#georgeclarkeey angst

[gabbytvclarke]

pls could you do one where r doesn’t drink- maybe because of childhood or something else, and is worried what the boys (like the Arthurs, Chris, batch) will think, but George just supports and loves her? comfort and fluff omg 💔

I love this idea, sorry it took so long to come out! ____________________

Party Pooper // George Clarke

• Summary: George and Chris throw a surprise homecoming party for Arthur Hill, but y/n is nervous about being pressured to drink. • Pairing: Boyfriend!George Clarke x female!reader • Angst and fluff • Warnings: crying, trauma, alcohol • Word count: 2,167 words

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

She flicks through Netflix on her boyfriend’s TV, her free hand grips her thigh to stop it from bouncing. Struggling to concentrate on picking a film, her mind races with the thoughts of tomorrow’s party. George and Chris are planning a homecoming party for Arthur Hill, following his recent tour. Naturally, the party is at their shared flat and of course, y/n is invited.

Chris is visiting his family at the moment, planning to return in the evening, so y/n and George have had the place to themselves the past couple of days. Not enough noise to block our her worries. George returns from the bathroom, having seemingly found a couple of packets of balloons on the route back to the sofas. His eyes are furrowed as he counts how many are in each bag, ensuring the amounts match the numbers listed on the front.

“Still not decided on a movie yet?” He asks casually as he briefly glances to the TV.

“Hm? Oh, no not yet.” Y/n replies quietly, gazing towards the floor.

“I know I’ve asked this already this morning, but are you sure you’re OK? You don’t seem your usual self.” He asks, dropping the packets on the table and taking a seat next to his girlfriend. They haven’t been together long, 3 months officially since meeting on Hinge a month prior. Already he knows her too well.

“I’m OK, just a little nervous about tomorrow…” She mumbles.

“Nervous? You’ll be fantastic, the guys adore you. And don’t worry about helping me decorate, Chris will be here.” He rubs her leg gently with his hand, his eyes glued to her face as she continues glancing ahead. “I can send an Uber closer to the time if you’d rather spend more time relaxing and getting ready.”

But y/n knows she won’t be relaxing, she’d rather be there to help get the place ready to distract her if anything. Actually, she'd not go if she could, despite wanting to. “You won’t be driving so you don’t need worry about drinking either.” He adds.

Just the word sends shivers down her spine. She feels awful, she loves his friends too, but she ran out of excuses to not drink ages ago.

“Y/n?” George asks, his voice laced with concern. She doesn’t want to talk about it, but she doesn’t want to worry him by avoiding the topic either. She puts her hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze and paints a smile on her lips.

“Sounds good, now what shall we watch?” She asks as nonchalantly as she can, picking the remote back up and pointing it towards the TV.

“Oh no you don’t,” George states with a small smile, reaching over and taking it off her. He switches the TV off and turns more to face her, taking her hand in his. “Something’s been bothering you recently, what’s wrong darling?” He asks, tilting his head down but looking up at her through his eyebrows. She’s struggling to find her words as she gets lost in his beautiful but worried eyes.

“It’s nothing, I’m all good.” She dismisses. She wants to tell him, but he’s so excited for tomorrow and she doesn’t want to bum him out.

“Look at me baby.” He reaches over and takes her other hand, his thumbs gently brush over her knuckles. “Please, just tell me.”

She feels her chest begin to tighten, her eyes sting. “I… I need the toilet.” She stands to her feet suddenly and awkwardly heads toward the bathroom.

“Do you not like my friends?” George calls out abruptly, a hint of sadness in his tone. She stops in her tracks. “Because if you don't, you really should tell me.” His voice softens. She turns to him and her heart sinks at his anxious expression. “They’re good people.” He adds.

“It’s not that at all.” She states.

“You’ve been avoiding hanging out with them for a while now, I can't help but worry.” He says, watching her face. Her eyes begin to water, the dam breaking.

George’s eyes go wide, he rushes to his feet and approaches her softly. “Oh no, I’m sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t… you didn’t do anything. It’s me.” She speaks slowly, wiping her tears. George’s breathing shallows, thinking the worst. Thinking this is their relationship over, or something to that effect.

“Did something happen?” He asks, trying to keep his voice calm, but his eyes scream his real thoughts. He reaches his arms out and she accepts, stepping into his warm embrace. She sighs as she lets the tension in her body fade.

“It’s the drinking.” She states, the most coherent and yet painful sentence she’s been able to utter all morning.

His shoulders relax a little, but he’s still confused. “The drinking?” He leans back and looks at her again, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“Yeah.” She murmurs. His hand slides down and takes hers as he leads her back to the sofa. They sit down together as her sobs die down a little. “I’m not comfortable with drinking alcohol. It sounds ridiculous, but I went through a lot as a kid.”

Still holding George’s hand, y/n retells the traumas of her childhood, all of her bad memories linked directly to alcoholism. George listens and nods along. It all makes sense now; their dates never involved alcohol and if they did, y/n was the designated driver. Or she had an 'early start' the next day, or simply nominated herself to be the sober friend of the night.

What he hears hurts him but right now, he knows that she needs him to be strong. She cries harder once she's done explaining, as George pulls her into a hug, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “There, there.” He whispers as his eyes well up. They remain hugging for a couple more minutes as they both calm themselves.

When y/n pulls away, she sees George’s red eyes, making the blue stand out more. “Oh George, this is why I didn’t want to say anything.” She coos, brushing her hand over his cheek.

He leans his head into her palm and presses a small kiss into it. He lets out a defeated sigh, a faint smile on his lips. “Don’t be daft, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” He whispers. They both head to the bathroom to wipe their faces down.

His bloodshot eyes gaze at her through the mirror. “If you don’t want to come over tomorrow, I’d understand. I can make up an excuse for you.”

“I want to be there, that’s why I’m so frustrated with myself.” She replies calmly. “And I don’t even mind if everyone else drinks, I just don’t want to be a party pooper by being the only one not drinking ”

George chuckles as he hugs her from behind, still looking at her in the reflection. “The only way you can poop on this party, is by not being there, and by not being your amazing self.” He kisses her cheek.

“Noted.” She giggles as she takes his hand and they head back out to the lounge area.

She’s back scrolling through Netflix again, the fog in her mind clearer and a weight off her shoulders. “Are you OK now darling?” George asks, carrying a blanket and snacks over.

“I really am, thank you, and of course I’ll help you decorate by the way. You boys will do a terrible job without me!” George chuckles and tickles her side.

