clearly trying to pick her words carefully. “Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, caught up in the boys’ banter? It doesn’t mean—”

“No, Chloe,” Y/N cut in, her voice firm. “He should’ve made time for me first. Instead, he’s over there, probably telling them how stunning she is and how confident she came across. And knowing her, she probably told him she doesn’t care that he’s with me, which clearly got him buzzing.”

Chloe gave her a sympathetic look. “So, what now?”

Y/N leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now? Nothing. I’m not going to chase him. If he wants to act like every other lad in here, fine. But I’m not going to sit around like some mug, waiting for him to decide where his head’s at. He knows where to find me.”

"And Y/N makes her stance crystal clear. Harry, mate, if you were looking for a ‘heads up,’ you’re about to get it—just not the kind you want. Someone fetch the popcorn; it’s getting juicy!”

The villa buzzed with energy as Lucas strode confidently through the main doors, Sophia at his side. His arm was casually draped around her shoulders, and his grin could have lit up the entire space. The rest of the Islanders turned their heads to watch them come in, conversations halting as the pair made their entrance.

Y/N sat at the corner of the sun deck with Chloe, idly swirling the straw in her drink. Her gaze flicked over to Sophia, and she had to admit the girl was stunning. Her dark hair gleamed under the villa lights, and her confidence was palpable—her stride matched Lucas’s with ease, her smile just as radiant.

Chloe nudged Y/N gently. “She’s pretty, yeah?”

“Yeah, she is,” Y/N admitted, her tone even. “But this isn’t about her. It’s about Harry.”

Chloe tilted her head, following Y/N’s line of sight. Across the yard, Harry stood near the fire pit with Zak and Ethan. His head turned slightly as he caught sight of Sophia and Lucas, his expression unreadable for a moment before he joined in on the boys’ laughter and banter.

“That’s what’s bugging me,” Y/N continued, her voice low. “This isn’t some petty jealousy thing. It’s not even about her being beautiful or whatever. I knew this was a game when I signed up. But Harry? He’s the problem.”

Chloe frowned. “Because he hasn’t spoken to you?”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “He’s spent the entire evening talking to the boys about how confident she is, how fit she looks—like I don’t even exist. After the date we had, the things he said, the way he kissed me… I thought I’d at least get a bit of reassurance. But no, I’m over here watching her waltz in like nothing’s wrong while he’s acting like we’re just mates.”

"Y/N’s got the clarity of a woman who’s been through it. And as for Harry? Well, mate, seems like you’ve fumbled the ball in the first half. Better come up with a game plan before you’re sent to the bench!"

As the evening buzzed on, the girls continued their conversation with Sophia, who was holding court effortlessly. They sat around the fire pit, the warmth of the flames and their bubbling excitement keeping the energy high.

“So, Sophia,” Amber said again, determined to get answers, “come on, just tell us. Who do you fancy?”

Sophia smiled, her confidence glowing as she twirled her drink in her hand. “Honestly? Everyone’s been so welcoming. But if I had to pick, I do love a guy who’s confident. And my date with Lucas was a great way to kick things off.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t just leave it at that,” Georgia chimed in with a laugh. “Who else caught your eye? You must have noticed someone.”

Sophia leaned back, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Alright, alright. I’ll admit, Harry seems like an interesting guy. There’s something about him, isn’t there?”

The girls giggled and exchanged knowing looks, except for Chloe, who subtly rolled her eyes. She leaned into Y/N and muttered, “I don’t trust her.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

Chloe glanced at Sophia, who was now laughing brightly at something Amber had said. “She’s too polished. Too... perfect. I get that it’s early, but it’s like she’s trying to be everyone’s best friend. Nobody’s that nice straight out the gate.”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe she’s just a people person.”

Chloe scoffed lightly. “Or maybe she’s playing a longer game. Just be careful, yeah?”

Y/N hummed in response, still keeping an eye on Sophia, who had seamlessly charmed the entire group.

