he absolutely cannot fall asleep without touching you.
iIt doesn’t matter how hot it is, or how tangled the duvet is. he has to be touching you.
face buried in your neck, his entire arm flopped over your chest, one leg thrown over yours like he’s anchoring you to the bed.
even in his sleep, he subconsciously adjusts to pull you closer.
and when you try to wriggle free in the morning, he just groans and mumbles, “stay.” dragging you back like a human teddy bear.
love language:
harry’s love language is experience-based gift giving.
he might be busy with work or filming, but when he wants to show love, it’s always intentional.
random flower delivery on a hard day.
your favourite chocolate waiting on the kitchen counter.
but mostly? surprise weekends away.
“pack a bag. don’t ask. just trust me.”
he just wants to watch you smile in the sunlight somewhere quiet.
time with you is his favourite reward.
PDA:
he’s fine with affection, but always thoughtful.
hand-holding? always.
arm around your shoulders? definitely.
kissing in public? only if it feels safe. he’s protective like that.
he knows what people online can be like, and he doesn’t want you dragged into that.
vut in private? he never stops touching you.
always pulling you close, kissing your temple, murmuring little things like;
“come ‘ere. missed you.”
he’s physically attached to you 90% of the time. fully believes your boobs or lap are his designated resting spots.
like if you're both on the sofa? he’s immediately lying down with his head in your lap, fingers curled around your leg, cheek smushed into your thigh.
or he’ll shuffle over during movie night, look at you with that slightly pouty expression, and just wordlessly collapse onto your chest like it’s a weighted pillow.
and the moment you start playing with his hair? gis whole body goes slack.
“you’re gonna make me fall asleep mid-movie, I’m warning you.” (he does. every time.)
he tries to get you in every video like it’s a game.
he’ll be mid-challenge and suddenly swing the camera around just to show you in the corner.
“that’s my girlfriend , she’s judging me. she thinks I’m shit at this.”
and even if you're off-camera, you’ll always hear a little:
“can you pass me that? say hi to the vlog.”
he just loves that people know he has you. not to show off, but like, “look what I’ve got. look who loves me.”
he’s got zero filter when it comes to talking about you on camera.
he’ll get asked something dumb like “are you seeing anyone?” in a sidemen video and immediately beam:
“yeah. she’s unreal. my actual dream girl. sorry, lads.”
doesn’t even blink. doesn’t tone it down. he means every word.
he thinks you’re the funniest person alive and will repeat your jokes to the boys like they’re his own.
you’ll say something casually hilarious in private, and then two days later, you’ll hear him using it in a group video.
“where’d you hear that?”
“..dunno.”
(it was you. he just wants to sound cool.)
nsfw warning!!!
kinks.
harry’s definitely into both praise and degradation, but only when he’s giving it.
one minute he’s calling you his “good girl,” stroking your cheek while he fucks you slow, the next he’s got your thighs shaking as he mutters things like “so needy, aren’t you? can’t go five minutes without my cock.”
but if you ever tried to degrade him? nope. not happening. he gets sulky real quick. “shut up. you love me.”
lso: total exhibitionist.
wants you in his lap at parties, whispering filth in your ear while you try to focus. will pull you into a half-lit stairwell at a club just to get his hands on you.
the idea of nearly getting caught makes him harder.“keep your voice down, babe. unless you want everyone knowing how good I fuck you.”
harry loves a good mirror. loves watching the way your body reacts to him. arching, shaking, writhing.
loves whispering filthy things while you both watch.
“look at you. look how good I make you feel.”
pulls your chin so you have to see yourself falling apart.
and when he’s still dressed?
oh, he lives for you palming him through his joggers.
hrins like a lunatic when you say he’s big.
“yeah? you want it that bad, baby? ho on then. take it.”
aftercare.
despite his chaotic, insatiable energy in bed, harry is soft as hell after.
he might rail you into next week, but the second it’s over? he’s carrying you to the bathroom, running a warm bath, pressing kisses to your shoulder like he’s grounding himself too.
wraps you in one of his massive hoodies and flops on the sofa with you curled on his chest.
might go, “want tea? or like, chocolate? I’ve got those fancy biscuits you like.”
puts a movie on even though he knows you’ll both fall asleep five minutes in. he just wants to keep you close while you come back down.
he adores taking care of you. it makes him feel needed in the way he craves.
secret kinks:
i feel like he would be so into mutual mastuebation.
watching you touch yourself? my god.
he’ll sit back, fisting his cock while staring at you with blown pupils and a filthy little grin.
loves hearing you whimper his name. loves seeing how wet you get for just him.
aand when you’re apart?
he’s got Polaroids of you hidden in his suitcase. one in a bikini, one in lace, one with nothing but your smile.
“you’ve got no idea how often i look at these. fuckin’ obsessed.”
He gets turned on so easily. It’s actually kind of hilarious.
like, you wear his hoodie with nothing underneath and bend over to grab something? he’s immediately hard.
you kiss his neck for more than three seconds? boner.
you call him baby in that soft voice?
game over.
sometimes you’ll just brush past him in the kitchen and he’ll go:
“don’t do that. i’ve got shit to do today. now I’m thinking about you riding me on the counter.”
He gets addicted to whatever makes you moan the loudest.
once he hears that sound, the one that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his arms, he will chase it forever.
tries to find the exact angle, exact rhythm, exact words that pull that noise out of you.
and once he does?
“there. that’s it. fuck, do that again. do it for me.”
losing his mind over you, every time.
I don’t know if you are watching Ginges stream but it is hilarious, I was wondering if you could base a story of this like Ginges girlfriend comes home and walks into his room when all the bov boys are streaming and he is really drunk and lovey dovey and funny , no worries if not 💕💕
Hey! Thank you so much for the request! I really hope that you like it!! I watched part of the stream as I was on a date last night. it was so funny and so very chaotic tbh x
Good luck with That - Angry Ginge Oneshot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You know something’s up before you even open the door.
Not because of the noise, though there is noise, but because Spike doesn’t bark.
He just waddles into the hallway, tail wagging lazily, little black-and-white face tilted up at you like good luck with that. His beard’s gone a bit grey now, eyes a little cloudy, but he still carries himself like he owns the place.
“Alright, handsome,” you murmur, dropping your bag to crouch and scratch behind his ears. “You alive?”
Spike huffs, judgemental, then turns and starts toward the stairs at his own pace.
Upstairs, something crashes.
“BEANO, THAT WAS GLASS,” Jakey shouts.
“IT WAS EMPTY GLASS,” Beano yells back, thick Irish accent bouncing off the walls. “RELAX YERSELF.”
You close your eyes for half a second.
Right.
You follow Spike up.
The streaming room door is wide open, every light in the house was on upstairs, and the BOV boys are absolutely, unequivocally pished.
Jakey’s in Morgan’s chair, spinning slowly and narrating his own dizziness like a wildlife documentary.
Tays is on the floor laughing so hard he can barely breathe, clutching a controller that is definitely not turned on.
Chazza is leaning against the desk, mid-rant about something philosophical that makes no sense.
And Beano...
Beano is kneeling on the rug, holding Spike’s water bowl like it’s a newborn baby.
“I’m just sayin’,” he announces seriously, sloshing water everywhere, “this house runs on routine. Ye mess with the routine, the dog knows.”
Spike looks at him.
Unimpressed.
“Beano,” you say gently. “Why is the water bowl in your hands?”
He startles. “OH! sorry. Thought he might be thirsty.”
Spike walks past him and drinks from the other bowl.
Beano stares.
“…right. That’s on me.”
Then Morgan looks up.
And his whole face changes.
“Oh,” he breathes, pushing himself upright from where he’s leaning on the desk. Or,trying to.
His head wobbles slightly, like it’s on a loose hinge, eyes half-shut and glassy as he blinks slowly, squinting at you like he’s manually loading reality.
“There you are,” he says softly.
“I’ve just got home from work,” you reply.
“Yeah but,” he murmurs, swaying forward a fraction, “now I’m lookin’ at you.”
You’re already reaching for him when he leans too far, hands settling instinctively on your sides to steady him. He melts immediately, weight slumping into you, forehead dropping briefly to your shoulder.
Jakey snorts. “He’s gone.”
“I’m fine,” Morgan insists, lifting his head again. It lolls slightly. He blinks hard. “Just talkin’ to my girlfriend.”
“You’re blinking like a Windows 98 computer,” you tell him.
He smiles lazily. “She’s funny.”
Beano nods solemnly. “She keeps him grounded. Otherwise he’d float away like a balloon. Especially when he's this pished."
Morgan points at him. Misses. Tries again. “Exactly.”
He tucks his face into your shoulder with a content little sigh. “Missed you.”
“I was at work,” you say, smoothing a hand through his messy hair.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Rude of them.”
“She’s right there, man,” Chazza laughs.
Morgan lifts his head just long enough to look at you, eyes soft, unfocused, absolutely adoring. “You’re very pretty.”
“You’re very drunk.”
“Still true though.”
You laugh and press a quick kiss to his cheek. He goes pink immediately.
Not long after, the music changes.
You don’t clock it at first, just a familiar intro drifting through the room.
Then
“Oh no,” you say. “Is that?"
“SHAKE IT OOOOOFF,” Jakey bellows, already on his feet.
Tays joins in instantly, screaming the wrong words with confidence. Chazza grabs a cushion like a microphone and commits fully.
Beano gasps, clutching his chest. “THIS IS MY FAVOURITE ONE. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY.”