———

The next day, she hears George’s cheerful rhythmic knock on her door. His jaw drops when she opens it. She looks gorgeous. “Wowee!” He shouts as he twirls her and gives her a tight hug, making her giggle. “Ready?”

They get in the Uber together. “How are you feeling?” He asks her quietly. She gives him a playful smile. “I promise I won’t keep asking.” He adds.

“I’m excited, but a little nervous still. Nothing compared to how I felt before though.” She smiles at him genuinely this time as she answers. George nods, relieved.

The decorating takes no time at all. It would’ve been even faster if y/n didn’t have to keep rehanging things that Chris shoddily puts up. More people begin to show up, bringing drinks and snacks, and helping the three lay them out for the party.

As people mingle and wait for Arthur’s return, George shows y/n that the top shelf in the fridge is full of her favourite still drink. She gives him a peck on the lips to thank him. “I still don’t know what to tell them though.” She whispers in his ear.

“If they offer you a beverage, a ‘no thank you’ should suffice.” He smiles back, stroking her cheek. “And if anyone persists, come get me.”

———

“SURPRISE!” They all yell as Arthur drags his suitcase through the door. He is a little taken aback, his grin wide.

“Ah! Thank you!” He yells awkwardly, his reaction a little underwhelmed.

“Did you know we were here?” Isaac asks, a party blower hanging out his mouth.

“A bit,” Hill sheepishly replies, “Arthur said something about it yesterday.” He gestures to Arthur TV, who’s donning a guilty smile. Chris starts telling him off as he puts his hands up to surrender.

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out!” Arthur TV pleads.

The party is a hit. With George being the social butterfly and fluttering between the guests, y/n sits more comfortably with the girls. Liv makes herself a cocktail. “Do you want one y/n?” She offers kindly.

“Oh, no thanks, I’ve still got mine!” Y/n replies, holding up her non-alcoholic drink. Sabine take a sip of her freshly made 'Liv special' cocktail.

“You’ve been drinking those all night, you sure you don’t want to mix it up?” She asks, holding her glass out closer for y/n to smell the drink.

“No really, I’m fine. These are my favourites.” Y/n replies sweetly.

George, Isaac, and Chip join them, having missed their girls already.

“Having fun?” George whispers in her ear, his voice a little off from his drinking.

“I really am, thank you baby.” She giggles back, keeping him steady.

“Sorry, you probably don’t want my beer breath in your face.” He mutters with a guilty grin. Y/n waves his worries away.

“You smell great George.” She replies with a smile, before pecking his lips. He’s then called over by Danny to take shots.

“Duty calls!” George smirks, he rushes off to their table. Y/n decides to make herself useful, acting as a photographer and taking pics and videos on her phone.

Arthur Hill slides in next to her while she scrolls through her photos. “Thanks for this y/n.” He says with a smile, resting his elbow on her shoulder.

“It was George who arranged it, Chris and I just helped decorate the place.” Arthur looks around at the stringers, banners, and balloons while she replies sweetly.

“Yeah but, this is all you.” He protests, gesturing at the decorations. He gives her a hug. “Thank you. Feels like it’s been ages since we’ve hung out.” He murmurs against her cheek.

“Oi! Hands off!” George shouts with a smirk, pointing his finger at the pair and making them cackle.

———

Y/n fetches another one of her still drinks from the fridge. She’s hoping that keeping one on her at all times will stop her from being offered anything else. The plan was working, until she sees the table.

“Beer pong!” Chip roars with his fist in the air. Some of the boys gather around him, while George is across the room chatting to Harry. Picking up a ping pong ball, Chip peers over at y/n. “Ladies first.” He says with a sneer, handing the ball out towards her.

“Oh, no thank you!” She replies, raising her own drink and taking a sip.

“Aw come on y/n! A beer won’t hurt!” Chip whines. Y/n declines further, her cheeks heating up, but the other boys join in with begging her too.

George, having heard his girlfriend’s name from across the room, casually joins the table.

“Clarkey, tell y/n to man up and join in!” Chip whinges, the Arthurs and Isaac nodding in agreement. George puts his arm around y/n’s shoulder.

“Oh, she won’t be playing,” George states nonchalantly, “y/n doesn’t drink, but I'll take her place.” Her breathing hitches for a moment, she looks at the boys’ expressions and awaits further complaints. She waits for them to say the party’s ruined, that she's spoiling it for everyone else. But they don’t.

“Fair enough, sorry about that y/n.” Chip replies with friendly grin, shrugging and passing the ball to George instead. The boys begin their game as if nothing happened. He turns to y/n and winks at her.

“What just happened?” She asks him with a confused smile.

“I told you, they’re good people. Love you.” He beams, kissing her cheek before bouncing the ball across the table.

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

A/n: Thank you anon for the request, this was my first angst piece. I hope I did your prompt justice ♥ - Gabby xo

[w2soneshots]

neeeeed a george make up sex fic 🤤

Make up, make out -George clarkey

words: 2.0k+

warnings: smut (with plot), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple positions, lots of dirty talk, angst with a happy ending, Chris is adorable as per, George is a self aware king.

summary: you and your boyfriend, George, get into an argument. You spend the day apart and when he returns home, it turns out all that was needed to resolve it was a quick conversation and some good old make up sex.

notes: hello angels! I made this to celebrate hitting one thousand followers, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here🥹💞. I’m crushing hard on George atm so I needed to get this out of my system🙂‍↕️. I hope you enjoy!!❤️‍🔥✨🫶🏼

Not often did you and George argue. When you did it was for something stupid and was quickly resolved with an apology from whoever was in the wrong. This morning was different.

Let's go back to the beginning... you and George met in a bar. He spit his drink all over your dress, went extremely red out of embarrassment, apologised profusely and then offered you his jumper. You fell for him right then and there.

At around seven this morning you were woken up to the sound of the shower turning on. It made its usual loud gurgling sound as the water made its way through the pipes. You groaned into your pillow and tried to fall back asleep.

To no avail, you grabbed your phone and began absentmindedly scrolling through instagram. George opened the ensuite door a few minutes later, wearing just a white towel wrapped around his hips. "Oh, hey babe. Why're you awake?" He asked with confusion as he dried his hair with a smaller towel.

You signed. "Shower woke me up," you muttered back sleepily. He sat on the side of the bed. "Shit, sorry." You pushed yourself up so that you were leaning against the headboard. "Why're you awake?" You asked, head cocked to the side.

"The sidemen are filming a video and needed a guest last minute, since the other guy dropped out," he explained. You furrowed your brows."George?" "Hm?" "Did you forget about our date?" You asked, arms now crossed over your chest.

