#george clarke fanfic

[tinycoffeeroom]

saying something stupid like i love you | george clarke

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: how about the first time george clarke tells y/n he loves her?? love your fics btw babes

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You’d sent George off this morning for a Platform Roulette recording bright eyed and bushy tailed. Based on how they normally ended, you knew he would return completely different. 

He texted you throughout the day, slowly being filled more and more with typos and the drunken ramblings you were used to from your boyfriend. Arthur Hill had the decency to send you a long winded voice note, background noise loud enough to nearly drown out his words as he lets you know when they’ll be back as, despite being the heavyweight out of the three in drinking, George was currently near blackout drunk. 

You dread to think of how he ended up that way, but at 11 in the evening, you find yourself grabbing your phone, keys and overnight bag, heading off to the tube station to go to Kings Cross and grab your heavily inebriated boyfriend. 

Passing the time on the tube, you plug your headphones in, blasting the newest Billie Eilish album. Birds of a Feather starts up and you find yourself grinning in your seat, remembering how George had heard you playing it one day and twirled you around your flat, one hand resting on your back as you slow danced through your kitchen. 

Bopping your head along to the song, you pick up on the lyrics. “I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” Despite the fact you and George had never said those three words to each other, you knew it was true. 9 months into the relationship, and you knew you were in love with George, and that he was in love with you. 

The first time he had heard the song, mid kitchen dancing, the lyric played out through your speaker and George had looked down at you, eyes warm and happy as he leant down to kiss you on the last word. A non verbal admission to something you both knew. 

Getting off at Kings Cross, you make your way up the escalator to the centre hall of the train station. Glancing across, you make out three slumped bodies on one of the benches. Huffing amusedly, you walk slowly across to the men, phone out and videoing the way one of the Arthurs was puckering up to a half awake George who barely had the motor skills to push him away jokingly. 

Uploading the video to your story, you reach the three of them who drag themselves from their huddle on the bench. Both Arthur’s fling themselves towards you, one of them patting your head drunkenly, the same way a child would roughly pet a cat. Wincing as their fingers tangle in your hair, you gently settle them back onto the bench. Your eyes catch George’s half lidded ones, matching smiles spread on your faces. 

Pulling himself up from the bench, he stumbles over to you, arms spread wide to circle around you. You welcome him in, scrunching your nose as the scent of beer, sweat and something distinctly George wafts through the air. “Hi, babe.”

Grumbling under the weight of a drunken George, you wave a hand to the two Arthurs, signalling them to come follow you. The pair trail behind you two, giggling behind their hands and making kissing noises as George presses sloppy kisses to your temple, cheek and anywhere he can reach. 

Giggling at the way his beard tickles your skin, you pull out your phone to order an Uber. George grumbles under his breath about how he’ll pay you back, wincing as you spend nearly 30 pounds on an Uber XL, the only car available at this time of night on a Saturday. 

Standing outside, you run your hand up and down George’s back as he leans against you, mumbling against the skin of your neck. You don’t pay much attention to his ramblings at first, too busy trying to keep an eye on the two Arthur’s chasing each other outside of Kings Cross station. 

It’s only when you hear a soft “I love you so much” muffled against your neck that you focus back on George. You can tell he’s barely conscious, the words almost stumbling from his lips. 

Flushing under the admission, you press a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too.” 

He grins up at you, reaching up to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. Wrinkling your nose at the taste of beer, you tuck his head back under your chin. He goes willingly, nuzzling into the space there and commencing his drunken mumbling. 

Your phone buzzes to let you know the Uber is pulling up and you call out to the two Arthurs, dropping a half asleep George into one of the seats before wrangling the Arthur’s into theirs. Sparing the driver the pain of a 30 minute Arthur squared show, you sit up front, making small conversation with the older man as he sets off for the boys’ flat. 

He correctly identifies George as your boyfriend, eyeing the sleeping man in the back. You hum in response, eyes flitting over the passing scenery as the car speeds through the London streets. 

By the time you reach the flat, all three boys in the back are fast asleep. Sparing them a glance through the rear view mirror, you huff as you work out the best plan of action to get the three of them into the flat. 

The driver must sense your apprehension, offering to help you out. You smile at him thankfully, offering to take George and Arthur Hill if he helps the other Arthur out. Sending a quick text to Chris in hopes he’s still awake to help once you enter the building, you step out of the car, moving round to open George’s door. 

Shaking him softly, you manage to rouse him pretty easily, helping him out and slinging one of his arms over your shoulder. Arthur, on the other hand, is a lot harder to wake up. You’re about 2 seconds away from slapping him gently on the cheek, but George beats you to it. Unfortunately, his drunken state means the hit lands a lot harder than he intended and Arthur jolts awake, whining as he holds his cheek. 

Rolling your eyes at your giggling boyfriend, you offer a hand out to Arthur, who takes it and steps out of the car ungracefully. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, hoping it was Chris saying he was on his way down. 

Throwing Arthur’s arm over your other shoulder, you round the back of the car, watching as the other Arthur is currently deep in explaining the fact that a fish is in fact not a real thing to a rather perplexed looking Uber driver. The two of you share a glance before laughing softly at the drunken trio. 

The Uber driver walks Arthur slowly over to the entrance whilst you stumble behind slowly, the combined weight of the drunk boys on your shoulders weighing you down. You catch Chris briskly walking through the lobby, dressed in shorts and an oversized t-shirt. He takes one look at the situation in front of him and you see his shoulders rise and fall in a huff as he wrestles Arthur from the driver. 

The driver passes you, throwing a small smile your way. You mimic his expression. “I’ll be leaving a big tip, don’t worry! Thanks for this.”

He laughs at your exasperated tone, leaving in his car with a wave. 

Chris grabs the other Arthur from your shoulder and you groan in appreciation as you straighten your back a little. The two of you guide the trio through the lobby and into the elevator, George now snoring softly against your shoulder. 

By the time you get into the flat, Chris is about two seconds away from knocking the two Arthur’s heads together, instead bidding you goodbye as he walks into Arthur Hill’s room. With a hand on his back, you lead George to his bedroom, dropping him down onto the bed. He stretches out, limbs sprawling across the entire width of the bed. 

You watch him for a moment, a small smile on your face before quietly walking out of the room. You meet Chris again in the kitchen, three mixing bowls in hand. He hands you one and you whisper your thanks before he disappears back into Arthur’s room. From the glimpse you managed to catch, the two Arthur’s are currently spooning in his bed and you pray Chris has taken blackmail photos of the two men. 

Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, you step back into George’s room. Setting the bowl down next to his side of the bed, you place the bottle on his nightstand, pulling out some painkillers from your bag and dropping them next to the water bottle. Quickly changing out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt of George’s, pulling it over your head. 

Pushing George onto his side of the bed, you slink in next to him, settling down for the night. Just as your eyes close, a heavy arm slumps over your waist, George’s face settling down into the crook of your neck. 

Another mumbled “I love you” drops from his lips, the syllables sleep soaked around the edges. Grinning, you press a final kiss to the top of his head and close your eyes. 

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You awake to a groaning George, the scratch of his stubble bristling against your neck as he burrows deeper, trying to hide from the light streaming through the gap in his curtains. 

“Morning sunshine.” 

He grumbles in response, the arm around your waist tightening. “I feel like shit.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is.” Laughing at his responding stink eye, you slip from his grasp. He rolls onto his back, eyes tracking your movements. 

Grabbing two towels from his wardrobe, you look back at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, George?”

He stays silent for a moment, dragging himself up into a sitting position. “I told you I loved you last night.”

You smile shyly, surprised he remembered last night. “You did. Twice.” 

“And you said it back.” He smiles softly, eyes flitting over your face. 

Nodding in response, you lean over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I did.”

“That isn’t how I wanted our first I love you’s to be.” He whines, one hand pulling you back in for another kiss. 

Scrunching your nose at his morning breath, you press a final kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “I thought it was cute. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that.” You giggle as he flops back onto the bed, one hand running over his face. 

Moving towards the door, you stop in the threshold, leaning against it. “So, you gonna join me in the shower before the other boys wake up?”

Chuckling at the speed of which George shot out of bed, one hand clutching his head at the rapid movement. “If I ever turn down that offer, I want you to shoot me.”

You throw the other towel at him, grinning as it hits him square in the face. “I love you too.”

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a/n: mr clarkey has made it onto tinycoffeeroom finally! thank you for requesting anon <3

taglist: @golden-hoax

[w2soneshots]

Two becomes three -George clarkey

words: 2.4k+

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, sickness, worrying, birth.

summary: you and your husband George’s journey to unexpectedly becoming parents along with your social media posts during your pregnancy.

notes: hello my loves! Here’s the request. I love writing fluffy fics like this🥹. I hope you all enjoy this extra long one shot!!🧸🎀🤍 (please lmk what you think!)

Liked by wroetoshaw, mollymae and 934,125 others

y/username: baby has entered the chat @georgeclarkeey

-comments-

chrismd10: congratulations guys❤️

faithloisak: how cute!! So happy for you two🥹✨

max_balegdae: ahhhhhhhhh

y/nfanpage21: there's no fucking way!!🙊

user27549810: the random George jump-scare at the end lol

user60286430: didn't they just get married like five seconds ago?😅

I met my now husband George four years ago. He followed me on instagram, I followed him back and not long after that we were dating. Last year he proposed and just under a month ago we had our wedding, which was beautiful and only had our closet friends and family.

An hour ago I took a pregnancy test. I was only a day late on my period but I took it just in case. I could hardly believe it when I saw two lines and it was so faint that I convinced myself I was seeing things so I decided to sleep on it and then tell George when I knew for sure.

But I just couldn't keep it a secret. I blurted out, "George, I think pregnant." As soon as he walked through the front door after his shoot with Arthur tv. He was baffled. "You- woah- you think?" I nodded. He took a moment to process what I just said. "And you took a test?" He finally asked. "Yeah, the lines were really faint though. I was gonna wait until tomorrow to tell you but- it just came out."

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I let out a soft sigh of relief. "If you are then I'll be so happy," he whispered into my hair. I smiled, though he couldn't see me. "I'm so overwhelmed," I mumbled. His hand made its way up to my hair and he gently ran it over my scalp, silently reassuring me.

That night everything felt so strange. You're supposed to take the tests in the morning anyway for the most accurate results so we were just waiting and trying not to get our hopes up in case it wasn't positive.

The next morning I woke to an empty bed. I reached for my phone and then read the text George had sent me just ten minutes ago; "gone to buy more tests, hopefully I'll be back before you're awake x" I sighed softly then got up.

As I was brushing my teeth the front door clicked open and soon George was walking into the ensuite. He smiled softly as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, looking at me through the mirror. "Ready, love?"

"You look. I can't." I quickly passed the upside down test to George as we sat on the end of our bed. Just seconds before, the alarm on my phone rung but I couldn't bring myself to look at the test.

He took it and flipped it over. A wide smile spread across his face as an excited chuckle escaped his mouth. "Seriously?" I asked, shocked. "Y- yeah, you're pregnant!" He shot up of the bed. I giggled. "I'm gonna be a dad!" He pulled me up and into a bone crushing hug.

The next two months weren't very fun. At the beginning we were both so ecstatic. Then the morning sickness hit. I could barely eat, sleep and it was becoming impossible to make up excuses for why I couldn't go out.

George was like my rock through the entire ordeal. He was by my side every time I had to run to the bathroom, he held me and gently stroked my back as I tried to get some sleep, he pleaded with the doctor when we went for my first appointment hoping there was something, anything they could do and he let me ramble on about how I just wanted to feel normal again.

