It was still early when you woke up that morning, the sun brighter than usual as it streamed through the curtains and stretched across the bed, landing on the empty space beside you that had long since gone cold. You turned your head, looking at it for a moment before sighing softly, your hand brushing over the sheets where George should have been. Today was the Sidemen Charity Match, and both teams had stayed in a hotel the night before, with a full schedule of media, training, and preparation ahead of them. Just hearing George talk about it had been exhausting, so actually doing it? You had no idea how he was still standing. The last couple of months had been non-stop for him—Strictly tour, the Useless Hotline podcast tour across the UK, then Australia and New Zealand, and landing home just two days before the match. You missed him, properly missed him, and more than anything, you just wanted him to finally have a break.
With hours still to go before you needed to be at Wembley, you decided to pick up your camera. It felt like the perfect day to vlog; the fans were obsessed with anything to do with the match, and you knew they’d love seeing even the smallest parts of your day. You dragged yourself out of bed and into the quiet house, the silence unfamiliar, before setting your camera up in the kitchen.
“Hello, my darlings,” you smiled, a little softer than usual, “today is the Sidemen Charity Match, so I thought I’d bring you along with me. It’s still quite early, and I’m making breakfast… just for me,” you added with a small laugh, though there was a hint of something else behind it. “I think this is the first time since moving into this house that I haven’t had one of the boys here. Even in the old flat, someone was always around… but they’re not.” You paused briefly, then shook it off. “They’ll all be home tonight, though, which will be nice. Very nice. Anyway, scrambled eggs on toast today because that’s the easiest thing I can think of, so wish me luck.” You filmed small snippets—eggs cracking, toast popping, quiet little moments that filled the emptiness just enough.
As the hours passed, it was finally time to get ready. You already knew the weather would be good—thanks to your “Queen” Faith Kelly—and you picked something light, something you knew George would love.
Halfway through your makeup, your phone lit up with his name, and you answered almost instantly. He appeared on screen already in his pre-match fit, looking calm on the surface, but you could see straight through him. There was a nervous tension there, something only you seemed to notice. You softened immediately. “You alright?” you asked gently. He nodded, giving a small smile, but it didn’t quite convince you. “You’re going to be amazing, you know that,” you told him, your voice quieter now, more personal. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you again, like the noise around him had disappeared. You saw it in the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, the way he looked at you. “Wish you were here already,” he admitted. “Soon,” you promised, smiling, “I’ll be there before kickoff.” You stayed on FaceTime longer than you meant to, neither of you wanting to hang up, until somehow time slipped away and you found yourself in a blacked-out car with Liv heading to Wembley.
“So, do you reckon George will score like last year?” Liv asked, glancing over at you. You thought about it for a second. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s different this time; there’s more pressure, more eyes on him. I hope he does, obviously, but I just want him to enjoy it,” you said honestly, before turning it back on her. “What about Isaac?” Liv laughed instantly. “He’s either scoring a banger or doing something really stupid. There’s no in-between.” You both laughed, the nerves settling slightly as Wembley came into view.
When you arrived and made your way to the box with the other WAGs and family members, the atmosphere hit you instantly. It was electric. Fans filled the seats more and more by the second, the noise building into something unreal, and you couldn’t help but feel proud—not just of George, but of everyone involved. You pulled out your camera again, capturing the view once more. “I’ve just got to Wembley and… look at this,” you said, turning the camera to show the crowd. “It’s insane. I’m not even playing, and I feel nervous.” You laughed softly, but your eyes were already scanning the pitch, looking for him.
As the kickoff began, you were instantly on the edge of your seat. Growing up in a football-obsessed family, the passion came naturally, and it didn’t take long before you were completely invested. You filmed bits here and there between reacting, your commentary slipping out without thinking. “Oh my god—Tobi?!” you gasped as his free kick flew in, turning the camera back to yourself with wide eyes. “That was insane.” Goals kept coming, one after another, the energy building with every minute. Isaac scored twice, and you quickly pointed the camera at Liv, who was practically glowing.
“Thoughts?” you laughed. “He’s unreal,” she grinned, clearly over the moon. Vik, Simon, Danny, Chris—all contributing, while Arthur had everyone entertained with his skills, even without scoring. And every time George got near the ball, your breath caught slightly, your focus narrowing just to him. “Come on, baby,” you murmured under your breath, barely realising you’d said it.
The match flew by, and before you knew it, it came down to penalties. You picked your camera back up, your voice quieter now. “I don’t like this,” you admitted, half laughing, half genuinely stressed. Despite Sidemen FC dominating most of the game, the All Stars took control in penalties, and when the final shot went in, sealing the win for George, you felt it all hit at once. Relief, pride, happiness—you couldn’t stop smiling. Watching him celebrate with his friends, seeing the weight lift off his shoulders, made your chest ache in the best way.
When they walked up for their medals, and he spotted you, everything else faded. He made his way over, leaning up to press a kiss to your cheek before pulling you into a tight hug. You held him just as tightly, your hand instinctively coming up to the back of his neck. “I am so proud of you, my love,” you murmured into him. He let out a soft breath, like he’d been holding it all day. “Thanks, darling,” he replied, his voice quieter now, calmer.
After the match, it was time to celebrate. A quick pint at the pub turned into heading back to yours with George, Chris, Bach, Liv, and Arthur, takeaway spread across the table, and laughter filling the house again. Later, you found yourself curled into the corner of the sofa, George half lying on top of you, talking to the boys like nothing had changed.
Your fingers moved gently through his hair without thinking, and that’s when you noticed it—he was different. Relaxed. The tension is gone. For the first time in months, he could actually breathe. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, letting your hand rest there for a moment. After nearly eight months of constant work, travel, and pressure, things were finally slowing down. It wouldn’t ever be completely normal again—videos, TikToks, maybe Twitch—but it would be something close to it.
