ellclarkey

[ellclarkey]

Don’t ignore me. (requested)

George Clarke Smut

warnings: Light angst, unprotected sex, SUB George, role switching at end, cursing, riding, make up sex(??) Barely any plot..

an: i’ve seen multiple writers write similar things very recently and I just wanted to say i’m not trying to copy them AT ALL I just got requested a similar thing.

You’d been “with” George all day, but it hardly counted. He’d been glued to his phone, fingers flying across the screen, or hunched over his laptop editing, fully locked in on work and unfortunately, not you.

By the time the sun was setting you were getting pissed.

“You know, I might as well not even be home” you said flatly, arms crossed.

George looked over turning from his pc, brows furrowing. “What? Lovely, don’t be like that. I’m just finishing this up.”

“Just finishing this up.” You repeated his words bitterly echoing him, stepping closer. “That’s all I’ve heard from you all day, George. And meanwhile, I’m sitting here wondering if you even notice me anymore.”

He turned away from the pc slowly, guilt flickering across his face. “Of course I notice you. I just I’ve got deadlines, I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem.” You cut him off sharply, leaning down to grip his chin and force his eyes up to meet yours. “You didn’t think hm?”

His breath caught, lips parting as you slid onto his lap, straddling him without breaking eye contact. “So now,” you murmured, voice low and edged with warning, “you’re going to give me all that attention you’ve been wasting on your fucking phone.”

The way his hands gripped your hips told you he was already more than willing to obey.

You moved your hips slowly against him, teasing, sliding your hands from the top of his chest down to his v-line, spreading your fingers wide over the heat building beneath his jeans. His breath hitched, eyes locked on yours likehe was ready to listen to your every word.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips close to his, close enough for him to feel your breath. Before you let him kiss you, you curled your fingers under his chin, squeezing lightly so his lips puckered just the way you wanted.

“Such a pretty mouth,” you murmured, smirking. “Shame it’s been too busy running excuses instead of making me feel good.”

He let out a soft whimper against your grip, and that alone made your smirk deepen.

You finally pressed your lips to his, slow at first, just a drag of heat before your tongue slipped past his lips. Your hips rolled again, harder this time, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist like he couldn’t help himself.

Your hand then trailed lower, palming the hard outline straining against his jeans, pressing down firmly just to hear the way he gasped. “You like that hmm? so noisy for something you were ignoring.” You said deliberately mocking

“Wasn’t ignoring-fuck-“ He stuttered

He licked his lips, eyes dark as he bucked his hips up to meet your hand, chasing more of the friction.

Your other hand shot to his hip, pressing him back down firmly against the chair you were tightly squeezed together in. “Uh-uh,” you warned, gaze sharp. “Don’t move your hips unless I tell you to. You don’t get to take what you want from me. You wait until I give it.”

George let out a shaky breath, chest rising fast. “Fuck—sorry,” he muttered, though his hips twitched again like he couldn’t help himself.

Your nails dug lightly into his skin, like a punishment. He couldn’t help but laugh softly, eyes shining as he looked up at you. Seeing you like this sharp, commanding, in complete control sent a rush straight through him. Usually, he was the one calling the shots, holding you down, whispering what to do. But tonight, you were in power.

You slid off his lap with a smirk, grabbing his hand firmly. “Up.”

He followed without hesitation, breath catching as you guided him toward the bed. With one strong push to his chest, you had him sprawled out on his back against the sheets, his hair messy and eyes wide with anticipation.

“Stay,” you ordered, your voice low and firm, pinning him down without even touching him.

George shifted, restless under your gaze, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. “Fuck, you’re—”

“Quiet,” you cut in smoothly, crawling up onto the bed, your body hovering over his. “You had all day to talk. Now you’re going to lie there, look pretty, and take what I give you.”

His lips parted, chest rising fast as he whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”

The way he melted into the mattress at your command had you grinning .

You climbed back onto his lap, straddling him with a slow roll of your hips that made him suck in a breath. You removed his pants whilst leaning down capturing his lips in a deep, deliberate kiss, letting it drag out as his hands finally found your waist. His touch tentative.

Your fingers slipped down between your bodies, hooking into the waistband of his boxers. You pulled them down inch by inch, taking your time just to watch the way his breath grew shakier with every second. When you freed him completely, your lips brushed his ear.

“Fuck, George…” you whispered, glancing down. “You’re so hard for me already.”

He groaned, hips twitching upward before he caught himself, remembering your warning. You smirked, stroking him slowly just to see the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes fluttered shut as he struggled not to move.

“That’s it,” you praised softly, kissing along his jaw. “Keeping still for me, even when I know you’re dying to move.”

“Please,” he breathed, voice rough, “I need you.”

You smiled wickedly, giving him another teasing squeeze. “Oh, you’ll get me. But only when I decide you’ve earned it.”

Your hand stroked him at a slow, maddening pace, just enough to make his hips twitch against the mattress. His breath came in ragged gasps, every muscle in his body taut as he tried to obey your earlier command not to buck up.

You leaned down, lips ghosting over his, your free hand pressing firmly into his chest to pin him down. “You’re holding back so well, love,” you murmured, your breath hot against his mouth. “But I can feel how bad you want it.”

He whimpered when your thumb swiped across his tip, his fingers tightening desperately around your waist. “Fuck—please, I can’t—”

You didn’t answer yoy just stared at him with a widening smirk across your face because he was so far gone.

His eyes flicked open, blown wide with need, his lips parted in a soft, helpless moan. You trailed kisses down his throat, nipping lightly as your hand pumped him a little quicker, just enough to make him whimper.

Then you stopped, letting him fall back against the sheets with a frustrated groan.

“Already falling apart?” you teased, brushing your lips against his ear. “I haven’t even really started with you yet.”

He let out a desperate laugh, shaking his head. “You’re fucking cruel.”

“Cruel?” you echoed, tilting your head. You gripped his jaw again, forcing his gaze back to yours. “No, baby. I’m just making sure you’ll appreciate me properly this time.”

“Fuck, I appreciate you so fucking much. Please, please.” He begged

You gave in. How could you not. How could you resist those big, pleading blue eyes?

You Took George’s hands, you guided him to help you pull off your shorts and underwear. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, you sank down slowly, both of you gasping. The stretch had both of you moaning, your nails raking lightly across his chest as you took him deeper inch by inch. George’s head fell back against the pillow, his lips parting in a strangled groan as you finally seated yourself fully, his hands tightening around your hips like he was terrified you’d pull away.

“Fuck—you feel so go- so unreal,” he gasped, eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again to meet yours. “So fucking good.”

You rolled your hips slowly, making him feel every deliberate drag of your body against his. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest rising fast beneath your palms.

“You’re mine now. All fucking day you were too busy, and now—” you ground down harder, pulling a broken moan from him, “—you’re going to make it up to me.”

He whimpered, nodding quickly. “Yes—please, I’ll do anything.”

Your smirk deepened as you braced your hands on his chest and set a pace that had both of you gasping. His hips twitched beneath you, but he held himself down like you’d told him, his restraint only making you wetter.

“You’re doing so well hm? Bet you want to cum already.”

“Fuck—yeah—so bad—” His voice cracked as his hands gripped your waist tight, trembling with the effort to stay still.

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Not yet. You’ll hold it until I say so.”

He let out a strangled groan, nodding helplessly, his whole body straining as you rode him harder, the wet sounds between you filling the room. Your own moans grew sharper, your thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach wound tighter.

“That’s it,” you whispered against his mouth, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. “Been waiting all day for you to actually look at me.”

His laugh was soft and breathless. “Fuck—I’m looking now. Can’t look anywhere else.” He said whilst he jerked his hips

You moaned when he shifted beneath you, pressing up deeper inside, and your rhythm faltered for just a second. He caught it, smirking through his panting. “Feel that, love? How good you’ve got me?”

You answered with a sharp grind of your hips that made him groan, his head falling back into the pillows. The sound had you clenching around him, and his grip on you tightened.

“Shit—don’t do that, I’m not gonna last if you—”

“You can last a bit longer for me.”you said trying to keep the dominance up but it was hard when you could barely speak.

Then he shifted his angle just right, hitting that spot that made you arch and see stars.

And the bit you wanted him to last was soon to come unfortunately.

“George—” you gasped, nails digging into his chest. “You’re gonna make me— fuck yes right there i’m gonna-

“Yeah?” he panted, his hand sliding down to circle your clit in time with his thrusts. “Right there? You gonna come for me?” He whispers

The coil inside you snapped tight, every muscle trembling as you clung to him. “Fuck—yes—George—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he urged, his own voice breaking as his rhythm stuttered. “Come for me, love,I’m right there with you.”

The orgasm crashed over you, white,hot and consuming, and you cried out his name, body arching as you clenched hard around him. That was all it took George groaned deep in his chest, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, holding you tight while he came undone.

The two of you stayed tangled, panting against each other, his lips brushing yours between shaky breaths.

“You’re impossible when in control,” he whispered with a weak laugh, kissing you softly, still breathless.

You smirked, brushing your lips over his. “Maybe. But I bet you’ll remember not to ignore me again.”

He chuckled, kissing you deeper this time, murmuring against your mouth, “Never.”

[ellclarkey]

Morning Ache (Short)

Requested

Warnings:Pure Smut, Unprotected sex, Morning sex, Light wake-up pleasure(??)

AN: not exactly what you requested butttt.

Early morning stirs in the room and George is awake and of course you’re not. You could sleep through anything. He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another, his lips trailing lower, tasting more of your skin with each one. His hand slides over your waist, fingers splaying against your stomach before dipping lower, tugging the blanket down just enough.

“You’re so beautiful ” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck not expecting you to wake up. But you do surprisingly. You lightly stir as you feel the hard line of him already nudging against you. He kisses your shoulder again, lazy but deliberate, as if he’s got all the time in the world to wake you up the way he wants.

His lips find that spot beneath your ear, biting just enough to make your breath hitch.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and needy, “wake up for me…”

You give in with fake sleeping and you open your eyes, which are still heavy with sleep, and you let out a soft hum. “hmm…?”

He smiles against your skin, relief and want mixing in his expression. “There you are,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder again. He’s close too close the hard press of him against you impossible to ignore.

You shift back into him, and his breath catches, a quiet groan spilling from his chest. “Fuck, I’ve been laying here just thinking about you,” he admits, voice rough. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Your lips curve in a sleep filied grin as you glance back at him. “Yeah?”

He nods, eyes dark as he leans in to kiss you, slow and messy, like he’s been craving it all night. His hand slides over your hip, gripping a little tighter than usual as his hips roll forward, needy and unrestrained now that you’re awake.

“Fuck..” He breathes against your mouth, kissing you again, harder this time. “Been aching for you since the moment I opened my eyes.”

Your fingers lace over his at your waist, guiding him lower, and the sound he makes is half a groan, half a plea. “Please, lovely… I need you,” he whispers, desperate now, his forehead pressing to yours as if he’s barely holding himself back.

You bite your lip and nod opening your legs for him.

George’s hands slide under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your back as he slowly lifts it over your head. The cool morning air brushes against your bare skin, making every nerve spark alive.

He pauses just long enough to meet your eyes, searching for any hesitation. When all he sees is want, his lips brush yours again slow, lingering.

With shaky hands, he slides the waistband of your panties down, his touch gentle as he reveals your skin. You sigh softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hips press against you, his hard cock teasing your entrance, rubbing from top to bbottom. “Ready?” he murmurs, voice thick with need.

You nod, breathless. “Please.”

With that, he pushes inside, slow and warm, every inch a hungry stretch that pulls a moan from deep within you. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, his hands steady on your hips.

When he starts to move, your bodies find a rhythm slow, building,needy. His kisses trail down your neck, fingers clutching atyour sides.

“God, I love waking you up like this,” George murmurs, voice thick with lust.

“Mm, i love it too.” You whisper back sensually.

His hand then reaches down to rub your clit. Increasing the speed of his thrusts, matching the pace of his fingers.

You shudder, breath catching as the pleasure builds, your body loosening, melting under his touch.