Slowly our friends figured it out and offered their help. The girls put together a basket and Faith made sure to include everything that helped her through her first trimester, Chris came round to keep me company while George had to go and film something for a brand deal and George's sister sat with me as we online shopped since I couldn't really go out.

When the sickness slowly started to ease off everyone was so relieved, George especially because he hated seeing me constantly upset. I was finally able to enjoy pregnancy, announce it on instagram and suddenly the last few months were erased from my mind.

Liked by faithloisak, arthurtv and 513,290 others

y/username: love, hate relationship with the heat

-comments-

taliamar: you're glowing babe!!💞

-> y/username: 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

georgeclarkeey: 🐊

y/nfanpage21: the puppy🥹

user85299106: this is adorable

At twenty two weeks we went on our little baby moon. I spent twelve days relaxing in the sun while George fussed about suncream and making sure I was in the shade. Since becoming pregnant he's been much more protective, which I don't mind since it's never overbearing. He's just trying to help in anyway possible.

"Good morning sleepy head." George greeted me quietly, sitting on the side of the bed next to my sleepy form and gently pushing the messy hair from my face. "Mornin'" I mumbled, shuffling slightly. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead before asking if I wanted some breakfast, to which I immediately nodded.

We left our little apartment after getting ready and walked hand in hand down the street towards the cute little outdoor café we'd spent quite a few mornings in the past week and a half.

"Thank you." I smiled at the young girl handing me my pancakes. "Will that be all?" She asked politely after placing George's breakfast in front of him. I nodded and she walked away.

"Mmm, I'm so glad I can actually enjoy food again," I said after swallowing a mouthful of food. George just stared at me. "What?" "I just love watching you." I chuckled. "That sounds a bit creepy babe."

When the day came that our baby moon was over I was sad to be leaving such a beautiful place that I'd made life long memories in but I was secretly very excited to be going home and getting back into normal life.

Liked by chrismd10, taliamar and 623,309 others

y/username: clearing out my camera roll✨

-comments-

arthurtv: fifth slide?😭

-> georgeclarkeey:🫃🏼🤰

faithloisak: stunning!!!

y/nfanpage21: you, the bump, the flowers, all so cute💝

user10479624: you're both going to be the best parents

The next few months were spent relaxing and preparing for the arrival of our baby, who we found out the sex of just after our baby moon. We had a little gender reveal at our apartment with our families and a few special friends. We decided on a cake, classic, cute and delicious.

"I can't tell!" George announced. I stood next to him, my hand holding the knife that was cutting through the cake. Both of us were trying to peek at the sponge but it wasn't until I pulled the slice out that we spotted the pink.

Immediately the room erupted into cheers. I placed it down on a plate along with the knife and I turned to my husband. Tears welled in my eyes and when he wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body off of the ground the commotion around us seemed to disappear and all I could focus on was us.

"We're having a girl," I whispered, as though I was trying to convince myself that this was actually real. He gently placed me down, his hands landing on my hips. "I knew it. Dad intuition goes crazy." I giggled before pushing onto my tip toes and placing a loving kiss to his lips.

After that day I was suddenly obsessed with buying baby clothes, what the nursery was going to look like and the realisation hit me that I was actually going to have to push a human being out of my body, though George was quick to reassure me about that.

"Baby's the size of a small pineapple this week," I informed George as we sat on the couch, my feet resting on his lap as he slowly massaged them through my socks. I turned my phone around so he could see the app that keeps track of the baby.

"That's huge." He muttered, eyes widening slightly. I chuckled. "When she's done cooking she'll be the size of a pumpkin." "Oh god, I'm sorry." My brows furrowed, an amused look on my face. "What are you apologising for?"

"You're gonna have to lug around a pumpkin sized baby," he replied, deadly serious. I just laughed, though I wasn't particularly looking forward to that.

The months flew by and suddenly I was actually carrying a pumpkin sized baby in my stomach. At thirty seven weeks my back constantly ached, I needed to pee every five minutes, I wasn't sleeping properly since I had a future gymnast kicking around in my stomach and all in all I was just uncomfortable.

Since I could now go into labour at any second George was watching me like a hawk. Every grimace when I felt an extra strong kick, every sigh and every time my hand touched my stomach he would sit upright and just wait for me to say something.

"I'm fine, George," I'd say. "Just checking," he'd reply and that interaction would repeat itself another one hundred times before the day ended.

"I won't go if you don't want me to, Chris can find someone else last minute," George whispered as we lay in bed, my back pressed against his chest as he gently drew circles on the side of my bump. "No, I'll be okay. It's only a few hours," I mumbled back, half asleep. "Okay, just promise you'll call me if anything happens?" "Promise."

He left early the next morning to film the football video for Chris' channel, meaning I woke up alone. I went about my routine like normal though it felt like it was taking me longer to do my usual things, like I was moving at snail pace, which was slightly strange but I brushed it off.

An hour later I lay on the couch scrolling through instagram when I felt a twinge in my lower stomach. My brows furrowed slightly. "That was weird," I thought but I continued to scroll.

Until I felt it again. This time I decided to keep my promise to George and phone him. It ring a few times before he picked up. "Everything okay? Is it the baby?" He said immediately in a rushed tone. "I'm not sure, I just feel... weird."

He took in a shaky breath. "I knew I shouldn't have come today! I'm coming home." "It's fine, I'm- we're fine. Calm down-" "no no, I'll be there in twenty minutes, love you." And with that he ended the call. I sighed, feeling slightly bad that he'd had to leave the shoot but also a little relieved.

Just under twenty minutes later he burst through our apartment door. I stood in the kitchen, hands on the countertop as I took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut. I heard his bags drop then the sound of his feet racing towards me.

"You said you just felt weird!" He placed his hand on the small of my back. I looked up at him as the pain subsided. "I did! It started getting worse after I called you."

George collected himself. "Okay okay, you're having contractions?" "Mhm, think so," I responded quietly. "How far apart?" "Like five minutes." He thought back to the birthing class we'd gone to last month. "I think we've got some time and the woman said the first kid always takes a while so let's not stress," he tried to reassure me and himself.

"I'll go get the bag, you just- uh... breathe." I chuckled softly, already calmer now that he was here. He emerged from our bedroom minutes later with the small suitcase in hand.

It took half a hour to get out of the door, drive to the hospital and get checked into a room. After that we could both relax.

The contractions weren't unbearable but I wanted the epidural as soon as possible. "Hmf-" I squeezed George's hand. "Another one?" He asked softly. All I could do was nod. "You're doing amazing sweetheart, so so good. I'm so proud of you."

Once I got the injection I felt like a million bucks. I couldn't feel the contractions, just a little bit of pressure. I sat in the bed happily as I ate my ice chips. Before I knew it, it was time to push.

Liked by sidemen, prettylittlething and 1,004,586 others

y/username: we've been in our little baby bubble this week but I wanted to officially introduce you to Maddie Clarke🤍👼🏼💫

-comments-

georgeclarkeey: my girls❤️

max_balegdae: yasss mother

taliamar: congratulations🥺💓

y/nfanpage21: I'M CRYING

user02781643: they're literally living the dream life omg!!

"She looks just like you," I said as I watched George's eyes fill with tears, his arms secured around his daughter, just ten minutes after she'd entered the world. He glanced down at me. "I love you so much, this is officially the best day of my life," he whispered. I smiled fondly and somehow I fell in love with George all over again, in a completely different way.

We spent a day and a half in the hospital before being discharged. It had been just me, George and the baby in a little room so it felt amazing to go home. I waddled after my husband as I watched him carry our newborn -who slept soundly in her car seat- out and toward the car. He strapped her in then helped me into the backseat.

"I get what people were taking about now," I said as he stared the engine. "Huh?" "I saw a video about the 'hot dad walk' out of the hospital and I totally get them." He chuckled, though he was cautious of the sleeping baby.

After a few days and once we were in somewhat of a routine his family came over to visit. His slightly younger sister was so excited and could barely keep quiet. "She's adorable. Oh my goodness, look at her little feet!" "Okay everyone, no touching until you've washed your hands!" He announced, pointing towards the kitchen sink.

I watched with a smile on my face as he fussed over whether Maddie's head was supported, it was extremely sweet how much he cared for and loved our daughter. I couldn't wait to watch as he became the best dad ever.

[viagracex]

could you do one where the reader and george have an argument and she goes non verbal bcs of past trauma?

Bruises, Silence, and Bandages

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: a tense argument with george pulls you into the shadows of your past, but his patience and love remind you that healing doesn’t have to be done alone

warnings: Domestic Abuse, PTSD, Verbal Abuse, Physical Abuse, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Self-Worth Issues 

note: Hey everyone, I just want to say that I truly apologize if this chapter made anyone uncomfortable. I wrote this with the knowlegde of an outsider, someone who has seen the effects of abusive relationships and the struggles of healing after them. I’ve done my best to approach these themes with sensitivity and respect, but I understand that everyone’s experiences are different. If anything in this story resonates with you, please know that you are not alone, and I hope you have the support and love you deserve. Thank you for reading, and please take care of yourselves. My mesages are always open 🤍

6.8k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your shared apartment. You stood in the kitchen, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the countertop. George paced back and forth in the living room, his usually cheerful face contorted with frustration.

"I just don't understand why you won't talk to me about this!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "We're supposed to be partners. How can we fix things if you won't even tell me what's wrong?"

You wanted to respond, to explain the tangled knot of emotions constricting your chest, but the words wouldn't come. It was as if an invisible hand had reached down your throat and stolen your voice. Your heart raced, and you felt the familiar panic rising.

George's voice grew louder, his accent thickening with emotion. "Is it something I did? Something I said in a video? For God's sake, just say something!"

The room began to spin, memories of past arguments crashing over you like waves. Your chest tightened as George's voice echoed through the apartment, his words blurring into distorted sounds. The room tilted, and you gripped the counter harder, your knuckles turning white. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you.

Suddenly, you were back in that cramped, dimly lit apartment from years ago. The air was thick with the acrid smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer. His voice—not George's, but his—rang in your ears, each word laced with venom. "You stupid bitch! Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

The sting of his palm against your cheek, the crash of a bottle shattering against the wall—it all felt so real, so present. You could almost feel the phantom ache of bruises long faded. You could feel yourself shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck of dust, desperate to be overlooked.

Back in the present, George's frustrated sighs pierced through the fog of your memories. "I don't understand," he muttered, his accent thicker than ever. "We were fine yesterday. What changed?"

You wanted to tell him, to explain that it wasn't his fault, that the raised voices and tense atmosphere had triggered something deep within you. But your throat constricted, and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. The words were there, trapped behind a wall of fear and shame.

George's frustrated voice faded into the background as you sank deeper into the flashback. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps. The kitchen tiles beneath your feet seemed to tilt and sway.

"Are you even listening to me?" George demanded, his voice closer now. You flinched instinctively as he entered the kitchen, your body tensing for a blow that wouldn't come.

George's footsteps halted abruptly. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing. Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking away the haze of memory. George stood frozen, his expression shifting from anger to concern as he took in your hunched posture and pale face.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice gentler now. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

You tried to nod, to reassure him, but your body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, you slid down to the floor, your back pressed against the cool cabinet doors. George hesitated for a moment before carefully lowering himself to sit beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you.

The familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and citrus—helped ground you in the present. You focused on it, using it as an anchor to pull yourself away from the memories threatening to drag you under.

"I'm sorry," George whispered, his accent softening the words. "I didn't mean to shout. I just... I worry about you, you know? When you go quiet like this, I feel so helpless."