And as you sat there with him, safe and content, you knew you wouldn’t change any of it for the world.
you’re a contestant on season two of inside. only the other six sidemen and your friend/co-contestant george know that you're dating harry, and they love making shit difficult for you, because why the hell not. (as requested by a lovely anon!)
way too much exposition but some sweet lovely fluff n hot steamy smut
cunnilingus, blowjob, cum swallowing, shower sex
18+ MDNI !!!
word count: 3.2K
—
you'd been killing it so far during your time on inside. you and george had both been a bit worried that people might accuse you of having unfair advantages, being closer friends with the sidemen than the rest of the contestants, but fortunately (and unfortunately), those fuckers did anything but play favorites with you. it had been a rough few days.
grateful wasn't the word when you found out you were going in with a friend, and with george being a similarly awkward, quiet person in new social settings, the two of you clung to each other a fair bit at the start. he was also the only one who knew you were dating harry, and it helped to have at least one person aware of the extra layer of torture you were experiencing, seeing your boyfriend almost every day and having to pretend you weren't enduring a whole challenge separate from the games all on your own: ignoring him.
you didn't expect it to be so difficult — not wanting to jump harry's bones every time he caught you staring and gave you a smug wink, or every time you caught him staring and he went adorably red, face spreading into a cheeky lopsided grin. hypocrite, you mouthed at him while no one was looking, sticking your tongue out between your teeth.
of course, he and the boys intentionally made shit difficult.
they purposefully made sure you were placed near him during group shots, but just far enough apart to make you wish you were closer.
if each member of the sidemen was getting a contestant ready for a challenge, harry'd make a beeline for you every time — attentively tucking your hair behind your ear, slowly buckling your helmet under your chin, tightening the strap gently, his eyes locked on yours. it would take everything for you not to tackle him to the floor.
he'd whisper stupid little jokes to you through the PA system when you were alone in a room, just in time for someone to catch you smiling to yourself like a weirdo when they entered a moment later.
on day four, he snatched you by the arm after the challenge, sneakily pulling you away into a dark corner and grabbing your face with both hands, planting a hard, hot kiss on your lips. it only lasted a few seconds, and he let go entirely too fast, turning around and walking away, leaving you floating where you'd once stood.
the inside of your lip had been chewed raw throughout the week.
george played both sides, really. he'd be understanding and sympathetic most of the time, but he'd be remiss not to snicker along with the other sidemen at harry's relentless efforts to drive you crazy when opportunity struck. you could hardly blame him. you'd laugh at yourself too.
but you weren't going to let your boyfriend and your friends interfere with your very competitive edge. you had come to win, and you were fully on track to do so. you'd spent about as little money as george, and you'd already made a pact with him to split the winnings if you were the two who made it to the final.
however, everyone was due a trip to the temptation room... and you had yet to be called down. you were certain it would have something to do with harry, but since your relationship wasn't public, you had no idea what would meet you behind that door. and it was day six of seven, so you were destined to find out tonight.
"whatever it is, I think you should take it honestly," cinna chimes in as you and the remaining contestants lounge on the couch. "we still have way more money left than I expected, lowkey. and I know a lot of that is because of you."
george and jason nod in agreement. "yeah mate, you've been impressively stingy," george follows. "I truly did not think you'd survive in here."
you roll your eyes at your friend's backhanded compliment. "gee, thanks bro." you all laugh, but they successfully convince you that you do in fact deserve to give in to temptation, within reason, if it's something you really want. (you and george glanced at each other, knowing damn well it absolutely would be.)
right on cue, the bell chimes, and the sultry robot voice summons you to the mysterious room down the hall.
you look at george again, and he gives you a knowing wink and a single nod. you jokingly salute him like a soldier leaving for war as you head off, the others cheering you on. you stop in the bathroom on your way, and it suddenly occurs to you that you look like a bit of a gremlin, having only taken cold body showers all week as you'd refused to pay for hot showers (and refused to take a cold one nearly long enough to wash your hair). yikes. thank god he already loves me.
nervous energy flows through your body as you reach the temptation room. you take a deep breath as you push the door open, surprised to find the space dimly lit and... empty?
candles light your path to an envelope with your name on it. tearing it open, you read aloud:
your temptation, should you choose to accept it, is hidden in plain sight
for £50,000, take a hot shower and be alone with your boyfriend for the night
whether this part stays in is up to you, going public can be pretty scary
but if you simply can't resist, just say "send me sweet producer harry"
you giggle at the cheesy rhyme, ruminating over the proposal. you suppose that even if you reveal your relationship on camera, the show won't be out for several months and you'd have some time to mentally prepare before the secret actually went public, so you decide to bite the bullet. you hide your blushing cheeks with the card, turning to the camera and looking down the lens. “send me sweet producer harry, please,” you say shyly, almost whispering.
“already here, love.” you jump at the sound of harry’s voice behind you, as he appears from around a hidden corner at the far end of the room, leaning against the wall.
part of you was worried he’d be all dressed up or something for the sake of your extravagant £50,000 temptation, despite how grim you looked in your current state. but no, here he was, in pajama pants and a childish hoodie, hair a perfect mess and a classic cheeky harry smile to match. you can’t contain the grin on your face as you rush over to him.
you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for the kiss you’d been dreaming about for days. his eyes glowed as you pulled apart, his hands on your waist. “hi baby,” you hum happily, nuzzling against his cheek. you feel his dimples deepen against you. “hey, pretty girl,” he replies in a low voice, kissing you on the temple. “you sure you want to do this?" he asks, pulling back. "like, tell people? we can cut it, seriously. the boys said we don’t have to. it was a dumb idea really I just thought mayb—“
“babe. stop. yes. I’m — I’m ready to. let’s do it.”
“you’re sure? b-because it’s only october and this isn’t out til march so netflix said we had til january to make any final major edits so you can change your mind unt—“
you press your lips against harry’s again, urging him to stop stressing — to believe that you want everyone to know. “I’m sure, harry. I’m... I'm sick of being in the same room and pretending I don’t want to be next to you all the time.”
a small smile tugs at his lips as a light dust of pink fades across his nose and cheeks.
“oh, and also, I’m sick of hearing all the boys talk about how nice your arse is every five minutes when I can’t chime in with my expertise,” you tease, squeezing his bum as you nip at his jaw. he fidgets all giggly before pulling your hands away. “alright alright, behave yourself, darling. cameras are still on.”