“Fuck, gonna come, George,” you spur out, voice breathy and urgent.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, grounding you as the waves roll through you, your fingers tightening around his.

“Come for me, you got it. He whispers against your mouth, his voice rough with desire and encouragement.

Your body trembles, as the release crashes over you, warm and overwhelming. George stays with you, moving his hips slowly as you ride out the last ripples of pleasure

Then he reaches it himself letting himself go deep inside of you.

“Best morning ever.” He smiles slowly pulling out of you.

[ellclarkey]

Riding instructor.

(Requested.)

Warnings: Unprotected sex, Publicish sex, cursing, Stranger consensual sex, riding.

an GUYS SORRY IVE BEEN GONE FOR AGES… I made this as long as possible as an apology.

You were sat in a booth at the back of yet another bar one of many you’d wandered into that night. Your friends were long gone, scattered across the room dancing with some guys that had caught their attention earlier in the night. Shots were being poured, bodies pressed close on the dancefloor, but none of it appealed for you at the momenbt because that’s all you’ve been doing for the past 4 hours.

You sipped your drink instead, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, just passing time, letting the low hum of music and chatter buzz around you.

Finally you looked up. And there it was the only thing remotely intriguing in the room.

A mechanical bull sat in the far corner, surrounded by padded flooring and a flimsy looking metal fence. It looked stupid, honestly. Ridiculous. Like something you’d never even pay attention to if you were sober.

But it was also the only thing that didn’t involve swiping or small talk.

You found yourself staring a little longer than expected. Watching a guy get thrown off it with dramatic speed His friends howling. Then the operator reset it. The bull stilled. And for the first time you looked at the operator although he was turned you could almost feel he was attractive. The style,the curls the faalling effortless on his mullet. Although you’ve never rode he was the only courage you needed to walk over there. So that’s exactly what you did you strut over luckily no one was riding the bull at the moment so you went straight up to the instructor “Still open?,” you said, voice smooth with alcohol-induced confidence.

The guy turned at the sound of your voice, and yep you were right. Attractive was an understatement. He had that annoyingly magnetic look about him. Tanned skin, blue eyes, a faint smirk already pulling at the corner of his mouth. And the hair looked even better close up.

“Yea we’re still open.” He says still looking down at his operating table. He turns for the first time facing you his eyes met yours and stayed there.

“You ever been on one of these?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the bull.

You smirked, shaking your head. “Not once.”

“Perfect,” he said, stepping aside to let you through the little gate. “Means you won’t know how bad it’s about to go.”

That earned a soft laugh from you. You kicked off your heels and climbed up, trying to look more confident than you felt.

“Name?” he asked, fingers already on the controls.

“Do you need it for the ride or is this just a way to flirt?” you teased, gripping the knob of the bull in front of you. But of course you still said your name.

He grinned without even think he says . “Both. And my names George.”

You bit back your own smile, bracing yourself as the bull gave a mechanical jerk under you.

“Ready?” he asked, eyes locked on you now.

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

And with that, the bull lurched into motion slow at first, like it was testing you. Like he was testing you. He stood at the controls, watching every movement, hand on the joystick like some kind of chaos conductor. The music faded into the background. All you could hear was the thud of your heartbeat and the low whirring of the machine.

You lasted longer than you thought you would. Maybe because you were laughing. Maybe because he slowed it down every time it looked like you were slipping. Maybe because he wanted you on it long.

You leaned forward slightly, still gripping the bull with both hands. “Going easy on me, are we?”

He bit back a smirk. “You’re the only customer,I figured I’d give you your money’s worth.” And then, without warning, he cranked it up.

The bull bucked violently and you were off the thing within seconds, landing on the mat with a surprised yelp and a laugh. You lay there for a second, your breath catching somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.

But he was already walking toward you, hand outstretched.

“You alright?” he asked, eyes sparkling under the dim bar lights.

“Yeah,” you breathed, letting him pull you up. His hand lingered around yours. Warm. Steady.

“How ’bout I turn it to automode,” he said, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial, “and give you some lessons?”

You raised a brow. “Lessons, huh?”

He shrugged, half grinning. “Only if you’d like.”

You laughed softly, brushing your hair from your face and nodded as he waked over to the controls and pressed the button making the bull start up.

“Here,” he murmured. “Let me help you up.”

You nod.

His grip was firmconfident but slow, letting his fingers rest just long enough to make you acutely aware of every point of contact. You climbed on, guided by his hands, your skin tingling where he touched you. Once you were seated again, he adjusted your posture slightly with both hands on your hips, tilting you forward.

“You’re sitting too stiff. You want to flow with it. Not brace against it.”

“Flow with it,” you repeated, trying not to sound breathless. “Right.”

He didn’t move away. In fact, if anything, he was closer now. Standing right beside the bull, one hand still lightly resting on your hip. The heat of it seeped through the thin fabric of your dress.

“is gonna start it slow at first.” He said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “But this time, I want you to lean into it. Trust your body. You’ll know what to do.”

You gave a small nod, lips parting just slightly. “Okay.”

The bull started to move. Slow rotations, a gentle tilt back and forth. You shifted with it, doing your best to follow the motion, but your focus was split your body was reacting to the movement, but your brain was caught on the feeling of his hand sliding up from your hip to your lower back. Steadying you. Guiding you. Staying there a little too long.

“You’re getting it,” he said, low, right next to your ear. His voice vibrated down your spine. You swallowed, holding tighter to the knob in front of you. “You’re kinda close, y’know.” He smiled. You felt it without even looking at him.

Now you could feel the heat building in the stomach the way he was not so subtly flirting with you.

“You want me to back off?” he asked, voice still a hum, still as intimate as ever.

You hesitated just long enough for it to be an answer.

“No,” you said finally, eyes forward, heart thudding.

The bull shifted again, a sharper jolt this time, and your balance teetered. You gasped and instinctively leaned back right into him.

Without hesitation, both his hands caught your waist again, fingers curling into your sides as he steadied you. You stayed like that for a second, his chest brushing against your back, the heat of him practically wrapped around you now.

His voice was deeper this time. “Told you to trust your body.”

ou let out a shaky laugh. “I’m trying.”

“You’re doing better than most first timers,” he said, his hands still on your waist. “You’ve got natural rhythm.”

“Hmm do I?”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes and yeah, that tension was no longer subtle. It was thick between you, buzzing like static. Like something was about to snap.

The bull rocked again, but you barely noticed it.

His hand slid slightly higher, fingers splayed just beneath your ribs now.

“I could stop the bull,” he murmured. “If you wanted.”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Your eyes did all the talking. Then slowly you let out a nod.

So he did just that reaching past you, hit the control panel, and the bull came to a smooth, steady stop.

The room around you was still spinning, though. Because neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

You were still straddling the saddle. And that heat was still thick between you impossible to ignore now.

He stepped a little closer. “Lesson two,” he said softly, voice rough around the edges. “Sometimes it’s not about how long you can hold on…”

His hand slid to your thigh light, tentative, but not uncertain.

“It’s about knowing when to give in.”

You exhaled, heart pounding against your ribs.

And right then, you weren’t thinking about the bar. Or your friends. Or even the damn bull. Just him.

George walked over to the front of the bar, grabbed the little plastic sign hanging from the metal fence inclosing the bull, and flipped it from open to closed. Then he looked at you really looked. The playful charm was still there, but something deeper had settled in behind his eyes now. Intention. Heat. A question waiting for your answer.

“You here with people?” he asked, voice lower now, less teasing. His gaze locked on yours, slow and steady like it had weight.

You nodded. “Yeah,” then gave a slight smirk. “But they’ll understand.”

That did something to him. His jaw flexed. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip like he was thinking about everything he shouldn’t do and deciding to do it anyway.

He stepped toward you. “Come on,” he said simply.

You followed him out the side door, your hand brushing his for half a second before he caught it completely, fingers lacing with yours. His truck was parked in a dimly lit corner of the lot, far enough from the street to feel like it’s safe enough.

He opened the passenger door for you. “Climb in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You giving me a ride, cowboy?”

That grin was back. But darker now. Hungrier.

“Oh, I’m giving you a ride alright.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh but slipped into the seat anyway, the scent of leather and cologge surrounding you the moment you did. Familiar. Him.

He rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind him with a quiet finality. For a moment, the truck was silent. Just the faint hum of the cooling engine and your breathing, both of you suddenly very aware of how close this space really was.

He looked at you, eyes dragging slowly from your face to your thighs still bare from your ride, your dress riding up from all the movement.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he said, voice low and raw now.

“Yeah?” you said, just above a whisper, tilting your head slightly.

“Yeah,” he breathed, already leaning in. “From the second you walked over. The confidence. The mouth. That laugh.”

Your reply was lost in the heat of the moment because he kissed you before you could give it.

And God it wasn’t soft.

His mouth crashed against yours with the same force that bull had bucked you off with, but this time, you didn’t want to hold on. You wanted to fall into it. His hand tangled in your hair instantly, the other gripping your thigh, pulling you across the seat without hesitation.

You climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling him now in the tight space of the truck’s cab, the gear shift digging into your thigh, but you didn’t care. You could barely breathe with how deep he was kissing you, his hands exploring the curve of your hips, your waist, your back, like he was trying to memorize every inch.

You gasped when his lips moved to your jaw, your throat, dragging a trail of heat down to your collarbone.

“You sure about this?” he murmured against your skin, fingers hooked just under the hem of your dress now.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Bull instructor, George.” you said, voice breathless, “Teach me how to ride.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and that was all it took.

Clothes didn’t come off they couldn’t. Underwear below the dress was tugged aside, hIs shirt shoved up, pants unzipped in a rush of fumbling hands. Opened just enough to get what you needed. The windows fogged almost instantly, the cold air outside clashing with the heat building inside. His hands were everywhere, rough in the best way, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you

You shifted in his lap, grinding down just slightly, and felt the way his breath hitched against your neck. His hands tightened on your hips like he was barely holding himself back and maybe he was. Maybe you both were.

You reached between your bodies, fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans, your eyes never leaving his. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling with a sharp rhythm, eyes heavy and dark now.

“Let me?” you whispered questioning lightly.

He nodded, silent, barely breathing as you unbuttoned his pants, your knuckles brushing against him through the fabric. He was already hard and leaking so ready it made your stomach tighten.

You tugged his boxers and pants down just enough to see.

Fuck.

Your lips parted slightly, breath caught in your throat for a beat, and the way he watched you head tilted back slightly, jaw tight, eyes locked on your face only made it worse.

“Yeah?” he rasped, voice low and thick. “Want it?”

You smiled, dangerous and deep. “Something like that.”

He growled under his breath, pulling you tighter into him, like the space between you wasn’t small enough already. The truck rocked slightly with the movement, the windows already fogged beyond visibility.

You kissed him again, deeper this time, with your hips rolling forward as you settled on him ready for him. His hands gripped your thighs, then your ass, guiding you into place with a kind of desperation that matched your own.

And when you finally sank down onto him, it was hot and explosive, full of breathless gasps and clumsy rhythm. You moved together like you had all night,like you weren’t in the parking lot of his job.

The truck creaked with each thrust, each grind, your hands gripping his shoulders, his hands roaming like he couldn’t decide what part of you he wanted most.

The motions started slow teasing, torturous. The kind that made your body ache in the best way. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, pressing your forehead against his as your breaths tangled between you. Every movement felt like you never wanted to stop your hips rolling in time with his hands gripping you tighter, guiding, grounding, losing all control.

The truck still roccking faintly with every shift of your bodies, the only light spilling in from the hazy glow of a streetlamp outside, painting you both in this soft, golden hue. You could barely see, barely think everything was touch and breath and the heat building between you.

He kissed down your neck, dragging his mouth across your skin like he was memorizing it. “You feel,” he groaned, voice hot against your collarbone, “so fucking good.”

You whimpered at that, not caring how wrecked you sounded. You were too far gone. The way he filled you, the way his hands roamed like he couldn’t get enough like he’d been waiting for this all night. And maybe he had. Maybe that first look across the bar was all it took.