The chorus hits and suddenly all five of them are shouting a Taylor Swift song at full volume.
None of them know the lyrics.
They do not care.
Morgan turns toward you, swaying slightly, eyes still half-closed, and sings at you instead of with the music.
“‘Cause the players gonna play, play, play” he slurs, pointing vaguely between you and himself, “and I’m… very loyal actually.”
You laugh so hard you have to grab the desk to stay upright.
Beano throws an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “SING IT TO HER, KING.”
Morgan nods seriously and leans closer, voice dropping into a soft mumble. “This one’s about us.”
“It is not.”
“It is now.”
Spike wanders in, pauses, looks at the scene, then turns around and leaves again. What a good idea.
Eventually, you start tidying, grabbing bottles, opening a window, gently confiscating anything fragile. Beano insists on helping, carrying three empty buzzballs, a sock, and Spike’s toy like they all belong together while loudly telling a story no one can follow.
“So then yer man says to me” clatter "and I say 'You're jokin!” clatter “ah bollocks.”
Nothing breaks.
He exhales dramatically. “That could’ve been my last day in this house.”
Spike toddles over and sits on his foot.
Beano gasps. “I have been chosen.”
When taxis are mentioned, Beano loudly insists he can walk.
“You live here,” you remind him.
“…ah yeah,” he nods. “Forgot that part.”
Eventually, the house quiets.
You guide Morgan toward bed, Spike padding behind you at a dignified pace before flopping into his own bed with a grunt.
Morgan kicks his shoes off messily and collapses onto the mattress.
You turn to grab water
He catches your wrist.
“Stay,” he says softly. Certain.
You lie down beside him and he curls into you instantly, head on your chest, arm heavy around your middle.
summary: coming home from work and finding your boyfriend drunk on stream
masterlist | main masterlist
Your entire day had just been one bad thing after another.
First, you woke up late. Then, there was major traffic on the way to the office, which made you even later. To make matters worse, someone spilled their coffee on your shirt right before an important meeting to land a deal for your business. And to top it all off, you finished work two hours late, causing you to miss your dinner reservation with Sabina, Liv, and Flo.
All you wanted to do was go home and go to bed - but that dream went out the window when, during your final meeting of the day, you got a notification that your boyfriend was streaming.
On the way home, you sat in the back of your uber scrolling twitter and George was drunk on stream - perfect.
You let the front door of the flat slam shut as you kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your jacket, dropping your bag beside them. From the hallway, you could hear your boyfriend’s boisterous laughter, and while part of you melted at the sound, another part wanted to slam your head against a wall.
“Someone’s home.” You heard him say to the stream as you walked closer to his room, “I hope it’s y/n.”
A soft smile spread across your lips, and all the annoyance you’d felt moments before quickly slipped away. You knocked gently on his door before opening it. “Hi, honey,” you said softly.
An excited gasp escaped his lips as he pulled down his green screen, revealing you to the stream. “Look, chat - it’s Y/N,” he said, opening his arms for you.
You did a little twirl as he let out a playful wolf whistle, then walked over and crouched beside him to peek at the chat. “Hi, everyone!” you greeted with a smile. “How drunk is he?”
The chat flew up as you tried to read it, “Very?”
You nodded pursing your lips standing back up as your knees clicked, “You need to get another chair.”
“I have one right here, baby,” he smirked, pointing to his face. You gasped in embarrassment and gently smacked his chest. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” he laughed.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap as he continued reading the chat, giggling to himself while you hid your red face in your hands.
“Chat, I think it’s time to say goodbye so I can spend time with m’lady.”
You could hear the smirk in his tone making you grumble sinking back into his chest, “I shall see you all tomorrow.”
“Bye chat.” You mumbled, waving at the camera as George ended the stream, “That was so inappropriate.”
You stood up from George's lap and walked over to his wardrobe while he fiddled with his computer, making sure everything was shut down properly. “It was a joke,” he slurred, stumbling over to you as you slipped off your pencil skirt and shirt, replacing them with one of George’s hoodies.
“You’re drunk.”
"So?" He shrugged, leaning against the wall as you glared up at him. "You're mad?" His goofy, drunken state seemed to fade instantly when he noticed the tears glistening at your waterline, causing him to pout with guilt.
You huffed, moving away from him and over to the bed, letting your shoulders slump. "No," you muttered, dropping your head as you ran your hands through your hair. "I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry."
George shook his head. "You don’t need to apologize, honey."
The bed dipped next to you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. "What’s wrong?"
"I’ve had such a crappy day, and all I wanted to do was come home and sleep. And obviously, it’s not your fault - you’re just doing your job. I’m just exhausted, and I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day."
An overwhelmed cry escaped your lips as you clung to your intoxicated boyfriend, who was gently smoothing your hair. "I’m sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, kissing the top of your head.
You sat up, wiping away your tears with a sniffle.
“s’not your fault.”
As you looked up at your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but giggle, making his eyebrows furrow. "What’s so funny?"
“You look ridiculous.” you laughed, pulling on the fishing hat on the top of his head and the camouflage jacket he was wearing, “Why are you even wearing this?”
He giggled, pulling the hat off and tossing it aside, "Oh, y’know, just streamer things," he joked, holding up a rock 'n' roll sign and sticking his tongue out like a idiot.
Another laugh escaped your lips as you tugged the jacket off, revealing his parody ‘pitchside’ football shirt underneath. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, "For fuck’s sake," you laughed again, shaking your head. "Can we just go to bed, please?”
George grinned widely, clearly proud of his absurd outfit, but then his expression softened. He kissed your forehead quickly, a tender gesture amid the silliness. "Anything for you," he murmured, before pulling off his shirt and sweats.
Without a second thought, he climbed into bed, wrapping his arms around you. "Let’s just forget today ever happened."
You settled into his embrace, feeling the weight of the day finally lift as you closed your eyes. "Agreed," you whispered, already feeling the warmth of sleep pulling you in.
a/n - a collection of drabbles/senarios about pregnancy that have accumulated in my mind, layed out in chronilogical order ofc.
also idk if u guys can tell but I WILL be naming my potential future daughter anjali lol, such a sweet name
masterlist
more Dad!Arthur
c/w - pregnancy, established relationship, insecurity, gestational diabetes, labour description
I. two pink lines
The thing was, you'd been trying not to think about it.
Four days late wasn't unusual. Your cycle had been off before — stress, a bad week of sleep, that one month you ate nothing but pasta for a fortnight and your body just decided to protest. Four days was nothing. Four days was barely a blip.
But then it was eight days, and you told yourself it was just a longer cycle.
And then it was twelve, and you started sleeping weird.
And now it was fourteen days, and you were standing in the middle of Boots on a while Arthur was filming the podcast.
You were holding two different pregnancy tests, comparing their little diagrams on the back of the boxes with probably more focus than you'd ever given anything in your entire academic career.
You bought both.
You did them in the Boots bathroom because you genuinely could not wait until you got home. The little tiled room smelled like hand soap and there was a motivational quote on the wall about blooming where you're planted that felt deeply appropriate.
You sat on the closed lid of the toilet, tests balanced on the edge of the sink, and waited.
Three minutes had never felt so long in your life.
When you looked, both of them showed the same thing.
Pregnant.
You just stared at it.
Your hand came up to your mouth without you really deciding to move it.
Your eyes went blurry.
Pregnant.
You'd been trying for a few months. You knew it was possible. You wanted this, both of you had.
You had the conversation and bought the folic acid and everything, but somehow knowing it was possible and then actually seeing it were two completely different things.
Also you were absolutely crying in a Boots toilet on a Wednesday.
You pressed the backs of your hands to your cheeks. Took a breath.
Then you smiled so hard your face hurt.
II. reveal
You didn't tell Arthur.
Not that day, not the next. You meant to — you planned to, lying in bed that night while he scrolled on his phone beside you, his shoulder warm against yours.
The words sat right at the back of your throat.
'Arthur, I'm pregnant. Arthur, we're having a baby. Arthur, those tests I did in a Boots toilet this afternoon both said yes.'
But every time you opened your mouth, something stopped you.
Not fear, exactly.
More like — you wanted to sit with it for a second. Hold it for yourself, just briefly. This enormous, quietly extraordinary thing that was just yours for a little while.
So you kept it.
For a week, you kept it.
What you didn't know was that Arthur already knew.
Or strongly suspected, anyway — which to Arthur was basically the same thing.
It had started with the belly thing. You kept touching your stomach. Not in any obvious way, just absently, the flat of your palm pressed there when you were watching telly, or your fingers curling around your waist when you stood in the kitchen. He noticed.
Then there was the nausea. You'd gone a bit green one morning and quietly said you weren't hungry and disappeared back upstairs.
He stood in the kitchen holding the plate of noodles he made you and thought about it for a long time.
And then — and this was the one that had really done it — you hadn't mentioned needing more pads.
He wasn't trying to track that. It wasn't weird, it had just become something he was aware of, the same way he was aware of when you were running low on your shampoo or when you'd had a hard week and needed a takeaway instead of cooking.
He paid attention to you. That was all. And the absence of that particular addition to the shopping list was quite strange.
He hadn't said anything. He was waiting for you to be ready.
It was a Sunday evening when you finally said it.
You'd made dinner — pasta, because it was the only thing your stomach was reliably okay with lately — and you sat across from each other at the kitchen table.