The narrator chimed in, perfectly timed:

"Chloe’s not buying Sophia’s act—she’s got her radar up. But whether Sophia’s a charmer or a schemer, it seems she’s got everyone under her spell… for now."

As the evening settled into a quieter rhythm, the villa began to wind down. The laughter and chatter by the fire pit faded as couples peeled off to their respective corners, ready to call it a night. Y/N was the first to step into the bedroom, the soft hum of the air conditioning greeting her as she walked in.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Harry emerging from the bathroom, towel in hand, his curls damp and tousled. He glanced up and caught sight of her, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Alright, love?” he said with a playful wave.

Y/N barely acknowledged him, her lips pressing into a thin line as she strode past without so much as a second glance. Harry’s grin faltered, his hand awkwardly dropping to his side as he watched her head toward her side of the bed.

Frowning, he scratched the back of his neck before making a beeline for the boys’ corner of the villa. Lucas was sprawled on one of the loungers, still mid-chat with Callum. Harry dropped down beside him, his expression puzzled.

“Mate,” Harry started, his voice low, “I’m so confused”

Lucas glanced at him. “What’s happening?”

“Y/N,” Harry clarified. “I just said hi to her, and she walked past me like I wasn’t even there. Proper blanked me.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

Harry threw his hands up. “Nothing! At least, I don’t think so? We had a good laugh earlier today; everything seemed fine.”

Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, if she’s giving you the cold shoulder, you’ve definitely done something. Girls don’t just do that for no reason.”

“Like what, though?” Harry asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

Lucas glanced around, then spotted Chloe heading toward the bedroom. “Oi, Chloe,” he called out, motioning for her to stop.

Chloe hesitated, her eyebrow arching as she stepped toward them. “What’s up?”

Lucas tilted his head toward Harry. “What’s Y/N’s deal? She’s just given this one the freeze treatment, and he’s clueless about what he’s done.”

Chloe folded her arms, her gaze flicking to Harry. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing! I waved and said hi,” Harry protested.

Chloe sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s not about what you said, Harry. It’s probably about what you didn’t say. She’s been stewing since dinner.”

Harry frowned. “Dinner? What about dinner?”

Chloe gave him a look that practically screamed you’re hopeless. “Sophia. The fact that you came back raving about her instead of checking in with Y/N. You left her hanging, mate. She probably thinks your head’s turned.”

Harry blinked, a slow realization dawning on his face. “Bloody hell. I didn’t even think about that.”

Chloe smirked. “Clearly. Better go fix it before it gets worse.”

The narrator chimed in with impeccable timing:

"Harry’s learning the hard way—when it comes to Love Island, actions speak louder than words. And in this villa, silence can be deafening."

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[stylessbean]

hey cutie pie !! ive literally been obsessed with ur writing and re-reading ur george clarke fic 🤭. i was wondering if u could make a george clarke fic about reader being highschool sweethearts with him ( i dont know where id want it to go its completely up to you, ive just seen soso many photos of younger george in school and hes so cutesy and yum ) anyway bye bye xx

Sweetheart || George Clarke.

Part 1

Ur honestly so cute, I need to start re-reading my drafts and publishing them.. currently have inside ep 1,2 in my drafts rn😩 BUT THANK YOU CUTIE!! Hope you like this 😊

Summary: She’s the school’s star cheerleader, and he’s the cocky rugby player who drives her up the wall. They’ve been at each other’s throats for as long as they can remember petty arguments, competitive banter, stolen glances that last too long.

But when Charlie, one of George’s teammates, starts flirting a little too shamelessly, the rivalry between them shifts into something sharper, more personal. Because George hates it—hates the way Charlie talks about her, the way he looks at her.

And one day, he snaps.

George x reader, fem!reader , explicit language

There most definitely will be a part 2 to this!!

ENJOY!!

———————————————————————-

If there was one person in the entire school who could ruin my day in under five seconds, it was George Clarkey.

And unfortunately, he seemed to be everywhere.

“You’re glaring again,” my best friend, Liv, pointed out, nudging me with her elbow.