"alright alright,” you concede, stepping back. “fine. I do believe I’ve just been granted a hot shower I am dying to take anyway.” he looks at you, eyes narrowing, like he knows that wasn't a complete thought. you lean in to whisper in his ear, “don’t suppose I get to enjoy my boyfriend’s company for that part of the evening too, do I?”
harry’s eyebrows raise. there it is. without looking away from you, he turns his head to the side slightly towards the crew. “CUT.”
the rest of the production team quickly exits, leaving you and harry to your own devices. the temptation room had its own full bathroom, and you’d sleep on the fucking floor if it meant sleeping next to harry, so you were perfectly content staying in here for the next 10-12 hours.
—
“ugh I missed you so much,” you mutter against harry’s lips between increasingly desperate kisses. he smirks against you in response. “you’ve seen me almost every day in here, silly.”
“wasn’t the saaaaame, missed getting to actually be with you… missed touching you,” you specify, running your hands up his chest.
“I know, love. me too, I’m here,” he promises as his soft lips trail down your jaw and neck, setting all your nerves alight with need. your clothes have gradually started peeling away — your hoodies both on the floor, shoes long discarded, shirts on their way out.
you enter the hot shower together, and you feel all your muscles relax instantly. “oh fuck,” you sigh, letting your head fall back against the warm water as you take a deep breath, inhaling the steam filling the space. you’d been more tense than you realized. harry’s hands glide up your torso, over your breasts, trailing his fingers along your collarbones and back down your arms, before pulling you in close against him. “feel good, baby?”
“mmm,” you nod contentedly. “missed hot water.” he brushes his fingers through your hair, getting it fully soaked through and gently untangling your curls. you drop your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around him as he massages your scalp. a soft sigh falls from your lips as his strong digits unravel you, sending tingles down your spine.
you zone out for what you think is no longer than a few seconds, in complete bliss at the sensation, feeling like you might be dreaming.
harry’s hands then leave your scalp and slide down your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. “you alright, sweetheart?”
you snap out of it, lifting your head and feeling mildly embarrassed. you’d definitely nodded off for a moment. “oh my god, sorry, guess I was more tired than I thought,” you laugh awkwardly. “that felt so nice I guess I just like, passed out. sorry baby, um, let me wash my hair.”
“I-I already did, love,” harry admits, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed himself, for some reason.
only then do you notice the bubbles running off into the drain at your feet. “you.. you washed my hair for me?”
“wow, you really were asleep," he chuckles softly. "um, yeah… you just seemed so like, spaced out and calm and peaceful I.. um, I didn’t have the heart to stop playing with your hair so after a minute or two I thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone, y'know. I hope that’s okay…”
maybe it was exhaustion, delusion from being in a prison cell with no windows for a week, finally reuniting with harry, who knows, but you thought you might actually cry. your heart ached with pure unadulterated stupid love and you felt like you could burst at the seams all because he washed your hair for you.
harry looks concerned, maybe seeing the tears forming in your eyes, but his fear is swiftly interrupted by your lips smashing against his with a newfound sense of urgency.
his arms tighten around your waist as your fingers get lost in his spiky wet hair. your tongue twists around his hungrily, and he drops a hand to grab your arse and pull you closer to him. you tug at his roots and dig your nails into his back, like you’ll die if you don’t crawl into his skin and make camp there.
lifting you by your thighs and crossing to the other side of the shower, harry places you down onto the small tiled bench, your back instinctively arching against the cold surface and into him. his lips and tongue travel along your jaw to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin needily, taking care to only mark you where your clothes will cover the evidence. your breath quickens as his hot mouth fans over your nipples, the contrast of his rough, calloused hands against your soft skin making your eyes flutter.
he drops to his knees in front of you under the water, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he kisses your stomach, your hips, your thighs, slowly nearing your core as it starts to weep for him. you can't look away — those long, pretty lashes resting over the biggest, bluest eyes you'd ever seen. not the kind you drown in, but rather the kind you get fucking waterboarded by. his soft plush lips, perfectly built for the most devastating grins, for sweet talking his way out of anything, for tearing you apart.
harry licks a thick stripe up your core, a deep groan spilling from you and your head falling back as he pulls your thighs apart, burying his face in between. his lips wrap around your swollen clit, sucking and flicking his tongue, and your hands claw at his shoulders, pulling his hair, whining frantically as you melt under him.
one hand reaches up to tease your chest, massaging and caressing, as the other moves in to join his mouth. a long, thick finger fills your wet heat, and you moan out in pleasure, harry stimulating you in every way he physically can. he pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, pushing deep with each thrust, as he laps at you, kissing and licking through your slick folds, sucking on your aching bud, throbbing as he drives you to a quick orgasm.
he pushes a second finger into your tight pussy, and the stretch has you panting heavily, feeling yourself nearing the edge of the cliff. you tug on the roots of harry's blond locks, muttering obscenities, pleading with him to push you over. "ff-fuck, harry, ohh-ffughh... there... don't stop baby mmfff..."
your eyes shoot open, rolling back as your peak hits you hard and fast. broken moans tumble out of you as harry slows his movements, but doesn't stop. his fingers leave you, but his tongue carries on softly, sending waves of aftershock through you as you come down from your high.
your chest heaves as you fight to catch your breath, looking down at him. he meets your gaze — eyes blown wide, face flushed red, lips wet and swollen and curled into a cheeky smile.
sitting up straight, you put your hands on either side of his face and lean in, his eyes falling closed as you kiss and lick him clean, saving his lips for last.
you pull him up to the bench, swiftly taking his spot on the floor, sinking to your knees in front of him. you wrap your hand around the base of his painfully hard cock without hesitation, without any teasing. he sighs quietly, stroking your face gently before dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. you duck your head to take it in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, as your fingers slowly start sliding up and down his shaft. he can’t tear his eyes away from you as you sensually suck on his digits, pressing his thumb pad into your outstretched tongue.
once his cock is in your throat, both of harry's hands get lost in your tendrils. he tugs at your roots firmly, your eyes rolling into your head as you drool around him. “ugh fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, the suction around the head making him inhale sharply. you hum at his praise, sending vibrations up his spine.
you take your sweet time with him, trailing the tip of your tongue along every vein, kissing and sucking along his length, wrapping your lips around the head and taking him in all the way. he moans as you bury him in the back of your throat, swallowing around him and gagging slightly, and every filthy sound from him spurs you on. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”
bobbing your head up and down, you feel harry’s cock twitch against your tongue. he groans and tenses, and you know he’s getting close. you sit up fully on your knees for leverage and take in as much of him as you can, your eyes stinging with tears as he pulls your hair, panting rapidly as his orgasm builds. “mmmffuck, m’so close baby.”
you swallow around him again, your tongue painting the underside of his shaft as you gag on the tip, a gentle hand cupping his balls and squeezing with the lightest pressure.
harry’s hands fall from your hair and grasp the bench at either side of him as he snaps, his movements stuttering and breath shaky as hot cum pours down your throat. a slightly whinier moan escapes him, and you hum around his cock, the gorgeous sound making your chest go tight. he releases a little whimper as you swallow around him again, sucking him dry. you pull away, looking up at him, wishing you could take a picture of the view.