Arthur had been talking about something Isaac said on the podcast and then trailed off because you'd gone quiet.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah." You pushed a piece of pasta around your plate. "Actually — no. I mean, yes. I'm fine. I just need to tell you something."
He put his fork down.
"Okay," he said, and his voice was very calm. The careful kind of calm that meant he was paying close attention.
You looked up at him. Your heart was going absolutely stupid fast. "So, um." You laughed a little, which wasn't what you'd planned. "I've sort of known for a week, which I know, I'm sorry, I just needed a minute—"
"You're pregnant," Arthur said.
You blinked. "I— what?"
"You're pregnant?" He said it the same way. Steady. Like he'd been sitting with it too.
"How did you—" You pointed at him, slightly outraged. "Arthur. How."
"The belly thing." He gestured vaguely at where your hand had just been, resting on your stomach without you noticing. "And you were nauseous last week. And you didn't ask me to by pads."
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything." He shrugged, but his eyes were very bright. "I wasn't going to say anything. I was waiting for you."
You stared at him. Your vision had gone blurry again.
"So," he said softly. "Are you?"
"Yeah," you whispered. "I am."
The smile that broke across his face then was the kind you didn't see all the time — wide and unguarded and a little bit overwhelmed, the kind he couldn't have controlled if he'd tried.
He was out of his chair before you'd finished the word, and then his arms were around you and his face was in your hair and he was just holding you tight. You pressed your face into his shoulder and finally let yourself cry properly.
"I knew it," he murmured into your hair. His voice wasn't entirely steady. "I knew it, I knew it."
"You could've said something," you said, half-laughing, half-crying.
"I was being respectful."
"You were being smug."
"I was being both." He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. His eyes were glassy.
III. appointments
The first appointment was a lot of information delivered by a very nice GP who clearly gave this talk multiple times a day.
You sat side by side on the little chairs in her office while she walked you through what came next — blood tests, booking appointments with the midwife, the dating scan, what to expect, what to avoid, the list of foods that were suddenly banned which meant no pub crawls.
Arthur had brought a notepad and he was writing things down.
The GP had glanced at it with a small approving smile and said that's very thorough and you'd had to look at the ceiling to compose yourself because you loved him so much it was actually ridiculous.
"Do you have any questions?" she asked at the end.
Arthur looked at his notepad. He had many bullet points.
You did not have a notepad. You had one question, which was whether the no soft cheese rule was truly non-negotiable or more of a guideline.
(It was non-negotiable. You were devastated.)
The twelve-week scan was a different thing entirely.
You were nervous in a way you hadn't quite expected — not about anything being wrong — just about the reality of it suddenly becoming very, very real.
Arthur held your hand in the waiting room. His thumb was moving back and forth against your knuckles, steady as a metronome, and you weren't sure if he was doing it for you or for him or both.
"You're going to cry," you told him.
"I'm not going to cry."
"Arthur."
"I might cry a little."
"This is mental isn't it?" you said with a huge grin.
Arthur laughed at how strange you were being, "Yes it is."
The sonographer was warm and professional, she put the cold gel on your stomach and then started the actual process of scanning.
There it was — this small, unmistakable shape on the screen, the flutter of a heartbeat, a whole tiny person (although it was hard to make the shape out) already stubbornly in existence.
You heard Arthur exhale very slowly.
"There's the heartbeat," the sonographer said, and she angled the screen slightly so you could both see. "Looking good."
Arthur was gripping your hand hard enough that you could feel every individual finger. "That's—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "That's the baby."
"That is indeed the baby," the sonographer confirmed, professionally.
You looked at him. His jaw was clenching very hard like he was trying to stay composed, and his eyes were absolutely glistening.
"You're crying," you said.
"I have something in my eye."
"Arthur, we're in a hospital."
"They have dust here too, you know."
You laughed, even with your own eyes watering, and turned back to the screen, and for a moment neither of you said anything — just looked at this small, extraordinary, impossible thing you'd somehow made together.
"That's really mental," Arthur said, quietly. Not embarrassed by it. Just honest.
"Yeah," you agreed.
The sonographer smiled, "I see you're both very happy."
You replied trying not to laugh hysterically at just how amazing this predicament was, "Maybe a bit."
III. baby bump
By five months, you were unmistakably, beautifully (especially in Arthur's eyes) showing.
You'd gone through a phase of not quite believing it when you looked in the mirror — the bump was there but your brain kept lagging behind the physical reality.
But now it was there. Round and present and impossible to ignore, and Arthur treated it like it was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, which, in hindsight, was adorable but also occasionally infuriating because it meant he wouldn't let you do anything.
"I'm getting a glass of water," you said.
"Sit down, I'll get it."
"Arthur, it is a glass of water."
"Don't worry, I've got it." He chirped walking to the kitchen.
"I am five months pregnant, not made of glass—"
"I don't want you to strain yourself baby."
You rolled your eyes whilst trying to prevent a smile from breaking through and sat down. He got you the water with crushed ice in it because he knew you liked to chew it. You took it with the most exasperated expression you could manage but deep down the gesture, along with all the other ones, made you melt.
The nights were quite different though.
In the mornings Arthur was attentive in an occasionally slightly overbearing way, and during the day he was always hovering at a slight distance, and that was all sweet and honestly quite funny.
But in the nights, with the lamp off and the room dark and warm, he was so incredibly soft..
He had this thing he did.
When he thought you were asleep, he'd shift down a little, and he'd press a kiss to the curve of your bump, quiet and gentle, and he'd talk to the baby in this low murmur that you could only half make out — telling them about his day, or asking them questions they obviously couldn't answer, or just saying I can't wait to meet you.
You'd never told him you were often still awake for this.
You figured it was his thing, and you didn't want to make him self-conscious about it. So you lay there with your eyes closed and listened to him tell your unborn baby about the football, or about something funny Isaac had said.
It made you feel so full of warm.
One night he was mid-sentence about a game of chess he played when you couldn't help it.
"Arthur," you said.
His head stuck up immediately to look at you, he had a very embarrassed expression on himself. "Oh um — I thought you were asleep."
"I know."
He paused trying hide his bashful smile and shock. "How long have you been awake for these?"
"A while," you admitted.
He was quiet for a second. Then he just kissed your bump again, unbothered, and said to your stomach, "your mum's been eavesdropping on us".
There was one afternoon, though, that was harder.
You had been looking at photos from before — not intentionally, you were just scrolling back through your camera roll to find something else and ended up staring at yourself from six months ago, which felt like a different lifetime. Your body was different now. Bigger, slower, rounder, covered in tiger stretch mark.
You knew it was for a reason and that it would happen. You knew that. But it didn't always stop the small mean voice that crept in sometimes.
Arthur found you in the bathroom, leaning on the sink, not crying exactly but not not-crying either.
He didn't ask what was wrong immediately. He just came up behind you, put his hands on your shoulders, and looked at you in the mirror.
"Hey pwincess," he said with a discord mod voice.
"I'm fine." you said with a slight giggle. He knew how to crack you (in more ways than one)
"Pwincess pwease —."
"I just—" You exhaled. "I don't look like me anymore."
Arthur's hands moved from your shoulders to your waist, arms wrapping around you from behind.
"You look like you," he said simply. "You look like you, and you look like someone who's growing a baby, and I think you look incredible." He said it without inflection, like it was just a fact he was reporting. "And I know that's not always enough to shut the voice up. But it's what I actually think."
You leaned back into him.
"The voice is annoying," you said.
"Tell it to get out of your bathroom," he said. "This is a nice bathroom."
You laughed despite yourself, and he kissed the top of your head, and you stayed there for a while until it passed.
V. twenty-four weeks
The gestational diabetes diagnosis came on a Tuesday afternoon, after what was supposed to be a routine appointment.
The consultant explained everything sweetly and calmly, how pregnancy hormones could make your body less responsive to insulin, how it wasn’t your fault, how common it was, how most people managed it through diet, exercise, and monitoring, and how some people needed medication later depending on their numbers. She talked about fasting glucose, post-meal readings, carbohydrate distribution, portion sizes, protein and fibre, extra scans, and the possibility of induction if the baby grew too large.
You sat there nodding which was easier than admitting your brain had stopped fully processing words around minute three.
—
On the drive home, Arthur kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding your hand.
At a red light, he squeezed your hand once.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “We’re okay.”
You nodded without looking at him. “I know, it's just — I, I don't know.”
—
The first week was the hardest.
Not because anything dramatic happened — your blood sugar wasn’t wildly uncontrolled, nobody was rushing you to hospital, the baby was fine — but because the diagnosis was always on your mind.
You found yourself standing in supermarket aisles reading nutrition labels with concentration. Bread that had never mattered before suddenly mattered. Rice mattered. Fruit mattered. Portion sizes mattered.
At home, a small glucose monitor kit took up permanent residence on the kitchen counter. Four times a day you had to wash your hands, prick your finger, squeeze out a drop of blood, feed it to the strip, and wait for a number that seemed capable of dictating your mood for the next hour.
Some readings were fine. Some were frustratingly high for reasons you couldn’t always identify. Those were the worst ones — the meals that seemed reasonable, the walk you’d taken afterwards, the number that still came back above target.
One evening after dinner, you sat at the kitchen table staring at the monitor for so long that the screen timed out twice. Arthur openedthe front door after a whole day of filming with the sidemen, carrying a bag of shopping.
“You haven’t tested yet,” he said softly.
You exhaled sharply. “I know.”
He set the bag down and pulled out the chair beside you. “Bad day?”