“You were watching me all night,” you gasped, rolling your hips harder against him.

He chuckled darkly, breath stuttering. “You had me the second you smirked at that bull.”

Your nails dug into his back, and that earned a groan from deep in his throat, rough and needy. His hands slid up under your top, thumbs brushing the underside of your chest, and when he leaned in to kiss you again, it was messy, desperate, perfect.

It was heat and pressure and that sharp, dizzying edge.

He angled his hips up, hitting deeper, and your mouth fell open, a gasp slipping out before you could even stop it.

“Fuck—George-”

That pulled something out of him. His mouth found yours again, swallowing every sound, every shaky breath, and his pace grew faster, more erratic. The tension between you snapped tighter with every second, building toward something inevitable.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna come,” you gasped, your voice breaking on the moan.

George nodded, jaw clenched tight as he angled his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot with unrelenting thrusts.

And that was it.

Your release crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath as your forehead dropped to his shoulder, your entire body trembling against his.

A few more thrusts and George followed with a groan, hips stuttering as he came, his grip on your waist tightening as he spilled into you, breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck I must be an incredible instructor.” He says smuggly smiling at you.

“Definitely deserve a raise.” You smirk back at him.

[ellclarkey]

Room For One More?(Requested)

Willne fluff and Smut.

Warning:Unprotected sex,cursing,Dom!will.

I somehow sneak an Arthur hill song in my fics every time..

You’ve been a YouTuber for years now long enough to build a solid brand, gain a loyal audience, and hire a full team a manager, editor, even a cameraman who’s there for everything. The whole shebang really. Your life has been a mix of travel, chaotic vlogs, and burnout breaks that never last long enough.

Recently, you made the jump to London. Big move, big city, big potential. You’ve cycled through three living situations in the past few months flatshares with random people, alone and one place that was nice but none of them felt like home.

Your career, however, was thriving. You finally secured a cozy office space to film, edit, and meet with your team a fresh start for your creative process. The place was everything you’d needed. And everyone in the building was also a Youtuber. The guy across the hall especially he was always there.

He wasn’t too loud, he’d always make videos with his friends and they’d always be in the office for hours. So naturally you’d cross paths often,quick hellos, awkward elevator silences, and a few shared complaints about the printer.

Then, one day, it happened. Over a takeaway iced coffee and a printer jam you both tried to fix for twenty minutes, he mentioned he had a spare room in his apartment. He knew you were looking.

“Flatmate just moved out. If you’re still looking.”

It was casual. Almost too casual. You hesitated for half a second before agreeing. You were tired of searching, tired of cold flats and stranger roommates. At least you’d already semi known this guy and hey, the commute would be unbeatable.

“Yea i’ll give it a shot.” You say trying to hide the excitement.

Three weeks and far too many overpriced hotel rooms later, you were finally moving in.

Dragging your suitcase through the front door, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The flat was surprisingly nice. Warm toned wood floors, big windows that let in actual daylight , and a faint scent of coffee and whatever cologne he wore lingering in the air.

You stepped further in, taking it all in the plants on the windowsill, the random mix of mugs stacked beside the kettle, the soft hum of a pc still running in his room down the hall.

“Front door sticks a bit, just gotta kick it,” a voice called from the kitchen.

There he was hair messy, pants low, already holding out a spare house key like he’d done this a hundred times before. Like this was no big deal. Like your entire life wasn’t about to change.

“Welcome home,” he added casually, with that crooked little smirk you were already suspicious of.

You tried to play it cool. “Hope you don’t snore.”

“Wait til i’m drunk.” He grinned. You dropped your bags by the door with a soft thud and gave the place a slow spin. It wasn’t huge, but it had personality messy but livedd in, like someone who cared just enough. A blanket half folded on the sofa, open packages from Amazon on the table, a dog faced mug(🪦) filled with what looked like three day old tea.

“This is nicer than I pictured,” you said, still scanning the room.

“What, did you think I lived in a cave?” he called back.

You shrugged. “Kinda. Figured it’d be all led lights and g fuel.”

He popped his head around the corner, a spoon in his mouth, eyebrows raised. “I’m a youtuber not a streamer dear.”

You laughed, slipping off your shoes. “I’m just saying. My expectations were low. Pleasantly surprised.”

The night came upon you quicker than expected the sky turning navy blue before you even realized the sun had set.

It was nice, though. Peaceful.

You were sat in your new bed, legs tucked under a soft throw blanket, laptop open but untouched. Boxes still half packed sat in the corner, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you were in transit. No suitcase leaning by the door, no check out time hanging over your head.

Your new room was small but cozy. The walls were blank for now, but the warm lamplight made the space feel lived in. You’d lit a candle you found at the bottom of one of your bags it qas most likely a leftover prop from a past sponsor.

You scrolled aimlessly through emails and half typed video ideas, but your focus kept drifting. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear him shuffling around on his chair.

You leaned your head back against the wall and let your eyes close for a moment. This wasn’t what you expected when you moved to London. Living with another YouTuber sounded like a recipe for disaster or a cancellation, but tonight? It just felt easy the easiest it ever felt.

The floor creaked faintly, and a soft knock followed.

“You still awake?” he asked through the door.

You opened one eye. “Barely.”

The door pushed open a crack. “Wanna watch something? I’ve got snacks.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Snacks as in actual snacks? Or a single half eaten bag of popcorn you’ve had since January?”

He grinned. “Both.”

And just like that, your first night in the flat stretched onto the sofa. Mismatched blankets on each of your bodies, and casual jokes that felt a little warmer than they probably should’ve. the glow of the tv across both your faces. You weren’t really watching, not anymore. The snacks sat untouched between you, long forgotten. At some point, you’d started leaning into him more just enough to feel his arm brush yours every time he shifted. And he’d stopped shifting away.

Your legs were tucked beneath you, his thigh warm against the side of yours. Every inch between you was charged, every small glance lingering just a bit too long. You weren’t even pretending to pay attention anymore. You could feel him watching you from the side. The kind of look that burned slow and deep.

“You cold?” he asked, low and casual, but his tone had changed.

You whispered. “A little.”

He moved slowly, lifting his arm. An unspoken invitation. You didn’t hesitate. You slid closer, settling beneath his arm, tucked against his side, your head resting lightly on his chest. His hand found your hip almost instinctively.

it should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t.

His fingers started tracing idle circles through the fabric of your top, just beneath the hem where it had ridden up slightly. Warm and steady. Your breath caught just enough for him to notice.

“You alright?” he asked, still in that low voice. A tease.

“Mhm.” You said tense.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie. You could feel his heart beating faint, but there. He was so needy and you could feel that.

You turned your face slightly to glance up at him, and that was all it took.

His lips were on yours before you could think. No hesitation. No teasing buildup this time just the sudden heat of his mouth, soft and wanting, and the sound of your breath catching as you leaned into him.

The kiss deepened fast ungry, like you’d both been holding back. His hand slipped up under your shirt, fingers brushing over bare skin now, slow and deliberate. Your knee shifted over his thigh, straddling him without thinking. He groaned against your mouth, low and rough, gripping your waist tighter as you settled into his lap.

“Didn’t think this would happen night one,” he murmured against your lips, eyes dark.

You grinned, breathless. “Why not?”

He kissed you again, harder this time. “Cause usualy i’m a gentleman.” He smirked

You just gave an unbelieving nod back.

Your shirt was half off now, his hoodie pushed back from your shoulders, your skin burning under his touch. You rocked forward, hips brushing his just enough to make him curse under his breath. His hands moved down, gripping your thighs, your ass, pulling you closer with a kind of urgency that made your head spin.

The tv kept playing in the background, but neither of you heard it anymore.

This wasn’t just tension it was weeks of bad sleep, work meetups, long glances, and loneliness finally colliding in the soft light of your new flat. And the best part? It was with him.

Your breath hitched as his mouth dropped to your neck, lips dragging along your skin, slow and warm and confident. He kissed just beneath your jaw, then lower, his stubble brushing against you in a way that made your thighs tense around his.

“You feel so good,” he muttered into your skin, his voice low, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Your fingers gripped at the fabric of his shirt, tugging it up over his stomach. He leaned back just enough for you to pull it over his head, tossing it to the floor without a second thought. You’d seen him in thumbnails and behind cameras a hundred times, but like this flushed, hair messy, lips kiss swollen and looking at you needy it was different, hotter and so real.

Your hips rolled forward again, slow but deliberate, and his breath caught. He tightened his grip on your waist, head tipping back against the couch for a second like he needed to get it together.

“Fuck,” he muttered, blinking up at you. “You’re killing me.”

You smiled, slow and teasing. “Not my fault you made the first move.”

His eyes flashed. “Right. So this is on me?”

And then he grabbed you again firm and fast pulling you flush against him, his hands splayed over your back. His mouth was on yours before you could answer, deeper this time, tongues brushing, teeth grazing, messy in the best way. Your body melted into his, your moan slipping between the kisses as one of his hands slid down, under the waistband of your shorts, fingers curving over your ass and squeezing like he’d been thinking about doing that since the second you decided to move in.

Maybe he had.

You ground against him instinctively, your bodies moving in sync now, rhythm building. It was all heat and tension and the way his hands couldn’t decide where to stay your waist, your thighs, your hips, your neck like he wanted all of you at once.

“Bed?” he suggested , breath ragged against your lips.

You nodded wordlessly, pulse thrumming in your throat.

He stood with you still wrapped around him, your legs clinging to his waist, and carried you down the hall like it was the easiest thing in the world. The flat was silent except for your breathing, and the hum of the tv in the background. Your soft gasps as he pressed you against the hallway wall halfway to your room, kissing you again, slower this time almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening either.

When he finally laid you down, the sheets cool against your back and his body hovering over yours, he paused. Just long enough to look at you really look at you.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice rough, barely above a whisper.

You reached for him, pulling him back down with a grin that was anything but innocent.

“Please.” You beg.

Will nods, a slow, knowing smile curling on his lips as he reaches down, pulling your shorts fully off along with your underwear . A sharp gasp escapes you, the cool air meeting your bare skin making your body shiver in anticipation. Your hands move without thinking, reaching for the waistband of his pants and boxers, sliding them down inch by inch.

His eyes, dark and glistening with desire, lock onto yours as you do so. The raw intensity in his gaze sends a jolt through you. Then, gentle but deliberate, he takes your hand and guides it to him, pressing you closer.

Slow. Deliberate. Every movement calculated to build the tension, to draw out the moment until you’re both trembling, aching for more.

His breath hitches as he slowly pushes inside you, his eyes never leaving yours, reading every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. The world narrows down to this electric connection, every inch, every sigh, every heartbeat.

He moves with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each inch drawing you deeper into the tension between you. Your breath catches, intertwining with his as the intensity builds, the air thick with raw need and whispered promises.

Will’s hands slide down your back, steadying you as his lips trail from your jaw to your neck, leaving hot, feather light kisses that make your skin prickle. You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, desperate to hold on to this moment this wild, beautiful collision of desire and something tender beneath it.

“Gosh” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough, “you feel incredible.”

Your heartbeat races, matching his, every movement a perfect harmony as the world outside fades away. Time seems to slow, everything reduced to the heat you share and the deep connection that’s rapidly becoming impossible to ignore.

The room fills with soft gasps, whispered names, and the steady rhythm of two bodies learning each other’s language one touch, one sigh at a time.

Your fingers trace the line of his spine, nails raking gently down as your hips move to meet his. The way he groans into your mouth nearly undoes you.

It’s not rushed, not frantic this isn’t about release. It’s about the ache, the tension, the overwhelming realization that somewhere between bickering over fridge space and brushing past each other in the hallway, something deeper was always simmering.

And now it’s herer in full force.

His lips find yours again, this time desperate, messy, full of want. Your name slips from his mouth like a prayer, low and reverent. Every movement after that feels powerful yet powerless. And when the moment finally crashes over you both, it’s not just your bodies that give in.