I tore my eyes away from the rugby pitch, where George was currently jogging back to his position, annoyingly smug even while covered in mud. His school rugby shirt was practically clinging to him, damp from the drizzle, and his curls were messy from where he kept ruffling them.

Not that I noticed. Obviously.

“I’m not glaring,” I said, flipping my ponytail over my shoulder. “I’m just… observing.”

Liv snorted. “Right. Observing how fit he looks?”

I turned to her, horrified. “Absolutely not. He’s—ugh insufferable. Cocky, irritating, never stops talking. Did I mention cocky?”

“Only about a hundred times.”

And, as if on cue, George spotted me from across the field. A slow smirk spread across his face, like he knew he was annoying me just by existing.

He jogged a bit closer and called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You here to support me, sweetheart?”

I clenched my jaw, ignoring the way my stomach flipped at that ridiculous nickname.

“Please,” I shot back, hands on my hips. “If I wanted to watch someone roll around in the mud, I’d get a dog.”

His teammates howled with laughter, clapping him on the back. But George? He just grinned, jogging backwards like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“You’re obsessed with me, admit it!”

“In your dreams, Clarkey!”

The thing about George was that he thrived on winding me up. Which meant I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, no matter how annoying he was..he also made my heart race in a way that I hated.

George and I had been at each other’s throats since Year 9. It started when he made a very loud, very wrong comment about how cheerleading wasn’t a real sport. I may have responded by stealing his boots before a big match. He retaliated by swapping my water bottle with vinegar during training.

From there, it spiralled. Pranks, insults, who can annoy the other the most. It was our thing.

So when we walked into history the next day and the teacher started reading out partner assignments for our coursework, I wasn’t worried. There was no way she’d put me with George. She knew we were a disaster waiting to happen.

But then—

“George Clarkey and [ ].”

The entire room went silent.

Someone actually gasped.

I blinked. “You’re joking.”

George, sitting two seats away, let out a low whistle. “Ooh. That’s unfortunate for you, sweetheart.”

The teacher ignored both of us. “You’ll be working together on this project for the next few weeks, so I suggest you figure out a way to get along.”

I turned to George, who was already watching me with that bloody smirk. “You better actually do work,” I muttered as I slid into the seat next to him.

He leaned in slightly, voice low enough that only I could hear. “What, scared to spend time with me?”

My breath hitched annoyingly but I masked it with an unimpressed look. “Scared you’ll get shown up by me, more like.”

His grin deepened, all challenge and amusement. “This is gonna be fun.”

I had a horrible feeling he was right.

———————————————————————

I hated being partnered with George. I really did.

But if there was one small silver lining to this absolute disaster of a situation, it was that his best mate, Charlie, was actually a decent person.

Charlie was in my maths class, and we’d always gotten along well enough. Unlike George, he wasn’t constantly winding me up or trying to make my life miserable. And, unlike George, he didn’t seem to think cheerleading was a joke.

“You’re well unlucky,” Charlie said with a sympathetic smile as we walked out of class together. “Being stuck with Clarkey, I mean. Absolute nightmare, that one.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

He grinned. “If you need someone to rant to, I’m happy to volunteer.”

And then, before I could even respond, George appeared out of nowhere, stepping right between us like some sort of human barricade.

“Alright, mate?” George clapped Charlie on the back a bit too hard. “Didn’t know you were trying to steal my project partner.”

Charlie laughed, glancing at me. “She’s your problem now, not mine.”

George turned to me, eyebrows raised. “That true, sweetheart? You going round complaining about me already?”

I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t have to. Everyone already knows you’re unbearable.”

He smirked. “And yet, here you are, walking with my mate. What, trying to get closer to me through him?”

Charlie shot him a look. “Don’t be a nob, Clarkey.”

George laughed like he wasn’t being completely insufferable, but something flickered in his expression something I couldn’t quite place.

I ignored it. Instead, I turned to Charlie and smiled. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

His face lit up in a way that made something twist in my stomach.

