hey! my names zara 💘 i’m gonna write one shots/imagines about ukyt and one direction , however , feel free to send in whoever you’d like. i need friends tho haha. please send requests i need this ill do whoever!! 💖
disclaimer: ai has been used to proofread my writing
🎶be your boy by medium build
🎶 if i'm honest by trousdale
🎶 eat me alive by alessi rose
a/n: sorry for the late update y’all x have been sick this last week. definitely not the most happy with this part, but knew i'd never get it out otherwise x
Mornings were never your forte…but especially not in the Inside.
Waking up here feels less like routine, and more like bracing for impact. From JJ’s obnoxious morning alarm to Tobi’s surprise instruction to head to the living room, dread was the one consistent thing that defined your last two mornings.
Maybe this could be something to do with the massage gun, you decided, denying the inevitable upcoming elimination. After all, there’s thirteen of you and six more days to cut that number down to four.
Officially on your third day on the Inside, you’ve resigned to pretending that everything is normal with George. With cameras on you at all times, you know whatever…talk you two need to have will end up being on the outside. So, for now, nothing has changed…even if that means ignoring how your heart jolts every time you lock eyes longer than needed, your hands accidentally touch, or he calls your name.
However, right now, you found yourself grateful for George taking your hands in his; pulling you out of bed and tiredly guiding you into the living room. At least you got out of bed.
You hummed in response, not registering Tobi’s teasing tone or George’s eyes fixating on you. “I think that’s your answer.” George joked, making Tobi chuckle. Soon, the latter motioned for you two to move along and join the group by the couch.
Tobi clapped his hands together, immediately commanding the room. “Good morning, Insiders. Can I please ask you to clear the front of the sofa, and line up in front of it?” Everyone listened to him, lining up dutifully, far too tired to argue. “One by one, you’ll collect an envelope from this plinth here. Please do not open it until you’re called to do so.”
You were called first to get your envelope…and were the first to open it.
“A circle.” You announced out loud, holding out your paper for everyone to see.
George was next, “Me too.”
Are they putting us in teams? As more and more people got circles, that option seemed less likely. Until it reached the very end: DDG, whose envelope unveiled an X.
“Not the big DDG!” Jason groaned, upset to see his friend on the chopping block. Is it all chance this time around? Is there any point in being a team player while here?
Tobi smiled mischievously, enjoying the confusion and chaos that erupted in front of him. “As you can see, DDG is the only one who got an X,” he turned to him, “which means you’ll have to pick someone to go home right now.”
Is George going to go home? Your hand instinctively reached for his, squeezing it tight. You know how much he wants to win to help support his sister and her wedding. Is this what the boys were talking about Dylan last night?
Thoughts of your own relationship with DDG quickly flew by: you got along and have definitely bonded, helping with his ‘facial’ and getting to know more about him and his son, but were you truly safe?
“Salute!” PK repeated, over and over, enjoying the chaos amidst the shock that ran through the room. Suddenly, you thought: if you were chosen, who would you pick? You tried to rationalise everything, think of every possible outcome, but it was too early to know who was truly detrimental to the team.
Uncle P shook his head, tsking. “This is brutal.”
“It’s crazy,” Whitney countered, watching as DDG scanned the group.
Should you have been playing with a strategy? Could this be your way out?
In this one moment, it felt like hours have gone by, millions of thoughts and scenarios running through your brain. The only thing grounding you back to earth was George’s thumb, rubbing circles into the back of your palm.
“I’ll be honest,” DDG started, rubbing his hands together, “we were all up last night, chatting, vibing, but there was just one person who wasn’t vibing at all.” He turned around towards the front of the line. Fuck. “I’m sorry, Dylan.”
A weight was lifted off your shoulders knowing George and you were safe, but your heart felt heavy at seeing a close friend leave the set.
“Dylan,” Tobi faced him, “you have been nominated to be eliminated. Please pack up your things. You’ll have ten minutes to say your goodbyes.”
You scoffed light-heartedly, immediately turning around to give Dylan a hug. “It sounds like we’ll never see you again.”
Dylan chuckled, “You still down for coffee? On me.”
“Of course.” You smiled, swaying in the hug–ignorant to how George tensed behind you.
Taking a step back, you let Dylan give hugs around. “I should’ve taken that 5 minute hot shower when I had the chance.” He joked, prompting a round of (admittedly polite) laughter to echo throughout the room.
Like an entourage, you all followed him back into the bedroom, helping him pack up the few things you were allowed on the Inside. You sat next to him while he packed as the others stood idly around, talking to themselves, not sure what to say to Dylan.
“Hey,” Dylan called for you in a hushed whisper, “Don’t trust anyone, okay? Even George. I know you were close outside, but this is Inside, if it isn't for the money, it’s for the shock factor. How far would George go to entertain?”