—
“nice night?” george inquires with a raised brow as you practically skip back into the living room the next morning, on cloud nine after your time with harry.
“a lovely night, yes,” you grin, not feeling particularly obligated to elaborate. you plop onto the sofa in your fresh shorts and t-shirt, feeling brand new with clean hair and refreshed skin after your long, hot shower with your long, hot boyfriend.
suddenly, george bursts out laughing. you look at him confused.
“oh, really? that’s good. perhaps a bit of a bold move to wear shorts when your knees are covered in bruises though, mate.”
your eyes widen as you look down at your knees and see that george is correct. you do in fact have bruises all over your knees. some even vaguely resemble the shower tiles that put them there.
you go totally red and sprint out of the room to put joggers on. not before taking another peek and smiling to yourself about them.
—
later in the day, you’re summoned to the challenge arena, and harry gives you a quick, inconspicuous “hibabyiloveyou” hand squeeze when you walk past him.
as you take your seat next to george, he abruptly starts cackling once again. you look at him like he’s insane, but he just points at harry’s exposed legs, which you’ve now noticed are also covered in bruises. “oh my god, you’re matching!” george chortles with hysterical tears in his eyes. “that’s so cute, you little fuckin’ freaks.”
you bury your face in your hands, and the actual challenge begins.
request: Heyy I have a request where george and reader are getting really freaky for the first time in awhile because chris and arthur aren’t home for the weekend, she like badly scratches his back. and when the boys come back they see george’s back and tease him about it
mostly smut, also fluffy?
THE FRONT DOOR clicked shut. A moment of silence. Then George’s voice drifted in from the hall. low, rough, brimming with promise.
“They’re gone.”
You didn’t have to ask who. Your heart was already beating faster.
He appeared in the doorway, the light from the hallway catching on his jaw, his hair a little mussed from the way he’d raked his fingers through it. He was already walking toward you, slow and deliberate, and you stayed slouched on the couch, pretending to scroll like you hadn’t been waiting for this all day.
“Whole weekend,” he said, voice dark with implication. “Just us.”
You looked up at him with mock surprise, lashes fluttering. “Mm, I know. Peace and quiet.”
George arched a brow, then crossed the room in four unhurried steps. His presence towered over you, hungry and electric. He reached down and plucked the phone from your hands without breaking eye contact, tossing it somewhere behind him with a soft thud.
“No,” he said, and his breath was hot against your ear. “Not quiet.”
Your pulse stuttered.
Then his hands were on you, rough, urgent, sliding up your sides beneath your shirt as he hauled you to your feet. His palms were hot, fingers greedy, dragging against bare skin like he needed to memorize every inch before he lost control. He kissed you hard. no finesse, no patience, mouths crashing, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for space. He groaned when you tugged his shirt, the sound low and ragged like it had been caged for too long.
Because it had been weeks. Weeks of stolen moments behind closed doors. Weeks of shared glances across the lounge while Arthur microwaved popcorn. Weeks of Chris yelling about God knows what through paper-thin walls. Weeks of him palming your cunt under the covers at midnight and whispering through gritted teeth, ("Be quiet, love. They'll hear.")
But not tonight.
Tonight, you could be loud. You could claw at his back, bite his shoulder, scream his name and feel him grunt when you did. You could ride that edge together, messy and greedy and unrestrained. And George? George was already wrecked with the thought of it. You felt it in the way he lifted you off your feet like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the hallway with your thighs around his waist and your hands in his hair, both of you breathing like animals finally off the leash.
He could be loud. You could be his. And no one was going to stop either of you.
By the time he got you to the bedroom, he already had you on your back, shirt peeled off and tossed aside, your skin flushed with heat. His mouth was on your chest in seconds, hot and relentless, sucking deep bruises into the soft curve above your breast like he wanted to mark you for days. Each kiss sent a pulse straight between your legs. wet, aching, needy.
“You’re mine this weekend,” he growled, lips dragging over your skin, voice rough with weeks of restraint. “No more holding back. No more biting your lip just to stay quiet. I want every fucking sound you make.”
You nodded fast, breath caught in your throat, fingers fumbling with his belt. “George, please- ”
But he caught your wrists in one swift move, pinned them above your head with a smirk that made your stomach drop.
“Uh-uh,” he murmured, teasing, low. “You get nothing until you earn it.”
And then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging you to the edge with a firm tug. The look in his eyes, hungry, possessive, so desperate, made your whole body throb. His fingers slipped beneath the band of your underwear and tugged them down slow, deliberate, like unwrapping a present he intended to take his time with.
He spread your thighs apart and leaned in, eyes locked on yours, then lowered his mouth to you like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
His tongue was hot and wet, licking a slow stripe through your folds before curling into you, tasting, savoring, every stroke intentional. His fingers joined the rhythm a moment later, two of them, thick and perfect, pressing in and curling just right, hitting that spot that made your hips lift off the mattress in a sudden, shuddering jolt.
He edged you once. Let your thighs tremble, let your whimpers build. Pulled back just when your body started to crest. You gasped, straining toward him, tears pricking your eyes at the sudden loss.
Then again, his mouth this time, tongue flicking faster, teasing your clit until you were sobbing for it, grinding helplessly into his face, hands tangled in his hair.
Only on the third wave did he let you break.
You came hard, a ragged scream ripping from your throat as your thighs clamped around his head and your whole body bucked under the intensity. But George didn’t stop, he held you down, growled low into your cunt as he kept licking through it, swallowing every sound, every shake, every drop.
It was messy. It was raw. And it was perfect.
And when he finally pulled back, chin soaked, eyes wild and blown dark with lust, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and whispered,
“We’re just getting started.”