Your back arches as his pace quickens, the slow build now unraveling into something urgent, overwhelming. Each thrust hits deeper, perfectly angled, his hands gripping you like he’s holding on for dear life.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, voice breaking. “Will pleaseee.” You beg

“I’ve got you,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “I’m right here.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as your body starts to tremble, the pressure mounting impossibly high. He can feel it he knows and he doesn’t let up, driving into you with a rhythm that has you unraveling.

And then it hits.

Whitehot. Intense. Your body clenches around him as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave so strong it steals your breath. You cry out his name, gripping him tighter, lost in the pleasure that overtakes you.

Will follows moments later, a strained, guttural sound escaping his throat as he lets go inside you, hips stuttering, eyes squeezed shut like he’s never felt anything like this before.

For a second, everything is still just your tangled limbs, heaving breaths, and the feeling of being completely undone.

“Best roommate ever.” He says with a smirk on his face as he’s moving up your body to hold you.

[ellclarkey]

First And Second Course.(Requested)

George Clarke Fluff And Smut.

Warning:Unprotected Sex,Cursing,Romantic Sex.

An:I know everything i’ve been writing is George smut but that’s what most ppl request💁🏻‍♀️.(not mad about it tbh😼)

George had planned a really special night a five-star dinner reservation at one of the nicest places in London. Back in the early days of your relationship, dates like this used to happen all the time. You’d get dressed up, he’d open your door, and the two of you would spend hours talking and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered. But life got busy. Work, routines, everything just stacked up.

So it had been a while.

But tonight, George insisted. “I’m taking you out,” he said, no room for protest in his voice but that familiar softness in his eyes.

And just like that, it felt like the beginning again.

So of course, you two got ready.

George wore nice white trousers and a rich brown shirt that hugged him in all the right places the kind of outfit that made you not able to take your eyes off of him.

And you, you dressed like it was the Met Gala. That red dress, the one that clung in all the right places, the one that made you feel powerful and soft all at once. It flattered your figure like it had been made for you. George’s eyes lingered on you the second you walked out.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath with a grin, eyes trailing slowly down your body. “How am I supposed to focus on dinner when you look like that?”

“Oh shush, look at you,” you tease, stepping closer as your fingers brush lightly over the front of his shirt.

His hands find your waist, pulling you in with that familiar grip that makes your heart skip. You tilt your chin up, lips brushing his just before you press a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

He hums against you, smiling into it. “If we keep this up,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, “we’re going to be late for the reservation.(😉)”

You smirk, adjusting the collar of his shirt like it’s nothing, even though your pulse is already quick.

You arrive at the beautifully candlelit restaurant, the kind of place that feels like it exists only in a movir. Soft music plays in the background, the scent of fresh herbs and warm bread floating through the air. Everything feels intimate, small and romantic.

George’s fingers are laced with yours as a waiter leads you to your private booth tucked into a cozy corner. The lighting flickers gently, casting a golden glow over his features. You walk just a bit slower than usual, hips swaying with each step and from the way his thumb strokes against your hand, you know he’s noticed.

You slide into the booth, smoothing your dress as you settle in, and George takes the seat across from you, eyes never leaving your face.

“So… you’re paying, yeah?” he says with a grin, an obviously just teasing grin.

You smirk in return “Youtube’s not going good for you?” you lick your lips at him

George laughs and grabs your hand “Whatcha getting lovely?”

You graze over the menu a few times before answer “Probably spaghetti bolognese and garlic bread. You?”

“Steak.” He smirks

“My heels are so uncomfortable.” You groan.

George chuckles softly, eyes dropping to where your legs are tucked beneath the table. “You want me to give you a foot rub under here? Because I will,” he teases, voice low and playful.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I swear you’d do anything to get your hands on me.”

He smirks and just nods.

You giggle, biting your lip as the waiter approaches. The two of you order, sharing a knowing glance across the table, your knees brushing slightly beneath the booth. Even through the chatter of the restaurant, it’s like a quiet bubble surrounds you both.

“You know,” George says after a beat, toying with the menu. “I missed this. Just…us.”

You nod, something soft settling behind your ribs. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence comfortable, warm—before he reaches across the table, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Let’s not wait so long next time, yeah?”

We arrived home to that familiar quiet, the kind that only seems to settle when the night’s been perfect.

You kicked off your heels the second the door closed behind you, groaning in relief as you leaned against the wall. George laughed under his breath, locking the door and tossing his keys onto the entryway table.

“Your feet hurting that bad?” he asked, walking over to you with that smug little grin.

“So bad baby.”

His eyes roamed over you again like he was back in that restaurant, like you were still lit by candlelight. “God, you’re unreal,” he murmured.

“You’ve said that” you teased.

“Still true.” His voice had dipped now lower, rougher. “Even more so.”

He stepped forward slowly, hands sliding around your hips as he pressed you gently back against the wall. You didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. Not when he was looking at you like that like he hadn’t eaten properly all night because you were the meal.

His lips brushed yours once, then again, slower. “Been thinking about this all night.”

You leaned into him. “You were the one who said we couldn’t be late.”

“Had to be good.” He said slowly brushing his eyes over you “These outfits aren’t really lounge wear are they?” Hje added

“Then take it off.” you say lightly laughing.

Your laugh turned into a breathless sigh as his hands slid over your waist, your back, smoothing down the curve of your thighs. The red dress you wore to impress him now felt like it existed solely for this moment something for him to unwrap slowly.

“Well you should keep the dress on” he grins with something deep.

All you can do is laugh.

After a while of burning silence “You still hungry?” you asked playfully, your voice low and needy.

George lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his grin lazy and dangerous.

“Starving.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His lips found yours again hungrier this time, deeper. The kind of kiss that makes your knees weak even when you’re already pressed up against the wall. His hands were everywhere now the curve of your waist, the small of your back, gliding down your thighs like he was tracing the dress into memory.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as he kissed down your neck, slow and deliberate. You could feel the smirk against your skin when you moaned softly.

“You sound so pretty when you do that,” he murmured, voice thick, lips brushing just below your ear.

You pushed at his shirt, untucking it hastily, fingers fumbling with the top of it. “Off,” you whispered. “Now.”

He pulled back just enough to help you, flinging the shirt aside, then watched as your hands slid over his warm chest, the tips of your fingers dragging down with reverence. His breath hitched.

Eventually, he backed you toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving your body. With each step, clothes became less of a priority, his belt undone, your zipper sliding down. The anticipation crackled between you like static.

By the time you reached the bed, the red dress was still clinging to you, but barely. George hovered over you, his eyes dark with want, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip as he stared down at you like you were everything.

“I’m going to make tonight unforgettable,” he whispered.

“You already have,” you breathed.

George’s mouth captures yours again, deeper and more demanding this time. His hands travel slowly down your body, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your dress with a touch that sends a shiver straight through you.

You gasp softly when his fingertips brush the bare skin of your thigh, moving higher, the heat between you building so much that it’s impossible to ignore. His lips leave yours to trail down your jaw, then to your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin there.

“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough with need.

Your hands pull the already unbuttoned trousers down,desperate to feel him closer, and he helps you, pulling his trousers down just enough to reveal the thick, eager erextion straining against his boxers.

He groans softly when your fingers brush over him, slick and hot, your touch both tender and teasing.

“God, thank you so much for tonight.” George breathes, leaning back to capture your lips once more, his body pressing flush against yours.

“No thank you lovely.” You respond whilst cupping him.

You can feel every hard line of him through the thin fabric of his boxers, your heart pounding in your chest as the hunger between you ignites fully.

He pulls Your dress up, revealing more skin with every inch he pushes it, and his hands are everywhere on your thighs, your back, your hips.

When he finally settles his hands on yours waist his mouth is back on yours again, tongues intertwining and teeth grazing as he slowly slides the dress over your unzips your dress and pulls it down slowly so so unbearably slow,revealing your bare skin underneath.

Your breath hitches as his lips trail down your neck to your collarbone, then lower, leaving a path of fire.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your hardened nipples, and you arch into his touch, fingers threading through his hair.

George’s hands move lower, sliding beneath your panties with gentle pressure before peeling them away.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispers, gaze locked on you as he positions himself between your legs.

You part willingly for him, as he pulls his boxers down. Then he inserts himself causing a tight gasp from your lips, every inch drawing a low moan from deep in your throat.

His rhythm is patient, loving each movement designed to bring you closer to the edge without rushing.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him impossibly close as he buries his face in your neck, breath hot and uneven.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, voice thick with need.

You shiver, lips trembling as you answer, “More. Closer.”

He complies, increasing the pace, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

The world shrinks until there’s nothing but the two of you skin against skin, heartbeats syncing, whispered promises tangled with gasps and moans.

As the thrusts get slower and messier he knows what’s about to happen and you know he does by the way he rubs your clit. “Fuck- fuck- George im go-“ You gasp

“I know let go for me.” He says soft so soft.

And you do just that you finish on him.

Seconds later he spills inside you with a grunt.

“Never waiting so long again,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

You smile, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

“Never.”

[ellclarkey]

Jealousy Looks Good On You.

(Requested)

George Clarke SMUT

warnings: Edging, Dom!George, Jealousy sex, Oral receiving, Unprotected Sex.

an: This actually took ages and is insanely long. 😭

George had always told you he doesn’t get jealous.

You’d always check in before going out without him not because he was possessive, but just to keep the trust strong and the bond solid.

He’d always smile and say, “Of course, lovely. I don’t care, I know you’re mine, and I Don’t get jealous.”So you’d go out have fun and of course he didn’t get jealous.

Or even at the club when some guy talked a little too close or looked a little too long George would always pretend he didn’t care. But sometimes, just sometimes, you could see it in the way his jaw tensed or how his arm would slip a little tighter around your waist.

So tonight, you were going to test that. Psush him to the edge.

You were both getting ready to head out to the pub.

You slipped into a tight black dress that clung to every curve and left little to the imagination. It was short dangerously short. The kind of short where one wrong move, one bend forward, and your underwear would be on show. But you didn’t care. In fact, that was the whole point. The dress needed to be that short.

George wandered into the bathroom, his belt hanging loose at his waist, hair still tousled from the shower, shirt unbuttoned and clinging slightly to his damp skin. “Hey, lovely. Almost ready?” he asked, still not looking up as he fixed his collar.

“Mhm, just about,” you replied lightly, dabbing a bit of gloss on your lips. “I need to fix my hair and touch up my makeup, yeah?” You paused, pretending to admire yourself in the mirror before adding, casually, “Oh, and how’s the dress, baby?”

He finally glanced up and stopped.

His eyes flicked down, then back up again, lingering a second too long on your thighs. There was a beat of silence before he gave a half stunned little smirk. “Uh… yeah. You look stunning. Bit short, innit?”

You turned in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over your hips like you were just making sure it sat right, even though you’d already checked yourself from every angle twice.

“Short?” you repeated , blinking innocently. “You think?”

George’s eyes were fixed on you now. His shirt still hung open, but he’d completely forgotten about getting dressed. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I mean, you look…” He dragged a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, you look incredible. Just uh yeah. Short.”

You smiled like you didn’t catch the hesitation in his voice. “Well, it’s too late to change now.”

Then you turned back to your mascara like it was nothing, like you weren’t completely aware of his eyes tracking every move. The silence stretched for a beat before he stepped back out into the hallway, muttering something about his stupid belt , but not before you caught the way his gaze dipped again lower this time, jaw tight.

You bit back a grin.

Exactly what you wanted.

You walked slowly, deliberately, swaying your hips just a bit more than usual with every step. The heels clicked against the floor, catching his attention before you even spoke.

“Ready, Georgie?” you asked sweetly, pausing in the doorway with a hand on your hip.

George turned to look at you, and it was like you’d knocked the air right out of him. He stood there for a second, belt now buckled, shirt halfway buttoned, just staring.

His eyes dragged down your body, slow and heavy, before flicking back up to your face.

“Fuckin hell,” he muttered under his breath, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, ready.”

You smirked softly and turned, giving him a perfect view of that dress from behind as you made your way to the door.

You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

ou could feel it.