“I’m tired of thinking about it.” You rubbed at your eyes. “It’s like my brain never gets a break., I just want to eat some bloody pudding”
Arthur was quiet for a moment, then said, “You’re allowed to hate it.”
You looked at him. “It feels dramatic to hate finger pricks.”
“I don’t think it’s the finger pricks,” he said. “I think it’s the constantness.”
“Yes,” you said, your voice louder than you intended. “Exactly.”
Arthur reached for your hand. “You’re carrying our baby and managing a medical condition at the same time. I know how horrible things are right now, I', here whenever you need me okay?"
You laughed weakly. “You sound like AI.”
“Bloody hell.”
That earned a real smile.
Eventually he took the monitor from your hand and set it gently on the table. “Want me to sit with you while you do it?”
“You always sit with me.”
“I know.”
You pulled back enough to look at him. “You don’t have to.”
“I know that too.”
—
A week later, a package arrived. You opened it and stared at the contents in disbelief.
“Arthur.”
He looked up from the sofa. “Hmm?”
“What is this?”
“A case.”
“For what?”
“For your monitor kit.”
The depressing beige NHS pouch had been replaced with a really cute, embroidered bag. It had compartments for strips and lancets and alcohol wipes. It was very whimsical.
You laughed helplessly. “This is ridiculous.”
“You hated the old one.”
“It was functional.”
“You described it as shit coloured”
—
The walks started after the midwife mentioned that gentle movement after meals could help with blood sugar control. Arthur latched onto the suggestion immediately.
The first time he proposed an evening walk, you stared at him in disbelief.
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s raining.”
“It’s only drizzling.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Wait who is the father...”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
You rolled your eyes jokingly as you stood up. “Such a bastard.”
He laughed, grabbed your coat from the hook, and held it open for you. “Come on. Twenty minutes. Then we can come home and complain about the weather together.”
Somehow, it became one of the best part of your days.
Dinner, then coats, then the two of you moving slowly through quiet streets while the sky darkened around you. Sometimes you talked about names or nursery furniture or what colour the baby’s eyes might be. Sometimes you complained about glucose readings or swollen ankles or strangers who insisted on giving pregnancy advice in supermarkets. Sometimes you walked in comfortable silence while Arthur kept one hand at your waist.
VI. eight months
The beach was Arthur's idea.
He'd been planning it for about two weeks.
He checked the forecast, found a stretch of coast that wouldn't be too busy, and packed a couple bags with meticulous thoroughness.
"It's just a beach trip," you'd said, as you sat on the bed and watched his shirtless frame move around the room like a madman looking for another bottle of sunscreen.
"It's very important," he said.
"Would have prefered a trip to skeggy butlins mate." You said deadpan.
Arthur laughed at that, but then he went back into robot mode again: "You need snacks that won't spike your levels, you need somewhere to sit that isn't on the ground because you said your hips have been bad, there's a foam mat in the bag, there are two types of sunscreen, I just need to find the other one—"
"Arthur."
"Two types," he repeated, and folded a towel.
It was a good day.
The light was low and golden and the beach wasn't empty but wasn't crowded either. You sat on the mat with your feet in the sand, bump settled and present in front of you, sunglasses on.
Arthur sat beside you occasionally handing you things from the bag.
"Stop fussing Arthur, I'm more relaxed than you are," you said, grinning at his sweetness.
"I'm not fussing. Do you want the crackers?"
"I just had crackers."
"Different crackers."
"Arthur—" But you were laughing, and he was grinning, and you took the different crackers.
After splashing about in the sea and making stupid sandcastles you returned to the spot with your belongings.
He lay down on his side, head propped on one hand, and very naturally placed his other hand against the side of your bump. Just resting there.
The baby moved.
You both felt it — the unmistakable roll of a small person adjusting position. It still made your breath hitch.
"There she is," Arthur said softly, without thinking, and then caught himself. You were keeping the gender a surprise. "Or he. There they are."
"Nice recovery," you said.
"I don't know why I said that, I genuinely don't know what we're having."
"Sure."
"I don't." He looked slightly panicked. "Do you know? Did you sneak a look at the results and not tell me—"
"I don't know!" You held your hands up. "I swear!"
"Okay. Good. We don't know. We're in agreement."
"We're in agreement."
He settled back down, hand still against your bump. "Come on then," he said, to your stomach. "Move again. Let's see it."
The baby obliged, and Arthur's whole face went soft again.
You took a photo of him like that. Lying on his side, one hand on your bump, looking at you with the sea behind him.
Later, walking back to the car at a pace that was entirely dictated by your comfort, which Arthur matched without comment, he had one arm looped through yours and was talking about something, some anecdote from filming, and midway through it he stopped and said, "You're happy, right?"
You looked at him. "What?"
"Right now. Today. You're — it's been good?"
"Arthur, it's been genuinely lovely."
He nodded, absorbing this. "Good."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He said it simply. "I just — I want it to be good for you. I know the last couple months have been a lot."
You stopped walking. He stopped with you, automatically.
You reached up and put your hand on his face, and he leaned into it slightly, and you said, "You've made it good."
He covered your hand with his for a second. Then he kissed your palm, and started walking again, you went with him.
VII. early
Just a week left till the birth.
That was the thing you kept thinking about lately, as you sat on the floor of the hallway with your back against the wall and your phone in your hand and your other hand pressed to your stomach.
Then some horrid cramps hit.
You were supposed to have another week. It was too early. This was probably nothing. This was almost certainly Braxton Hicks, which you'd had before and which were uncomfortable but manageable.
You'd been fine all morning. Arthur had left at half ten to film a football challenge for Chris — with Bach and George and Arthur Hill, a full day thing.
He kissed you goodbye and told you to call him if you needed anything so you said "I'm pregnant, not helpless"
He said "noted, call me if you need anything okay?" — you pushed him out the door.
The first contraction had come at about half twelve.
You'd timed it.
The second came twenty minutes later.
Still probably Braxton Hicks. Your body had been practising. That was a thing.
By the third, an hour in, you were on the floor of the hallway because it had hit you mid-walk and you'd just sat down.
You timed the next three.
Regular. Getting closer.
It was happening.
You got your shoes — though it took an embarrassingly long time, bending that far wasn't really an option anymore, you had to sort of approach the problem from the side.
You got your hospital bag from the bottom of the stairs where it had been sitting for three weeks, and you got the car keys and called Arthur.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Hey—"
"So," you said, and you were going for casual but your voice was giving it away. "I think this might be it."
Three seconds of silence.
"What."
"I think I'm in labour." You paused as another contraction started building, and you breathed through it, and in the background you could hear something — voices, the echo of a large space. "I'm timing the contractions, they're regular, I've got the bag—"
"Stay there." His voice had gone very focused. "I'm coming to drive you. Stay there, don't move, I'll be there in twenty—"
"Arthur, I was literally about to drive myself, it's fine, I can probably get through—"
"No. No, absolutely not. Stay there."
In the background you heard someone — Bach, you thought — say "Arthur what's happening?"
"She's in labour," Arthur said, clearly not to you.
And then there was a lot of noise from the background, all at once, a chorus of overlapping male voices that you could only partially make out — "oh my god, is she alright?", "Arthur go", "mate get out of here—"
"I'm coming," Arthur said, back to you. "Are you okay? How far apart?"
"About eight minutes—"
"Eight minutes?—"
"That's still time, it's fine—"
"You sound like you're in pain."
"I'm in labour, Arthur, that is generally the thing that—" You stopped. Another one. Coming faster than eight minutes.
You pressed your hand flat against the wall and worked through it, and you heard Arthur on the other end go very quiet, just listening.
When it passed, you exhaled slowly.
"Okay," Arthur said, and his voice was very careful. "That sounded close together."
"It's fine," you said, less convincingly than before. "I was going to drive—"
"You are not driving yourself to the hospital, please, I am begging you—"
"Arthur—"
"Please. I will be there so fast, just sit by the door—"
From the background: "Arthur for the love of god, GO, we're not filming anything!"
And then Arthur Hill's voice, very clearly: "Arthur, we love you both, get in the car!"
And George: "Good luck reader!! Arthur MOVE—"
"I have to go," Arthur said. "I will be there in twenty minutes. Sit by the door. Please."
"Okay," you said. "Okay, I'll—okay."
You ended up sitting exactly where you'd been before, back against the wall, bag beside you, slightly wet-eyed from the last contraction and also possibly from just the weight of the fact that this was actually happening.
Arthur was coming. You were going to the hospital. There was a whole human being on the way out of you.
You heard the car before you saw the lights through the glass panel of the front door.
Arthur was through the door in approximately four seconds, crouching down in front of you before you'd even fully registered he was there, both hands on your face, eyes doing a rapid check of you from top to bottom.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," you said, slightly tearfully.
"Can you walk to the car?"
"Yeah—"
"Okay, arm around me. We're going."
He got you up and out and into the passenger seat, and the hospital bag went in the back, and he got in and drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand firmly in yours, and you did not let go of it once.
VIII. Anjali
There was no way to make it not long. You knew that going in.
But there was a difference between knowing it and living it.
knowing this will be intense and lying in a hospital bed with Arthur's hand in yours, crushing it with a grip that he took completely without comment, and saying at least three times that you wanted it to be over.
"I know," he said, every time. "You're doing so well."
"Stop saying I'm doing well—"
"You are."
"It doesn't feel like—" You broke off through another contraction screaming in pain.
The pain was searing, tears rolling down your strained face again and again as your cried through it.