“GET ON YOUR knees for me.”
His voice was wrecked now. low, rough, full of heat he wasn’t even trying to hide. And when you obeyed, moving into position, you heard the sound that broke out of him, a groan so deep and full of want it made your whole body tense in anticipation.
He came up behind you, hands locking around your hips as he lined himself up, sliding into you inch by careful inch. The stretch was intense, and the sound he let out as he sank fully inside, somewhere between a gasp and a growl, sent chills down your spine.
“God, you feel good,” he hissed. “So fucking good.”
He didn’t hold back. His rhythm was deep and hard right from the start, each thrust sending jolts of heat through your limbs. There was no teasing now, no buildup, just george, focused and relentless, like every inch of his body needed to be tangled with yours.
And when you started to wriggle forward, hips twitching with the edge of overstimulation, he growled low in his throat and chased you down. One hand held your hip firm while the other slid up your back, gently but firmly pressing you back into the mattress.
“Take it,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is what you wanted. Me losing it over you.”
“Yes,” you gasped, face buried in the pillow. “Yes, George- please- ”
You reached back blindly, desperate for contact, your nails dragging down his thighs, and then up. Hard. From the curve of his hips to the muscles between his shoulders. You could feel his whole body tense under your touch, his rhythm falter.
He snapped.
“You want to mark me?” he panted, voice rough in your ear. “God, that’s hot. Go on. Scratch me up. Show me who I belong to.”
The way he said it, breathless, wrecked, reverent, tipped you right over the edge.
You clenched around him with a cry, body shaking as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you trembling and weak beneath him. George groaned raggedly, burying his face into your shoulder, hips jerking forward one last time as he followed you over the edge, hot and hard and breathless.
His body collapsed over yours slowly, like gravity had finally caught up. Skin flushed. Breath shallow. Hands still holding you close.
And even then, ruined and shaking, he didn’t pull away.
You collapsed together, tangled and breathless, your cheek pressed into the pillow and his weight warm and solid against your back. His chest still rose and fell in shaky, uneven breaths, skin damp with sweat, the last waves of pleasure rippling through the both of you.
For a while, neither of you spoke , just the soft sound of breathing, the distant creak of cooling floorboards, your heart still thundering in your ears.
Eventually, George shifted with a groan, pulling out slowly and rolling onto his side. The sudden absence of him left you aching in a way that wasn’t entirely physical. You blinked, trying to catch your breath. and that’s when you saw it.
His back.
You pushed up slightly on your elbow, eyes widening.
“Oh my god,” you whispered.
Even in the dim lamplight, the damage was clear. Long, raw scratches carved across his back in uneven lines, jagged streaks that ran from his shoulders to the dip of his lower back. Some were pink and already welting, a few red and angry, and one near his ribs had a thin bead of blood welling at the edge.
George turned, catching the stunned look on your face. “What?” he asked, half concerned, then followed your gaze over his shoulder.
He blinked.
Then he grinned. slow and crooked and absolutely wrecked.
“Hell of a souvenir,” he joked, voice still hoarse with exhaustion and satisfaction. He looked pleased with himself. Like he’d wear the marks proudly for days.
You stared. “I didn’t know I went that hard.”
He chuckled, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his eyes. “You were fucking feral. Thought you were trying to claw your name into me.”
You smiled, cheeks burning, throat raw from all the sounds you hadn’t held back. “Maybe I was.”
He peeked at you from under his arm, eyes soft despite the smug curve of his mouth. “Good. I’ll think about it every time I shower.” He sent you a wink.
You reached for him then. gentle fingers skimming the welts, tracing where your nails had left their mark. He hissed softly through his teeth but didn’t pull away. Just let you touch him. Let you admire what you’d done.
Let you remind him he was yours.
YOU WERE IN the kitchen when the front door opened, followed by Chris’s voice echoing down the hall.
“Oi, we’re back! Hope the flat’s still in one piece- ”
He rounded the corner, and stopped dead. Arthur followed on his heels, still mid-laugh, but when he caught sight of George at the sink, shirtless, casual, drying a mug, his breath hitched like he’d witnessed a murder scene.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
George blinked, unbothered. “What?” Chris’s hand shot out like he was signaling traffic. “Your back, mate.” George glanced down, confused. “What about it?”
Arthur dropped his bag with a thud. “You look like you fought a tiger. And lost. What the fuck happened to you?!”
Chris squinted. “Wait, are those.. nail marks?” Your grip on your mug slipped. You caught it just in time.
George just shrugged, casual as ever.
Chris broke into a manic grin. “That’s not even kinky anymore. You should be in an evidence bag.” You nearly choked on your tea. George sauntered past them, body practically glowing under the kitchen lights. He didn’t even flinch.
“She likes to leave a mark,” he said, smooth as sin. “Not complaining.”
Arthur doubled over, howling. “Mate, she didn’t leave a mark, she peeled you like a piece of fruit!”
Chris pulled out his phone. “I’m taking a photo. No way people’ll believe this.”
George turned, mock-scandalized. “Oi! That’s private property!”
Arthur pointed an accusing finger at you. “You. You’re a menace.”
You raised your mug, expression innocent. “Maybe,” you said sweetly. “But at least he’s smiling.”
Chris groaned into his hands.
Arthur shook his head. “He’s smiling ‘cause he’s concussed. Probably lost brain function from how hard she raked him.”
George just winked at you, smug and glowing.
And later, after the boys disappeared down the hall, he leaned in behind you, mouth at your ear, voice low.
“Next time,” he murmured, “scratch a little deeper.”
The front door felt a lot heavier than usual as you pushed it open. Your feet ached, your brain was buzzing with leftover adrenaline, and all you wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep for three days. You’d just finished a shoot day that had dragged on three hours longer than scheduled, leaving you completely drained both mentally and physically.
The flat was surprisingly quiet as you walked through to the kitchen and living room with the area being left the same as when you left this morning minus the odd cup and plate on the side. however, the mountain of shoes by the door confirmed that all three boys were home.
As you approached the bedroom you shared with George, a muffled, distorted voice drifted through the door. You’d completely forgotten he had a stream scheduled for tonight, but you were far too tired to care about being ‘camera-ready’ or avoiding the background.