His eyes widened, it'd completely slipped his mind. "Uhh-" "Oh come on!" You threw the duvet back and stood. "I'm sorry love, I forgot- I- I'll make it up to you," he scrambled, standing to match you.

You lowered your voice after taking a deep breath. "You said that last week," you replied, defeated. "I-" he began but you were quick to cut him off. "Have fun at your shoot, I'll cancel our reservation."

He reached out to you but you threw your hands up and took a step back. "No, no. It's fine!" You snapped before turning and going to the living room to 'sleep' on the couch.

George signed before cursing quietly under his breath. He contemplated cancelling but ultimately decided against it. He then continued to get ready and was gone within half an hour.

Silent tears trickled down your face as you heard the front door close. You were angry. He'd blew you off to film a few too many times and you were tired of it. You wanted him to take opportunities and aspire for more, but when it meant spending your day alone because he had to cancel, you obviously weren't happy about it.

"y/n?" Chris' voice sounded through the living room. You sniffed and quickly wiped your face. "Mhm?" Was all that you could manage without your voice cracking. He walked closer and sat at the end of the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Why're you sleeping on the couch?" He asked, confused, "did George steal all the covers again?" I breathed out an amused laugh. "He left, for a shoot," you responded, sitting up properly. "Oh, right."

We sat there in a slightly awkward silence for a moment before he got up. "Uhm... do you need anything? A blanket?" He asked sweetly. Bless him. You smiled softly up at him. "I'm okay. Thank you. I'm gonna go back to bed now anyway," you replied before standing up. "Ah, okay. Sleep well."

You parted ways and went back to your respective rooms. Living with Chris and Arthur is something you didn't think you'd like as much as you do. You moved in a few months ago and, thankfully, fit right in.

You decided, instead of spending the day moping around the apartment, that you'd ask Shannon if she wanted to go get some lunch and do some shopping (the best therapy). She was quick to text you back with an enthusiastic yes.

As you sat on the rooftop terrace of a pub, the sun shining down on you while you sipped away at your drinks, she let you rant on about how frustrating your morning had been. Since her and Chris had broken up you'd stayed in good contact and actually gotten quite close.

"I get it. It's not selfish to want a little attention from your boyfriend, that's just relationships. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Sometimes men need it to be spelled out, for them to understand," she advised you with a calm smile.

"God. You give the best advice," you replied with a sigh. She chuckled and before you could continue, your food came. "Let's talk about something else. I'll deal with everything later."

You had a nice day and Shannon managed to distract you enough for you to enjoy yourself. You said your goodbyes and she gave you a firm hug before whispering, "talk to him. He loves you. You'll be fine." Which reassured you immensely, though you were still slightly dreading the upcoming conversation.

When you got back to the apartment Arthur and Chris were on their way out. They explained quickly that they were meeting some of the other boys for drinks and wouldn't be back until late. You bid them goodbye and then went into your room to get unready since you just wanted to feel comfortable.

The creek of the front door opening an hour later made your breath hitch in your throat. George's footsteps rung through the apartment as he slowly approached your bedroom.

You stood in the bathroom, finishing off your skincare routine after you'd just removed your makeup. "Hey," he began cautiously, leaning against the doorway.

You continued to look in the mirror, keeping your eyes on your face. "Where's the others?" He asked, voice still soft and quiet. He was acting as if you were a deer that would bolt at any minute. "Out for drinks. Surprised you didn't join them," you replied plainly, as you picked up your lip balm and began applying some to your lips.

He sighed, he knew you had every right to be annoyed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, head hung low. You turned your body to look at him. "What was that?" You asked, sounding a little meaner than you meant to. His eyes met yours and he stepped closer.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I love you so much and I haven't been showing that recently, but I do. I love you more than anything. You're the best thing that's ever happen to me and- and I don't want to lose you. I promise I'll try harder. Just please, please forgive me?" His voice was slightly horse and his eyes were full of despair.

It took you a second to process what he'd just said. It was exactly what you needed to hear and -as usual- he'd somehow known what you were thinking.

"God," you breathed, in disbelief, "as if you could get any better. I just wanted to be with you- spend time with you. Of course I forgive you. I love you, you big idiot." He laughed quietly, nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. You both let out a breath of relief when your bodies met.

As you stood there, your worries long gone, all of the things that had just come out of his mouth caught up to you and you realised that you were... turned on?

"George?" You whispered, voice husky. "Hm?" He hummed back. You moved back, not so much that your body's parted, but just enough so you could meet his eyes.

You stared into each other's souls for a moment before, at the exact same time, you leaned forward and connected your lips.

All of the built up emotions from the day made for a deep and desperate kiss that ignited a fire in your stomach. You were all over each other; his warm hands running from your hips, to your waist, to your lower back, while yours raked messily through his fluffy hair.

"The apartment's empty," you managed to mumble through kisses, "we can be as loud as we want." His arms tightened around your waist. "You have no idea the things you do to me darling," he whispered as he broke the kiss to pepper them around your jaw.

You leaned your head back with a breathy moan, giving him more access as your hand gripped onto his hair. "I," kiss. "love," kiss, "you," kiss. Oh my fucking god.

You wrapped your arms around his neck just as his hands gripped the back of your thighs. Like you weighed absolutely nothing, he lifted you off the ground and carried you into the bedroom.

He set you down on your bed carefully, your legs bent ether side of his hips. "Fuck me George. Please," you practically whimpered while reaching down and attempting to take his belt off.

"I've got you baby, I got ya'." He leant back to remove his shirt and undo the belt that you'd been struggling with moments earlier. You went to take off your top but he beat you to it.

It didn't take long until your clothes lay in a pile on the floor and you were both left in only your underwear. He leaned back down and connected your lips once again.

Slowly, he ground his clothed dick onto you and your mouth dropped open with a whine. "George..." at this point you were desperate, and he was teasing you. He let out a low chuckle before finally removing the remaining clothes separating you.

"Ready baby?" He asked softly. You were quick to nod. "Born ready," you replied breathlessly, voice showing how extremely sure you were.

He used one hand to put it in while the other reached for yours to intertwine your fingers, which is something he's done since the first time you had sex in your old apartment. You squeezed his hand tightly when he reached the hilt. "Oh mmm-"

"I'll never get over this feeling," he whispered into your ear, voice strained. "Move," you moaned in response. Didn't have to tell him twice.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans and George's soft grunts during each thrust. "Oh my god, George! Harder George, harder!" You screamed as his cock hit all the right places.