And then she was born.
One moment she wasn't there, and then she was crying
"It's a girl," the midwife said.
You looked at Arthur, your face red and tear stained, his face also tear stained.
He was looking at her, being placed on your chest — this small, red-faced, aggressive little person.
Tears were running without him making any move to stop them, jaw working slightly.
"Hi," he said. His voice broke on it. Just that one syllable.
She made a small sound against your chest.
You pressed your lips to the top of her head and kept them there for a long time.
"Anjali," you said softly. You'd both known the name since about week twenty but you'd never said it out loud with her actually there, and now it was real.
Arthur reached out and touched her hand — her impossibly small hand, fingers already fisted — and she wrapped them around his finger with crazy grip.
His whole face crumpled, just briefly.
"Hi, Anjali," he said. "We've been waiting for you."
You looked at him, and at her, and at the two of them together — his finger in her fist, her face against your chest.
"She's got your nose," you said.
Arthur laughed through his tears. "She does not."
"She absolutely does."
"She's been alive for four minutes, you cannot tell whose nose—"
"Arthur." You looked at him. "She has your nose."
He looked at Anjali. He looked at you.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe a bit."
a/n - EEEEEK guys this shit made me giddy
like and comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3 lmk if u wanna be on the taglist
summary; george misses his girlfriend, yn, so the sidemen bring her in during his time on 'inside'... but her visit comes at a cost.
word count; 4.2k
** warnings; slight mention of sex but just some sickening fluff. **
'inside' really re-ignited my love for george, not that i didn't love him enough already, so thank you for that, sidemen. in a real funk for him so this is a little something to bring both my feels and the beauty of george on 'inside' together!
let me know what you think.
enjoy! x
“Whatever you do, just resist whatever they throw at you.”
“I mean, I don’t really think I should be taking spending advice from the one guy spending the most of our prize money in here,” George taunted playfully, a guilty look spreading across PK’s face that soon broke apart with a cheeky grin before his hands came up in a surrender, acting like the innocent man he was portraying to the cameras yet those around him could just about see right through him, “but that was the plan, my man.”
George shot a playful finger gun in PK’s direction with a wink following suit before he disappeared around the corner of the fake living room, all put together in a studio for the sake of the show, and away from the chatter and the laughter coming from the other housemates. Their conversations becoming distant, almost inaudible mumbles, as he rounded the corner to the Temptation Room and awaited the fate of his next decision. His thoughts raced through his mind because he wasn’t sure what his plan was.
He’d seen the temptation that Whitney had faced, knowing it was one she definitely couldn’t resist, and he’d seen the temptation Jason had accepted, just a day prior to his own moment in the temptation room, that had been something he was passionate about happening.
George really didn’t want to follow suit.
He wanted to resist.
He was going to resist…
… or that’s what he told himself.
He told himself to be strong and to remember that whatever they were going to put before him, he could probably have once he’d left the show. He told himself to ignore what the Sidemen were about to put before him because he knew they were doing it for the content of the show. Yet he had a gut-feeling it was going to be something difficult for him not to be tempted by, and they knew what his weaknesses were, telling himself to think about how the prize pot would be worth splitting if he chose to resist, if he ever had the chance of becoming a finalist.
“Welcome to the Temptation Room, George,” Vik’s voice echoed around the empty room, catching George’s attention as his eyes dodge where the cameras were placed, looking anywhere but the lenses that were filming his every move because he knew he was going to be sussed out, “if you take a look to your left, there’s another door. Resting on top of the doorframe, above your head, is a card which has your temptation in. If you could reach for it and read it out loud.”
“Yes, Vikstar.”
And he did as he was told.
“In the room before you-” George started reading but he caught a glimpse at what was next to come on the card and his words, as well as his breath, caught in his throat, “shut up, you’re joking me?”
“If you could finish what’s written on the card,” Vik warned him gently but there was a hint of a smile in the words that came through the speaker, “please, George.”
“In the room before you is your girlfriend, YN. For thirty thousand pounds of the prize money, you can spend half an hour with her. Do you accept your temptation, George?” He read from the card and he could feel his heart pumping sporadically in his chest, his hands trembling and his legs turning into jelly as he stood before the door, knowing just who was on the other side. “This is a new low, Sidemen.”
“We know you miss her, George. We’ve heard you speak of her a lot whilst you’ve been in here so it wouldn’t be so bad if you accepted it,” Vik said with a hint of mischievous and cheekiness in his tone and George groaned exasperatedly, rolling his head back and letting go of the card, completely dismissing it as it floated to the floor and landed by his feet, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes out of frustration, “she’s made it very clear to us how much she misses you, too.”
“But the final is only a couple of days away and I swore I wouldn’t take this temptation so we could keep the money. The guys back in the house, they thought I was the strongest member who wouldn’t get tempted,” he said, almost as a reminder to himself as he spoke aloud his thoughts, “but, God, I do miss her though. A whole lot. We spend almost every single day together so it’s strange for her not to be in bed when I wake up in the mornings or walking around telling me stupid jokes in the silence. Instead, we have KSI’s hollering to get us out of bed.”
There’s no response to him - part of him wanted Vik to give him some guidance but he knew that was a long shot - and he frowned.
He wanted nothing more than to accept.
When he woke up in the morning, he thought of her routine. Not that he knew the time but he checked off a list that he thought she’d have done by then; made the bed, ate her breakfast, got herself showered and dressed for the day, watched what she missed on television before she started her work day. He thought about what she might have had for lunch, what she might have been planning for dinner, who she was out and about with as she passed the time and filled the void of him not being there.
He missed her small daily updates as she informed him what she was up to. Silly pictures to accompany her tasks, updating him on how she’d bumped into Arthur unexpectedly for lunch or went out for an impromptu pint with Chris because she’d seen him out and about, expressing how she couldn’t wait to come home and have him all to herself because that feeling was always matched and he was never ashamed to tell her how he wanted to a night in with her.
When he went to bed at night, all he could think about was YN. Wondering what she was up to, whether she was asleep or scrolling through TikTok because she couldn’t drift off, knowing she would be frustrated at herself because she liked to be up early so she could plan out her day. He wondered whether she was thinking about him like he was thinking about her, wondering if he was okay like he was wondering if she was okay, wondering if she missed his cuddles and how she wanted nothing more than to be curled up by his side which was a feeling he missed a lot.
His routine had changed, not that he had much of a routine to follow, and having a YN-shaped hole in his life for that week was tough for him to deal with.
“Your radio silence makes this so much easier for me,” George grumbled sarcastically, sitting himself down on the floor and resting his back against the wall beside the door, “I don’t want to spend money because I haven’t spent a lot of money but because I haven’t spent much money in here, it almost feels like it’d be acceptable for me to go ahead and agree.”
He sighed with slight aggravation because the decision that he needed to make had the cogs in his mind working overtime.
“I’m surrounded by strangers here and as nice as they are and as great a conversation they hold, and it’s been nice getting to know them but no-one beats YN and that’s why I’m so stuck. I want some normalcy and the feeling of home, just to feel like I’m in my safe space,” George argued with himself, the back of his head colliding with the wall behind him, “I know she’s in there and I know she would say we only have two days left before we see each other and that it would be a waste this far into the week.”
“What’s your answer, George?”
“I need a moment,” he admitted and, for the first time, he looks into the camera lens and it’s evident he’s torn up over both sides of the decision that he needed to make. His eyebrows are pinched together on his browline, his cheeks are a rosy-pink colour from how heated he was making himself feel over his thoughts, his eyes full of desire to see her yet his mind was telling him a whole something different, “I think-”
He cuts himself off and there’s a smile that twitches his lips.“I think you might want to turn off the cameras because I’ve really missed her and I might not be able to hold back,” he said with cheekiness in every word that rolled off his tongue, “I want to see YN. I need to see her.”
“I accept the temptation, Sidemen,” he said with slight trepidation to the sentence; he was really about to see the one person he’d been craving to see for the last few days and he felt… nervous. Of course he felt nervous. Because he didn’t know how the rest of the house would react to him spending 30k on seeing someone he had a possibility of seeing as soon as the next elimination rolled around but, at the same time and almost blurring the lines between the two, there were excited nerves that were fluttering around his insides because it was his girlfriend he was about to see. “Let me see her, please.”
The lock of the door clicked beside him and it caught his attention from where he was still situated on the floor, a creak soon following as it opened, and he saw her trainers before he saw the rest of her. The Adidas Campus trainers that were coloured an off-white cream and a deep-green, that he always took the mickey out of because the laces were so chunky and made her feet look tiny compared to his own, were matched with baggy jeans and a white t-shirt fitted to her frame that was paired with one of his zip-up hoodies that seemed to swallow her up… yet she still looked comfortable and cosy. And seeing her face was all it took for him to feel all of his emotions flooding through him.
“Are you going to get up and hug me or what?” She wondered and he scoffed out a gentle laugh, his eyes glossing over and he refused to let his tears spill because he didn’t want to be deemed an emotional wreck all over Twitter when the show came out on Netflix, “come on, you silly billy.”
She held her hands out and he took them, without hesitation, pulling himself to his feet and wasting no time in wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to his body, her head slotting nicely underneath his chin, her arms linking around his waist as she gave him a squeeze that the both of them seemed to need in that moment. The first ounce of true happiness he’d felt in five days, the desired touch of the one person he wanted around, breathing in the scent of her perfume. His stresses from the previous few days, and the knowledge of him being on a television show that kept him away for a week, seemed to disappear and, in that moment, it was just the two of them.