I wasn’t oblivious I’d noticed the way Charlie looked at me lately. The way he found excuses to talk to me, to sit next to me in class. And, if I was honest, I liked the attention.

It wasn’t like that but it was nice. Unlike George, who lived to annoy me, Charlie was easy to talk to.

Apparently, George hated that.

Because as soon as Charlie walked off, he let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his damp curls. “Fucking hell. If I have to watch him flirt with you for the next few weeks, I might actually lose my mind.”

I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “What’s your problem?”

He scoffed. “Charlie never shuts up about you. It’s pathetic.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you can flirt with half the school, but the second someone likes me, it’s a problem?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t flirt with everyone.”

I let out a humourless laugh. “Right. You just call everyone ‘sweetheart’ and wink at anything that moves.”

George’s smirk twitched slightly, but there was something else behind it now, something a little more serious.

“You jealous, love?” His voice was lower now, teasing, but not in his usual careless way.

I stared at him. “Of what?”

He stepped closer. Not enough to be obvious, not enough to draw attention, but enough. Enough that I caught the scent of his aftershave, enough that my pulse betrayed me completely.

“Of them,” he murmured. “The girls I flirt with.”

I refused to let him get to me. Refused to let him know that my brain was currently short circuiting from the way he was looking at me.

So I forced a smirk, tilting my head up defiantly. “Not even a little bit.”

Lie. Massive, massive lie.

But George just hummed, stepping back with a knowing glint in his eyes. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

And then he was walking off, leaving me standing there, heart hammering, absolutely furious that he could still get under my skin like that.

But come to think of it, I wasn’t encouraging Charlie. Not really.

But I also wasn’t stopping him.

Because, if nothing else, watching George Clarkey’s jaw clench every time Charlie spoke to me was quickly becoming one of my new favourite things.

“Here, let me carry that for you,” Charlie offered, reaching for my books as we walked out of the library.

I raised an eyebrow. “I can carry my own books, you know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m trying to be chivalrous.”

I rolled my eyes but let him take them anyway. “What a gentleman.”

Charlie was easy to be around. He was funny, charming, and unlike George he didn’t actively make it his mission to wind me up constantly.

Which is exactly why I shouldn’t have been even remotely surprised when George appeared out of nowhere, stepping directly between us like a human roadblock.

“Oi, Charlie,” he said, completely ignoring me. “Didn’t know you’d started a new career as a personal assistant.”

Charlie let out a short laugh. “It’s called being nice, Clarkey. You should try it sometime.”

George’s gaze snapped to me, sharp and unreadable. “Think she can manage carrying her own books, though.”

Charlie shrugged. “Yeah, but I offered.”

George let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he was physically restraining himself from saying something stupid. Which was rare for him, considering he never shut up.

“Whatever,” he muttered, finally turning to me. “You ready for this project thing or what?”

I gave him a look. “You mean the thing you were ten minutes late for?”

He smirked. “Took my time. Knew you’d still be here flirting with Charlie, anyway.”

I scoffed, ignoring the way my face betrayed me completely by heating up. “I was not—”

“Anyway,” Charlie cut in, clearing his throat. He handed my books back, giving me a quick smile. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah, see you.”

The second he was gone, George let out a short, irritated breath.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. “You really like entertaining him, don’t you?”

I turned to him, crossing my arms. “And what exactly is your problem with that?”

He scoffed. “No problem.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Right. That’s why you keep glaring at him like he’s personally offended you.”

George rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s just—” He paused, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

But now I was curious. I stepped forward, tilting my head. “He’s just what?”

George exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before meeting my gaze again. “He’s a mate, alright? And I know for a fact that if he actually asked you out, it wouldn’t just be some little flirt for him.”

I frowned. “And what if he did ask me out?”

George went completely still.

I almost laughed at the look on his face like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him before. Like he hadn’t actually considered the possibility that I might actually say yes.

Then his jaw tensed.

“You wouldn’t,” he said simply.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

George met my gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his usual cocky, irritating expression.

Then he smirked, leaning in slightly just enough to make my breath hitch.