You wanted to reach out, to squeeze his hand and tell him it wasn't his fault. But your body remained frozen, trapped between past and present. In your mind, you could still hear the other voice—his voice—berating you, mocking your silence, twisting it into another reason to lash out.

"You're pathetic," the voice in your head sneered, an echo of your ex-boyfriend's cruel words. "Can't even speak up for yourself. No wonder he hates you."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts. But they persisted, a poisonous whisper in the back of your mind.

George shifted beside you, the fabric of his hoodie rustling softly. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever's going on, whatever you're feeling, I'm here."

His words, so gentle and understanding, were a stark contrast to the memories swirling in your mind. You remembered the constant walking on eggshells, the way your ex would fly into a rage at the slightest provocation. The way he'd grab your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, whenever you tried to leave during an argument.

You could almost feel the pain of those bruises now, your skin prickling with the memory of his touch. Your breath hitched, and you curled in on yourself, making your body as small as possible.

In your mind's eye, you saw yourself cowering in the corner of that dingy apartment, arms raised to protect your face from the blows you knew were coming. The smell of cheap vodka and sweat filled your nostrils, making your stomach churn. You could almost feel the cold, hard floor beneath you as you curled into yourself, trying to become as small as possible.

The memories shifted, and suddenly you were reliving the night you finally escaped. The adrenaline coursing through your veins as you hastily shoved clothes into a bag, the heart-stopping fear when you heard his key in the lock, the burning in your lungs as you ran down the street, not daring to look back.

In the present, George's warm hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to flinch violently. "Love, you're scaring me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

You couldn't respond. Your mind was trapped in a loop of painful memories, each one more vivid than the last. The sound of shattering glass echoed in your ears, mingling with the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You remembered the feeling of rough hands gripping your arms, shaking you violently as angry words were spat in your face.

George noticed your constant flinching every time he he spoke. His brow furrowing with concern. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket. "I would never hurt you. You're safe here, I promise."

A part of you wanted to believe him, to trust in the sincerity of his words. But another part, the part still trapped in the past doubted every word.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay. You're safe here."

His words, so gentle and reassuring, stood in stark contrast to the memories swirling in your mind. You remembered the constant walking on eggshells, the way your stomach would churn with anxiety every time you heard keys in the lock. The other man—your ex—had been unpredictable, his moods shifting like quicksand beneath your feet.

There were good days, of course. Days when his smile was genuine, his touch tender. But those moments were fleeting, always overshadowed by the looming threat of his temper. You recalled the first time he'd struck you—a slap that left your ears ringing and your cheek stinging. He'd apologized profusely, showering you with gifts and promises to never do it again. You'd believed him, desperate to cling to the man you thought you loved.

But the violence escalated. Slaps turned to punches, shoves became throws. Your body became a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one carefully hidden beneath long sleeves and thick makeup. The physical pain was excruciating, but it paled in comparison to the emotional torment. His words cut deeper than any blow, chipping away at your self-worth until you felt hollow inside.

The night it all came to a head. He caught you in the middle of packing your bags. He had obviously been drinking heavily, his words slurring as he hurled insults at you. The bottle of whiskey in his hand glinted menacingly in the dim light of the apartment. You'd tried to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere, but he blocked your path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he'd snarled, his breath hot on your face. "You're nothing without me. No one else would ever want you."

The memory of his fingers digging into your arms made your skin crawl. You could almost feel the sting of glass shards as the whiskey bottle shattered against the wall, inches from your head. The fear had been paralyzing, rooting you to the spot as he towered over you, fist raised.

In that moment, something inside you had snapped. With strength born of desperation, you'd shoved him aside as hard as you physically could and ran. You remembered the burn in your lungs as you sprinted down the street, the icy rain soaking through your thin t-shirt. You'd left most of you things behind—clothes, possessions, your entire life—but you were finally free.

The months that followed were a blur of cheap motels and sleepless nights. Every shadow made you flinch, every loud noise sent your heart racing. You'd changed your number, your email, even your appearance, desperate to erase every trace of your past life.

Slowly, painfully, you'd begun to rebuild. A new job, a tiny studio apartment, a handful of cautious friendships. But the scars remained, both physical and emotional. You jumped at sudden noises, flinched away from physical contact, and struggled to trust anyone who showed interest in you.

Then George had entered your life like a whirlwind of laughter and warmth. His YouTube videos had been a source of comfort during your darkest days, his goofy smile and infectious laugh a balm for your wounded soul. Meeting him in person had been surreal, like a dream come to life.

At first, you'd been guarded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But George had been patient, his kindness unwavering. He never pushed, never demanded more than you were ready to give. Slowly, you'd let your walls down, allowing yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved happiness.

Now, sitting on the cold kitchen floor with George beside you, you felt those walls threatening to rebuild themselves. The argument had triggered something deep within you, unleashing a flood of memories you'd tried so hard to suppress.

"Love," George's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, soft and hesitant. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Can you look at me?"

You wanted to, to reassure him that this wasn't his fault. But your eyes remained trapped, held hostage by the ghosts of your past.

"Love," George's voice broke through the fog of your thoughts. "I can see you're struggling. Can I hold your hand?"

You wanted to say yes, to reach out and anchor yourself in his warmth, but your body remained frozen. Instead, you managed a small nod, the movement barely perceptible.

George slowly extended his hand, palm up, leaving it within your reach but not touching you. "Whenever you're ready," he murmured. "No rush."

His patience was a stark contrast to your ex's demanding nature. You remembered how he would grab you, forcing physical contact even when you shrank away. George's respect for your boundaries was both comforting and overwhelming.

You stared at George's outstretched hand, your vision blurring with unshed tears. The gentle invitation in his gesture was almost too much to bear. You wanted desperately to reach out, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, but fear held you back.

Slowly, trembling, you extended your own hand. Your fingers hovered just above his palm, not quite touching. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in your bones.

George remained perfectly still, his breathing slow and measured. "Take your time," he whispered, his accent wrapping around the words like a soft blanket. "I'm not going anywhere."

The kindness in his voice made your chest ache. You remembered a time when gentle words were rare, when every interaction was laced with tension and fear. Your ex had wielded words like weapons, each syllable designed to cut and wound.

You recalled the way he would twist your silence against you, using it as justification for his anger. "Why won't you answer me?" he would snarl, his face contorted with rage. "Are you stupid? Can't you even speak?"

The memory made your throat constrict, choking off any words that might have formed. You curled your fingers into a fist, pulling your hand back towards your chest.

George's expression softened with understanding. "It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to if you're not ready."

With trembling fingers, you reached out, barely brushing George's palm. His hand remained perfectly still, allowing you to dictate the level of contact. Slowly, you pressed your palm against his, feeling the warmth of his skin seep into yours.

George's thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, the gesture soothing and grounding. "That's it," he whispered encouragingly. "You're doing great, love."

The gentle praise washed over you, chasing away some of the darkness clouding your mind. You focused on the sensation of George's hand in yours, using it as an anchor to pull yourself back to the present.

"I'm going to tell you five things I can see," George said softly, his voice steady and calm. "Is that okay?"

You managed another small nod, grateful for his attempt to ground you.

"Alright," he began. "I can see the sunlight filtering through the curtains, making patterns on the floor. I can see the little cactus on the windowsill that you bought last week. I can see the framed photo of us at the beach on the fridge. I can see the stack of cookbooks on the counter that we never use. And I can see you, love, right here with me."

As George spoke, you felt your breathing begin to slow, matching the rhythm of his words. The vivid flashbacks began to fade, replaced by the reality of your shared kitchen.

His last words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a flicker of warmth in your chest, a tiny spark pushing back against the darkness that had consumed you.

"Can you tell me four things you can feel?" George asked gently.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the physical sensations around you. Your voice was barely audible as you whispered, "Your hand. The cold floor. My... my heartbeat. The cabinet against my back."

George's smile was soft and encouraging. "That's brilliant, love. You're doing so well. How about three things you can hear?"

You closed your eyes, concentrating. "The clock ticking. A car outside. Your breathing."

"Perfect," George murmured. "Two things you can smell?"

"Your cologne," you said, the familiar scent bringing a sense of comfort. "And... coffee from earlier."

George's thumb continued its soothing motion across your hand. "Last one. Can you tell me one thing you can taste?"

You ran your tongue over your dry lips. "Salt," you whispered, realizing there were tears on your cheeks.

"There you go love," George said softly. "You're here, in our kitchen. You're safe."

The grounding exercise had helped pull you further from the grip of your memories. The kitchen came into sharper focus - the pale yellow walls you and George had painted together, laughing as you got more paint on each other than the walls. The mismatched chairs at the dinning table and the various pictures around the room.

George's smile was warm and encouraging. "That's brilliant, love. You're doing so well."

The praise washed over you like a soothing balm, easing some of the tension from your shoulders. You focused on your breathing, trying to match the slow, steady rhythm George had established.

"I'm sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse and unsteady. "I didn't mean to... to shut down like that."

George shook his head gently. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that."

You wanted to explain, to tell him about the memories that had overwhelmed you, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you tightened your grip on his hand trying to get rid of the pins and needles from your fingertips.

George's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch feather-light and comforting. "You don't have to explain anything right now," he murmured. "But whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen."

His words, so full of patience and understanding, made your chest ache. You almost couldn’t believe that there was a time when silence was met with anger, when every moment of hesitation was twisted into an excuse for violence. Your ex had never been able to handle your non-verbal episodes, viewing them as a personal affront rather than a symptom of your trauma.

You could still hear his voice, harsh and mocking, echoing in your mind. "What's wrong with you? Can't even string a sentence together? Pathetic."

The memory made you flinch, your body tensing involuntarily. George noticed immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. "It's okay," he soothed. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."

You wanted to believe him, to trust in the sincerity of his words. But years of conditioning had left their mark, making it difficult to separate past from present. In your mind's eye, you could see your ex looming over you, his face contorted with rage. You remembered the sickening crack of his fist connecting with your jaw, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

The phantom pain made you wince, your free hand instinctively moving to touch your face. George watched the movement,his eyes widening with a mix of realization and horror. "Oh, love," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did someone... did someone hurt you?"

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, shame and fear warring within you. What if George saw you differently once he knew? What if he decided you were too broken, too damaged to love? Your silence was answer enough.

George's grip on your hand tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you in the present. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his accent thickening with emotion. "I had no idea. I never meant to... God, I'm such an idiot."

His self-recrimination made you want to protest, to assure him that it wasn't his fault. But the words were stuck, your throat constricting around everything you want to tell him.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, George spoke again, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with. But I want you to know that whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. And it doesn't change how I feel about you."

His words pierced through the fog of your anxiety, touching something deep within you. You felt the tears now slipping down your cheeks, then another, until you were crying silently, your body shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Can I..." George hesitated, his voice uncertain. "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"

The question caught you off guard. Your ex had never asked for permission, taking what he wanted without regard for your feelings. George's consideration brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

Slowly, you nodded, uncurling yourself from the tight ball you'd formed. George moved carefully, telegraphing his movements as he shifted closer. He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in warmth and the comforting scent of his cologne.

For a moment, you tensed, your body remembering a time when embraces led to pain. But George's touch remained gentle, his arms loose enough that you could easily break free if you needed to.

"I've got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. "You're safe. I promise."

Gradually, you allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, your tears soaking into the soft fabric of his hoodie. George held you patiently, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other cradled your head against his chest. You could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, its rhythm grounding you in the present.