He loves the sounds you make, though there's usually a bit of teasing after the fact which you don't particularly enjoy but in the moment you genuinely couldn't care less.

His thrusts became sloppier and you knew that meant he was close, though you weren't quite ready for it to be over so... you wrapped your arms around his waist and flipped the both of you over.

He was surprised for a moment then looked up at you with raw attraction in his eyes. You'd, obviously, been on top before but had never done that and it was probably one of the sexiest things he'd ever witnessed.

You started using your legs to bounce up and down, hands finding his chest for support. His hands were quick to assist you by guiding your hips into his.

He watched you; head thrown back, tits bouncing and slightly frowning in pure bliss. All he could think was, "what the fuck did I do to deserve this angel."

He could tell you were close so he moved one of his big hands from your hip and pressed his thumb to your clit. Your legs moved quicker, you saw white and... snap.

George came just seconds after you. He grunted as your body fell forwards, landing on his chest as you caught your breath. He ran a hand through your hair and whispered, "we need to argue more often." Though, really, he never wanted to fall out with you again, but if you did... it'd always end with some unbelievable make up sex.

[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

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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.

[wifelivvyx]

Inside Trouble (Part 2)

The kiss should have ended there.

It should have been a moment of clarity—one where you pulled away, looked at each other, and agreed it was a bad idea.

But when you started to lean back, breathless, George’s hands tightened on your waist.

"Not yet," he murmured.

And then he pulled you back in.

This time, the kiss was hungrier, like he had spent too long pretending he didn’t want this. His fingers gripped your waist like he was scared you’d slip away again, and you had to brace yourself against his chest as he kissed you deeper.

You felt dizzy—not just from the way his lips moved against yours, but from the fact that this was George.

And now you weren’t just thinking about him as your best friend.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it—in him.

Until—

Footsteps.

Your heart stopped.

You jerked away, eyes wide, breathing hard.

George groaned under his breath, tilting his head back in frustration, but he let you go just as another contestant walked into the kitchen.

They blinked at you both. "Uh… am I interrupting something?"

You scrambled for words, but George recovered quickly. "Nope. Just talking."

"Yep," you agreed too fast, forcing a smile. "Just talking."

The contestant raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. They just grabbed a water bottle and left.

The second the door shut, you let out a breath, pressing a hand to your racing heart.

George, however, just grinned.

"That was close," he muttered.

You shot him a glare. "You pulled me back in!"

He didn’t even look sorry. "Yeah. And?"

You stared at him. "And?! George, we’re literally on a reality show where people get eliminated based on social connections—"

"You say that like I wouldn’t take a nomination just to kiss you again."

Your breath hitched.

Because the way he said it? Like it wasn’t even a question? Like he meant it?

You shook your head, trying to ignore the warmth in your chest. "This is bad. Really bad."

George stepped closer. "You sure about that?"

You swallowed. "Yes."

His eyes flickered down to your lips, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure anymore.

But before you could figure it out, another contestant walked in.

This time, you didn’t wait for questions. You turned on your heel and left—before you did something stupid again.

Like let George Clarke kiss you a third time.

Day 16 – The Avoidance Game

You avoided him.

It wasn’t easy—George was everywhere. At breakfast, during group challenges, even when you were just sitting in the lounge. Every time you looked up, he was watching you with this annoying smirk, like he knew exactly why you were keeping your distance.

And okay, yeah. Maybe he did know.

But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

At least, that’s what you thought—until he cornered you in the hallway.

"Are we seriously pretending that didn’t happen?" he muttered.

You stepped back, but your back hit the wall. Trapped.

"George—"

"Y/N." He stepped closer. "Talk to me."

You crossed your arms, trying to look unbothered. "It was just a moment."

He scoffed. "Oh yeah? Just a moment?"

You refused to look at him. "Yes."

George tilted his head, like he was deciding whether to believe you. "Then why haven’t you been able to look at me all day?"

Your breath caught. "I have—"

"Nope." His voice was low, teasing. "You’ve been avoiding me. And not very well, by the way."

You clenched your jaw. "Because I’m trying to be smart about this. The others are already suspicious."

George just shrugged. "Let them be."

You stared at him. "George, someone’s gonna notice."

He grinned. "Let them."

Your pulse spiked. "You don’t care if people find out?"

He exhaled sharply. "I care about you."

Your heart stuttered.

George took another step, so close now. His fingers brushed against your hip, and you felt your whole body heat up.

"You really want to pretend like that kiss meant nothing?" he asked softly.

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth?

You weren’t sure you could anymore.

George smirked. "Then stop me."

And then he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Less desperate, more intentional. Like he was proving a point.

And the worst part?

You let him.

Because George Clarke?

He had already won.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ swirled you into all of my poems ❞ | masterlist

i prefer my readers to be 16+, suggestive/smutty stories will be marked with [ * ], id like to keep those strictly 18+. angst with [ a ], fluff with [ f ]. if you spot a ✦ before the story, its one of my personal favorites;)

if you are below the ages mentioned, please don't interact!! however, if you choose to proceed im not responsible for what you consume.

multiple part stories will be marked as such, they can absolutely be read as standalone.

Alfie Buttle ✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ abvloggin!

coming soon!

Arthur Frederick ⋆₊ ⊹★🔭 arthurtv!

wish you were sober [ f + a ] — if only he was sober.

i'll do it better than he can [ * ] — he doesn't really like your new boyfriend

i wanna tell the world that you're mine, girl [ f ] — the unplanned relationship announcement

✦ I wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy [ a + f ] — some things do get under his skin

Arthur Hill ✩°｡⸜ 🎧 arthurhill69!

playing my heartstrings like a rockstar [ a + f ] — you're messing with his feelings and he doesn't know why

but i'ma be under the mistletoe with you [ * ] — kissing under the mistleto

Chris Dixon ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ⚽️ chrismd10!

coming soon!

George Clarke  ⊹₊ ⟡⋆🍒 georgeclarkeey!

everybody wants a taste [ a + f ] — unfortunately, you are the jealous type

✦ i need you to fill the void [ f ] — someone spoils your secret

cuddle up to me [ f ] — anonymous asked: Please can you write something about clarkey loving a cuddle and the boys come home and tease him

Harry Lewis 🥂 ࿔*:･ wroetoshaw!

✦ we don't even fight anymore [ a ] — watching everything come to a slow end

James Marriott 🎸˚｡𖦹☆° jamesmarriottyt!

coming soon!