You pushed the door open slowly, expecting to see him locked in a focused on a reacts video with one of his many friends or trying out a new game that his fans had begged him to play. Instead, you found George sitting in his gaming chair with his face hilariously distorted. His cheeks were puffed out like a squirrel, his eyes were watering from the effort, and he was currently struggling to shove another marshmallow into his mouth.
"Chuh-bbee Bunn-eee..." George managed to grunt, the words barely intelligible as he tried to fit the sweet into his mouth and not dribble all over himself.
He caught your reflection in the monitor, turning his head slowly to look at you. A stray bit of white marshmallow fluff was stuck to his bottom lip, making the sight even more ridiculous. On his second monitor, the chat was moving so fast it was a total blur of "LOL" and frantic comments mocking him that he was defiantly not going to have a girlfriend after this.
“Oh, George,” you sighed, as a tired, breathless laugh escaping your throat. You didn’t ask why he was doing it, nor how long he’d been at it; you just shook your head, your eyes half-closed in a mix of amusement and fatigue.
Ignoring the thousands of viewers watching the interaction and George with his shocked face, you grabbed your pyjama's from the bed and headed into the en-suite bathroom. You scrubbed off your makeup, let your hair down, and changed into soft, comfortable clothes that being a pair of short and George's tops.
When you returned, George was still battling the marshmallows, his focus unwavering. You slipped into bed, hoping to stay out of the camera’s frame, and let the exhaustion take over without being disturbed.
Just as you were drifting off, you felt the bed dip as George climbed over towards you to kiss your cheek, he whispering a soft, “I love you, have a good sleep my girl” into the quiet room.
“Love you more, Georgie” you mumbled back with a small smile on your face, your voice thick with sleep.
As you finally fell into a deep rest, the last thing you heard was George’s low, quiet voice as he turned back to his chat, debating which ridiculous challenge he should tackle next.
Night Out
You had been invited out for a much needed and overdue night out with the girls them being Liv, Faith, Flo, Sabina, and Becky. it had been a couple weeks since you had all seen each other and your plans had finally made it out of the groupchat.
You’d left George at home earlier that day, where he’d been buried in footage and meetings, hoping to get a new video edited and uploaded by tomorrow.
By the time you stumbled back through the door at one in the morning, your head was spinning slightly from the amount of alcohol that you had consumed, and you fully expected him or more like hoping to be tucked up in bed.
After successfully wrestling your shoes off and leaving them in a heap, you made your way toward the bedroom. You pushed the door open, only to find the room bathed in the familiar, cool blue glow of his monitors. George was still live, his energy surprisingly high despite the long hours he had worked today.
“Hi, Georgie,” you chirped, a tired but happy smile plastered on your face when you saw your favourite person. He spun around in his chair, his expression softening into an amused grin the moment he saw you.
“Hello, poppet. Did you have a good time with the girls?” he asked, his eyes tracking you as you wandered over and settled yourself right onto his lap. You didn't care about the stream; you just wanted to be close to him.
“It was brilliant. I missed them so much,” you murmured, resting your head heavily on his shoulder and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. George nudged you gently, gesturing toward the screen. “Say hi to chat,” he prompted.
You tilted your head up to look at the lens, squinting slightly at the brightness. “Hello, chat! I hope you’re all making fun of him and keeping him humble tonight,” you said. It was a rare moment of direct interaction from you as you normally lingered in the background leaving George to it, and the viewers immediately lost their minds, the chat scrolling at a terminal velocity.
user121: George is literally blushing rn user021: Oh, she is absolutely wasted lol user444: please!! she needs to be in more streams
You stayed there for a while, tucked into his chest as he reacted to videos sent in by his community on socials.
About half an hour later, the warmth and comfort of being close to George followed by the long day had finally caught up to you. George looked down and noticed your features had gone soft and relaxed; he knew you were seconds away from passing out right there in his arms.
Realizing you’d end up with back problems in the morning if he let you sleep in the position on his lap any, he paused his stream momentarily. “I’ll be right back, guys,” he told the mic. He gently helped you stand, guiding you through the hazy process of taking off your makeup and swapping your dress for one of his oversized t-shirts. Once you were tucked safely under the covers, he pressed a final kiss to your forehead before heading back to finish his night knowing it will only last ten extra minutes before joining you.
Shock Horror
You and George had been dating for about eight months when you decided it was finally time to take your first holiday together. His fans were still adjusting to the relationship as he had only recently confirmed it on stream after a stray photo started circulating around socials, and he’d wanted to get ahead of the rumors before the internet took it too far. With both of your schedules finally clear, you decided to book everything before work could interfere.
You were currently in the living room with Arthur and Chris, perched on the sofa with your laptop balanced on your knees. George was tucked away in his room, and you were under the impression he was in a serious meeting with his editors.
You were busy navigating flights, hotels, and excursions, trying to cross-reference the meticulous list you’d made the night before. Arthur and Chris were trying to be helpful, but their constant bickering over seat assignments and hotel breakfast options was starting to make you overstimulated, it came to the point of the bickering that you hoped they knew this holiday for both you and George only.
Frustrated by the chaos of the two men, you stood up and headed for George’s room, hoping he could provide the quick decision making the other two lacked.
You knocked briefly and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. He turned in his chair as you walked in, looking slightly startled. “Can I have your passport? Also, please help me with this,” you said, sounding a bit frazzled. “The boys are driving me mad and I just want to get this booked.”
George froze, looking from you back to his monitor. Your eyes followed his gaze, and your heart dropped when you realized the "meeting" was actually a live broadcast—and you had walked right into the center of the frame. You let out a tiny gasp and practically dove behind the door to hide yourself, your face flushing a deep crimson.
George quickly toggled his camera off and muted the mic, chuckling at your panicked reaction. “Hey, darling, don’t worry about it. Come here,” he said, beckoning you over. You crept back in, staying carefully out of the camera's line of sight, your eyes still wide with shock. “No one is saying anything bad, I promise. They’re just laughing because they know the boys are useless.”
He kissed your forehead to calm your nerves and then toggled the camera back on, revealing his face to the thousands of waiting viewers who were already clipping the moment and sharing it all on TikTok and the comment section of the stream.