As your sobs subsided, replaced by quiet sniffles, George began to hum softly. It was a familiar tune, one you recognized from his videos - a silly little jingle he'd made up for a brand deal. The gentle vibrations of his chest as he hummed sent a wave of comfort through you, chasing away the last tendrils of your panic.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

George's arms tightened around you fractionally. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I never meant to trigger you like that."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at his face. George's eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks damp with tears of his own. The sight made your heart ache. You'd never meant to cause him pain.

"It's not your fault," you managed to say, your voice hoarse from crying. "You didn't know."

Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax against him, burying your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie.

George took a hesitant breathe, his hands rubbing your back. "It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to tell me about it. Just... can you look at me? Please?"

Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his. As George's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness that made your heart ache. "I love you," he said softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm embrace. "I love you, and I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with sincerity. You wanted to believe him, to trust in the love shining in his eyes. But years of abuse had left their mark, making it difficult to separate past from present.

"I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you wouldn't. Not on purpose. But..."

George waited patiently as you struggled to find the words, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. The gentle touch grounded you, giving you the courage to continue.

"My ex," you said, the words feeling like broken glass in your throat. "He... he wasn't a good person."

George's expression darkened, but he remained silent, allowing you to speak at your own pace.

"At first, it was great. He was charming, funny. Made me feel special," you continued, your gaze fixed on a point over George's shoulder. "But then... things changed."

You told him everything. The first time your ex raised his voice, making you flinch. The way he'd grab your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. The constant criticisms, chipping away at your self-esteem.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue. "It started small. He'd get angry over little things, yell and throw things. I told myself it wasn't that bad, that everyone argues sometimes. But then..."

Your voice trailed off, memories flooding back. George squeezed your hand gently, encouraging you to continue.

"The first time he hit me, I was so shocked I couldn't even cry," you whispered. "He apologized immediately, swore it would never happen again. I wanted to believe him."

George's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, letting you speak.

"It only got worse after that. The violence escalated, and so did the emotional abuse. He'd call me worthless, stupid, tell me no one else would ever want me. And I believed him."

Tears streamed down your face as you recounted the worst moments - the times you'd hidden bruises with makeup, the nights you'd lain awake in fear, the way you'd slowly lost touch with friends and family until he was your whole world.

"I lost myself," you admitted, tears streaming down your face. "I stopped talking to friends, quit my job. Everything I did, every decision I made, was about keeping him happy. But it was never enough."

George's arms tightened around you, a protective gesture that made your heart ache with a mixture of gratitude and residual fear.

"The night I left," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "He was angry about... God, I don't even remember what. Something small. Insignificant. He left. I could take it anymore, I started to pack. When he came home he was so angry.” You took a strained breathe as you continued.

“But that night, I thought he might kill me," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "He'd been drinking, and he was so so angry. Something in me just... snapped. I ran, and I didn't look back."

George's arms loosened around you as he took in the severities of you words, his own tears falling into your hair. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "You didn't deserve any of that. You're so strong, so brave. I'm in awe of you.

George's voice broke as he whispered, "I love you. I love you so much, and I swear I would never, ever hurt you like that."

His words, so earnest and heartfelt, broke something inside you. The dam you'd built around your emotions crumbled, and suddenly you were sobbing uncontrollably, your entire body shaking with the force of your cries.

George held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. He murmured soft words of comfort, his accent thickening with emotion.

"It's okay, love. Let it out. I've got you. You're safe now."

You cried for what felt like hours, releasing years of pent-up fear, anger, and pain. George never wavered, his embrace warm and steady, anchoring you in the present.

As your sobs finally subsided into quiet hiccups, George gently pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes. His own were red-rimmed and puffy, his cheeks damp with tears.

"Thank you for telling me," he said softly. "I know how hard that must have been. You're so brave, love. So incredibly brave."

You shook your head, feeling anything but brave. "I should have left sooner. I should have been stronger."

George's expression grew fierce. "No," he said firmly. "You did everything you could to survive an impossible situation.”

George cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "Listen to me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You are not weak. You are not stupid. You are a survivor, and I am in awe of your strength."

His words, so different from the cruel taunts you'd grown accustomed to, made fresh tears well up in your eyes. George continued, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I love you," he said, each word weighted with sincerity. "I love your kindness, your humor, your resilience. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about things you're passionate about. I love how you always remember to water the plants, even when I forget. I love the little dance you do when you're excited about something."

You felt a warmth blooming in your chest, pushing back against the cold fear that had gripped you earlier. George's words washed over you, soothing the jagged edges of your pain.

"I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you're concentrating," he continued, a soft smile playing at his lips. "I love how you always make sure to ask our delivery drivers if they want a bottle of water. I love your strength, your courage, your ability to keep going even when things get tough."

"I promise you," George continued, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket, "that I will spend every day showing you how much you're worth. I'll remind you of your strength when you forget. I'll hold you when the memories get too much. And I'll always, always ask before I touch you."

As if to demonstrate, he held out his hand, palm up. "May I hold your hand?"

The simple gesture, so respectful of your boundaries, brought fresh tears to your eyes. You couldn’t understand stand how you shed so many tries in such a short amount of time. Wordlessly you took his hand. His words, so full of admiration and love, broke something inside you. You sobbed openly, clinging to him as years of pent-up emotions poured out. George held you through it all, his presence steady and comforting.

As your tears subsided, George gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the lingering wetness on your cheeks. "Thank you for trusting me with this," he said softly. "I know it couldn't have been easy to talk about."

You managed a watery smile, feeling lighter than you had in years. "It wasn't. But... I'm glad you know now. I've been carrying this alone for so long. Thank you for listening," you whispered.

George pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Always," he promised. "You don't have to carry it alone anymore," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I'm here, whenever you need me. Whether that's to talk, or just to sit in silence, or... anything through everything. The good days, the bad days, and everything in between."

You leaned into his touch, allowing yourself to believe in the sincerity of his words. The fear and shame that had held you captive for so long began to loosen their grip, replaced by a tentative hope.

"I love you," George said again, his voice thick with emotion. "Every part of you. Your strength, your resilience, your kindness. I love the way you laugh at my terrible jokes, and how you always remember to water the plants even when I forget. I love how passionate you get about your favourite books, and the way your eyes light up when you talk about your work."

His words washed over you, chasing away the lingering shadows of your past. You looked up at him, really looked at him, taking in the sincerity in his warm brown eyes, the gentle curve of his smile, the faint stubble on his jaw that he'd forgotten to shave this morning.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice hoarse but steady. "So much that it scares me sometimes."

George's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored. "Good scared or bad scared?" he asked, a hint of his usual playfulness creeping back into his tone.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound watery but genuine. "Good scared," you assured him. "Like... like standing at the edge of something amazing and wonderful, knowing that jumping in might change everything."

"Well," George said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "I'm right here beside you, ready to jump whenever you are."

George's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't. Instead, you met him halfway, your lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and sweet and full of promise.

When you finally pulled apart, George rested his forehead against yours. "I know I can't erase what happened to you," he said softly. "But I promise, I'll spend every day trying to show you what real love looks like. If you'll let me."

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. George understood, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Come on," he said, slowly getting to his feet and offering you his hand. "Let's get off this cold floor.

How about we make some tea?"

You nodded, allowing him to help you up. Your legs felt shaky, and you leaned against him for support as you made your way to the living room. George guided you to the couch, wrapping a soft throw blanket around your shoulders before heading to the kitchen.

You could hear him moving around, the familiar sounds of kettle boiling and mugs clinking providing a soothing backdrop. The apartment was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight, casting long shadows across the floor. You focused on the little details around you - the framed photos on the wall, capturing moments of laughter and joy with George and your friends; the collection of houseplants on the windowsill, each one carefully tended; the stack of board games in the corner, evidence of cozy nights in.

George returned a few minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs. He handed you one - your favourite oversized mug, the one with little cartoon cats all over it. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, warm and comforting.

"Thank you," you murmured, wrapping your hands around the mug and letting its warmth seep into your palms.

George settled beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel his presence but not so close as to crowd you. The two of you sat there on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, as the afternoon sun slowly shifted across the room. The argument that had been forgotten.

As the afternoon light shifted, painting the room in soft golden hues, George spoke softly. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice gentle. "Maybe we could look into couples therapy? Not because there's anything wrong with us," he added quickly, "but to help us communicate better, especially about... about your past."

You considered his words, turning the idea over in your mind. The thought of opening up to a stranger was daunting, but the idea of having professional help to navigate your trauma and its impact on your relationship was appealing.

"I think... I think that might be good," you said slowly. "But can we maybe start with individual therapy for me first? I feel like I need to work through some things on my own before I'm ready to tackle them as a couple."

George's face lit up with a mixture of relief and pride. "Of course, love. Whatever you need. I'm so proud of you for considering it."

His words warmed you from the inside out, chasing away the last lingering chill of your earlier panic. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," you murmured. "For being so patient with me. For not giving up when I shut down."

George pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. "I'll never give up on you," he murmured. "You're worth every bit of patience and understanding I can give."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping your tea and watching the play of light across the room. As the shadows lengthened, George spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant.

"I've been thinking about my videos," he said. "I know I get pretty animated sometimes, especially when I'm gaming. Do the loud noises or sudden movements ever... trigger anything for you?"

You considered his question, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But it's not just you. Loud noises in general can be difficult. And when you get really competitive with the boys, the shouting can be a bit much."

George nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "What if I put up soundproofing foam?" he suggested. "It would cut out the really loud bits. And I could try to be more mindful of my volume when we're filming."

The fact that he was willing to make changes to his content, his livelihood, for your comfort brought tears to your eyes. "You don't have to change your whole style for me," you protested weakly.

"I want to," George said firmly. "Your comfort and well-being are more important than any video. Besides," he added with a grin, "my editors have been begging me to tone it down a bit anyway. They say I'm giving them hearing damage," he chuckled softly.

You managed a small smile, touched by his willingness to adapt. "Maybe we could work on some signals?" you suggested hesitantly. "Like, if things get too intense during filming, I could give you a sign to dial it back a bit?"

George's eyes lit up. "That's good idea. We could have a little system, like traffic lights. Green for 'all good', yellow for 'getting close to the edge', and red for 'need to stop now'."

His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself nodding along. "That could work. And maybe... maybe we could have a code word? For times when I'm feeling overwhelmed but can't quite explain why?"

"Absolutely," George agreed immediately. "What word would you like to use?"

You thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about 'cactus'? Like that little plant you got me when we first moved in together."

George's face softened at the memory. "Perfect," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Cactus it is."

As the evening wore on, you and George continued to talk, making plans and setting boundaries. You discussed ways to handle future arguments, strategies for dealing with your non-verbal episodes, and how to navigate intimacy with your trauma history.

As you sat there, wrapped in George's arms, you felt a sense of peace settling over you. The weight you'd been carrying for so long felt lighter, shared between the two of you. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.

You could hear the faint sounds of the city outside - cars passing by, the distant laughter of children playing in the park down the street. Inside, the apartment was quiet save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the gentle rhythm of George's breathing.

Your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the little details that made this space feel like home. The bookshelf in the corner, filled with a mismatched collection of your favourite novels and George's gaming guides. The framed photo on the coffee table from your first vacation together, both of you grinning widely at the camera, your eyes shining with excitement.

Your eyes landed on George's filming setup in the corner - the ring light, the carefully arranged backdrop, the high-end microphone. It was a stark reminder of the public life he led, the thousands of fans who watched his every move online. For a moment, anxiety gripped you. What if they found out about your past? What if they judged you

Your anxiety must have shown on your face, because George squeezed your hand gently. "Hey," he said softly, "what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with more of your fears. But his patient, loving gaze encouraged you to open up.