Morgan Burtwistle 𓍢ִ໋ 🏟 ✧˚ ༘ angryginge13!

coming soon!

Tobi Brown 📜࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ tbjzl!

coming soon!

Will Lenney ༄˖°.🍂 willne!

coming soon!

🖇·˚ ༘ + Friends !

no seriously get your hands off my man [ f + * ] miss possessive, ft. miniminter

‧₊˚ ☁️ Headcanons + Social Media au's!

hanging up on them without saying "I love you" [ f ] — ft: arthurtv, arthur hill, chris, george, harry, & will

charity match!bf!clarkey [ f + * ] — ft george clarke

she's insane, she wrote a song about me — ft: exbf!chrismd x oc, singer/songwriter!reader x lando norris - sm!au

[clarkeyhill]

Bitter | George Clarke Part 2

Angst. Fluff

The day broke in, your eyes flutter open to the creep of the sunrise. Your surroundings all too familiar, creating a pit in your stomach. George snoring beside you. Although you hated him for what he did, you couldn't help but admit it felt good to be back next to him. You slowly slide out of the bed, grabbing your clothes from off the floor. You were in one of his t-shirts, the one he bought from a festival you both went to a year ago.

You sigh, looking at the shirt reliving all the memories, the way you sung while on his shoulders, your hair flying in the wind as his hands locked onto your legs. You creep into the bathroom, sliding the shirt over your head and putting your clothes back on. Luckily you wore jeans and a casual top so it didn't massively look like a walk of shame. Suddenly you hear faint voices in the background "shit" you mutter under your breath, you forgot about Chris and Arthur; George's flatmates. You fold the tee on the edge of his bath, as you open the door slightly. You shake georges shoulder

"George, wake up!" You whisper as he stirs

"What's wrong, why are you dressed?" He asks squinting as he opens his eyes

"I need to leave, this was a mistake" you say with a heavy heart. Deep down it wasn't.

"Go then" his voice rough, a touch of anger behind it

"Chris and Arthur are here!" You say with worry

"So? Go" he rolled over his back now turning to you

He hadn't changed. Not in the slightest or had he? And was he just disguising the hurt of you leaving so quickly.

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag off the floor. You swing the door open. Letting it bounce off the walls, making your way through the flat

"I was never here" you say with a stern look to Arthur and Chris

The boys hold their hands up in surrender

"Nice to see you" Arthur says

"You too" you smile as you walk out the flat.

Your head heavy. The lingering thought of him ruined your sanity and it was driving you insane. You arrive back at your flat. Kicking your shoes off as you head into the shower. The water cascading over your shoulders as the steam engulfs you. Lost in the heat you turn it off. Opening the door to your shower and wrapping yourself in your towel.

You perch yourself on the edge of your bed, your wet hair dripping down your chest. An urge to contact George rushed over you "no, this is what he wants" you shake your head. Just then a notification pops up

"georgeclarkeey wants to send you a message"

And there he was, like a game of cat and mouse. Right on que.

-

🫶🏻 ✨

@pookietv

[w2soneshots]

i’ve can’t stop thinking about an idea i have in my head, is it possible for a george fic but and if your are missing your family and getting really upset and george comes to comfort you?? in inside btw!!

Cameras off -George clarkey

words: 0.6k+

warnings: angst/comfort.

notes: thank you for the idea girly, this is cuteee! I did write it as a shorter blurb since I’ve already done one INside fic (though it ended up being a little longer than expected)😌🫶🏼. Enjoy!!💘

The group sat in the living room, now not as many as the beginning of the week but it was still loud. Your head ached as PK started shouting -unintentionally- about something you weren't paying attention to, though in that moment it was the last thing you needed.

You got up without a word and took yourself into the makeup room, where all of the girls get ready in the morning. Sitting on a stool, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your emotions as the thoughts in your mind started to consume you.

"Hey?" A hand on your back startled you, causing you to jump slightly. "Sorry, you okay?" George asked quietly, a softness to his voice that you hadn't heard before.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Do you wanna go outside? The team will let you if you need a second." He was being so sweet and it was just making it harder for you to hold your tears back.

"Yeah, can you come with me?" You asked, without thinking. They usually didn't let two people go outside at once, to avoid interesting conversations not being filmed.

"y/n and George to room nineteen," the intercom voice spoke before you could say another word. You looked at each other. "Come on." He reached his hand out for you to take once he'd stood up. You took it and he lead you to room nineteen, everyone else still sat chatting away in the main area.

One of the welfare people stood outside the door once you entered the hallway. "Hi," the kind woman began, "Tobi saw some of your conversation, if you need to you can go outside with George. They won't show any of this if you don't want them too."

You let out a slight breath of relief. "That'd be great," you replied quietly. "Okay," she nodded, "follow me." She lead you and George to the private terrace then checked you were okay one last time before telling you to take as long as you needed.

The both of you sat on the outdoor sofa they had and you breathed in the fresh air. "So, what ails you?" He asked in a doctory voice, lightning the mood. "Just- I'm just overwhelmed I think. There's no peace and I like my alone time, you know?" You looked to him.

"I completely get that," he reassured you, "there's a lot of big personalities. Plus, being filmed constantly doesn't help the situation." You nodded, looking down at your lap then you spoke again, "it's also so awful not knowing what's going on outside, like if everyone's okay." A tear slipped down your cheek.

George felt for you and he was feeling the exact same. He shuffled closer to you and slowly put his hand on your knee. "Want a hug?" "Yeah," you whispered tearfully before leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and after a few silent sobs you calmed.

"Sorry," you mumbled as you pulled away, wiping the few tears you'd left on his hoodie. "Don't worry about it. Feel better?" He kept his voice soft and calm as he spoke. "Much, thanks for being my therapist," you smiled as you tried to make yourself look normal and like you'd not been crying.

After a few more minutes of quiet you felt ready to go back into the house. Just before you opened the door you went to kiss George on the cheek -to say thank you- but he turned and you ended up kissing his lips. "Oh- that- oops." You both burst out laughing, nether of you were mad about the kiss.

The last few days you spent most of your time together, wether it was sat next to each other on the couch, switching beds so that you slept in the corner next to his or him spending his morning at the makeup table talking to you while you got ready.

You fancied George and he fancied you, so when you finally got out of the house and he asked you out obviously you said yes.