You arrive at the club, music already pulsing through the walls, lights flickering low and warm. George’s hand finds yours almost instantly as you step inside a little tighter than usual, a little more grounding.

You weave through the crowd, finally finding a seat tucked near the edge of the room, half-lit and just private enough. You lean in, your voice light over the music. “Gonna grab a drink, yeah?”

George just nods, eyes scanning the room for a moment before landing back on you. His grip loosens, but his eyes linger.

You flash him a soft smile and turn, making your way to the bar.

You can feel it again the hem of your dress riding up slightly as you walk, the shimmer of glances sliding over your skin.

And you don’t pull it down.

At the bar, you lean in to order, and just as you do, a guy slides in beside you. Tall, maybe a little older, the kind of confidence that assumes he’s welcome.

“Hope you’re not waiting too long,” he says, flashing a smile. “They’re slow tonight.”

You glance at him, lips curled into a polite smile. “Not too bad.”

He leans closer, like he’s trying to talk over the music but it’s more than that. You feel his eyes flick down, lingering.

You wonder how long it’ll take George to notice.

And more importantly, what he’ll do when he does.

You sit back in the booth beside George, pretending not to notice how tense his body’s become. He hasn’t said anything else, but you can feel it his knee bouncing slightly, his hand clenching and unclenching around his drink. Watching. Thinking.

That’s when it happens.

A shadow looms at the edge of your booth. You glance up, and there’s a guy tall, built, confident smiling like he’s got every right to interrupt.

“Hey,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “Sorry, don’t mean to bother, but I just had to say you look unreal tonight.”

George doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But you feel his entire body go still beside you.

You offer the guy a polite smile. “Oh. uh thanks ” you say not wanting to take it too far.

“You here with anyone?” the guy asks, completely ignoring the six foot, death glare wearing man sitting inches away from you.

Before you can even answer, George sets his drink down. Hard. The clack of glass on the table is sharp and final.

“She’s with me,” he says.

His voice isn’t raised but it’s low, firm, and lethal.

The guy finally looks at George, sizing him up, clearly realizing he’s misread the situation. “Right. Yeah. My bad.”

He backs off quickly, disappearing into the crowd.

You bite your lip, turning to George slowly. “Everything alright, Georgie?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes still locked on where the guy walked off. “Why’d you let him talk to you like that?”

You shrug innocently. “Did I let him?”

He turns to you fully now, his body angled toward yours, eyes dark and unreadable under the low lights. His voice is low, edged with something dangerous.

“What’re you trying to do, love?”

You blink up at him, all mock innocent. “Nothing?”

Then you lean in a little closer, your thigh brushing his. Your voice drops to a teasing whisper, just for him.

“Is someone jealous?” you ask sweetly, head tilting. “Hm? Someone can’t handle other men looking at me?”

George lets out a quiet, humorless laugh but there’s nothing light about the way he looks at you.

His hand moves suddenly, possessively, landing on your thigh under the table. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You think this is funny?” he mutters, leaning in now, his nose brushing your cheek, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You want attention, yeah? Want to see what happens when I do get jealous?”

You don’t answer just hold his gaze, lips parted, breathing shallow.

He smirks darkly, like he already knows.

“Finish your drink,” he says, voice low and firm, his grip still on your thigh. “We’re leaving. You want to act like a brat, then you’ll get treated like one.”

Your stomach flips.

He leans back, cold now, collected but only just. “I’ll go wait for the Uber.”

And with that, he stands and walks out, jaw set, shoulders stiff, not even looking back.

You watch him go, heart pounding, your legs crossing under the table to ease the ache beginning to stir.

You take your time with the last few sips of your drink, letting the ice melt slowly against your lips, that smirk playing at the corner of your mouth.

Exactly what you wanted.

When you finally step outside, the cool air kisses your skin. He’s there lleaning against the wall near the curb, phone in hand, jaw tight, his eyes flicking to you the second you step into view.

You walk toward him slowly, still swaying a little in that short dress, still giving him a show because you know he’s watching every step.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, his gaze dragging from your legs back up to your face like he’s trying to calm something inside himself.

When you’re close enough, he leans in slightly not grabbing, not pulling kust close enough that his voice rumbles softly near your ear.

“Didn’t like seeing other guys all over you like that.”

It’s not angry. It’s not sharp. It’s low. Honest. Controlled, but barely.

His eyes flick to yours, jaw clenched just enough to show you he’s feeling every second of this.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he adds, softer now. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You don’t say anything in fact you don’t know what to say but luckily the Uber pulls up behind you, headlights washing you both in heavr light.

He opens the door, looking at you with a mix of heat and restraint, voice dipping again. “Come on, love. Let’s go home.”

The car door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you inside a pocket of quiet. The hum of the engine kicks in, and the driver offers a polite nod, tapping the address into his gps without a word.

You settle into your seat, dress riding just a little higher with the way you cross your legs. Out of the corner of your eye, you see George glance down, then quickly look out the window, like he’s trying to give you space but his jaw is tight, his hands still, resting on his thighs.

The air between you feels heavy, charged. You don’t speak. You don’t have to.

Your knee brushes his. He doesn’t move away.

Minutes pass like that quiet, loaded.

You look over at him, just watching. His profile lit faintly by the passing streetlights, expression calm but eyes too sharp for that to be the truth.

You lean in slightly, your voice low.

“You alright?”

He doesn’t answer at first, then finally shifts to face you just a little.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just thinking.”

You give him a soft smile, reaching over to fix the collar of his shirt like it’s no big deal. Your fingers graze his skin. His jaw tightens again.

“You’re quiet.”

He glances at you, eyes dark but gentle.

“So are you.”

Silence again, but not empty in fact its tension filled.

Then you feel it. His pinky brushing against your knee. Barely touching, but deliberate.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, voice so low only you can hear. “You looked beautiful. Too beautiful.”

You turn your head, lips parted slightly, breathing shallow.

His hand finds your thigh under the dress. Not high. Not yet. Just enough.

The car turns the last corner. You can see your street ahead through the windshield.

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When we get inside…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.cHe doesn’t have to.

You nod eager, maybe too eager and he sees it.

The way your breath catches. The way your eyes flick to his mouth and then away again.

Like you’re trying not to beg.

But he hears it anyway.

The Uber rolls to a stop and the second the door opens, George is out, circling to your side with a steady hand on your lower back as he guides you inside. The door clicks shut behind you and it’s like everything you’ve been holding in finally boils over.

You turn to say something maybe tease him, maybe push one last button but you don’t get the chance.

His hands are on your waist, firm but not rough, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch.

Then he pushes you down not harsh, not careless. Just decisive.

You land with a soft gasp, eyes wide, legs still crossed instinctively. Your dress rides up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs.

George stands over you, breathing a little heavier now, gaze dark and unwavering.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he says, voice low, steady, like he’s been holding this in for hours.

You smirk up at him, playing it cool but your body gives you away. The way you shift slightly, thighs pressing together. The way you can’t stop looking at his hands.

“So what?” you breathe.

He kneels in front of you, hands sliding up your legs slow, reverent, dangerous.

“So now I’m gonna show you exactly what that does to me.”

Your legs fall open for him without hesitation, breath hitching as George settles between them. His hands stroke your thighs with maddening slowness, thumbs grazing upward, drawing little circles into your skin like he’s warming you up for something he has no intention of giving yrt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low, lips just barely brushing the top of your thigh. “And I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You whimper softly, hips shifting, trying to angle yourself closer to his mouth but his grip tightens, holding you still.

“Patience,” he says simply, dragging his mouth along your skin. “You don’t just get what you want, not after the way you acted tonight.”

His fingers ghost over your core, light and cruel. Just enough to feel it, not enough to satisfy.

You buck your hips, chasing the touch, and he pulls away entirely leaning back on his heels, licking his bottom lip, smug as hell.

“Mmm-mm. Not yet.”

Your voice comes out a whisper, thick with need. “George fu-”

“Look at you,” he cuts in softly. “All squirmy and sweet now. Where’d that cocky little act go, hm? You were bold enough to flirt across the bar now you can’t even stay still.”

He leans back in, mouth brushing your inner thigh again so close and his warm breath against you makes your whole body tense.

Then he kisses your thigk. Then your other thigh.Then nothing.

You whine, fingers twisting in the fabric of the couch, frustration spilling from every part of you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He hums low, pleased by the sound. “Yeah? That didn’t take long, already begging.”

One hand slides up, teasing between your legs ome slow stroke with his knuckle, featherlight, up and down, never dipping in.

Your breath catches.

“Want my mouth?” he asks quietly, eyes locked on yours now.

You nod quickly. Too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No. Use your words.”

“I want your mouth,” you gasp. “I need it. I need you. Please.”

He hums in approval, finally hooking his fingers into the sides of your underwear, dragging them down painfully slow. He kisses up the inside of your thigh again, tongue flicking against your skin, just enough to make you shiver.

“Could’ve had this earlier,” he says, voice like rough, “if you didn’t show off hmm?.”

And then without warning he gives you what you want. What you need.

His mouth finds you, warm, steady, deliberate. Tongue slow, thorough, like he’s got nowhere else to be but here, unraveling you. Every movement is calculated, patient designed to make you feel exactly how much power he has over your body right now.

Your moans spill out before you can stop them, hips bucking up into his mouth, and his hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you still as he keeps going, deeper, firmer, until your whole body starts to tremble.

He pulls back only when you’re on the edge, breathless and dizzy.

“You’re close already?” he teases, eyes gleaming. “Haven’t even started yet.”

And then he’s back on your mouth relentless, tongue circling, pressure building again, higher, hotter. You fall apart with his name on your lips, your body giving out beneath you.

Then he goes again lapping you up.

when you think he’s finally going to settle in, finally going to give you what you’re begging for, he pulls back again.

You cry out, frustrated and breathless. “George!”

He looks up at you, lips glistening from your soak, eyes half lidded with heat but that same teasing glint still shining beneath.

“Mm,” he hums, thumb sliding lazily up your inner thigh. “You’re so desperate. And I’ve barely touched you.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself, but it’s useless every part of you is pulsing, aching, throbbing.

You try to close your legs just to ease the ache but he catches your thighs and pushes them open again, firm, controlled, spreading you wider than before.

“No, no,” he says softly. “You wanted attention. You wanted to be seen. So let me look at what’s mine.”

Your chest heaves. His eyes drop down again, his tongue wetting his lower lip like he’s admiring his own restraint.

Then he leans in and just barely flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit once. A soft, cruel tease that makes you jolt, your hands flying to his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

But he grips your thighs tighter, pinning you to the couch.

“Still haven’t decided if I want to let you come yet,” he murmurs. “Feels like you don’t really deserve it yet.”

You whimper, shaking your head, breath ragged. “Please. Please, George. I’ll be good.”

He kisses your inner thigh again. “You’ll be perfect,” he says. “But not until I say so.”

Then, finally, he begins to work.

Tongue slow but firm, lapping up every drop of your arousal, sucking softly on your clit until your hips rise off the couch only for him to push them back down with both hands, holding you in place, like he owns every inch of you. And he does.

Your fingers find his hair, tugging hard now, gasping his name over and over. He moans into you, and the vibration makes your whole body jump.

He keeps you on that edge for what feels like forever circling, sucking, treating, returning until you’re shaking, thighs clenching around his head, your voice nearly gone.

“Georgie please I can’t”

He pulls back, just enough to speak against your slick skin, his breath hot.

“Alright baby i’ll let you cum for me.”

Then his mouth is back on you, relentless this time, no teasing. Just rhythm. Heat. Command.

And when you finally break, when your orgasm hits you so hard it punches the air from your lungs, he stays there through every second of it lips locked to you, hands gripping tight, owning every twitch, every cry, every wave.

You collapse back against the couch, chest heaving, hair stuck to your cheeks, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

George lifts his head slowly, licking his lips, eyes drinking you in. He smirks soft, satisfied “There she is.” He leans up, kissing your stomach.

“You gonna behave now?”

You nod, weakly.

And he grins, dark and loving all at once.

“Are you alright,my love?” He asks in an almost nervous tone.