"I was just thinking about your fans," you admitted quietly. "What if... what if they found out about my past? What if they judge me, or think I'm not good enough for you?"

George's expression softened, a mix of understanding and determination crossing his features. "Love," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "my fans don't get a say in our relationship. And anyone who would judge you for surviving what you've been through isn't worth our time."

He shifted, turning to face you more fully on the couch. "But more importantly, you are more than good enough for me. You're brilliant, kind, funny, and so incredibly strong. I'm the lucky one here."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the chill of your anxiety. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of your feelings.

"I love you too," George replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "More than I can ever say."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, casting the apartment into a gentle twilight. The soft hum of the city outside became a soothing backdrop to the quiet moment you shared. George shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you, his warmth a steady presence against your side.

"Hey," he murmured after a while, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with tenderness. "No matter what happens, we're in this together. Okay?"

You nodded against his shoulder, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so terrifying. It felt possible when filled with quiet moments like this, with laughter, with love.

George pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, and you closed your eyes, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing lull you into calm.

The past had left its scars, but as you sat there, wrapped in the quiet strength of his love, you realized something profound: you were healing. Not all at once, not perfectly, but step by step. And with George by your side, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t have to do it alone.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ but i'ma be under the mistletoe with you ❞

# prompts; 6: "They kiss under the mistletoe." 7: ^ but A does the, "Oops, I'm holding mistletoe above us, guess we have to kiss." thing.

# playlist; mistletoe - Justin Bieber

# word count; 737

# note; merry christmas to all who celebrate, & Happy Holidays to those who don't<333 i missed writing for arthur so much omg.

The holidays are always a stressful time, however, more than half of your family was abroad for Christmas this year, so you all had chosen to do your family celebrations on New Year instead. Arthur and Lisa were more than happy to have you with them instead.

You spent the morning making and eating a full English, exchanging gifts, and going through their old photo albums much to your boyfriend's protests.

His parents turned in early after a bit of chatter over a few glasses of wine, leaving you lying on the couch stuffed from both dinner and copious amounts of cookies. You tap the arm he has lazily resting on your chest, "'m gonna go get some water," he whines but when you lift his arm he sighs, dramatically letting it fall back against his chest.

"Don't be long," he calls out when you disappear off into the kitchen, his eyes catch a branch of mistletoe on the mantle he presumes his mum set out to add to her decor, giving him an idea.

He listens for you intently, when he finally hears you rummaging through the the freezer for ice, he takes the opportunity to set his plan into motion, he grabs the branch and leans against the door frame, silently watching you.

When you turn, you raise the cup to your lips until you spot him and more importantly the mistletoe he's holding above the door, making you snort, "if you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked," you mumble, shaking your head.

You shuffle toward him agonizingly slow. Arthur reaches out for you, his free hand pulling you into him by the front of your matching, festive pajamas. A confident smirk falls from your face, and a gasp escapes you at the sudden movement.

The feeling of the water swishing in the glass, the only sound now is the ice clinking against it. His voice interrupts the silence, suddenly having dropped an octave compared to earlier, "Oh look at that," his eyes flick up to what's pinched between his fingers, "Guess we might have to kiss, now..."

Setting the glass on the counter next to you, before you hum, "Think you might be right."

He smiles content with the fact that you're going along with things, he shrugs, "I don't make the rules," he pulls you into him impossibly closer, watching how your lips twitch slightly. You're floored and Arthur can simultaneously see and feel it, "May I?"

Smiling once more at how he never fails to make sure you're comfortable, "You may," somehow you've found yourself breathless at his words and demeanor alone. He dips down to catch your mouth with his, facial hair tickles your upper lip when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Arthur's hands, warm and strong, slowly slide under the hoodie you had stolen earlier that morning. As he presses you back against the counter, your bodies locked together, you both freeze at the sound of a voice calling out just behind you, "Arthur, you've got a bedroom for a reason."

Lisa, shit. He steps away from you quickly, running his hands over his face and through his hair, "Sorry, mum," he mutters, he always talks about how comfortable they are with talking about certain things but you find yourself wanting to giggle at how he can't meet her eyes.

"She's a nice girl, she doesn't need to be done on my counter," you can't stifle your laughter now, you watch in your peripheral the way his face twists, "Mum! I understand, please," he pleads, obviously hating this conversation.

Lisa scoffs as she turns on her heels deciding she's said enough to his face, but she continues mumbling about raising him to be a gentleman as she disappears around the corner and shuts her bedroom door loudly.

"That's so embarrassing," he groans, hiding his face in his hands with a sigh. You reach for his wrists, tugging them away gently to reveal his reddening cheeks. "'ts not embarrassing," you reassure him, a small smile on your lips. "It's sweet; she cares."

He shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle as he drops it onto your shoulder. "Such a cockblock," he mutters into your ear. You flick the back of his neck, making him step back, rubbing the spot with a mock frown. "Maybe it's a sign we shouldn't be shagging in your parents' house, hm?"

[sdmnpact]

Risk.