“Because,” he murmured, “you’d get bored of him in about a week.”

My stomach flipped. Stupid. So stupid.

I straightened my shoulders, forcing a scoff. “And you think I wouldn’t get bored of you?”

George’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “You’d never get bored of me.”

My heart was pounding now, and I hated him for it. Hated the way he could do this push my buttons, wind me up, and still make my stomach do stupid, ridiculous flips all at once.

So I forced a smile. A sweet, fake, infuriatingly polite smile.

“Watch me.”

Then I turned and walked off, knowing full well that George Clarkey was still watching me the entire way.

And, if I wasn’t completely losing my mind, I think I just made things even worse.

——————————————————————

At first, it was just light teasing compliments here, cheeky comments there. And I didn’t mind it. In fact, I enjoyed it. Not because I fancied him, but because of the way George absolutely lost his mind every time Charlie so much as looked at me.

But lately, it had shifted.

Charlie had started getting… bolder. The lingering touches, the low murmurs when no one else was listening. And while I’d brushed it off at first, something about it felt off.

I just hadn’t realised how off until I overheard exactly what he was saying about me.

The changing room was loud with the usual post-training banter—laughter, the sound of boots being tossed aside, the occasional thud of someone slamming a locker shut. Charlie was in the middle of a story, half-dressed, stretching out his sore muscles.

Then her name came up.

A few heads turned, but no one stopped him. Charlie had been talking about her a lot lately—more than usual. Flirting with her in the corridors, finding excuses to be around her. But today, there was a different edge to his words.

A low chuckle. “Mate, I swear, the things I’d do to her…”

George stilled.

“Bet she’s a little tease in private, all attitude in public but proper desperate behind closed doors.”

Someone snorted. Someone else muttered, “Behave, mate.” But no one stopped him.

“I’d have her screaming my name by the end of the night.”

The sound of boots hitting the floor, a sharp inhale—then a sudden, violent slam.

Charlie’s back hit the lockers with a heavy thud.

The room went silent.

George stood in front of him, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes burning with something dangerous.

“Shut your f**king mouth, Charlie.”

A stunned pause. Then, Charlie let out a short, breathless laugh. “The f**k, Clarkey?”

George didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Say that again. I f**king dare you.”

Charlie’s smirk flickered, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed off or amused. “Oh, come on. It’s just banter.”

“Banter?” The word came out slow, sharp.

Charlie scoffed. “Don’t tell me you care. It’s not like she’s yours.”

The tension in the room snapped, thick enough to choke on.

Every muscle in George’s body was drawn tight, like he was barely holding himself back. A challenge hung in the air, unspoken but blistering.

Then, movement in the doorway.

Her voice.

“George?”

Everything stopped.

Heads turned. A few of the boys suddenly found something very interesting about their boots.

She stood in the entrance, eyes locked on George, gaze flicking between him and Charlie. Something shifted in her expression—realisation, understanding.

And then, without a word, she walked past Charlie like he wasn’t even there.

Straight to George.

Fingers wrapped around his wrist. A small but deliberate touch.

No one spoke.

Charlie let out a breath, muttering something under his breath, but no one laughed this time.

A moment passed.

Then she tugged George towards the door, and he let her.

The second they were gone, the silence broke.

“Mate, what the f**k was that?” someone muttered.

No one had an answer. But everyone knew. Something had just changed.

The walk from the changing room was silent.

She hadn’t let go of his wrist. Not until they were outside, away from the laughter, the echo of boots against the floor, the lingering weight of what just happened.

When she finally did, George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp curls. His whole body was still wired with anger, every muscle tense.

She watched him carefully, arms crossed. “What the hell was that?”

George let out a sharp, humourless laugh, looking away. “You heard what that dickhead was saying.”

“Yeah, I did,” she shot back. “But why do you care so much?”

That question hit him like a punch to the gut.

His jaw clenched. “Are you fucking serious?”

She stepped closer, voice low. “Yes, George. I’m serious. You’ve been acting like a complete lunatic every time Charlie so much as looks at me. And now you’re starting fights in the changing room? What is your problem?”