[w2soneshots]

Hormones -George clarkey

words: 0.7k+

warnings: angst (but mostly fluff), mention of periods.

summary: George’s humour slightly pushes you over the edge while you’re dealing with the worst week of the month, though he’s quick to make it up to you.

notes: hi! Here’s the request🫶🏼. I’m sorry for going MIA, I’ve just had a lot going on in my personal life recently and didn’t have the inspiration to write. George has been looking a little too good though so I was inspired to write something for him😌. Enjoy!!🤍✨

"Good morning darling," my boyfriend George cheerfully greeted me as I shuffled into the kitchen. I groaned as I sat down on a stool, placing my head in my hands. "You okay?" He asked softly. I looked up to see his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Period," I replied bluntly.

"Ah," he sighed. "Well, uh- the boys are coming over today and we're supposed to be going to the pub later." "Okay." I mumbled. "Okay? Great. I thought you were going to throw a tantrum," he joked, though it didn't sound as funny as he thought it would.

"I'm not a child George," I turned towards the fridge. "Uh, didn't mean it like that... sorry." He rambled. "Mhm," I responded, the annoyance in my voice extremely audible.

I ate a quick breakfast then got back into bed. George, Chris and Arthur sat in the living room watching last night's darts game while I slept for a bit longer. I was woken to the sound of shouting, rage suddenly filled my veins. I threw the covers back and trudged towards the bedroom door.

"Could you be any fucking louder?!" I angrily exclaimed as I reached the end of the hallway. All three men turned to look at me, shock evident on their faces. "Sorry, uh- did we wake you up?" Chris asked calmly.

The anger faded and it was replaced with regret. "Yeah, it's fine. I shouldn't have snapped like that. Carry on, sorry," I mumbled before turning around, embarrassed.

The boys shared a look then George got up from the sofa. He followed me into the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed. "They understand," he reassured me, squatting down so we were at eye level.

I ran a hand through my hair. "I was so mean," I muttered, my voice cracking slightly. I felt like I was about to cry. George wasn't sure what to do so he just sat next to me and pulled me into his chest, silently comforting me.

Subconsciously I drifted off to sleep in his arms. He stayed in the same position, gently stroking my hair, for another ten minutes before he carefully picked me up and tucked me into bed.

When I woke up the boys had gone out but George was sat next to me, scrolling through his phone. "Hey," I whispered as I turned onto my side so that I was facing him.

"How'd you sleep darling?" He asked softly, after immediately putting his phone down. His hand reached out and he softly pressed it to my cheek. "Good, I think that's what I needed. I thought you were going to the pub?"

"They went without me, I'd rather be here with you," he replied with the cutest smile ever. "As if I couldn't love you more," I muttered as I shuffled toward him. He slid his arm under my neck as I cuddled up to him. I let out a content sigh.

After lying there for a few minutes he took a deep breath. "So..." my head perked up. "Wanna fuck?" He joked with his silly little voice. "Oh shut up you dick." I chuckled and playfully slapped his chest.

The next day I felt a little better but still spent most of my morning in bed. George had to go film a video and left early in the morning. I woke up to a cold bottle of water, my favourite chocolate and a beautiful bouquet of flowers on my bedside table.

A huge smile spread across my face as I also noticed the cute little note that read "Get some well earned rest. Love you x". I knew he'd have to have gotten up even earlier to get those things for me so I sent him a heartfelt thank you text.

I got up, took a shower and put on some sweats. After making myself some lunch I got comfy on the sofa and picked one of my comfort movies to get lost in.

George got home just as the film finished and I jumped off of the couch to greet him with a kiss. "Woah!" He chuckled as I hugged him. "Feeling better I see." I smiled. "Yeah, much." He squeezed me slightly. "I'm glad." He whispered into my hair.

We spent the rest of the night in the apartment. We ordered a takeaway, chatted, watched whatever crap was on the tv and did a whole lot of laughing at each other's corny jokes.

[viagracex]

Hellooooooo I was wondering if you can write a George fan fic about the song wildest dreams by Taylor swift I also really love your writing keep up the great work

Holding Onto Smoke

george clarkey x fem!reader

summary: say you'll see me again even if it's just in your wildest dreams. based on the song wildest dreams by taylor swift

warnings: no major content warnings

1.6k words

Masterlist

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

The first time you met George Clarkey, the city lights were too bright, and the air hummed with late-night possibilities.

It was a rooftop party, the kind that smelled like cheap champagne and cigarettes, where laughter echoed between high-rises, and strangers became stories you’d tell years from now. You weren’t supposed to be there. Neither was he.

He found you leaning against the railing, watching the city sprawl below like you were trying to memorize it.

“You look like you’ve got a secret,” he said, his voice a low tease.

You turned to find him watching you, the skyline casting a glow across his face, messy curls brushing against his forehead. His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“Maybe I do.”

He grinned. “Want to tell me?”

You should have walked away then. Should have never let him take your hand, never let him lead you into the kind of love that leaves bruises on your heart. But you didn’t.

For weeks, it was stolen moments and promises that never felt real. He’d show up at your apartment late at night, breathless, like he had been running just to see you. You’d press your fingers against his pulse, feeling the way it raced beneath your touch, and wonder if he knew you were already falling.

George became your wildest dream come true, a whirlwind romance that swept you off your feet. Late-night drives through the city, his hand resting on your thigh as streetlights blurred past. Stolen kisses in hidden corners of bookshops, the scent of old pages mingling with his cologne. Lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, sunlight painting patterns across his freckled shoulders as you traced constellations on his skin.

You fell hard and fast, drunk on the dizzy rush of new love. George's eyes lit up when he looked at you, like you were the most fascinating person he'd ever met. His laugh was infectious, head thrown back with abandon. You found yourself doing things you never imagined - singing karaoke in dive bars, skinny dipping under a full moon, dancing in the rain on empty streets, whispering secrets into the crook of his neck. 

"What are you thinking?" he'd ask, catching you staring.

"That I want to remember this forever," you'd reply. He'd pull you close, kissing you slow and deep, like he was trying to etch the memory into your skin. You'd run your fingers through his hair, marvelling at how someone so vibrant could be real.

But even as you fell deeper, a nagging voice whispered that this couldn't last. George was like a shooting star - brilliant, beautiful, and destined to burn out.

You saw it in the way his eyes sometimes drifted to the horizon, searching for something just out of reach. In the restless tapping of his fingers against your skin, a morse code of unspoken goodbyes. In the way he smiled when you talked about the future soft, bittersweet, like he already knew how the story would end.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you admitted one night, curled up in the dim glow of your bedroom, his hoodie swallowing your frame.

George’s fingers skimmed over your wrist, thoughtful, lingering. "Maybe that’s the point, maybe it's real enough for now."