George Clarke x Reader fluff

~~~

You looked out the window as the thunder roared with the huge rain droplets smacking against your window. You were alone in your flat eating crisps and watching netflix in your most comfiest outfit when the lights went out. You stared as you saw your reflection in the tv screen. What are you suppose to do now? It's too dangerous to go out and now there's no electricity.

** buzz **

Are you okay?

You received a text from your good friend George Clarke. You two were very close, so close that everyone assumes that you're either dating or married. You find it hilarious that everyone says that and you make sure to lean into the bit every chance you get. His fans goes crazy over you two, wanting it to be a reality and they aren't alone.

Yeah

Im good

Power went out :(

You replied, you saw bubbles appear but quickly disappear. It left you questioning what was going on. You decided maybe he just got busy or something. You went to your room and laid in bed using your hot spot to scroll through your socials.

>>>

30 minutes had passed since you began laying in bed. You felt yourself drifting off to sleep when you heard a ring at your door. You weren't expecting anyone, especially not in this storm. You stood up, stretching as you made your way towards the door. You opened it surprised by the curly headed man standing in front of you holding a bag and beers.

"George? What.. How did you get here? Why did you come?" You asked overflowing with the amount of questions that filled your mind. You two walked towards the couch sitting down as he began pulling things out of the bag. He pulled out a bunch of candles and began lighting them.

"Well, you said the power went out, so I thought you may have needed some candles." He said looking at you with a goofy little grin. "Yes, but you didn't need to go out into a storm and bring them. I could have just had a nap!" You exclaimed slightly upset that he risked his life for something as small as this. As much as you liked him, you liked him more alive than dead.

"Woah calm down, it was fine, it wasn't even that bad." He said trying to reassure you. "The streets are flooding, the winds are so bad, it was ridiculous to-" He pressed his lips against yours causing you to loose your train of thought. You leaned into the kiss and moved your lips against his. Your hands making their way around his neck as his moved towards your waist. You two kissed like it was the last day on earth, getting rougher and rougher by the second. You two molded together so perfectly. You had to fight the urge to not pull away but you did anyways.

"George..." you breathed, his eyes sparkling from the candle light filling the room. You always fancied him but never wanted to admit it. You didn't want to make it weird between you two but you always thought about what it would be like if you were with him. "What was that?"

"Y/n, I like you, no- I think I love you. You're so amazing and funny and sweet and perfect and just everything I want. I want to be with you. I don't know if you have feelings for me but I sure as hell do for you." He said grabbing your hands. You were overflowing with happiness. Your heart was beating so fast, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"I think I love you too." You said slowly. You exchanged cheesy grins as you just stared into each others eyes lovingly. You just made him the happiest and luckiest man alive because now he was finally with his dream girl. After years of longing, it has finally led up to this moment. You two finally in each others embrace, able to share your true feelings for one another. The start of an beautiful and real relationship.

[clarkevision]

George Clarkey | Interruptions

Summary: You and George are on a date when you are interrupted

The restaurant was perfect, in that understated way George always seemed to find. Cozy booths lined the walls, each lit with the warm glow of hanging Edison bulbs, and soft jazz music hummed in the background. It wasn’t too fancy, but it wasn’t casual either—just the right amount of charm to make the night feel special.

George sat across from you, his elbow resting on the table, his chin propped in his hand as he gave you that familiar, mischievous smile. His hair was slightly messy, like he hadn’t quite managed to tame it before he left the house, and his shirt—simple but fitted—clung just enough to remind you why you couldn’t stop looking at him.

“So,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “did I manage to impress you with my choice of venue? Or are you going to roast me for not picking somewhere with a view of the Thames?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think this place is perfect. Honestly, I’m more impressed you didn’t go for something over-the-top ridiculous. No themed restaurants, no 20-course tasting menus… Who are you, and what have you done with George Clarkey?”

He gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. I invite you on a romantic evening, and this is how you repay me? Ruthless.”

“Romantic evening, huh?” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a big claim for someone who picked a place based on its five-star Yelp reviews.”

“Okay, first of all, Yelp doesn’t even exist here. And second, it’s not the restaurant that makes it romantic—it’s me,” he said, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Sure, George. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

As the evening went on, the teasing and laughter gave way to softer, quieter moments. Between bites of food and sips of wine, you talked about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, places you wanted to visit, the kind of future you dreamed of.

George had a way of making even the smallest things feel important. He listened like every word you said mattered, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression shifting with every twist and turn of the conversation. It was in those moments that you felt the depth of what you had with him—something that went beyond the jokes and banter, something real.

“You know,” he said, his voice lower now, “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“What, dinner?” you asked, feigning nonchalance even as your heart started to race.

“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You. Spending time with you. Just… being with you.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He always had this way of catching you off guard, saying something so genuine and unexpected that it left you speechless.

“You’re such a sap,” you finally said, but your smile betrayed how much his words had meant to you.

“Only for you,” he said, grinning as he reached across the table to take your hand in his.

By the time the plates were cleared and the bill was paid, the restaurant had begun to empty out, leaving just a handful of tables occupied. The soft hum of the music and the dim lighting made the space feel even more intimate, like the rest of the world had melted away.

As you both stood to leave, George hesitated for a moment, glancing around before looking back at you. “Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“I just… I don’t want the night to end yet,” he admitted, stepping closer. “Can we stay a little longer?”

You nodded, unable to hide your smile. “Of course.”

He led you over to a quieter corner of the restaurant, where a small booth sat tucked away from the main floor. The atmosphere felt different now—more private, more charged. As you slid into the booth, George sat beside you instead of across, his leg brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, George reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said softly.

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

You kissed him back, your heart racing as you leaned into him, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you closer. The world outside seemed to disappear entirely, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, stolen moment.

But then—

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

You froze, your lips still inches from George’s, as the unmistakable voice of Arthur Hill cut through the air like a knife.

Slowly, you turned your head to see him standing at the entrance of the restaurant, holding a pint in one hand and wearing a grin so wide it could rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, your face burning with embarrassment as you pulled away from George.

Arthur, clearly enjoying himself, sauntered over, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Clarkey, mate, you didn’t tell me you were going on a date tonight. Thought we were mates, huh?”

George groaned, running a hand down his face. “Arthur, can you not?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now,” Arthur teased, plopping down on the seat across from you. “You two looked very cozy back there. Don’t let me interrupt—carry on.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you mumbled.

George laughed softly, clearly torn between annoyance and amusement. “Arthur, seriously, can you not ruin this for me?”

“Ruin it? I’m enhancing the moment,” Arthur said, gesturing broadly. “What’s more romantic than a third wheel with excellent commentary?”

You peeked out from behind your hands, shooting him a glare. “You’re the worst.”

“I’ve been told that,” he said, unfazed. “But honestly, I’m happy for you two. Clarkey’s been talking about you non-stop for weeks, so it’s nice to finally see him make a move.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned to George. “You’ve been talking about me?”

George’s face went red, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh… maybe a little.”

Arthur snorted. “A little? Mate, you’ve been practically writing poetry.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” George said, standing up and grabbing Arthur by the arm. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Arthur laughed but didn’t resist as George dragged him toward the door. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you two get back to your little love fest. But just so you know—I’m telling Chris all about this.”

“You do that,” George said, shoving him out the door.

As George returned to the table, his cheeks still faintly pink, you couldn’t help but laugh. “That was… something.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, sitting down beside you again. “Arthur has a talent for showing up at the worst possible moments.”

“It’s fine,” you said, smiling. “Honestly, it’s kind of funny. In a horrifying, mortifying sort of way.”

George grinned, taking your hand in his again. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad we had this night. Even with the interruption.”

“Me too,” you said softly, leaning into him.

And as the night went on, you realized that no amount of interruptions could take away from what you had with George. Because even in the most awkward, unexpected moments, he still made you feel like the only person in the world.

[lunarwts]

love me, love me

george clarkey x fem! reader

a tiny headcanon of george and his need of physical touch (374 words)

hello!!! here's a little something i wrote on the train! let me know what you think - enjoy! 💗✨

okay so this man has always got to be touching you

or at least all up in your personal space

out in public he has his hand in yours, or around you shoulder, or holding your waist, or in your back pocket

even just linking your pinkys

and is. not. ashamed. 

in private it’s even worse better

will just lay on top of you

head in your neck or on your chest and just has this cute little content smile on his face

staying at his place and having a movie night with the boys and them just looking at you two with disgust 

(but also lowkey with adoration because they love that george is happy)

alex and arthur tease him by calling him cuddle bug

he pretends that it annoys him but he actually loves because it’s true

he is your cuddle bug 😌

his wallpaper is definitely a picture of you both during one of said movie nights that alex took of you cuddled up on the end of the couch with a bowl of popcorn and huge smiles on your faces

and in bed???

his hands are either on your hips, your boobs, in your hair, around your neck

HAND HOLDING! HAND HOLDING! 🥵

links his hands in yours on the pillow above your head and leans down to nip and whisper in your ear

anyways!

getting ready for bed and brushing your teeth, doing your skincare in the bathroom and in walks george

wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder while watching you in the mirror as if your hanging the stars in the sky

even though he’s seen you do this countless times

and then when you’re done he’ll grab your hand and walk you into bed

once you’re both under the covers he is pulling you straight into him

sometimes your head is on his chest, other times it’s tucked under his arm

his hands are around your waist while yours are either holding him or just resting on his chest

legs tangled together like a pretzel

and then you somehow wake up even closer

moral of the story;

if it was possible to get inside your skin, george would do it 😪🌷💛

[axnqel]

ⓘ CECE'S MASTERLIST .ᐟ please don't take this personal

® for smut.

౨ৎ for fluff.

✩ for angst.

JASON TODD ──

RAFE CAMERON ──

ⓘ cigarettes after sex ౨ৎ — COMING SOON!

HOMELANDER ──

ⓘ ultraviolence ✩ — being hired by vought as the psychiatrist for the seven wasn’t exactly what you’d envisioned for your career. and captain patria falling in love with you? yeah that definitely wasn’t on the bingo card either. | 4.0k

ⓘ fucked my way up to the top ® — COMING SOON!

POPE HEYWARD ──

MATT MURDOCK ──

BILLY LOOMIS ──

STU MACHER ──

WANDA MAXIMOFF ──

SOLDIER BOY ──

HENRY!SHERLOCK HOLMES ──

ROBIN BUCKLEY ──

STEVE HARRINGTON ──

NATE ARCHIBALD ──

JESS MARIANO ──

SMALLVILLE!CLARK KENT ──

DCEU!CLARK KENT ──

GEORGE WEASLEY ──

© axnqel ─ all rights reserved. our work is not to be reposted, translated or plagiarized anywhere.

[fallingforyouforeverr]

hey guys! sorry for not updating much recently, i have really bad writers block rn so please send any ideas or requests you have i'm literally begging

have a great day/night ♡

[insomniac4000]

So now wattpad is imploding, Tumblr is slow where do I get my fix?

A03 is a wasteland when it comes to ChrisMD/sidemen and friends content.

Well there's a lack of Mr MD content in general.

[clarkesb0y]

WHO I WILL WRITE ⌿

keys (what i would write for the chars) :

- angst - *

- fluff - ^

- smut - ‘

youtubers/tiktokers :

zerkaa (josh) *^‘

wroetoshaw (harry) *^‘

miniminter (simon) *^‘

george clarke *^‘

arthur tv *^‘

top gun :

jake 'hangman' seresin *^‘

bradley 'rooster' bradshaw *^‘

shameless :

lip gallagher *^‘

carl gallagher *^‘

ian gallagher *^‘

the hunger games :

peeta mellark *^‘

finnick odair *^‘

coriolanus snow (tbosas) *^‘

sejanus plinth *^‘

heartbreak high :

malakai *^‘

ant *^‘

spider *^‘

cash *^‘

actors ( *^‘ )

request any actor, theres a big chance i will write about them.

/ xtra

i may write more characters from movies/tv shows, request them and i will think about it.

you can request multiple characters in the same group, but must include m!reader in your prompt message.

[w2soneshots]

a george clarkey x reader fic where they just constantly flirt and joke around but its in a video so everyone sees it and they start shipping them🥹

if not, thats totally okay!🫶🏽

Obvious -George clarkey

warnings: none.

summary: the internet impatiently wait for you and George to announce your extremely obvious relationship.

notes: hello lovely! I decided to make this into a social media au since I haven’t done one in so long and I’ve been waiting to use all the good George pics🤭. I hope you enjoy!!🌟💕

Liked by _gkbarry, arthurtv and 213,358 others

y/username: @georgeclarkeey had me working tirelessly to film content for you all today so he bought me lunch😏✨

-comments-

georgeclarkeey: ft my incredible camera skills

-> y/username: yeah tbf that first photo slaps

max_balegdae: slayed

y/nfanpage21: yassss f1!!🏎️

user64332985: they'd be so good together

y/username & georgeclarkeey

Liked by chrismd10, taliamar and 694,655 others

y/username: umm... sorry for the wait?

-comments-

_gkbarry: woooo so happy for u two❤️

arthurnfhill: hard launch!!!!!

y/nfanpage21: cutie patooties🥹💞

user45130946: omfg I didn't think this day would ever come

[viagracex]

Heyyy queen I was wondering if u can write a George clarke fan fic about the song bed cem or the song how deep is your love or the song never be like you what ever ideas come to mind thank u queen

Chasing the Fire

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: maybe it's all in my head, but i bet we'd have really good bed chem. (based on the song bed chem by sabrina carpenter)

warnings: sexual content and smut

note: I love this song and tried to write this so it tied into the lyrics as best as I could. I hope you like it and I’d love to get more requests!

2.4k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

It happened so fast. The party was loud, and you were only half paying attention when you saw him. George.

White jacket, thick accent, messy hair that he had clearly run his hands through too many times that night. You were in a sheer dress that felt a little too bold when his gaze flickered down your body, but you didn’t care.

“Hey,” he said, casual, like he wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.

“Hey,” you echoed, playing it cool.

You talked for a second—literally, maybe sixty seconds. His friend nudged him, distracted him, and before you could find another excuse to stay, he was gone.

But not before you followed each other on Instagram.

You couldn't stop thinking about George as you scrolled through his Instagram that night. His feed was a mix of artsy black and white photos, candid shots with friends, and the occasional shirtless beach pic that made your heart race. You found yourself imagining his accent, replaying your brief conversation over and over.

You weren’t proud of how much time you spent on his page.

Videos of him laughing, of him looking devastatingly good in dim bar lighting, of him in some oversized hoodie that made you think about how easy it would be to steal it after a night together.

You couldn't help but fantasize about George as you lay in bed that night, your mind wandering to places it shouldn't. You imagined his strong hands running through your hair, his accent low and husky in your ear. In your mind, he was tender yet passionate, taking his time to explore every inch of your body.

You pictured the two of you tangled in soft sheets, his muscular form pressed against yours. His kisses would start gentle but grow more urgent, leaving you breathless. You could almost feel the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble on his jaw.

George would know exactly how to touch you—where to caress and tease. His fingers would trace delicate patterns across your skin, sending a shudder through you. You imagined looking into his eyes, dark with desire, as you moved together in perfect synchronicity.

In your fantasy, George was attentive and giving, focused entirely on your pleasure. His stamina would be impressive, your lovemaking lasting for hours as you discovered each other's bodies. Afterwards, you would lay entwined, trading lazy kisses and soft caresses as your heart rates slowly returned to normal.

You fell asleep with these vivid images playing in your mind, your body tingling with unfulfilled desire. Part of you felt a little guilty for letting your imagination run so wild about someone you'd barely met. But a larger part of you hoped that someday, somehow, fantasy might become reality.

God, the chemistry would be unmatched.

You wanted him.

You wanted him so bad.

And when his name popped up in your DMs, you nearly dropped your phone.

George: That dress was dangerous, by the way.

You: What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.

George: I’d like to see how interesting.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over your phone, but there was no need to play shy. You both knew what you wanted.

You: Are you free next week?

The hotel room was dimly lit, golden from the bedside lamps. You heard him before you saw him, the click of the door shutting, the deep inhale like he was trying to steady himself.

You turned, your heart pounding. George stood there, his white jacket discarded, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt that hugged his muscular frame. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the silky slip dress you'd chosen for the occasion.

"You look even more dangerous than last time," he murmured, his accent making heat pool in your stomach.

You took a step towards him, drawn like a magnet. "Good dangerous or bad dangerous?"

His lips quirked into a smirk. "The best kind of dangerous."

In two strides, he closed the distance between you. His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," George confessed, his voice low and husky.

"Me neither," you breathed.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, and then his lips were on yours, soft at first, then more insistent. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. George’s hands traced down your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The passion you had imagined ignited instantly between you.

"You're even more stunning than I remembered," he murmured against your lips.

His voice dipped into a teasing rasp, heat pooling in your stomach. You ran your fingers through his messy hair, just as you had dreamed of doing. George’s hands roamed your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake. In one fluid motion, he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

"I've thought about this moment since I saw you in that dress," George said, his voice low and husky. He laid you down gently, then hovered above you. "You're absolutely perfect."

His praise made you flush with desire. George slowly undressed you, kissing each newly exposed patch of skin. When you were bare before him, he sat back to admire the view.

"Gorgeous," he breathed.

You reached for him, impatient. George chuckled and quickly shed his own clothes. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin. You couldn't wait to touch him everywhere.

George kissed a path down your body, setting every nerve ending alight. His clever tongue teased and tasted. You writhed beneath him, overcome with sensation. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he flipped you over.

"On your knees for me, love."

George's strong hands gripped your hips as he positioned himself behind you. You shivered in anticipation, your skin tingling where he touched you. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, and whispered in your ear.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his accent thick with desire. "So beautiful, so perfect for me."

You felt him slowly push inside, stretching and filling you completely. You both groaned at the exquisite sensation. George set a steady rhythm, his hips rocking against you as he showered your neck and shoulders with kisses.

"That's it, love," he encouraged. "You feel amazing."

His praise spurred you on. You pushed back to meet his thrusts, drawing him even deeper. George’s fingers dug into your hips as he picked up the pace. The room filled with the sounds of your passion—skin on skin, breathless moans, whispered endearments.

"You're taking me so well," George panted. "Such a good girl for me."

His words sent a thrill through you. You arched your back, silently begging for more. George obliged, driving into you with rough thrusts. He slid a hand around to tease between your legs as he continued to pound into you. The dual sensations were overwhelming.

"Say it again," you breathed, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He did. And then he gave you exactly what you wanted.

You could feel the tension building, a delicious coil of pleasure tightening low in your belly. George's skilled fingers worked in tandem with his powerful thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, love," he encouraged, his voice rough.

You cried out in ecstasy as waves of pleasure crashed over you. George held you tight as you trembled through your release. He slowed his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks.

"You're so beautiful when you cum for me," he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

Before you could catch your breath, George flipped you onto your back. His eyes were dark with desire as he gazed down at you. "I'm not done with you yet," he growled.

He hitched your legs over his shoulders and entered you again in one smooth thrust. The new angle had you seeing stars. George set a punishing pace, driving into you relentlessly.

"You feel so good," he praised. "So tight and wet for me."

You could only moan in response, overwhelmed by sensation. George's muscular body moved above you, a thin sheen of sweat making his skin glisten in the low light. He looked like a god, and you were helpless beneath him.

"Tell me how it feels," George commanded, his accent thicker than ever.

"Amazing," you gasped. "You feel so good. God. Please don't stop."

George groaned, clearly affected by your words. "I couldn't stop if I tried. You're addictive."

He lowered your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. The change in position had him hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You clung to George, your nails raking down his back as he drove into you relentlessly. His muscular body pressed you into the mattress, surrounding you completely.

"You’re unreal," George praised.

You whimpered at his words, arousal coursing through you. George's lips found your neck, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin. You knew he'd leave marks, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You wanted everyone to know you belonged to him.

"George, please," you begged, though you weren't sure what you were asking for.

He seemed to understand, reaching between you to circle your clit. The overstimulation had you crying out, trembling beneath him. George's thrusts became more erratic as he chased his own release.

"That’s it, one more—cum with me," he commanded. "I want to feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name as waves of pleasure once again washed over you. George followed soon after, groaning against your neck as he found his release.

You laid there, still breathless, your body warm, spent, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.

George propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with that damn smirk.

"So…" he murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare stomach. "I can say that it was very interesting indeed."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, it was."

His grin widened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours.

"Round two?"

You pretended to think about it. "Depends. Are you free next week?"

He chuckled, rolling on top of you again.

"Let’s start with tonight."

As George's lips met yours once again, you couldn't help but marvel at how reality had surpassed even your wildest fantasies. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was better than you could have imagined.

His hands roamed your body with a confidence that made you weak. You ran your fingers through his hair, relishing its softness. It was even more luxurious than you'd dreamed, perfect for gripping in the heat of passion.

And speaking of passion... your eyes couldn't help but wander down his chiseled body. You bit your lip, a mixture of awe and anticipation coursing through you. Oh my. Finally getting a chance to appreciate his body—and god, he was even more gifted than you'd dared to hope. No wonder you felt so full earlier.

George caught you staring and smirked. "See something you like?"

You blushed but met his gaze boldly. "Just admiring the view."

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I aim to please."

"Oh, you certainly do," you purred, running your hands down his muscular chest.

As George began trailing kisses down your neck, you closed your eyes in bliss. His touch was electric, igniting every nerve ending. You'd imagined your chemistry would be good, but this was on another level entirely.

Your body responded to his every caress like it was made for him. Each brush of his fingers sent sparks dancing across your skin. He took his time exploring every curve, as if committing you to memory.

You explored each other's bodies for hours, finding new ways to bring each other pleasure. George was insatiable, his stamina impressive. He took you in every position imaginable, each one bringing new sensations and delights.

As the night wore on, your passionate frenzy gave way to something slower, more tender.

Eventually, exhaustion settled over you both like a warm, sated haze. Your bodies remained tangled beneath the rumpled sheets, your breath still slightly uneven, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync. George's arm draped lazily over your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare hip. Neither of you spoke for a long time—there was no need. The weight of the moment, the unspoken understanding between you, said everything words couldn’t.

The dim hotel room hummed with the quiet intimacy of two people who had just unraveled each other completely. Your fingers toyed with the strands of his messy hair, brushing them back from his forehead as he studied you with hooded eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. “So,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction, “was that as good as you imagined?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress your grin. “Better.”

George chuckled, his fingers tracing idle circles on your bare skin, his touch still sending little aftershocks through your body. There was something electric between you, something undeniable—like you were two forces drawn together by something deeper than just attraction. It wasn’t just the way his body fit perfectly against yours, or the way his voice alone could make you shiver. It was the way you felt in his presence, like the air between you was charged, like every glance, every smirk, every teasing comment had been leading to this moment. The chemistry between you was unreal, like something out of a film, impossible to ignore, impossible to fake.

And the scariest part? You knew this wasn’t just a one-time thing. It wasn’t just lust or fleeting excitement. This was something potent, something addictive, something that had already begun weaving its way into your thoughts, your bones, your breath.

George tilted his head, that knowing smirk playing at his lips—like he could read your mind. “I can hear you thinking from here,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Just… wondering how the hell we have this much chemistry.”

His smirk softened into something almost contemplative. His fingers skimmed your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “Me too.”

The weight of that admission settled between you, heavy with unspoken things. A promise. A challenge. A warning.

Because once you’ve felt this kind of fire, you’ll spend forever chasing the burn.

[4rcaneye]

⭐️who i write for⭐️

mcu

steve rodgers

bucky barns

peaky blinders

thomas shelby

dc

clark kent

batman (ben affleck) & battinson

got

robb stark

jon snow

hotd

aegon targaryen

daemon targaryen

queen charlotte

king george

nhl

brock boeser

auston matthews

jacob markstrom

celebrities

jack harlow

cod

könig

ghost

challengers

art donaldson

[sdmnpact]

Hey I heard u like writhing fan fics based of songs well I have a idea for George Clarke the song sports car by Tate McRae

Sports Car.

George Clarke x Reader fic, smut

♪ Now Playing: Sports Car by Tate McRae ♪

**This contains a bit of smut, so please read at your discretion. These parts will be labeled with asterisks(*) **