“More than alright.” I say smirking

You shift slightly, trying to steady your breath but then your eyes land on him, and everything in you stirs all over again.

He’s still kneeling there, between your thighs, head bowed slightly like he’s catching his breath too. His hair’s a mess from your fingers, curls wild and damp at the edges. His lips are swollen, a little red, glistening gand his eyes, when he finally lifts them to meet yours, theyre blown wide, dark and intent, like he’s still drowning in you.

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you.

And in that look, you see everything.

He’s tense, trying to keep it together. His hands flex once on your thighs, like he doesn’t know whether to pull away or keep going. His chest rises hard under his shirt, the buttons half undone from earlier, collar messed up, clinging slightly to his skin where sweat gathers at the hollow of his throat.

He’s trying to hold it in trying to stay calm. Stay in control.

But you see it.

He’s wrecked.

Quietly, utterly undone by you.

And he’s hard so hard you can see the tent in his tight dress pantsz.

You sit up slowly, letting your fingers trail along the top of his chest, feeling the heat of him, the faint tremble in his breath as you touch him. He shudders slightly under your hand, and his jaw clenches like he’s trying not to react.

You tilt your head, lips tugging into a slow smile.

“Look at you tough guy, completely wrecked acting all strong hmm?” Yoy whisper.

He lets out a soft laugh quiet, sharp, breathless.

Then he leans forward, his mouth brushing your neck, voice low, ragged.

“How could I not be? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

He pauses, breathing deep against your skin.

“And i’m not fucking done.” He adds then he moves.

His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease, laying you back into the couch cushions. He settles above you, chest pressed to yours, the weight of him grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He kisses you ddeep, slow, not gentle. Like he needs it. Like he’s been waiting all night to finally take.

You moan into his mouth, hips arching up toward his, and he groans, low in his throat as he grinds against you once, his cock hard and heavy against your core through the thin layers between you.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I think I do,” you whisper, tugging at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, tossing it aside.

Your hands trail over his chest, down his stomach, feeling him twitch under your touch.

He grabs your wrist, firm but not rough. “No more teasing.”

Then he stands briefly just long enough to strip, dress pants hitting the floor, boxers following, cock flushed and aching and fucking soaked of pre cum. Your mouth parts at the sight of him, and he catches the look in your eyes with a low, crooked smirk.

“You gonna keep staring,” he says, voice dark, “or are you gonna behave?”

You don’t answer. You just lie back, opening your legs for him again.

That’s all he needs.

He sinks down between your thighs, lining himself up without hesitation. One hand holds your hip, the other gripping the back of the couch beside your head. And when he pushes in slow, steady, thick and stretching you both let out a sound at the same time.

You let out a loud moan and he lets out a broken groan.

“Fuck always so tight,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours.

He bottoms out with one deep thrust, holding there for a moment, letting you feel all of him, full and heavy inside you.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“George,” you whisper, already lost.

He moves.

Slow at first deep rolls of his hips, dragging against every inch inside you, his cock hitting that spot just right over and over. His mouth stays on your neck, then your collarbone, then your lips again, as if he can’t stand to not be touching you everywhere at once.

And the way he looks at you wrecked, whichmakes your stomach twist with need.

“Wanted to fuck you right there in that booth show everyone who you belong to,” he mutters against your skin. “Dress so short I could’ve just pulled it to the side”

You moan, fingers digging into his back.

“Tell me i’m yours, tell me i’m the only one you fuck.” He growls, picking up the pace, his hips now snapping into you harder. “You’re mine and the only one I fuck. Of course you are George if it’s not you it’s no one.”You say half moaning.

“You wanted me jealous didn’t you? Wanted to see what would happen and now you get it hmm?” He groans eyes half shut

You cant speak and definitely can’t answer just nodding, panting, whimpering against his mouth as he fucks you into the cushions, deeper with every thrust, no space left between you.

Every drag of him inside you is maddening, and you’re already so close again you can feel it creeping up fast your nails digging into his shoulders, your voice catching in your throat.

“Let go,” he says through gritted teeth. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Hard.

Your whole body tightens around him, trembling as you cry out, clinging to him, barely holding on as waves crash through you. He groans at the way you clamp down, slowing for a second then losing it completely.

“Fuck—fuck I’m—”

He buries himself as deep as he can go, grinding into you as he spills inside you, voice ragged, hands gripping like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

When it’s over, he slumps over you, chest heaving, arms shaking from the intensity.

But his mouth never leaves yours.

Soft kisses now. Sweet. Slow.

The silence that follows is full of breath and warmth and tangled limbs.

He presses his forehead to yours, still panting.

“Next time,” he whispers, “you wear that dress, I’m not letting you leave the house.”

[ellclarkey]

Keep The Vest On.

(requested)

George Clarke smut.

Warnings: unprotected sex, cursing, fingering, edging.

(first smut kinda nervous…)

You were at Ethan’s birthday party, and London was blessed with one of those rare, scorching days that made it feel like it wasn’t London. Music blaasting from Ethan’s speaker, people splashed, and lounged around the pool, drinks in hand.

You wore a light white sundress thin, airy, perfect for the heat with your white polka dotted bikini underneath. It clung to your skin just a little from the humidity.

George wore a white vest and black shorts. You’d never seen him in a vest before he always stuck to tees or hoodies. But this? This was dangerous. His arms were toned and tanned, and the way the fabric clung to his chest when he moved God, he looked good. Like, mouth dry, heart stuttering, need tolook away but can’t good.

He caught you staring once maybe twice and smirked, shameless about it.

And just when no one was looking, he pulled you in by the waist, his voice low and teasing against your ear. “Why are you looking at me like I’ve got eight heads?”

You smirked, leaning in just a little.

“Your vest looks so good,” you said, voice all sweet as your eyes deliberately drifted down his body. Slow. Appreciative. Unashamed.

He let out a laugh, soft and smug. “Wanted to try sumin’ new. Didn’t know you’d appreciate it this much.” He said, but he didn’t really know just how much you really did appreciate it.

Because later, when the sun dipped a little lower and everyone had drifted into the water, George finally peeled the vest off. Careless, effortless, like it didn’t matter. But to you?

It mattered.

You tried not to stare. Really, you did. But from across the pool, you couldn’t help but admire. The way the water was almost magnetic to him, droplets rolling down his chest, his shoulders golden in the sun. Every so often he’d catch your eye and send that little smirk your way againlike he knew. And maybe he did.

Because in that moment, even surrounded by people, drinks, music and heat your entire world narrowed to George. Vestless. Wet. Smirking.

You left Sabina and Josh saying something about how you needed to cool off. Hearing laughter behind you as you stripped off your dress in one easy motion and dropped it on a sun chair. The fabric clung for a second before sliding off, revealing the polka-dot bikini beneath as you strode toward the pool purposeful, unapologetic, your eyes fixed on one thing.

George.

He was leaned against the side of the pool, arms stretched out along the ledge, hair damp and messy, that stupid vest nowhere in sight. His head tilted when he saw you coming, brows quirking up like he could already feel the shift in your energy.

You didn’t break stride. Just dipped your hand into the water and slid your fingers into his.

“When d’you wanna go home?” you asked, your voice low and needy, undertones of something dangerously possessive.

George looked up at you and smirked, eyes flicking between yours. “Whenever you want to, lovely.”

You gave him one more look up and down, slow, unfiltered, completely overtaken by the heat now pooling deep in your stomach.

“Now,” you whispered, breath catching just a little, “Please, George.”

That was all it took.

In a blur of movement, George was up. Out of the water. Vest yanked back on with soaked skin beneath. He didn’t even hesitate as he grabbed your hand again, tugging you with him.

You threw your dress back on, not even bothering to dry off properly, your heart racing. George was already saying goodbye to Ethan, tossing some makeshift excuse out of his mouth, something about being knackered, early morning, whatever. It didn’t matter.

You could tell the need was seeping into him too clear as day in the way he was striding to the Uber, hand tight in yours, jaw set like he couldn’t get you home fast enough. No more teasing, no more playful looks across the pool. It had shifted into something heavier, hotter, the kind of tension that sat in your chest like a live wire.

The ride home was quiet, charged. His thumb brushed circles against your thigh, but his eyes stayed forward, locked on the road like every second was stretching too long.

At home.

The second the door shut behind you, you didn’t even have time to speak.

George had you pinned.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, his mouth already on yours, kisses messy and desperate. His hands were everywhere your waist, your hips, your thighs grabbing like he couldn’t decide what he needed most.

Your hair was falling in your face, sticking slightly from the heat and the rush, but he didn’t care. He was kissing past it, through it, dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

“Been wanting you all bloody day,” he muttered against your skin, voice rough, like it hurt to say out loud.

“Fucking tell me about it,” you hummed against his neck, lips brushing his skin as your fingers toyed with the strap of his vest.

“Your vest looks so sexy on you,” you whispered, dragging the pad of your finger along the edge of it, teasingly slow.

That’s all it took.

In one smooth, hungry motion, his hands were gripping under your thighs, hoisting you up against him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the world around you blurring as he carried you down the hall.

And then poof you were on the bed, flat on your back, and George was over you.

First to go was the bikini top, slipped off far more gently than the chaos of your arrival suggested. His touch, however, was anything but gentle. His palm cupped your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple with slow precision. The moan that escaped you was sharp, easy.

He leaned back, hands moving to tug off his vest until you grabbed his wrist, breathless and wide eyed.

“Keep it,” you said, voice barely audible, like it was some secret you didn’t want to say too loud.

He paused, then gave you that smug, knowing smirk that made your insides flip.

he murmured something you couldn’t quite hear, smugly nodding.

The rest of your dress was peeled off, your bikini bottoms dragged down after it slow and teasing. You flushed under his gaze, thighs shifting, breath catching when he settled between them again.

His fingers brushed along your inner thigh, light, and then lower, dragging through your slick.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “You’ve wanted this for a long time, hmm?”

You looked up at him, chest rising and falling, lips parted.

And then you nodded, shameless, honest.

“You have no idea.”

His eyes darkened at your response, that low, wrecked kind of hunger settling into his features like a storm cloud. “No,” he said, voice rough, breath fanning across your cheek, “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea now.”

He kissed you again, slower this time deep, deliberate ike he wanted to drag it out now that he had you right where he wanted. His fingers moved between your legs with practiced ease, spreading you open as he watched your reaction, chest rising sharply, a whimper caught at the back of your throat.

“George—” you gasped, hips shifting, chasing his touch.

He pushed your hips down making them unable to move. He hummed low in dissapproval, fingers sliding over your slick folds before dipping inside, curling just right. Your back arched immediately, a broken moan spilling out of you as he worked you open, thumb circling your clit with maddening precision.

“You’re dripping,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss along your jaw, vest clinging to his damp skin. “All this just from a fucking 5 pound vest hmm?”

You were too far gone to answer, head tilting back, mouth parted as his fingers quickened their pace. The sound of him, of you, filled the room hot, desperate, soaking in the tension that had been growing since that first glance across the pool.

But it wasn’t just lust. There was something deeper in the way he looked at you now, something intense and unfiltered. His free hand moved up your side, splaying across your ribcage like he needed to feel every part of you, memorize every inch. You whimpered at his words, and that only made him go harder fingers curling deeper, thumb pressing firmer. Your thighs started to shake and your fingers clutched the hem of his vest, knuckles white.

“George please—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, watching the way your face twisted, how close you were. His smile was soft, dangerous.

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint, breath heavy against your neck.

“Not just from my fingers,” he added, lips brushing over your jawline as his fingers slowly slipped away from where you needed them most. “You know better.”

The loss of contact made your hips twitch, a whimper escaping before you could stop it. But you nodded, dazed and desperate, fingers already fumbling for the waistband of his shorts.

You looked up at him, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

“Then fucking fuck me.”

George’s smirk returned, but it was different now hungrier. His hands covered yours, guiding your fingers as you tugged his shorts down, slow and shaky. The way you touched him deliberate, needy made him curse under his breath, the sound low and filthy as his cock sprang free, heavy, hard and aching.