“Chat, give me one minute. The Mrs needs some assistance,” he told them with a smirk. He took your laptop and expertly navigated through the booking forms, finishing the task in seconds. He handed the computer back to you with a cheeky, triumphant smile.
“Thank you,” you whispered, still a bit red-faced from the accidental debut. You beat a hasty retreat back to the living room, leaving George to explain the interruption to an incredibly excited chat.
You were a content creator like George, but your topics always changed with whatever hobby you were into. One month you’d talk about books, the next it might be coloring or sports. That’s actually how you met George. Chrismd invited you to join a video with him. You all hit it off right away, especially you and George. That video was the start of an amazing friendship. Soon, you and George were so close that you often showed up in each other’s videos and streams, and the fans loved seeing you together, just as much as you both loved having each others company.
However, over the last couple of months, you had become even closer. And it became clear to you during your appearance on the useless hotline podcast that George hosts along side Max.
You were halfway through the episode when Max asked a question that was sent in by a fan.
“So I have a question regarding both of you, which is 'what is one thing that has stayed exactly the same between you two since the day you met'?” Max finished putting the paper down on the desk.
You nodded at the question and thought about it, and George didn't even hesitate.
“The support”, he said as he was messing with his microphone and looked directly at you.
“I mean, from day one, no matter how big the stage is or how many people are in the room, I know that I have her by my side and she is there,” George said.
“George, that is so cute of you, honestly, I think since I first saw you together, you haven't changed. It's as if you have always known each other,” Max said.
“yeah i mean to be honestly we have always been close and have this thing that everyone says and its that we just know how each other is feeling just with a single look. like the other week, George wasn't feeling to good and his stubborn ass didn't tell the boys and i came round for a video ; i just knew he wasn't well just by how he was like his body language, both Chris and Arthur were shocked how they didn't notice and i knew in a minute” you said.
“That is so cute, and that takes some talent,” Max said.
You looked towards George as Max said that, and George started to blush and made a witty comment just as he does.
They were able to wrap up the episode, and you and Max were making fun of George as normal.
The moment the cameras cut and the microphones went dead, Max left to go to the toilet, and George stood up from his chair and stretched, and he walked around the desk. for a split second you through that he was going to ask if you were okay. Instead, he reached down, took your hand, and pulled you into a hug.
You and George had always been huggers. It was your thing. A quick squeeze, a supportive pat on the back, and the 'we did it' embrace. But this hug felt different.
It started as a 'good job' hug that you had both done a hundred times. And then it didn't end. His hands moved to your lower back and pulled you in an inch closer, like if he let go, you were going to disappear. You relaxed into him you head resting on his shoulder, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.
One beat. Two beats.
The room was silent, but your head was screaming. He wasn't letting go. He was breathing you in, his chin resting on top of your head in a way that felt terrifyingly domestic.
Three beats.
When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He kept his hands on your upper arms, his thumbs brushing against your skin. He looked at you—really looked at you—with an expression that wasn't "just friends." It was a look of realisation, a silent question hanging in the space between your faces.
“You okay?” he whispered, his voice low enough that no one else would hear, just you and him.
George let out a soft, knowing huff of a laugh. He didn't pull his hands away immediately. He let them linger for one more second, one more beat, before Max's voice was heard as he walked back into the room, interrupting the spell instantly, and they pulled away, but the tension didn't.
George winked; that wasn't playful; it was soft, meaningful, and as Max started talking to you both about plans for lunch, you realised the friendship hadn't just changed, it had shifted into something you weren't sure you could ever come back from, and the first time you didn't want to.
You had also realised what all your friends were talking about between you both, specifically how you looked at each other. things were shifting feelings and looks, and you didn't want to change it for the world.
The walk to the café was a blur of London pavement and Max’s energetic voice. Normally, you were the one keeping the conversation flowing, bouncing jokes off Max while George chimed in with his usual dry wit. But today, you were strangely quiet, your skin still humming where George’s thumbs had brushed against your arms.
"I’m telling you," Max said, oblivious as he held the door open for you both, "the fans are going to lose their minds over that 'support' segment. The comments are going to be eighty percent shipping and twenty percent asking where George got his hoodie."
George let out a forced-sounding chuckle, stepping in behind you. As you moved to find a table, his hand reached out, habitually, or so you thought, and rested briefly on the small of your back to guide you.
Your breath hitched. It was a gesture he’d done a thousand times to move through crowds, but now, with the memory of the three-beat hug still fresh, it felt like a brand. You sat down across from Max, and George took the chair right next to yours. Not the one opposite the one, so close your knees occasionally brushed under the cramped wooden table.
"So," Max started, looking over the menu. "Are we actually going to talk about how you two were acting in there, or are we pretending the tension didn't just skyrocket?"
You nearly choked on your water. Max was never one for subtlety.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Max," George said, though he didn't look up from his menu. His ears, however, were turning a tell-tale shade of pink.
"Oh, please. You two were vibrating," Max laughed, leaning forward. "I walked back in and felt like I’d interrupted a Victorian proposal. Even the producer gave me a look."
You tried to laugh it off. "It’s just the podcast energy, Max. High stakes, deep questions."
"Right. High stakes," Max mimicked, grinning.
Under the table, you felt George’s leg press firmly against yours. He didn't move it away. In fact, he leaned slightly into the contact. It was a silent anchor, a way of saying I’m right here, and I’m feeling it too.
As the lunch went on, you realized your friends had been right all along. You noticed the way George’s eyes lingered on you whenever you spoke, not just waiting for his turn to talk, but actually observing you. You noticed how your own voice softened whenever you addressed him.
When the food arrived, George reached over and swapped one of his side dishes for yours without even asking; he knew you preferred the sweet potato fries. It was a small, domestic act, but in the light of today’s realization, it felt monumental.
"You're doing it again," Max pointed out, pointing a chip at you both.
"Doing what?" you asked, trying to keep your heart rate under control.
"The 'look,'" Max said. "The one where you both forget there’s a third person at the table. Honestly, I should start charging you guys a 'third-wheel' tax."
George finally looked up, and for the first time, he didn't deflect. He didn't make a witty comment or a joke. He just looked at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Maybe it’s worth the tax," George said softly.
Your heart did a slow, heavy roll in your chest. The friendship hadn't just shifted; the floor had completely dropped away, and you were both free-falling into something much deeper.