~~~

You and George were driving around trying to find something fun to do. It was a cold Friday night and you two were bored out of your minds. Going to a pub was the plan but you just know it was going to be rowdy and it made you lose interest in the idea. You looked over to George who was driving. He was concentrated on the road, so you stared at him taking in his features, his curly brown mullet covered by a baseball cap, his jacket which resembled that of a letterman, his bluish eyes as they scanned the road in front. No doubt that you thought he was handsome, but it was never like that.

Friends was all you were, neither of you had a partner so you mostly spent your free time together. Unbeknownst to you, he loved spending time with you. Everyone knew he didn't have a missus but they always suspected you based on the way he would talk about you. You didn't make many appearances in his videos but when you did, the comment section would go wild shipping you two together, begging for it to be a real relationship.

You wanted it as well but you knew it would just complicate things. You'd rather just spend time with him, like this, as friends.

"Bowling?" He questioned turning to look at you causing you to quickly look away. "Um, nah, not feeling very athletic tonight." You turned to look out the windows feeling the blood rush to your cheeks slightly embarrassed he had caught you staring. He continued driving aimlessly. He didn't mind it at all, just being here with you was enough to satisfy him. After a few more minutes he pulled over on an empty road as most people were either at home or at the pub. You looked up towards the blue tinted streetlight that illuminated the vehicle.

"So… what now?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and you suddenly felt warmer despite the cold night. He unbuckled his seat belt , then leaned over to undo yours. "Why don't we just hang out here for a bit?" His warm breath hitting your face as he turned towards you, scooting as close as he could. "Okay..." You said with a slight laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Usually there was never an awkward moment between you two. The silence always felt easygoing or comforting, but right now, it felt different. It didn't feel like it was between two friends but instead two people, both with feelings for each other, feelings that needed to be released. A sort of tension was building up as he stared into your eyes, a sense of lust filling his. "Maybe it'd be more comfortable if we sat in the backseat?" He suggested as you just nodded your head. The two of you shifted towards the backseat, one seat with nothing separating you.

He sat close to you, both of you feeling comfortable enough to interlock your legs or grab each others arms. Your legs rested on top of his lap as he pulled you closer by your waist. In his mind, he was trying to warm you up in this already heated car. You didn't mind as you wrapped your arm around his waist under his jacket, feeling the warmth that was harboring underneath. Not a single word was spoken as you stared longingly into each others eyes.

You saw his gaze move towards your lips, you slightly tugged on his shirt as a way to let him know, it was fine. He leaned forward and planted his lips on yours. You felt you heart begin to flutter as you leaned into the kiss moving against his lips. His grip on your waist getting tighter as he pulled you closer. Your hands moving out from under his jacket moving towards his face, cupping his cheeks. You went from resting on him to fully straddling him.

**

The small space only pushing you two closer together. The heater on full blast and the grinding of your bodies together creating a sauna in there causing both of you to get very hot, very fast. He quickly pulled off his jacket, pulling yours off in the process. You were both hungry for more, he pulled off your shirt leaving you in only your bra and pants. He moved his kisses from your lips, down your neck making sure to plant gentle kisses down to your collarbone. You slightly moaned as he continued his way down, lowering a strap of your bra, kissing your shoulder, looking up at you for a second wanting to see the pleasure he was causing you. His hand reached for the back of your bra undoing the clips, one by one, he removed it leaving you fully revealed to him.

He kissed you again starting from your shoulders down to your breast making sure to give equal attention to both. You let out a louder moan as he caressed them. His tongue doing wonders on you. You desperately wanted him pulling on his pants as he looked up and grinned at you. You reached, unzipping and pulling them down revealing his member. You reached for it, stroking it gently, slowly increasing your pace with each moan that escaped his lips.

He grabbed your face, kissing you rougher than last time as you continued to please him. You enjoyed hearing his precious moans and loving the way you're making him feel. Shortly after, you felt him twitch as you let go of him making him unable to finish.

**

You smiled slyly as you grabbed your bra off the floor. He was breathing heavily, sweat droplets on his forehead as his front hairs were now drenched. He sat back, watching you put your clothes on, licking his lips. You wanted more of him but you wanted him to wait for it.

