#georgle clarke x you

[clarkeybabey]

❝ everybody wants a taste ❞

# summary; sharing is not always caring

# playlist; jealous, nick jonas, gold rush, taylor swift, the boy is mine - remix, ariana grande, brandy, & monica!

# word count; 1.2k

# note; I did not intend for this to be so long originally, whoops. kinda hate this

"And you're positive you don't wanna come along, darlin'," George asks for what seems to be the hundredth time this evening as he pulls his coat on, he's been begging for you to rethink your decision for the last twenty-five minutes, and you aren't budging this time.

Shaking your head, "I can't leave my baby two nights in a row, honey, that's outrageous," you frown, gesturing down to your dog who has cuddled herself up against the blanket that's still warm from the dryer. He groans, tossing his head back in an attempt to gain extra sympathy points, "Plus, all this laundry and love island to catch up on."

He comes trudging back towards you, flopping down on the bed dramatically, "Don't wanna go without you," he pouts and you kiss his jutted-out lower lip, when you pull back he's fighting a smile and losing miserably, "I'll be right here waiting for you to get back, I'll even try an' stay up for you, okay?"

Defeated he sighs, ""Kay, I love you," he kisses you this time, a real one, long and slow. His hand comes up to find the pulse point on your neck as his tongue slides against yours.

You catch on quickly, grabbing his shoulders and giving a light shove, "I love you and you know how much I enjoy your kisses, but go have fun with your friends, my lips'll be here when you get back home."

Standing up from where he had thrown himself just moments ago, mumbling, "Fine, fine, I'll fuck off," he throws a wink and a kiss at you as he walks from your shared room, you hear his keys jangle as he grabs them from the hook, followed by a third goodbye, and the door being pulled shut behind him.

You stay exactly how he left you for a while longer, at least until the washer beeps when you get up to swap the laundry around, you find Poppy sat by the door staring at you with her tail wagging a hundred miles per hour.

The idea of a walk this late without George has you wishing you had let him stay, "Sad world we live in, Pop, wishing I had a man to keep me safe from the bloody dark," you let out a breathy giggle to yourself at your words as you shove one of his hoodies over your head and slide your slippers on.

The door slams heavily behind you as you trudge down the stairs, the cool air nipping at your once-warm cheeks wind rash was the least of your worries as you make your way down the street lamp-lit sidewalk, every sense heightening. When Poppy stops to sniff one you fish your phone out of your pocket, tapping through your friend's Instagram stories.

When you get to Chris' you notice George in the background of a video of him and Arthur. Not just George though, him and a girl, he's leaned against the bar on his elbow, smiling at something shes said. It's friendly, and probably a fan, but why has she been touching his arm for what feels like ages? The video felt like it was nearly three hours long.

Screenshotting, you zoom in on the two, not even noticing the scowl that's situated on your face. You feel a pit in your stomach and it burns a hole straight through you, you're not usually the jealous type, but you're never left home either. Fans know you exist and they've slowed down the whole throwing themselves at him thing quite a bit, George never establishes boundaries, assuming they know where the line is.

Deciding you've seen enough of that, you tap through to the next slide, this time it's the four of them standing together, arms over each other's shoulders: Arthur, Chris, George, then the girl you swear you've never seen in your life. Both posts have been up for just under ten minutes.

That was enough social media for the evening, you internally establish on your walk home, turning your phone off just in time for it to buzz from what you assume is a text that you don't even bother glancing at.

Once you've made it back inside, you no longer feel like doing any more laundry, instead you kick off your shoes, hang your jacket up by the door, snuggle up in the warm duvet, and press play on your show. Before you know it you have watched two hours' worth of Love Island and fallen asleep, you don't even notice when the boys come fumbling back into the flat.

That is until George's cold hands meet your cheek, you push him away mumbling about him fucking off, and turn away from him. He snorts and apologizes with his hands up in surrender he knows you can't see, "Better change your clothes and brush your teeth, no outside clothes on my clean sheets," and he does just that before returning from the ensuite, scooting into bed behind you, pulling you into him.

You do your best not to let him cuddle up to you, letting your jealousy overpower how much you'd missed his presence alone, "Missed you lots, sweetheart, Chippo was asking 'bout you." You hum, not bothering with a verbal reply and he quickly picks up on how abnormally stiff you are against him.

"Something wrong," ignorance is bliss and sometimes your boyfriend is exactly that, but you can't blame him for being so confused this time. In his mind, he wasn't even home to piss you off so he's stuck raking through his mind in search of one thing, anything relatively bad he's done through your whole relationship

You shrug, finally speaking up, "No, jus' saw Chris' story, jealousy's a disease and mine chronic," he can hear the pout in your voice, doing his best to stifle a giggle, and failing as your feel rattle through his chest, "Nothing to be jealous of, darlin', she only knew me from your tiktok," he snorts as his fingers draw shapes on your back beneath your shirt.

And now you feel silly for ever thinking something strange was happening, this was exactly why you hardly ever got jealous, it was always something like that or "She just wanted me to get a picture of her with Arthur."

There was never a time where he made you feel as if you shouldn't be secure in your relationship, but when you're left alone your mind does such stupid things, "Dont feel silly, any time anyone comes up to you, I feel the same way, just bite my tongue, 'cause I don't want you to think I don't trust you."

"And before you say it, I know you trust me, if you didn't we wouldn't have me it this far," he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your nose, and finally your lips. He smiles against your mouth, and when he speaks again his toothpaste-y breath fans over your face, "Now g'night, beautiful, I love you more than you know."

All of a sudden you're a puddle in his arms, "Goodnight, I love you... so much," this time he can hear the smile in your voice at the sound of it he can't fight one of his own.