As you left the café later, the cool London air hitting your face, George didn't just walk beside you. He walked close, close enough that his hand kept bumping into yours. Eventually, his fingers hooked around your pinky, a tentative, questioning tether.
You didn't pull away. You slid your hand into his, lacing your fingers together.
The "upless hotline" might have been the catalyst, but this quiet walk back to the cars, hands intertwined, was the answer. The question George had asked with his eyes in the studio had finally been answered.
You weren't just "content creators" or "best friends" anymore. You were something else entirely, and for the first time in your life, you didn't need a hobby or a topic to explain how you felt. It was just you and George. And that was more than enough.
It was Saturday night, and in the last couple of weeks, things had changed. Normally, the night would consist of you, your partner George, and your one year old daughter Gracie relaxing at home with a movie after a long week. Now, Saturday nights were for watching George show off his dance moves on live television.
It was Week 2. You had been there to see him live for Week 1 and were supposed to go again this week, but Gracie had caught a cold from nursery and it was best to stay home as she was still not being herself.
However, you decided to change things up. Instead of watching alone on your sofa, why not stream the whole thing and watch it with George’s fans? That’s how you ended up rushing around trying to get everything sorted before the program started.
Gracie had thankfully gone down to sleep with ease. The stream was on, just waiting for you to show your face. You sat down at George’s desk in your shared bedroom, a cup of tea and a bag of sweets in one hand and the baby monitor in the other. Just like that, you were live, and everyone was loving it.
"Hello everyone! It’s Strictly day! Who is ready? I’m so excited!"
Chat erupted excitement
user1: THIS HAS MADE MY WEEK user2: THE QUEEN IS BACK user3: OMG I'M SO EXCITED!
"Right guys, it is Week 2 for our Georgie’s Paso. He told me I’ll enjoy it, so hopefully, he puts on a good show for us all," you said, scanning the comments
user999: GIRL WHY ARE YOU NOT THERE?
"Chat, I was supposed to be there, but the little bug got sick this week and I thought it was best to stay home with her, I would have love to see him dance live but I would rather be at home with my baby girl. She’s asleep and on the mend, and hopefully she stays asleep! Anyway, I’ve decided to grace you with my presence, and we can support him together" you said as you clicked on the BBC and the show began.
You were zoned in completely, smiling every time George appeared on the screen, and the chat was eating it up.
user34: THIS GIRL IS IN LOVE WITH HER MAN. user15: I WANT SOMEONE TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT.
Halfway through the show, you were commenting on the other dancers and celebrities, telling the chat how much you loved them all. Your legs were up on the chair, cup in hand, when you heard little whimpers coming from the baby monitor.
You sighed, hoping Gracie would sleep through the night since she was finally getting over her cold, but it was too good to be true. You got up and told the chat to hold tight.
You walked into your daughter’s room. It was pitch black with the white noise machine humming, and you saw your curly-haired girl standing in her crib, eyes red and waiting.
"Hello, sweet girl," you whispered, picking her up and gently rocking her side to side.
"Dada," her little voice said.
"Dada’s dancing, baby. You want to come see?" You walked back into the bedroom, trying to hide her face from the camera as you plopped her down on the bed, telling the chat there was a special visitor ready for the show.
You grabbed one of George’s jumpers and put it on little Gracie, hoping she wouldn’t miss him too much. The chat exploded.
user221: HE IS NEXT! user1: SHE IS ADORABLE WITH HIS JUMPER ON.
"Right chat, are you ready for this masterclass performance? Hey sweet girl, you ready to see Dada dance?" you said, and her eyes lit up at the mention of her daddy.
Everyone got comfy. At the first sight of George, your jaw dropped at how good he looked.
"Oh my god," you breathed as the music started.
The chat was full of heart emojis, teasing you for your shocked face, but at that moment you didn’t care. You were completely mesmerized.
"LOOK AT THAT SMOLDER!" you yelled, gripping the table. At this point, you had completely forgotten you were streaming. "I would so let him throw me about like that!" you said as George lifted Alexis.
Chat was exploding
User13: THE BIGGEST SIMP. User78: GIRL, KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS!
The dance slowly came to an end, but your smitten expression remained.
"Gracie, I hope you want a sibling because, Jesus Christ, how is it only Week 2? Chat, I’m not going to survive this," you said with total honesty.
As the dance finished, Gracie clapped her hands, happy to finally see her Dada. You looked over to see your daughter the happiest she had been all week. She was a daddy’s girl through and through; from the moment she could hear his voice in your belly to now, she was his number one fan. It made your heart melt.
"So, chat, what do we think of that? Personally, Im going to be honest I feel as though that was a targeted harassment towards me. I am a victim of whatever the hell just happened. The legs, the spins, the floor work, and that face... holy mother of God. Yes, I may be biased, but that was a ten from me!"
USER333: LMAOOOO. USER77432434: GUYS SHE IS FLUSTERED. USER110: HE LOOKED SO GOOD THO WTH.
Your heart was doing somersaults. "How is that my man, chat? How am I supposed to marry this man one day? How am I expected to walk down the aisle without falling over my feet just by looking at him?"
The show wrapped up just as you were recovering, and you signed off the stream, saying goodnight to everyone watching and thanking them for joining her. You looked over to see Gracie snuggled up on George’s side of the bed, fast asleep. You got up and moved her back to her crib, where she would likely be dreaming about her daddy.
About an hour later, George finally got home and made a beeline straight to the bedroom, where you were half asleep.
"Hello, my love," he said, leaning down to kiss you.
"Hi Georgie. You did so well today," you said, smiling up at him.
"I’ve heard. You’re trending on Twitter, my girl. A new sibling for Gracie is wanted, I hear?" he said, climbing into bed. You instantly snuggled up to him missing his sent and overall presence.
"Watching that honestly opened a whole new door regarding how hot you can be. Please ask Wardrobe if you can take those costumes home," you said, with absolutely no shame.
"No need to rush, darling, we’re only on Week 2," he laughed. "Anyway, how have my girls been today?"
"I know, that is the problem," you teased. "And we’ve been good. Gracie has been asking for Dada all day—literally 'everything Dada'—so watching you made her day ten times better she will be so happy to see you tomorrow."
"Glad both my girls are happy," he said, pulling you closer.