"Done already?" He said pulling his pants back up. You looked at him as he was grinning sheepishly. You rolled your eyes as he pulled you back towards him wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Wanna take this back to my place?"

~~~

A/n

I assumed based on the lyrics that it would be okay to write a bit of smut but if not, feel free to lmk and I'll write another one! Thank you so much for the suggestion!! I hope you enjoyed!!

[clarkevision]

George Clarke |The Challenge

Summary: You and George meet for the first time

The pub had the kind of buzz that made it feel alive, the mixture of warm light, clinking glasses, and the hum of conversation. It was a Friday night, and I’d come out with a couple of friends to unwind after a long, hectic week. The air smelled faintly of spilled beer and fried food, the kind of familiar pub scent that felt grounding.

We’d grabbed a small table by the window, perfect for people-watching, and I settled in with a gin and tonic, enjoying the low chatter of my friends. They were talking about work and the usual nonsense, but my mind wandered, lost in the rhythms of the night. Outside, the streets were busy with people making their way home or heading out for the night, and in the midst of it all, I felt a sense of calm.

That’s when I saw him.

He was standing at the bar, leaning against the counter with his two friends, deep in conversation. His presence stood out even from across the room. His hair was tousled in that effortless way that made it look like he hadn’t tried at all but still looked perfect. A black jumper hugged his shoulders in just the right way, and the way he laughed—loud, unrestrained, and genuinely carefree—caught my attention.

I couldn’t help but watch as he laughed with his friends, his head thrown back, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. And then, as if on cue, his gaze shifted. For a second, our eyes locked, and I felt a flicker of something—a spark I couldn’t quite explain. I quickly looked away, trying to shake off the feeling, but I felt the warmth spread across my cheeks.

When I dared a second glance, I saw him looking at me again. This time, he didn’t look away. His gaze lingered, and then he said something to his friends. They turned, smirking at me, clearly in on some private joke. The taller of the two gave him a subtle nudge.

I glanced at my friends, who noticed what was happening and exchanged knowing looks. One of them smirked. “Well, you’ve caught someone’s eye,” they whispered.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to show the mix of nervousness and intrigue swirling inside me. I didn’t know him, so why should it matter? But then I saw him push away from the bar, and my breath caught slightly as he began walking toward me. There was a quiet confidence in the way he moved, but something else, too—maybe uncertainty. I couldn’t quite place it.

He stopped just a few feet away from my table, his gaze flicking nervously between me and the empty seat across from me. “Hi,” he said, his voice smooth but with a hint of hesitation, like he wasn’t entirely sure whether he should be here. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

I glanced up at him, feigning indifference even though my pulse quickened. “Not at all,” I replied, gesturing to the seat. “Take a load off.”

He smiled, his whole face lighting up, and sat down without further hesitation. I couldn’t deny the effect he had on me—there was something magnetic about him, something that drew me in despite myself.

“I’m George,” he said, offering his hand. “Sorry if this is a bit forward. I saw you from across the room, and my mates… well, they dared me to come over.”

I shook his hand, a little surprised by the warmth and firmness of his grip. “I’m…” I started, but then paused, smiling slightly. “You can just call me… interesting, I guess.”

George laughed, clearly amused. “Interesting, huh? Well, that’s a bold statement, but I’m not one to argue with it.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You’re smooth. I’ll give you that.”

“Well,” he leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye, “I’d say I’m just confident. Confidence is key, right?”

“I guess it is,” I said, taking a sip of my drink, still unsure what to make of him. He had this smooth, almost practiced charm, but there was something genuine about the way he spoke—like he was trying to connect, not just impress.

“So, tell me something interesting,” George said, leaning forward, clearly intrigued. “What’s your story?”

We spent the next few minutes exchanging small talk, at first just filling the space with casual conversation about work, the pub, and the weather. But as time passed, it became clear that the more we talked, the more the tension between us shifted. I found myself relaxing, laughing at his stories and genuinely enjoying his company. His friends, meanwhile, were at the bar, watching us with exaggerated interest.

“Don’t let them bother you,” George said with a grin when he noticed me glance toward his friends. “They think I’m either too shy or too cocky, so they’re making bets about whether I’ll manage to get through a conversation without embarrassing myself.”

“I don’t know,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’re doing fine so far.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” he said, taking a sip of his own drink, looking both pleased and slightly relieved. “But now that I’m on a roll, I suppose I should keep up the charm, right?”

“I don’t think you have to try that hard,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly. “But if you insist.”

He laughed, a low, almost self-conscious chuckle. “Well, I guess I’d better earn my keep. Can I buy you a drink?”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him for a moment. “Isn’t that how this all started?”

“I suppose so,” George said, flashing a grin. “But now I’m offering a second drink, so it’s different, right?”

“I suppose,” I said, amused. “Alright, one more drink. But don’t think you can talk your way out of anything.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on it. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

When he returned with our drinks, he also brought a plate of fries, setting them down between us. “Figured I’d cover all the bases,” he said with a wink. “A drink and some food. Can’t go wrong with that combo, right?”

I looked at the fries, then at him. “I didn’t know you were so prepared.”

George gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m all about first impressions. Can’t just show up empty-handed, can I?”

I found myself laughing despite myself. “Alright, I’ll admit you’re winning me over.”

“So,” he said, leaning in slightly, “tell me, what’s something I wouldn’t guess about you just by looking?”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the question. “You’re a curious one, huh?”

He nodded eagerly. “I like to think I’m just good at reading people. But I’m ready to be surprised.”

I hesitated for a moment, considering how much to reveal. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t guess that I actually love hiking. Most people assume I’m more of a city girl.”

George’s eyes widened, clearly impressed. “I would never have guessed that. You seem like you’d be a beach person, honestly.”

I laughed. “I can be, but I love being out in nature. Something about it just resets my mind.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued,” George said, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe I’ll have to join you on a hike someday. You know, for the ‘nature therapy.’”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, smiling. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”

As the night wore on, the pub began to empty, but neither of us seemed eager to leave. There was something comfortable about the way we’d fallen into this rhythm of conversation, like we’d known each other for far longer than we had.

“I suppose I should ask for your number, shouldn’t I?” George said eventually, his voice a little quieter, almost as if the mood had shifted from playful banter to something more earnest.

I hesitated, then nodded, pulling a pen from my bag and scribbling my number on a napkin. “You can text me if you want,” I said, sliding it across the table to him. “No guarantees.”

He grinned, picking up the napkin like it was the most precious thing in the world. “No guarantees? Fair enough. I’ll make sure to text you soon. But I’ll make it interesting.”

I stood up, grabbing my coat. “We’ll see. You’ve got some proving to do.”

George stood as well, his hand brushing mine as we said our goodbyes. “I’m up for the challenge. I’ll talk to you soon.”

And as I walked out into the cool night air, my heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. There was something about George’s charm—something about him that made me think this encounter might be more than just a chance meeting.

The days after that night felt like they moved at an oddly slow pace. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart skipped a beat, wondering if it would be George texting. When I finally got a message from him, it wasn’t exactly what I expected.

Hey, it’s George. I didn’t forget about that challenge. I owe you that hike, don’t I?

I smiled to myself. It had been a couple of days since we met, but the easy conversation and undeniable chemistry we had kept playing over in my mind. I’d been half-expecting him to casually drop the idea of a date into the conversation, but the hike was unexpected—and refreshing. It felt natural, and I liked that.

I’ll hold you to that. But you know I’m not going easy on you.

He responded almost immediately:

I’m counting on it. How does Saturday sound?

I read the message over again, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in my chest. I hadn’t been on a first date in ages, let alone one where I felt this kind of nervous energy. But there was something about George—his charm, his authenticity—that made me feel like this could be something different.

Saturday morning arrived, bright and crisp with the kind of sunlight that made the city streets feel warmer than usual. I dressed in layers—comfortable but practical—and found myself checking the time more often than I’d care to admit. We’d agreed to meet at a small café before heading out on the hike, and I was trying to balance my excitement with my usual attempt at playing it cool.

I arrived early, already scanning the crowd for any sign of George. I wasn’t sure what to expect—had he changed his mind? Was he running late? Maybe the chemistry that had been so easy at the pub was just a one-off, after all.

Just as I started to second-guess myself, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey,” George said, a grin spreading across his face as I turned around. He was wearing a fitted jacket and hiking boots, looking effortlessly cool in that way that only someone with genuine confidence could pull off. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“No, you’re good,” I replied, forcing myself to act casual as my heart raced. “I just got here, actually.”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m all about keeping my promises. And this one’s a big one.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”

“Well, you said you weren’t going easy on me, so I figured I’d show up prepared.”

I looked him over, trying to hide the fact that he looked more put-together than I did for a hike. “Looks like you’ve got the gear down, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’m not about to get embarrassed on the first date.”

We grabbed coffee together before heading out, making small talk about everything and nothing. George’s easygoing nature made it feel like we were just two friends catching up, even though I knew we weren’t. There was something undeniable between us—an undercurrent of curiosity, of possibility.

“So,” I said, as we finally made our way outside and headed for the trail, “have you done a lot of hiking before?”

George smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “To be honest, I’ve only done a couple of easy ones. I’m more of a pub-and-football kind of guy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I thought you were going to impress me with your survival skills.”

“Well, if we end up in the middle of nowhere, I might need you to save me,” he said with a wink. “But hey, I’ll carry the snacks. That’s something, right?”

I laughed, amused by his confidence in the face of his clear lack of experience. “I think I can manage. You can keep the snacks, I’ll keep the route.”

As we walked toward the trailhead, the conversation flowed easily, just like it had at the pub. We talked about everything from our favorite movies to the things we hated most about city living. He told me more about his friends—Chris and Arthur, of course, the two who had been in on his plan to come over to my table that night. I liked hearing about the people who shaped his life.

“You really trust those guys, huh?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. They’ve known me since uni. And I’m not one to hold back around them. They’ve seen all my worst moments, so they know me better than most.”

There was something comforting about the honesty in his voice. For all his charm and smoothness, he wasn’t afraid to be real, and that was something I admired.

As we hiked along, the rhythm of the trail gave us a comfortable space to keep talking. The sun was high now, shining through the trees, and the air was crisp and refreshing. It wasn’t strenuous, but the scenery was breathtaking—forests stretching for miles, the trail winding upward, leading us to a clearing where we could see far out over the valley below.

“This view is amazing,” I said, pausing to take it all in. The hike had brought a peace I hadn’t realized I needed, and I could tell George felt the same.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he agreed, his voice quieter now, as though he was letting the silence settle around us. “Not what I expected, honestly. You were right about this nature thing—it’s got its charm.”

I smiled. “I told you.”

George glanced over at me, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long. He seemed to be searching my face, trying to read me. “You know,” he said, his voice a little softer, “this is way more fun than I thought it’d be. I’m glad we did this.”

I nodded, feeling a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with the sun on my back. “Me too. I wasn’t sure how this was going to go, but I’m glad we’re here.”

There was a quiet pause, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us. His presence felt steady, like something I could trust—something worth taking the risk for. Without thinking too much, I found myself stepping closer to him.

“George,” I said, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You might just be winning me over.”

His eyes sparkled, and the smile he gave me was enough to make my heart skip a beat. “I’m only getting started,” he said quietly. “I’m in it for the long haul, remember?”

The rest of the hike felt like a blur in the best possible way—easy, relaxed, full of laughter and comfortable silences. We reached the summit, and we sat together, watching the world stretch out in front of us.

For a while, we didn’t talk. We just sat side by side, taking in the beauty around us. The moment felt simple, but it was perfect.

“Thanks for coming,” George said after a while, turning to me with a sincerity that made my chest tighten a little. “This—everything—has been better than I could’ve imagined.”

“I think the best part,” I said, “is that we actually did it. And it wasn’t awkward.”

He laughed softly. “I wasn’t worried about that. I was just hoping you wouldn’t abandon me halfway through.”

I nudged him, laughing. “You wish.”

As we made our way back down the trail, the setting sun cast a golden glow over everything. I felt lighter than I had in a long time, like something inside me had shifted. George wasn’t just the smooth talker he had seemed to be at first. He was real. And this—whatever this was between us—felt like it had the potential to grow into something special.

When we reached the base of the trail, George turned to me, his eyes meeting mine with a quiet intensity. “So, how about next weekend? You and me—no hiking, just a proper dinner this time?”

I smiled, my heart fluttering a little. “I’d like that.”

As I walked away that evening, I realized that this wasn’t just a one-time thing. George had somehow turned what could’ve been an awkward first date into something comfortable and exciting. It was the start of something, and I had no idea where it would lead—but I was looking forward to finding out.