You couldn’t look away, not when he looked like that above you vest clinging to his chest, flushed skin, his mouth parted like even he was barely holding on anymore.

He leaned down again, letting your legs fall open around him, one hand gripping your thigh, the other stroking your cheek as if to ground you before it all started.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice soft now. Real. Not teasing. Not playing.

You nod.

“Mmm Mm let me hear you say it.” He said in a demanding way

“Please george i’m so sure.” You couldn’t have begged more

He smiled just for a second then lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your slick, teasing, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

And then slow, deep, devastating he pushed into you.

Your back arched immediately, a moan punching from your lungs as he filled you inch by inch, stretching you, grounding you, completely overtaking every sense you had.

George groaned against your shoulder, grip on your thigh tightening. “Fuck, you feel good…”

You couldn’t answer. You were too far gone, clutching at his vest, body trembling beneath his.

He started moving slow at first, almost tender

but that didn’t last long. The moment he felt how your body reacted to him, how you clenched around him with every inch he pushed in, something inside him snapped.

His thrusts grew deeper. Stronger. More powerful.

Your moans turned from soft gasps to wrecked, breathless crres, fingers digging into the fabric of his vest, holding onto it like it was the only thing anchoring you. The way it clung to his back, damp and tight against his muscles, only made it worse infact hotter.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged, lips brushing your skin as he drove into you with a rhythm that had your whole body rocking beneath him. One hand held your thigh wide open, the other tangled in your hair as he growled low, “That good for you, baby?”

You nodded frantically, barely able to speak, your voice caught in your throat.

“Yes George, yes, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. If anything, he fucked you harder, faster, each thrust dragging another moan from your lips like he needed to hear you fall apart.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he panted against your ear, voice laced with something dark and breathless. “ Spent the day starin’ at me like you were starving.”

You couldn’t deny it you didn’t even want to. You arched into him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed and completely ruined beneath him.

“I was starving, how couldn’t I be when you looked like that?” you whispered.

That did something to him.

He groaned low, guttural and slammed into you harder, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, his name falling from your lips, your body trembling with every thrust.

The heat was unbearable now, pressure building in your core so intense it was blinding.

And he felt it knew it because his hand dropped to your clit, fingers working in time with his hips.

“Come for me,” he demanded, voice ragged. “Right now. Let me feel it.”

And with one more thrust deep, perfect, possessive you shattered

finishing right then as his words ended.

He pulled out just in time to finish on your stomach.

“Fuck.” He whispers.

You crawl up the bed laying closer to the top now.

George kisses your forehead throws on his shorts, grabed a towel and wiped your stomach.

He climbs up onto the bed “You alright?”

“More than alright” you say resting your head into his shoulder.

“So i’m guessing I should wear the vest more often then hmm?” he says being cocky.

All you do is blush laying into his arms.

[ellclarkey]

Dilemma of your own. (Requested)

George Clarke fluff.

warnings: none!

You were a guest on The Useless Hotline.

Fun enough, right?

Well it would be, if you didn’t have a huge secret to hide.

You and George had been dating for almost a year now. Ten months and nineteen days, to be exact not that you were counting. It wasn’t a situationship, it wasn’t a fling. It was real. And very much not public.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed. God, no. If anything, you were tempted daily to post his sleepy face on your Instagram story or show the world how much of a sweetheart he was.

But it just… wasn’t anyone’s business. Friends knew. Family knew. But the internet? That was a line you’d both agreed not to cross.

And now here you were, sitting in the Hotline studio, mic hot, nerves hotter, pretending like George wasn’t sitting across from you with that look he always gave you when he was trying not to smile too wide.

“So today we have a special guest YN!” Max declared

You smiled a real smile

You’d told Max explicitly not to mention relationships too much.

You didn’t trust yourself to lie convincingly, and George well, George had all the subtlety of teenager with a crush. You’d seen the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching.

The internet would know in seconds.

So Max knew not to push it.

Knew to keep the relationship asking vague, the questions general, the suspicions quiet.

“So today we have a special guest Y/N!” Max declared.

You offered a genuine smile. “Hi, thanks for having me.”

Across the table, George did what he did best kept quiet. Let Max do the talking. Let you shine. His knee was bouncing under the table, though, you could feel it through the floor.

“Alright, we’ve had this one sent in a lot. Y/N, what are you looking for in a man? The listeners need to know.” Max asked with a grin

You smirked.

“Hmm… someone who’s funny. Beautiful eyes. Really good style. And…”

You turned, locking eyes with George just a second too long, “someone who can please me.”

George froze. Jaw clenched. Eyes wide.

Max chuckled.

“Right. Okay. Well. That’s… fantastic. Very specific. Your girl knows what she wants!.” Max says smile still full

You sipped your water innocently. George still hadn’t spoken. His ears had gone pink.

Then, another question hit.

“Here’s a fun one what’s it like being shipped with George?”

A beat.

You could see George visibly brace for impact.

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Oh, it’s terrible. Like having to bring your little sibling everywhere. Every time I’m in an edit he is too. To some taylor swift love ship edit”

George barked a laugh.

“He gets enough attention, trust me. I think the fans should move on to someone else.” You add

“Say it louder queen.” Max added

George finally breaks his silence

“Glad to know how you really feel.”

“Just saying what everyone’s thinking.” You smirk

There was a glint in your eye, and George caught it. That flicker of amusement mixed with something else something dangerous. He shot you a sideways look, biting back a smile.

The next few questions were well, fine.

Safe. Predictable.

“What’s your dream travel destination?”

“What’s your writing process like?”

“If you could only eat one meal forever, what would it be?”

You answered each with a smile, keeping your voice light and your words clean. George had mostly stayed quiet, chiming in with the occasional comment or joke, keeping it casual. But every so often, his foot would bump yours under the table. A silent nudge. You’d ignore it. Mostly.

Then, about 30 minutes in, Max glanced off-camera toward the corner of the room.

“Callum, do you have any dilemmas for us?” mas asks.

The director slouched back in his chair, working at the cameras perked up instantly, clearly prepared.

“Yeah, got one.Print it off.” He says pointing to the printer.

“George send this to the printer.”Max says

George types random things on his keyboard “Sent.”

“Here y/n read it” George says passing it to You

“All right. You say clearing your throat. Ive been making moves on my boss and he’s been reciprocating it constantly but we can’t be together due to HQ. What should i do? P.S George you’re fit and max is a skinny legend.”

The room fell dead silent. For a second too long.

You could feel your heart thudding in your ears, trying not to look at George, who was in the same position.

“Well hey, if he’s your boss… who’s gonna fire you if they find out?” You let out breathy laugh.

“Not sure that’s how that works.” Georgge adds.

Max jumps in “I mean hey, if it feels right, do it. Who cares if people find out and you loose your job?”

“Out of touch.” George smirks at max

Max threw a pen at him.

After the episode, once the mics are off and the cameras stop rolling

You pulled George aside the second this was finished.

“I think that dilemma is gonna make it obvious, you twat. Why would you let cal choose that one?”

“Blame Max, not me.” George said seemingly not caring.

“You handed it to me. You literally chose me to read it.”

“You were closest to the printer.”

“You’re closest to death.” You said unable to contain your smile

He laughed, hands raised in defense, but he stepped in a bit closer the grin softening just slightly.

“Seriously though… no one’s gunna know unless we tell them.”

“You don’t think that entire thing screamed secret relationship?” Tou tsk

“I think if we wanted to keep it hidden, maybe don’t describe me as your type then look at me when you say “please me” hmm?” He says annoyingly smug

You rolled your eyes.

“You liked that.” You bit your lip at him

George responds back quieter this time “Yeah. I did.”

You bit back a smile. He looked at you, just a beat longer than necessary.

“If the internet finds out you’re gonna be the one defending it this time.” You smirk

“You’re acting like it’s cancelable that we’re dating.” He says

“Oh hush it.” You say walking back to max.

[ellclarkey]

Best Birthday Ever

(requested)

George clarke fluff

warnings:none!

You were up before the sun, padding around the kitchen in the quiet, careful not to wake him. The cake had finished baking late last night lopsided and imperfect, but made with far more love than skill. You’d spent ages picking out the right sprinkles, fussing over the icing, and took at least fifteen minutes obsessing over how to write his name perfectly. But eventually, you got it as good as it could be.

Balancing the plate in your hands, you lit the big “G” candle and tiptoed back into the bedroom.

George was still asleep, which made sense considering it was only about seven. Maybe too early but you couldn’t wait any longer to surprise him. He was sprawled out on the bed, hair messy but somehow still so beautiful and soft.

You couldn’t help but smile.

Then, quietly

“Happy birthday!”

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, a sleepy frown tugging at his brows.

He blinked up at you, groggy and confused, until he saw the plate in your hands the flickering candlelight catching in his sleepy eyes.

A slow smile spread across his face. The kind that melted your insides.

“Not gonna sing for me?” he asked, voice low and sarcastic.

You smirked. “Hell no. Wouldn’t want to ruin your birthday this early on.”

George let out a wholehearted laugh, reaching out to rest his hand on your knee.

“You are the sweetest.”

“Wait ’til you try the cake before you say that—bagged sugar’s almost all gone,” you teased.

He laughed again, and you did too, setting the plate down gently on the duvet.

“Go on. Make a wish.”

He didn’t blow it out right away ust looked at you for a long moment.

“What?” you asked self-consciously.

He shook his head, smile softening.

“Nothing. Just… think I already got it.”

Your heart did something strange at that. You couldn’t help but smile back because the way he said it, it felt so genuine.

Still, he leaned forward and blew out the candle, then looked up at you with the sweetest expression.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But I wanted to.”

You spent the rest of the day doing all his favourite things watching his favourite shows, curled up on the couch together. You made dinner that evening, and finally, after the sun had set, you gave him your gift.

He shook the wrapped box like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a ring,” you said with a smirk.

He said nothing, just shot you a sly look.

He opened it and found the scrapbook. Filled with his favourite pictures of you and him, quiet little memories, inside jokes and niche references only the two of you would understand.

His smile was instant.

“Thank you so much, lovely. Best birthday ever.”

“Of course,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you, George.”

“Yeah?” he asked softly.

“I do.”

“I love you too,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

[ellclarkey]

Current Boyfriend

(requested)

george clarke fluff

warnings: only cursing

short fic!

You stick the camera up in front of you guys, resting it on the counter.

“Come here, George,” you say, waving him into the frame.

He leans in with that ever serious expression, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Hmm?” he says almost shyly , deadpan to the camera holding in a giggle.

“So hey guys,” you start sweetly, “I’m here with my current boyfriend.”

You bite back a smirk.

He looks down at you slowly, jaw ticking just a little.

“Yeah? Current, huh?”

His tone is flat, but you can hear the warning in it, the playful kind.

“What? I obviously just said my boyfriend. Why would I be calling you current?” you say, already giggling.

He doesn’t blink.

“Well, I’m here with my current girlfriend. Because I have soooo many.”

You immediately pinch him.

“Fuck off, it’s only funny when I do it…” you laugh.

He grins, then suddenly picks you up off the floor like it’s nothing.

You yelp, clutching onto him, and he snatches your phone off the counter with one hand.

“Well,” he says slyly into the camera, “say goodbye to your current TikTok then, hmm?”

[ellclarkey]

Said Too Much Meant Too Little. (requested)

george clarke angst💔(happy ending)

warnings:foul language, harsh arguments, manipulative behaviour.

a/n: first angst kinda nervous if you have any feed back pls let me know how i did!

It all started with some disagreement about how George didn’t know how to put his dumb stuff away. Shoes always scattered across the floor, his side of the bathroom a disaster, food all over his desk. Now, on a particular day, you can get past this because you know at some point it’ll be cleaned up. But today wasn’t one of those days.

You woke up immediately pissed off because George’s headphones weren’t working, so he was blasting the video he was editing. Never in the three years of dating have you felt this pissed off this early in the morning.

“Oh my fuck,” you groan, getting out of bed immediately tripping on something George left out from the video he filmed.