You didn’t answer. You just pressed your forehead against his chest, eyes squeezed shut, hoping that if you held on tight enough, the world would forget to take him away.

But you both knew better.

He wasn’t yours to keep.

You tried not to think about it—about the way time was slipping through your fingers. But every touch felt like a goodbye, every kiss tasted like a memory.

And still, you stayed.

Because some people are worth breaking for.

The week before he left, you stood together on that same rooftop where you first met. The city stretched out before you, a glittering tapestry of lights and promises. You wore that red dress he loved, the one that made you feel invincible. His arm was around your waist, warm and steady, anchoring you to the moment.

"I wish we could freeze time," you whispered, your voice catching. "Just stay here forever."

George's fingers tightened on your hip. "We'll always have this," he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. "No matter what happens, no one can take these memories from us."

You turned to face him, memorizing every detail - the curve of his jaw,  his clear blue eyes, the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck. Your heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

"Promise me something," you said, your fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. "Promise you'll remember me like this. Standing here, in this dress, watching the sunset with you. Remember how much I love you, even when I'm just a distant memory."

George's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle. "I could never forget you," he whispered fiercely. "You're etched into my soul. Even if we never see each other again, you'll always be with me. In my thoughts, in my dreams."

You kissed him then, pouring every ounce of love and longing into that embrace. The city faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. When you finally broke apart, both breathless, you rested your forehead against his.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant hum of traffic below. "I'll always love you."

George's arms tightened around you as if to shield you from the truth. ”I—” His throat bobbed. He stopped, swallowing hard, the words trapped behind his teeth. 

And that—

That was worse than if he had said nothing at all.

George's silence hung heavy between you, filled with everything left unsaid. You could feel his heartbeat, rapid and uneven, echoing your own. The city stretched out before you, a glittering constellation of lights and possibilities, now tinged with the bittersweet ache of farewell.

You pulled back slightly, searching his face. His eyes were dark pools of emotion, reflecting the fading sunlight and the weight of your shared memories. Still, you clung to every moment. You memorized the curve of his smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he said your name like a prayer. You traced the curve of his cheek with trembling fingers, committing every detail to memory.

The last time you saw him, the city smelled like rain.

The neon signs flickered in the puddles at your feet, the world a blur of color and noise. His suitcase sat by his side, damp with drizzle, the taxi idling at the curb.

You wanted to tell him not to go. Wanted to scream, to beg, to tell him that you had memorized everything—his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world.

But you didn’t. Because you knew better.

Instead, you reached for him one last time, your fingertips brushing against the stubble on his jaw, rough against your skin, before tangling in his curls. You needed to remember how he felt. Every last detail before he became nothing more than a memory you could never quite hold onto. He kissed you like he was trying to burn the memory into his bones, like maybe if he kissed you hard enough, you’d still be there when he turned around.

The silence stretched between you, his breathe hitched, and for the first time you saw it, his lips parting his throat bobbing, the smallest tramble in his fingers as he reached for you. His arms wrapping around you. You tightened your grip, but it felt like holding onto smoke, weightless. No matter how hard you tried, he had already slipped through your fingers vanishing before you ever had the chance to keep it. The city lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making him look like someone you once knew. The lights blurred as tears filled your eyes.

"I should go," George murmured, his voice rough with emotion. But he made no move to leave, his fingers tracing patterns on your back as if trying to memorize the feeling.

You nodded against his chest, unable to form words past the lump in your throat. The night air felt suddenly cold, and you shivered, pressing closer to his warmth.

"Just... a few more minutes," you whispered.

George tightened his embrace, resting his chin on top of your head. You breathed in his familiar scent - sandalwood and coffee and something uniquely him - committing it to memory.

The city hummed around you, oblivious to your private heartbreak. A siren wailed in the distance, and a gust of wind ruffled your hair. You thought about all the moments that had led to this one - the late-night conversations, the shared dreams, the quiet intimacy of simply existing in the same space.

“I’ll see you around?” His voice was hoarse, like he didn’t believe it either.

You swallowed down the ache, the words cutting your throat like glass. “In your wildest dreams.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

Just like he was always meant to be.

The city swallowed you whole, and you let it.

And in the quiet of your room that night, as you pressed your face into the pillow that still smelled like him, you whispered a prayer to the universe.

You hoped he remembered you.

You prayed that, even years from now, when he closed his eyes, he’d still see you—standing beneath the city lights, red dress glowing, lips parted, whispering I love you. 

Always. 

Only In his wildest dreams.

[viagracex]

hii! please could i request something with george based on the song grow as we go by ben platt? i think it's such a beautiful song for getting through a rough patch in a relationship and i love your writing so wanted to see what you could do with it 🥹

The Road That We Take

george clarkey x fem!reader

summary: if to change is what you need, you can change right next to me. based on go as we grow by ben platt.

warning: anxious thoughts, feelings of guilt, feeling disconnected

note: sorry for not posting anything for a while, I just haven't felt my writing was at a good enough point to post so I just kept re-editing and re-editing till I finally just took a long break and finally just decided to posted it or I would've just stared at it for ages. let me know what you think cause I felt I didn’t do this justice.

1.9k words

Masterlist

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

The apartment felt different.

Not empty, not tense—just different. The kind of shift in the air you notice when something is slipping between your fingers, and you don’t know how to stop it.

No music playing from George’s speaker, no hum of his voice filling the space between conversations, no rustling of him moving from room to room. Just the rhythmic tap of your fingers against your mug, your tea long gone cold.

George sat across from you at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around his own mug, the steam curling into the space between you. He wasn’t drinking it, just staring into the rippling liquid like it held some kind of answer.

It had been weeks of this—of quiet pauses, of words almost spoken but left unsaid, of something unspoken stretching between you like an ocean neither of you knew how to cross.

But tonight, he finally said it.

The words still hung in the air between you.

"I think I need some space."

You should have seen it coming.

Maybe you did.

Maybe you just didn’t want to believe it.

A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have seen it coming. You and George had always felt effortless—the kind of love that didn’t need to be questioned. You knew the cadence of each other’s laughter, the exact way his breath would hitch before he said something soft, the way his fingers always sought yours, even in sleep.

But lately, things had changed.

Small misunderstandings turned into long silences. Late nights spent together felt like walking on eggshells instead of comfort. And now, he was saying he needed to step back.

You gripped the ceramic of your mug a little tighter, feeling the warmth of the tea just barely seeping into your fingers. It was something to hold onto when you felt like everything else was slipping away.

"Space?" you echoed, voice quieter than you intended.

George sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted—not just physically, but in that deep, weary way that made your chest ache.

"I don’t know," he admitted, shaking his head. "I feel... lost. Like I don’t know who I am right now."

You swallowed hard. You’d known him for years—knew the way he tilted his head when he was holding something back, the way his fingers tapped on the table when his thoughts were racing faster than he could voice them.

"I don’t know what’s wrong,"

George let out a quiet, bitter laugh, staring into his untouched tea. "Last week, I was filming with the boys, and Chris cracked some joke about me being predictable." He shook his head. "It was dumb, but it stuck with me. I used to know exactly who I was—what I wanted. And now, I just… don’t." 

"So, what?" you asked quietly, the ache in your chest threatening to spread. "You need to go figure yourself out... alone?"

George exhaled, frustrated—not with you, but with himself. "I don’t know," he said again. "Maybe."

You looked at him for a long moment, at the boy you knew so well and the uncertainty in his eyes that you didn’t recognize.

It would be easier to let the hurt take over, to let defensiveness build a wall between you.

But instead, you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until you found your voice.

"George," you said softly, reaching across the table to brush your fingers against his. He didn't pull away, but you felt the slight tremor in his hand. "I understand needing space. I do. But... do you really think you have to be alone to figure things out?"

His eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. You could see the conflict there, the pain, the uncertainty. It made your heart ache.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just feel like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe. And I don't want to drag you down with me."

Your hand grabbed his, lacing your fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze. He didn't pull away, and you took that as a small victory.

"But what if I want to be there?" you asked, your voice gaining strength. "What if I want to be the one to help you stay afloat?"

George's brow furrowed, his eyes searching yours. "How can you help me when I don't even know what I need?"

You smiled softly, remembering all the times you'd weathered storms together. "We've always figured things out together, haven't we? Why should this be any different?"

George's eyes softened as he considered your words. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, as he looked at you, a glimmer of the boy you fell in love with shining through. A flicker of hope.

"I just..." he began, his voice wavering, running his other hand through his hair. "I feel like I'm changing, and I don't know who I'm becoming. What if you don't like who I turn into?"

You squeezed his hand gently. "George, I fell in love with you, not some fixed version of you. People change. We grow. That's part of life."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise," you teased, feeling the heaviness in the room lighten just a fraction. "You just haven't been paying attention."

He chuckled softly, and the sound warmed you from the inside out. It had been too long since you'd heard that laugh.

"I'm serious, though," you continued, your thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. "We don't have to have everything figured out right now. We can learn together, grow together."

George was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on your intertwined hands. When he looked up, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that made your heart ache.

"I'm scared," he admitted quietly. "What if I mess everything up?"

"I'm scared too," you admitted softly. "But I think... I think that's okay. We don't have to have it all figured out right now."

You stood up, never letting go of his hand, and moved around the table to his side. Settling into his lap, you looked up into his eyes, squeezing his hand again—anchoring him, grounding him.

 "George, we've been through so much together. Remember when we first moved in and the pipes burst? Or when we both got food poisoning from that sketchy food truck? We got through those things together. This is just another challenge."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Those were simpler problems though."

"Maybe," you conceded. "But the principle is the same. We're a team, George. Whatever you're going through, whatever you need to figure out - I want to be by your side."

Looking up into his eyes, you continued, "I know things feel uncertain right now. But I believe in us. In you. We can grow through this together."

George's eyes glistened with unshed tears. He reached up, cupping your cheek in his palm. "I don't deserve you," he whispered.

You leaned into his touch. "You don't have to deserve me. You just have to want me here. Do you?"

He nodded, a tear finally escaping down his cheek. "I do. God, I do."

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against George's. The warmth of his skin against yours felt like coming home after a long journey. For a moment, you both just breathed together, finding comfort in the familiar rhythm.

"I don't want to leave," George whispered, his breath ghosting across your cheek. "I just... I feel like I'm changing, and I don't know how to navigate it."

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Then we'll figure it out together. Change doesn't have to mean walking away, George. It can mean growing, together."

His eyes searched yours, a glimmer of hope shining through the uncertainty. "How?"

George's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. "How do we do this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do we grow without growing apart?"

You stood up, holding out your hand to him. "Come with me."

Curious, George took your hand, allowing you to lead him to the living room. You went to the bookshelf, pulling out a photo album you hadn't looked at in ages. Sitting on the couch, you patted the spot next to you.

As George settled beside you, you opened the album. The first page held a picture of the two of you from your early days - naive, carefree, and undeniably in love.

"Look at us," you said softly, tracing the edge of the photo. "We've already changed so much since then. But we did it together."

You flipped through the pages, memories flooding back with each image. There you were at your first apartment, surrounded by moving boxes and takeout containers. You flipped through more pages of the photo album, memories flooding back. There was a picture from your first camping trip together, both of you laughing despite being covered in mud after a rainstorm. Another showed you two at a New Year's party, your arms around each other as fireworks exploded in the background.

"Remember this?" you asked, indicating a photo of you both covered in paint. "When we decided to redecorate the bedroom ourselves?"

George chuckled softly. "How could I forget? We argued for hours about the color."

"But we compromised," you reminded him. "And it turned out better than either of us imagined."

You continued through the album, reliving milestones and quiet moments alike. With each page, you felt George relaxing beside you, his body leaning into yours.

"We've been through so much together," you said softly. "All these changes, all this growth. We did it side by side."

George's hand found yours, intertwining your fingers. "I guess we have, haven't we?"

You nodded, closing the album and turning to face him. "Change is scary, George. But it doesn't have to mean the end of us. Change doesn't have to mean losing yourself or us. It can mean discovering new parts of yourself, new aspects of our relationship. We can face it together, just like we always have."

His eyes met yours, vulnerability, fear, and hope mingling in their depths. "I want that," he whispered. "I want to grow with you."

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "We take it one day at a time," you said. "We talk, we listen, we try to understand each other. And we remember that change doesn't have to mean leaving."

A small smile tugged at George's lips. "You make it sound so simple."

"Oh, it won't be," you laughed softly. "But I think it'll be worth it."

As you sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, the photo album resting on your lap. You felt something shift in the air around you. The apartment still felt different, but not in the same way as before. Now, there was a spark of hope, a sense of possibility.

You knew there would be challenges ahead. There would be days when the distance between you felt insurmountable, when the changes in George and yourself seemed too much to bear. But there would also be moments of profound connection, rediscovery, and love.

The future was uncertain, the road ahead uneven, but you were committed to walking it together.