In their own little bubble.
And they stood like that for a good few minutes.
Neither one of them wanted to break the silence that surrounded them as they stood together, arms wrapped around each other as they swayed from side to side in the baron room, their rhythmic breathing being the only thing that seemed to fill it.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered into her ear, a tickling sensation coursing down her neck from where his facial hair brushed over her skin. In the five days he’d been unable to groom himself, it had gotten a lot longer than she was used to (not that she was complaining - if someone asked her how she felt, a complaint would be the furthest thing from what she would say, if she was being honest), sending goosebumps down her arms and a shiver down her spine, “so much.”
“I’ve definitely missed you more,” she giggled sweetly and she reluctantly pulled away from him, loosening her arms around his middle and bringing her hands to cup his cheeks in her palms, “the boys have been driving me crazy, you know? They let me stay for the week whilst you’re not there and I have no idea how you put up with them.”
“You learn to drown them out,” he said and tilted his head to the side and into the gentle touch caressing one of his cheeks, “but I’m glad you’ve had some company this week. Even if they are annoying, they mean well.”
“I think they miss you a lot, too,” she informed him, “Chris has been coming to me for advice like he would go to you for. But I don’t know if I can give good advice as someone that isn’t a bloke.”
“Anything can be better than what I tell him,” George snickered and she rolled her eyes, “seriously. You think I tell him what he should do? He goes and does the opposite of what we say, anyway.”
He wrapped his hands around her wrists, pulling them from his face and along with him as he went back to the place he was sitting when she entered the room, the both of them sliding down the wall as they sat beside each other. He bent his knees up, resting his elbows on them and stretching his forearms out, whilst YN stretched out her legs and placed her hands in her lap.
“How are you finding this whole thing?”
“Not as hard as I thought I would,” George said and YN nodded softly as he spoke, a warm smile on her lips as she listened to him tell her everything he wanted to get off his chest, “but I think I’m just struggling to feel a part of something here. Everyone has someone they can go to, like a small group, when things get a bit difficult or when something happens so I just feel like I’m stuck in the middle. I’m friends with everyone here now which I think is helping me but,” he shook his head in denial, “I don’t know how the hell I’m still here. These guys have so much more going for them than me. They’re louder than me, have more of a personality, are definitely going to be shown a lot more than me so I have no idea what the hell I’m still here for.”
“You deserve your place here,” she clarified, “you must be doing something right if you’re two days away from the final day.”
“There are moments during the elimination rounds where I wish it wouldn’t play into my favour but I can’t seem to fail on purpose. I’m so thankful to be here and grateful that the Sidemen asked me to be here but, at the same time, I want to come home. I want to be back where I feel comfortable, in my own bed and my own flat, with my idiot friends and lovely you,” he looked at her and slotted his fingers through hers, holding her hand tightly, “I want to be back with you. I hate not walking into a room and not seeing you sitting on the sofa or waking up next to you in bed and watching you sleep or hearing you sing in the shower or see you making me some breakfast in the mornings, even if it is just some scrambled eggs on toast.”
“It’s not long and we’ll be back doing those small things you love,” she reminded him and her thumb rubbed across his knuckles in a soothing manner, “I can’t wait to watch you on Netflix either. I can’t wait to tell people all over the place that my boyfriend is a Netflix star.”
“A Netflix star may be a bit of a stretch,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “you’ve not told anyone, have you?”
She shook her head.
“I know you and how bad you are at keeping secrets,” he teased and nudged an elbow into her side, and she rolled her eyes in response to him, “reckon I could smuggle you back in there? I don’t think they’ll notice if I sneak you in under my jumper and hide you in my bed.”
“Oh, I reckon they would,” she laughed and he groaned at her answer, rolling his head back and letting it collide softly with the wall, “I was really hoping you wouldn’t accept your temptation, you know?”
“Why?”
“Because it means saying goodbye to you again,” she said, turning on the spot and she sat herself upright so she was facing him, her vision looking down at her lap as her fingers played with the digits on his hands to distract her mind from thinking about the half an hour that was passing too quickly, “I hated it the first time so this one sucks even more.”
It was a night she couldn’t forget, still fresh on her mind, and she could feel the heartache so vividly. As if every time she thought about it, she was reliving that morning.
The morning started off early but slow. They woke up hours before they needed to so they could squeeze in a cuddle in bed, which soon turned into the slowest sex they could make that allowed them to drink in every single emotion in every single moment, holding each other close as if they would disappear if they let go. They showered together, they got ready together, all whilst shedding a few unwarranted tears as they prepared themselves to spend a week without any form of contact. They stretched out breakfast-time which consisted of quick goodbye sex on the counter as they waited for their food to cook and, by the time mid-morning had come by, they’d already squeezed in enough time together to feel satisfied in how they parted ways. His suitcase packed for the week and stood upright at the front door beside his shoes as well as the jacket he was going to wear for his entrance, the two of them holding each other as they whispered their goodbyes to each other.
A morning she was going to need them to relive once he was home so the memory had a positive connection.
“I needed to see you though. As much as I hate saying goodbye, too, I just needed a little boost before the end.”
“I would have done the same though,” she admitted, shrugging nonchalantly and looking up at him, “you have such a strong hold on me, George Clarke.”
“As do you, YN YLN,” he repeated in the same manner, “I couldn’t not say yes knowing you were on the other side of the door. So close to me. I wasn’t going to let the opportunity of holding you and having you next to me pass me by. Some of these guys have accepted theirs and they’ve spent so much more than me through the week. I feel it was an okay choice to make.”
“Spoilers,” she warned him, pointing an accusing finger at him before covering her ears in protest to hearing anything else that she was going to watch in the show when it aired, “don’t tell me anything else, mister.”
Before they knew it, as if no time had passed at all, it was soon time for them to say their goodbyes.
George could feel it in the pit of his stomach, heavy and twisting up into knots that made him feel sick, knowing that it was soon approaching the half an hour mark and he hated how quickly it seemed to go. And YN could feel her emotions building up, with an ache in her throat that made it hard to swallow and a feeling of dread coursing through her that made her feel tense and sad, trying not to look at him in fear that she would crumble on camera.
The door that she had entered opened again and they took that as their cue to stand back to their feet.
“What’s stopping me from walking out with you?”
“You’d be an idiot to do that,” she laughed softly, shaking her head at his bizarre proposition, “you’ve got this far so you need to see this through till the end, you donut.”
His fingers connected with hers, keeping a tight grip on her as if she would walk out that door and never be seen by him again, and his thumbs stroked across the back of her hands. She could feel the shaking of his limbs from the disdain of having to see her walk out and disappear behind the door, and it was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“I love you,” she smiled sweetly, contradicting the tears that had threatened her eyes and had slowly started to dribble down her cheek, “forty-eight hours and you’ll be back with me.”
“It could be less,” he reminded her, bringing his hands up to wipe away the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, “I could see you tomorrow.”
“Be optimistic, mister. You’re going to that final,” she says, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek and she allowed her lips to linger a little longer against the soft curve of his cheek, “I would give you a great big smacker on the lips but Netflix might have to change the rating of the show because I don’t think I can control myself.”
He smirked at her and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.
“Yeah, we best not do anything too risqué. We’ll save that for the privacy of the bedroom,” he whispered with an almost growling tone, “I love you.”
“George, YN. I’m afraid your time together is up.”
“Yes, thank you, Vikstar. You don’t need to remind us,” George grumbled to the camera and, as saddened as she was, she giggled at his attitude to the voice that echoed around the room, “I guess this is it.”
“Sadly,” she pouted and neither one of them could take their eyes off each other, “someone’s going to have to pry me away from you, I think. I can’t bring myself to step away.”
“Go on,” he mumbled dejectedly, his eyebrows pinching together, “forty-eight hours to go.”
“I’ll see you on the other side,” she grins, pulling her hands away from his at an agonisingly slow speed, “good luck. I love you.”
“I love you more,” he watches as she steps towards the door.
Deep down, she didn’t want to turn around to look at him and, truthfully, George didn’t think he could handle it if she took one last look at him; he was okay with watching the back of her as she disappeared around the door and, as it slowly closed behind her, he felt his heart plummet to the floor.
As he stepped foot back into the small bubble of Inside, he felt sad yet he seemed to find a new found excitement to finish the show. That one half an hour with her being a pick-me-up, giving him a new lease of happiness, and he was determined to finish. The quicker the time went, the sooner he’d be back with her. The laughter and distant chatter seemed to get closer as he rounded the corner and ascended up the three stairs back into the main area, poking his head around the corner and looking into the room, a timid smile on his lips.
“You didn’t get locked in the room then,” Jason teased as George fell to the sofa and slouched down into the cushions with a grumpy expression on his face, “what was it? What happened?”
“Uhm,” he coughed into his fist to clear his throat, as well as to drag out the moment for dramatic anticipation for those around him and for those who would be watching when it was released to the world, “so, they uh- they tempted me with YN.”
“Oh, no way! Your girlfriend?”
“Yeah,” George nodded, “I couldn’t resist saying no so I took it. I had to see her. I needed to see her.”
“I think I’d have done the same if it was my partner,” Milli-Jo said, sitting beside George and resting her hand on his shoulder and rubbing it soothingly, “I don’t think anyone is going to be crazy mad at you for giving in. It happened last season, it was bound to happen this season. We should have seen it coming, truthfully.”