“Do you not fucking pick up anything? You’re 25, not 5. Grow up and put your shit away,” you practically yell at George.

He pauses his editing and looks at you. “What’s your problem, love? I’ll pick it up later, hm?”

You instantly retaliate. “What’s my problem? You’re the one who can’t fucking pick up after themselves. It’s always later.”

You storm out.

George doesn’t follow you right away. You half expect him to, to argue or even apologize but instead, you hear the chair creak as he sits back down. That pisses you off even more.

You’re in the kitchen now, but it doesn’t feel like much of a breather. The kettle doesn’t boil fast enough, your tea tastes bitter, and there’s a dish left in the sink from last night and of course it’s his.

You hear his footsteps eventually, slow and heavy. He leans against the doorway like he always does when he’s talking to you.

“You done?” he asks flatly.

You look at him, eyes narrowed. “Am I done?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Snapping at me like you’re in charge of everything I do? You know i’m gonna clean it up if not now than later.”

“You always say that, George,” you snap, setting the mug down harder than necessary. “Every day it’s something your shoes, your plate, your bloody camera gear. I feel like I live with a teenager that doesn’t know how to take care of himself.”

He scoffs, and all he says is, “Right.”

That one word so short, so dismissive.You would’ve preferred him leaving entirely. But it was the fact he didnt’t even try to hide how little he seems to care. The way it’s delivered, like you’re just some annoying background noise, makes your blood boil.

You shake your head, exhaling sharply through your nose. Exhaustion and anger all in one.

“I didn’t start dating you because I wanted to cradle you and teach you how to fucking keep your room tidy,” you snap, voice trembling with frustration. “So don’t make me have to.”

That lands. You can see the blow hit him his expression falters, his jaw clenches, and his eyes suddenly go cold.

“You know how many times I have to tell you I’ll do it later—” he starts, voice rising in defensiveness.

You cut him off immediately. “Exactly. If you actually gave a shit about what I say, you wouldn’t wait until I explode to do it.”

He throws his arms out . “Well if you actually gave me time instead of exploding, maybe I would actually do it.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. He continues yelling “And you know what? Maybe instead of being a fucking asshole about it, you could just ask me like a human being. Then maybe, maybe I might actually listen and care.”

Just like that, the air in the room shifts. He goes quiet, and everything you said suddenly echoes back to you, louder than before. The words. The tone. The exaggeration of it all.

You feel it all at once every harsh sentence, every frustrated breath, every inch of distance. It crashes down, and the tears come before you can stop them.

Your voice cracks. “No… no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, reaching toward you, guilt flooding his expression. His hand hovers, ready to comfort.

“Get the fuck off me,” you mutter, stepping back like his touch might burn you.

You storm off no shoes, no plan. You don’t even make it out of the flat. Leaving would just make everything harder. But staying there, in that shared space, with him watching you fall apart that felt unbearable because the last thing you wanted to do when he was like that was cry in front of him,again.

So you duck into the bathroom. Childish, maybe. But nothing about this fight has been mature. The lock clicks behind you, and you slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the cold tiles. You don’t cry hard, just enough to feel it in your chest. Enough to feel small.

Fifteen minutes pass. Your thoughts are nothing and everything at once when you hear a knock.

“I know you don’t want to,” his voice calls softly through the door, “but please let me in. Let’s talk.”

It’s the last thing you want to do. But the silence inside the bathroom has started to scream. Slowly, without saying anything, you unlock the door and crack it just an inch not fully because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of having a fully open door for him to just walk in.

He pushes it the rest of the way open.

Tears stream down his face. His eyes are glassy, red at the corners. He doesn’t say anything just opens his arms.

You can almost hear what he’s thinking the echos of you shouting “don’t fucking touch me.”

So you whisper, quiet and close to his heart, “You can touch me.”

That’s all he needs. He wraps his arms tightly around your back, pulling you in like he’s scared you’ll go again.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “I was really worked up. All of my editing wasn’t going how I wanted and… I know that’s not an excuse. I know I should clean up after myself—”

You cut him off this time, but softer. “Shush… just hold me. We’ll talk about it later.”

And he does.

[ellclarkey]

Share Your Heat.

(requested)

George Clarke fluff

warnings: none except a little dirty joke.

It was a freezing day in london the kind that settled deep in your bones no matter how many layers you wore it didn’t help. Your makeup brushes felt like icicles in your hands. You sat at the mirror in the ensuite, trying to focus, but every few minutes another shiver shot up your spine and made your teeth nearly chatter.

You gave up halfway through, mascara wand in hand, and padded quietly into the bedroom.

George was exactly where you’d left him in blankets, scrolling on his phone like it wasn’t actually cold. He hadn’t noticed you at first. You didn’t say a word just climbed into the bed, dropped your freezing limbs right onto his warm body, and stuffed under the blanket with zero hesitation.

He blinked down at you slowly. “Cold, lovely?”he asked, voice still rough, just on the edge of a growl.

“Freezing,” you mumbled, pushing your icy fingers straight under his hoodie, pressing them to the warm skin of his stomach.

He flinched violently. “fucking hell.” He says as he rolls his head back from the contact (pause🤨.)

You grinned against his chest, smug. “you’re warm dont keep it all to yourself.”

He said nothing, just smirked.

You just burrowed in closer, arms slipping around his waist as if he was slipping away. “You’re warm. So make me warm.”

George sighed, like it was a massive inconvenience to have you curled against him but his hands were already on your back, hoodie pulled over your head so it draped over both of you like a tent. His thumb rubbed gentle circles between your shoulder blades. He kissed your hair like it was muscle memory.

“Suppose I could spare some body heat,” he muttered. “On one condition.”

You tilted your head up. “Yeah?”

“We stay here for the rest of the day” george mutters in your hair

“Deal.” You mutter back.

[ellclarkey]

Man Child (requested)

George Clarke Fluff

warnings:none!

shorter fic

“Am I about to be humiliated?” he asks, clearly knowing what’s coming as you set your phone down on the tripod not so coincidentally right in front of him.

“No, of course not,” you smirk.

“What have you got me doing?” he says, resting his head on your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “You’re worse than Max, making me do all these stupid trends, hm?” He gives you a tentative smirk.

“C’mon, you’ll love this one. I promise.”

“Love is a strong word for a dance on TikTok.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. Last one ever,” you say, pleading.

He rolls his eyes, already knowing that will absolutely not be the case.

You grab George’s hands and pull him up from the couch. He lets you, stretching lazily. “What’s this one?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Man Child dance,” you smirk.

“Are you trying to send me a message, love?” he says, side eyeing you.

You just smile.

“Stand like this,” you demonstrate, “and just move your feet after me.”

“Right. Easy enough,” George mutters.

It is, in fact, not easy enough. After about twenty minutes, several failed attempts, and lots of laughing, you finally get him to do it right. You collapse onto the couch and immediately post it.

“You’re like a sweaty pig,” you tease, rubbing his arm.

George wipes his forehead with a dramatic flourish, then pretends to wipe the sweat on you.

“EW! Get away! You’re disgusting!” you shriek, swatting at him with a smirk.

George just laughs, already slouched back into the couch like he’s spent all his energy trying to keep up with you.

After a moment, he says, quieter this time, “You know I’d do a hundred more if it makes you laugh like that.”

You glance over at him, surprised.

He shrugs. “Don’t get used to it though. I’d like to keep some of my digitsl footprint safe.”

[ellclarkey]

Game night meet cute. (requested)

Arthur tv fluff

warnings(none)

a/n: first thing i’ve written go easy on me💔

(the spacing probably looks so dumb but idk how to do it)

Isaac loved hosting things at his place.

Game nights, movie nights, random little dinners they were always at Isaac’s.

It just made sense.

His place was the most accessible, his best friend lived right across the hall, you were only a few minutes down the road, and the rest of his mates were around the area as well.

Somehow, though, you’d never met the guy across the hall.

His best friend.

Which felt nearly impossible considering how often you were over but that changed the night of game night.

you walked in, the last one to arrive, spotting some familiar faces in the mix but also two new ones.

One was a smaller guy with curly blond-ish hair, who you assumed was Chris md, based on the height jokes you’ve always heard about him.

The other one had that kind of quiet confidence you only noticed once he was already in the room, not loud, not flashy, but undeniably there.

Tousled curls framed his face just enough to make you wonder if he knew how effortlessly good he looked (he probably didn’t).

His eyes light but in an intense kind of way.

A beautiful deep brown that locked with you as soon as you entered the room.

“Arthur” you thought as you made your way into the room.

“Hey” you greeted Isaac embracing him into a slight hug.

You give a wave to the rest of the room as you sit in the only seat available next to Arthur.

“Hey” he whispered.

“Have we met yet?”

“Hey, no we haven’t” i shot him a smile

“Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet my best friends best friend” he puts on a jealous glare.

I crack a smile “same goes to you.”

The night progresses, full of easy laughter and chaotic rounds of charades, Pictionary, and a particularly unhinged game of Gartic Phone.

Isaac was in his element.

Loud, dramatic, and gleefully yelling over everyone.

Arthur, though quieter, was surprisingly sharp when it came to guessing things, and he kept tossing these smug little glances your way every time he got something right.

“I’m kind of hungry,” Arthur said at one point, turning toward Isaac.

“Grab something to eat, then you know where the food is,” Isaac replied, barely looking up as he argued over whether that drawing was a dog or a terribly drawn horse.

Arthur nodded, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen.

A beat passed.

Then, casually maybe a little too casually you stood as well.

“Me too, actually.”

You weren’t hungry.

Not for food, at least.

You pushed open the door to the kitchen and found Arthur halfway into a cupboard, poking around like he wasn’t totally sure what he was looking for.

“Looking for something?” you asked, teasing.

He turned, caught, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Something quick. Don’t want to miss any more of Isaac accusing people of cheating.”

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely.

“Important stuff.”

Arthur chuckled, then gave you a look — something softer now that you were away from the group.

“So what brought you in here, then?”

You held his gaze for a moment, feeling the tension settle between you like a held breath.

“I don’t know. Just thought I’d keep you company.”

His smile widened not cocky, but warm.

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

“So,” Arthur began, pulling out a bag of chips, “what made you think I needed company?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “I’m just here for moral support. Someone’s got to make sure you don’t eat all the snacks.”

He laughed softly, that warm, easy sound you already liked. “Fair enough. Was starving to be fair.”

There was a pause just long enough to feel meaningful.

You found yourself studying him more closely the way his hair flopped slightly when he moved, how his eyes caught the light in a way that made them shimmer, the way his smile softened when it wasn’t directed at the crowd.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said suddenly, voice low. “Not in a bad way.”

“Is that so?” you teased. “What did you expect?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe someone a bit more… Loud? Or firece” he smirks

“So a clone of Issac?” you giggle as you felt a flutter in your chest from the acknowledgement. “Glad I could surprise you I guess?”

He stepped a little closer, the space between you coming smaller. “I guess surprises can be good.” He states almost mysteriously

You swallowed, heart racing, you let out a breath.

The sound of footsteps and laughter from the living room nudged you both back to reality. Arthur glanced toward the door, then back at you.

“Should we head back?”

You nodded, reluctantly stepping away from the counter.

“Yeah. But, hey,” he added with a smile, “thanks for the company.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Anytime.”

You guys walked back and continue game night. About an hour passes and everyone goes home except for Arthur Issac and you.

“Goodnight Issac had a great night and very great to meet you Arthur.””

You walk our arthur following close behind “D’you want a pal to walk home with?” He questions sweetly

“Only if it’s you.” You respond with burning cheeks

He walked me home that night and hangouts at Isaac’s changed forever.

[ellclarkey]

i want to start writing does anyone have any requests or suggestions for my first fic (send it in my request thingy idk if it shows but the link is https://ellclarkey.tumblr.com/ask)

i’ll write for : basically anyone in the UK youtube community

i’ll write: fluff, maybe smut and maybe angst (not sure how good i’ll be at that right yet…)

(with smut i will not be doing weird things like bestiality, incest and anything gross obv)