George scoffed, shaking his head. “My problem? My problem is that he talks about you like you’re some fucking thing to win.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.

George huffed out another breath, stepping back. “Forget it. You clearly don’t care.”

A beat of silence. Then..

“You think I don’t care?”

Her voice was quiet, but something in it made him pause.

He turned back, and—fuck

She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt.

Something twisted in his chest, hard and sudden.

She shook her head, looking at him like she was finally seeing it. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s pissed off, George. You think I liked hearing him say that? You think I liked knowing you were about to..” She stopped herself, inhaling sharply. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”

George let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over his face. “I wasn’t—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” she muttered.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

A gust of wind blew past, the only sound between them. The usual noise of the school a distant shout from the pitch, the sound of doors slamming felt muffled, like they were in their own space, locked in this moment neither of them knew how to get out of.

George exhaled. “Look.” His voice came out quieter than before, rough around the edges. “I just” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

She hated when he did that started a sentence, then shut it down like it didn’t matter.

So she stepped forward, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Say it.”

His jaw ticked. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Say it, George.”

And that was it. That was the breaking point.

Because before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, raw and reckless

“Of course it fucking matters!”

Her breath caught.

George shoved a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I hate it. I hate watching him flirt with you. I hate the way he talks about you. I hate” He stopped, shaking his head. “I hate that you don’t fucking see it.”

Silence.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “See what?”

George let out a harsh laugh, bitter and frustrated, because seriously?

He stepped closer. Not like before not teasing, not playful. This was something different. Something that made the air between them feel thick, heavy, electric.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice was lower now, rough. “You, sweetheart. You think I’ve been acting like this for fun? You think I don’t care?” His breath was uneven, and he hated it. Hated that she could do this to him. “I care too fucking much, and it’s ruining me.”

The words hung there, unshakable.

She didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

Then slowly, carefully she reached for his wrist.

Soft, hesitant.

And George who was always so loud, so sure, so quick with a comeback went completely, utterly still.

Something in his chest tightened.

Her fingers curled slightly, just enough to keep him there. Not pulling, not pushing. Just holding on.

And George?

George let her.

Because he was done fighting it.

The weight of George’s words still hung in the air, thick and impossible to ignore.

“I care too fucking much, and it’s ruining me.”

She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Just stood there, fingers still wrapped around his wrist soft, hesitant, deliberate.

George didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare.

Because if he did, if he let himself feel this properly, he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop.

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and it was too much the way her gaze softened, the way she was holding onto him like she finally understood.

“George,” she said, voice quieter now, like the fight had drained out of her.

And it wrecked him.

Because he’d spent so long pretending acting like none of this mattered, like she wasn’t under his skin in ways that no one else had ever been.

But now?

Now she was so close.

And he couldn’t pretend anymore.

His free hand lifted without thinking, fingers brushing against her jaw, tentative, testing giving her a chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

If anything, she leaned into it.

Something inside him snapped.

Before either of them could talk themselves out of it, he tilted his head and closed the space between them, pressing his lips against hers.

Soft at first hesitant, searching but then she made a small, breathless sound against his mouth, and it sent something crashing through him.

His hands moved, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, like he was making up for every second he’d wasted pushing her away.

She kissed him back like she’d been waiting for this just as long, fingers twisting in his hoodie, holding him there, like she needed this too.

And God, he was gone for her. Completely, helplessly gone.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was uneven, faces still close.

Her fingers were still curled into his hoodie. His hands were still on her waist.

And George who had always been so cocky, so sure of himself could barely get his voice to work.

“Sweetheart…” His forehead rested against hers, voice rough, breathless. “Tell me I haven’t just completely fucked this up.”

A small, mischievous smile tugged at her lips.

“You think I’d kiss you like that if you had?”

George huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, thumb tracing absent circles on her hip.

“You’re a tease,” he murmured.

She grinned. “And you love it.”

He did.

And for once, he wasn’t afraid to admit it.