“I think I just needed to feel a sense of home. My normal life,” he admitted, guilt soaring through his veins at how the entirety of the room was watching him as he explained his reasoning, “she gets me through a lot, always has done since I’ve known her, so there was no way I was passing the opportunity. I thought about it but,” he shrugged, “I don’t think I’d have been happy walking out of that room if I turned it down.”
10 Minutes Of Y/n And Arthur Being Cute (And Sometimes Horny)
pairing: arthurtv x fem!reader
word count: 3k+
summary: a compilation of cute (and sometimes horny) moments between you and arthur
warnings/contents: swearing, sexual innuendos, mentions of sexual acts (let me know if there is more)
author’s note: this is based in the beginning of 2025 to fit with the timeline, i love arthurtv
You never expected to find a video like you did on a random Saturday. You were curled up on your couch in your shared apartment with Arthur, shorts and one of his hoodies on. He was out filming with Isaac, George, Chris, and the other Arthur so you were stuck being bored. You could've gone out, but you were feeling lazy and it was raining so it was one of those days where you felt off.
You were trying to find a video watch. You had been scrolling for what felt like forever (it was only ten minutes) because no video you saw had yet to peak your interest. Along with it being one of those days, it was also one of the days where you couldn't keep yourself entertained. You had ━━ so far ━━ had a bath and did your skincare, you did your makeup for fun . . . then took it off, you made yourself a full meal for lunch, you tried reading, but this was your last resort. You weren't expecting this video to end your scrolling.
10 minutes of ArthurTV and Y/n being cute was its title. The thumbnail was a collage of photos of you and Arthur taken from both your instagrams and some from videos. It was cute and you thought of taking a screenshot and sending it to Arthur, but you didn't because you didn't want to interrupt him (he can get lost scrolling in social situations) and that the lads would chew him out.
The video was only posted recently, which made sense. You only publicized your relationship half a year ago and started appearing in videos a couple months ago. Even then, ten minutes is a lot for you appearing online recently. A lot of the clips were probably from Chris's ChrisMD but shorter channel as he posted unseen footage and small clips on there. He had a habit of sneaking some filming in without you noticing, the little bastard. Either way, you respect the dedication of the person.
You cuddled into the couch a little more and clicked on the video, the intro being played. It was cute, from a channel who didn't have a lot of subscribers but had a cute editing style. You made a mental note to look at their profile either after this or sometime later.
The first clip was one of your first appearances online and in a video. You had travelled with Arthur, Isaac, and George to the Clarkson's Farm. Because Arthur was mostly filming everyone else, you hadn't been in the view of the camera at all. At least you didn't think you did. You didn't mind being filmed, you knew he was filming and was fine with it. You just kept to yourself so the boys could do their thing.
It was around thirteen minutes into the video when the boys were hanging out at the room, or house ━━ whatever you would call it ━━ you were staying in with Arthur. They had been hanging out on the couch watching the TV. Arthur had flipped the camera to show the water that had spilt on Isaac when you were seen in the background. You were dressed in some basketball shorts and one of your boyfriend's hoodies.
If people weren't regular watchers of Arthur they would knit notice, but you had on one of his favourite hoodies that he always wears, his plain blue hoodie. He wore it for a lot of videos and was featured in a lot of thumbnails. You were seen walking in and out of the bathroom before looking at the situation taking place and laughing. When your boyfriend turned the camera around to look outside, you were heard saying do you want a towel? to Isaac.
The clip was replayed a few times to make sure your voice was heard and then it was explained that you were wearing Arthur's clothes. It wasn't one of the really cute clips, but you found it cute that the person who made the video noticed it and put it in.
Another clip was from a more recent video, the Europe pub golf video on Chris's channel. You had been invited to Germany with Arthur and you gladly agreed. You knew the main thing they were going there to do was film a video but you wouldn't pass up a free trip to Munich.
You had joined them for the day even though you were told by Arthur and Chris that you didn't have to. You wanted to drink some alcohol in a slower pace than they did, watch them get absolutely wasted and embarrass themselves, and walk around the city . . . Arthur also got very clingy when he was drunk and it would be easier to get him to film if you were there.
The clip was of you and Arthur in the background while they were making their way to another pub. You were seen holding hands, your faces very close. You were probably whispering about something or other. Arthur was animatedly talking with his free hand doing gestures. Watching the clip, you don't quite remember what he was talking about. He was already tipsy and was rambling about something that you didn't understand. You tried to listen, but it was hard when you didn't know what he was talking about. Cons of having an incredibly smart boyfriend.
After that was another clip from the same video. Well, unseen footage from that video. It was from a compilation from Chris's clips channel of Arthur being absolutely wasted. It was at the seventh hole when Arthur was just about ready to throw up. You were surprised he had made it that far without actually throwing up. The image was from the GoPro from the quality it was being displayed on. The other boys were talking as you sat beside your boyfriend, his head not looking up at you.
You put a hand on his thigh to grab his attention. You could tell he was zoning out and that meant he was getting to the point where he might pass out. You leaned towards him, "you okay baby?" He took a second before replying. "Mhm, I'm fine." He then looked up at you and leaned his head on your shoulder. Your other hand went to rub the back of his neck. "Are you sure? You're spacing out."
". . . I am pretty drunk."
"That you are. You going to be able to make it to the end of the video?"
"Yeah, just want you next to me."
It was Chris's voice that broke you out of your conversation. "Oh, he's clingy now!" You stared at him while Arthur had his eyes closed, his head still rested on you. "Mate, if you need a cuddle just ask one of them. They'd be glad to." And it was true, they would. You had witnessed the boys cuddling multiple times and have such a picture in (you say for laughs but it's actually for blackmail).
Throughout the video were shots of you when you appeared in gaming videos with Arthur and Isaac, sometimes just Arthur. You were a big fan of the horror genre, growing up watching scary movies with your dad and watching movies that he watched when he was a kid. Those were times where you could really connect with your dad. You also became a fan of horror games as well, playing games at your friend's house when you could.
It was well known that the boys (mostly Isaac) were absolute cowards when it came to anything horror, and so if, sorry when, they got too scared, they would call for you and you'd appear.
"Baby!" Arthur would call while Isaac would just scream your name ridiculously loud. You'd eventually appear in the doorway, arms crossed. You acted like you were annoyed but they knew you weren't. Arthur would have an awkward smile on his face as he said, "help us?" Isaac would reply with "He means him. I never got scared," which was obviously a lie because you heard him scream the loudest. You'd sigh, "fine," na snake your way over. You personally thought you looked horrendous with your hazardly-put-together outfit and your hair not fully brushed when you appeared on screen but apparently people really liked this look.
The first time they asked you, you were just planning to stand and play until Arthur pulled you into his lap. You were a bit flustered and shy because you weren't used to this much PDA in front of the camera, but you didn't mind. That part caused everyone to go crazy in the comments, but it was also how nonchalant he was about it.
Arthur had a stutter. Usually it wasn't too bad, only happening a few times before he got it out. But sometimes they'd be really bad and mess up his sentence. As funny as that was, because it was hilarious, sometimes you'd help him out with words if he needed it. You usually just let him figure it out on his own, but you would step in and try to get him on the right track.
There had been a couple clips put in of you helping him out. You would either be beside him and quietly say a word to help him or tell him from off camera. He'd finish his sentence and almost every time, without fail, he'd either wink or give you a look that said thank you. You had no idea the viewers had even caught this, but this person had and included almost every single clip they could find of it.
You had appeared on the Bach and Arthur podcast as one of their guests. One people found out Arthur had a girlfriend, and then you came out public with your relationship, people were begging you to come on. You always got a bit of an ego boost when looking at the comments under their videos. When Arthur finally asked you, you were a bit surprised it took him that long. You knew it would take awhile to actually plan it, but even then it was still quite a long time.
You remember you were in bed together one night, your head on his bare chest with your hands intertwined when you asked him. "Why did it take you so long to ask me?" You couldn't see his face, but from his reply you could tell it was one of confusion. "Ask you what?"
"To come on the podcast."
There was silence for a while. You made a noise. "What?"
He mumbled. Despite how close you were to his mouth, you couldn't hear him. "Arthur, what?"
"I was . . . Jealous. Well, that's not quite the right word but I wasn't ready to have you fully in a video."
You smiled and moved to look up at him, "jealous?" He rolled his eyes, "don't go taking that out of context. I just meant that I like keeping meaningful and important things to me private. You're one of those things, and I wasn't quite ready to have you not as private . . . Y'know?"
You could tell he was feeling a bit awkward admitting it. You two didn't have trouble with talking about your feelings but he his brain had tricked him into thinking you would make fun of him (even though he knew you would never). You smiled, "I know. You're important to me to, you know?"
"I know."
A couple weeks later you were sitting in the room where they filmed the podcast. You were a bit nervous. It's not like you didn't want to do it, that was the opposite, but you hadn't done anything like this before. You know they'd do a lot of the talking and take breaks when you needed to, but still.
Arthur would've rather sat beside you )no offence to his boyfriend), but he wanted to make sure you were okay. Because he couldn't be with you, he decided to give you his sweater. You tried to tell him you didn't need it but he refused to accept no as an answer. You didn't know this until he sent it to you, but Isaac had caught this before and camera. That video hasn't seen the internet but you still have it.
The clip that was featured wasn't one of you actually talking, but one of Arthur talking. He had gone into one of his scientific rants again and you were just staring at him. You were glad he felt comfortable enough in front of Isaac that he wasn't afraid to be "nerdy" or annoying when he would rant and would just go for it.
You personally loved when your boyfriend ranted. You didn't know how people couldn't. You could listen to him for hours, it didn't matter if it was information you knew or didn't know. One habit you noticed he picked up when talking to you is he would explain what different things mean if he knew or wasn't sure if you knew what that meant. This helped with your understanding but again it didn't matter.
The clip was of you listening to Arthur talk. Isaac would reply here and there, but you were silent. You were seen seated in the white chair while you stared at your boyfriend, a look in your eyes. The look screamed love, and this was definitely noticeable to viewers as it was mentioned in the comments. You were leaning closer to Arthur ━━ out of interest and because it was just natural to you ━━ and so mesmerized by him. You were listening so intently. It wasn't one of those looks or acts that people play when they are pretending to listen, no, you were genuinely interested in what he had to say.
You were a little confused on why it was included. To you, that was the bare minimum. Lots of things are bare minimum in your relationship: getting flowers, date nights, splitting the chores and rent (as much as Arthur hated the last one). Either way, you thought it was cute.
As well as being on the podcast, Arthur would mention you in passing. A lot of the time it would be "y/n sent me this" or "y/n" showed me that" but there was one where it wasn't really in passing. He asked you if you were comfortable with it being kept in and you didn't mind.
"Is there something about you physically that you don't control, that you wish you could?" Arthur had asked Isaac.
"Yeah."
"What?"
"I can't say it."
"Is it squirting again?" Arthur laughed. "Amy said breathing . . . I actually asked Y/n this question last night while we were in bed-" Isaac raised his eyebrow and Arthur laughed, "not like that. Anyway, I had asked Y/n and she said she would control physical reactions to things . . . Like not gagging when you smell something bad or jumping when you get scared." "That's quite cool actually." Isaac has replied. "Yeah, she's really good at coming up with answers for questions like that."
After a while you started to have more of a social media presence and went live for the first time. It was on TikTok and you didn't expect that many people to join ━━ only about 100-200 people at most ━━ but eventually you were sat in one of Arthur's shirts doing your makeup with over 400 people watching. You got a bit nervous because you had never been on social media a lot, but people were nice and you decided to keep it going.
You would do livestreams once a week, either doing makeup on live or cleaning. You would update whoever was watching about your life and answer questions. You built up a fan base for yourself and people would show up every week. Sometimes you'd livestream special things like you hanging out at the podcast set or give some information on things coming up, nothing too important.
Some photos and videos of you and Arthur from your friends instagrams and people who saw you put together were sprinkled in there was well. Some were of you and Arthur dancing together in a club and others were you and him holding hands.
One special one was a video that Isaac took when you convinced Arthur to dance with you. You had been sitting on the couch in their podcast set while they took a break when Taylor Swift's False God started to play. It only took a couple times of saying please before he agreed and got up with you (he had a really hard time saying no to you). Isaac had stayed to film when your boyfriend agreed, and got the infamous video of you and Arthur dancing.
After Isaac posted it to his story, it was used in a lot of boyfriend material TikTok's. Arthur was boyfriend material. You knew no other guy who would willingly dance to Taylor Swift with you in a room full of people.
There were some pictures scattered in the video where you were caught thirsting over your boyfriend . . . But who wouldn't? You were seen liking and favouring almost any edits of Arthur you came across. You also commented some . . . Not appropriate things on the hot edits. Sometimes you forgot you had a public account and that your boyfriend was famous.
When you were first commented and liked, you didn't think anything of it, but after awhile people started mentioning you in the comments of videos saying things like "y/n, babe, this is for you" and "i know you kicking your feet right now." You were in fact blushing and kicking your feet when you saw the edits. You got a daily supply of your boyfriend, but there's no harm in a little more.
You'd often leave some of your things with Arthur. A lot of the time you had no pockets on your pants and forget (didn't want to) lug a purse around with you. Your solution? Make Arthur carry it. Well, that sounds cruel but he didn't mind. It would be small things like chapstick or lipgloss in his back pocket or a hair tie on his wrist. Usually you remembered to get it back from him, but one time you failed to do that.
Arthur was filming a soccer video with Chris and some friends when a hair tie was seen on his wrist. He had taken off his sweater midway through the video and forgot the thing on his wrist. It wasn't that big of a deal ━━ people already knew you were dating.
You remember when you were asked about it on live, you joked that Chris was so small he would sometimes use it as a belt. Arthur and George thought it was hilarious, Chris just stared at you before shrugging, "it was good, I admit it."
When Arthur got home, you showed him the video. Safe to say you both loved it, and would definitely remember it in the future.
Drunk Chris being whipped for reader who’s just trying to take care of him
WILDEST DREAMS •
C. DIXON
SUMMARY ౨ৎ chris has had a crush on reader, and with the confidence from his pints, he decides to shoot his shot.
WARNINGS ʚ fluff, alcohol mentioned and drunk chris, i don't think anything else?? this is really short and kinda rubbish, sorry, will rewrite when i feel like it :/
౨ৎ
it was 1130pm, when you received a message from george, almost unreadable.
clarkster
pls comr pixk us uo.
we're all souooo drunj
you
when i said message me if you need anything
this isn't quite what i meant
i'm omw 🙄
and so here you were, pulling up outside the pub, seeing chris, arthur hill, george, and isaac sat on a bench. george, despite his fucked up spelling, didn't seem too drunk, which was a relief. isaac was also somewhat sober, it was mainly arthur and chris that were trouble.
"come on then, boys, get in," you rolled the window down, watching their heads perk up at the sound of your car beeping. george giggled as he wrapped a very drunk chris around his shoulder, guiding him to the car.
"fun night?" you asked, looking at chris' flushed cheeks from the rearview. he gave you a cheeky grin, nodding, then giggling to himself, causing you to smile. george laughed at him, as arthur also stumbled into the front seat, looking out into the oblivion.
"do you know what planet you're on?" you asked, nudging arthur slightly, to which he nodded, then rubbed his eyes.
"why aren't i in the front seat? this is so unfair," chris mumbled, slouching in the back middle.
"because we'd get pulled over," george said, "you don't meet the height requirement for the front seat." george giggled to himself, as you joined in, pulling off the road and heading to isaac's house first.
"brilliant," chris mumbled, rolling his eyes, before sitting forward, arms rested on the centre console.
it seemed to be a quiet ride home, chris' head now rested on the console, his curls tickling your elbow each time you switched gears.
"right, talk to you later, thank you for the ride," isaac smiled, as the boys all said their goodbyes.
"right, let's get you three to bed," you mumbled, scratching chris head jokingly, before pulling off isaac's driveway. chris hummed softly, before picking his head up, and slouching back.
the car ride back was full of george telling you stories of the night, while chris giggled at your reactions. arthur was completely non verbal.
when you got back to your shared apartment with the boys, chris wrapped his arm around your shoulder, mainly to help himself up, and you placed your hand on his wrist, the other behind his back.
"you're so pretty, thank you for driving us home," chris whispered, as george was giggling at something arthur said, struggling to get the key in the door. your face flushed, a small smile creeping onto your face
arthur grunted, as he practically threw the key to george, to which george giggled then opened the door easily.
"thanks, chris, you're pretty too," you whispered, giggling at the fact you were whispering like some 13 year old gossips.
he smiled at you, before attempting to head to the couch. he tripped, and landed on the settee with his face first in the pillows. george laughed, then headed straight to his room after grabbing a cup of water. arthur sat on the settee, hands rubbing down his face.
"cmon, get to your room," you muttered, kneeling next to chris, a hand running through his hair. he mumbled softly, turning his head to face you, eyes closed and a soft smile on his face.
"help me?" he asked, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it.
"sure," you smiled, dragging him up by his arm, and getting a cup of water. you led him to the bedroom, after bidding arthur a good night.
"i'm okay," he muttered, as you handed him the water once he sat on his bed.
"i'm not offering, im ordering," you deadpanned, "drink."
he rolled his eyes childishly, before taking small sips of the water. he set the now half full glass on the bedside table, before looking up at you from his seated position.
"you're so pretty,"
"i know, you've already said,"
"no, like, you're really pretty," he said, reaching up to grab one of your hands.
your cheeks flushed again, a small smile on your face, as you knew it was mainly drunk words talking.
"thank you-"
"can you stay with me?" he cut you off, falling back to lay down on his bed, eyes shut, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. his cheeks were flushed, and his eyebrows were slightly creased.
"what?" you whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed now.
"stay with me? please?"
"chris, you're drunk," you stated, a hand now resting on his jeans, as his head lolled to face you.
"need you here," he whispered, his blue eyes looking into yours, causing you to bite your lip in thought.
unbeknownst to you, chris had been waiting for an opportunity like this to arise. he had been crushing on you since you moved in, however was always too shy to actually do anything. he'd give you longer glances, and laugh a little harder at your jokes, as well as dance with you in the kitchen, to try and give hints, however you never really caught on.
"i really like you, y/n," he sighed, a hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "want you to stay."
"you really like me, huh?" you teased, a small smirk on your face, as his cheeks turned a slight pink.
he nodded, eyes blinking slowly, making him look like a tired cat.
"let me take you to dinner,"
"if you remember this conversation in the morning, i'll think about it," you smirked, poking his cheek.
he giggled softly, before pulling you into him, his head resting on your chest, as your nails scratched his scalp.
"thank you, pretty girl," he whispered into your chest, causing you to smile and softly kiss his curly head.