You nodded, fazed, not sure how to process his words. Surely, it comes from a sense of bitterness towards what happened…right?
Once Dylan was done packing and was ready to leave, the group surrounded him again. “I understand where you were coming from, bro.” Dylan punched DDG’s shoulder lightly, “It makes the most sense. And as much as my sleep schedule has helped me on the outside, it clearly didn’t help on the Inside.”
As he said his final goodbyes, he announced that he was the one who committed the massage gun crime…and how that actually earned you an extra 10k for the prize fund.
Everyone thanked him, fist bumping him and celebrating him, grateful that he was strict on the budget. But only you, Farah, Milli, and George walked him to the exit.
“I would have voted him out, too.” Cinna whispered, now that it was just you, Milli, Uncle P, and her slumped on the couch. Everyone else was scattered throughout the house–some at the gym, some at the shop, and a few playing table tennis. “Sorry, I know you two got close, but he was the least participating. Like, I wanted him here, he was good, and he tried to save…but you need to make friends, too.”
You nodded, now understanding the strategy behind the Inside, even though your chest still felt tight. “Yeah, no, I get it. I can’t even imagine having to choose who gets to be eliminated.” Sighing, you let yourself melt more into the pillows. “Honestly, I would’ve voted out…” You scanned the room, only spotting George and Jason in the middle of an intense table tennis rally. Leaning in, you mouthed, ‘Whitney’. To be honest, she was likely in the shop, being sneaky…again.
“We all like Dylan!” Uncle P added, sounding frustrated with the situation. “But sometimes, we just have to make the best decision for the group.”
“It definitely sets the tone for the day.”
Cinna groaned in agreement, grabbing a throw pillow and burying her face into it, letting out a muffled scream. “All I’m thinking about now is elimination.”
“And all before breakfast.” You could hear your stomach rumbling, even if breakfast was just the usual porridge and cold beans.
Farah walked in just then, teary-eyed and sniffling. “I’m a severe empath! I can’t control my crying!” She wailed, with her loud voice, before darting straight into the bedroom.
As you heard the door close behind her, you jumped to your feet. “We should probably check in on her.”
Milli agreed instantly, and before long, the living room emptied as everyone followed. Even George and Jason set down their paddles.
You hung back without thinking, lingering behind as the others made their way through the hall. George immediately came beside you, his hand slipping to your waist like second nature.
“You alright?” He asked softly, his voice a low murmur that made your chest tighten.
You glanced up at him. “Define ‘alright’.”
He let our a breath of amusement, but his eyes didn’t leave you. “I meant after all that…with Dylan. I know you two got…close.”
“Yeah,” you admitted, the chaos of the morning already getting you buzzed. Surely, you didn’t even need a coffee today. “It just feels like…a lot.”
George shifted uncomfortably, “The coffee…thing… with Dylan…is that a date?”
You raised an eyebrow. Was George jealous? “Why? Jealous?” You knew you were playing with fire, teasing him—but it was easier than addressing the deeper truth. You were the one who left before he could even wake up.
George didn’t say anything right away. Instead, his thumb started tracing slow, careful circles over your side—like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “We need to talk soon…” He said, finally, “About…us.”
You looked away, watching the others disappear into the hallway, grateful for the brief illusion of privacy. “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”
He hadn’t sounded angry. Not once. Not even when you slipped out that morning, left him alone with nothing but rumpled sheets and silence. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted to ask you why, wanted to understand. And maybe you wanted to explain. But not here. Not with a mic strapped to your chest.
You opened your mouth to speak then closed it again, unsure what exactly to say. Then, finally, “It was easier to leave than to stay. That’s all.”
George gave a small nod, his jaw tightening—but he didn’t look away. “I figured.”
He was always understanding.
His gaze dropped to the floor as he whispered, “But just so you know—I would’ve liked it if you’d stayed.”
You swallowed hard, the truth of it landing like a stone in your throat. “I know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “That’s what scared me.”
The silence between you stretched. Everything around you—voices, movement, the rest of the house—faded.
George gave your side a gentle squeeze. Then his gaze flicked down to your lips.
You cleared your throat, stepping back. “The others might get suspicious. We should go.”
“Okay,” he hesitated. “But let’s have that conversation. When you’re ready. Just… don’t wait too long.”
You didn’t get the chance to reply before Jason came barreling around the corner.
“Yo, yo, yo—where are you guys? We have to—oh. Am I interrupting something?”
You and George jumped apart instinctively, shaking your heads in sync as Jason’s eyebrows raised.
“We’re gonna sing Whitney ‘Happy Birthday,’” Jason said, trying to play it cool. “You guys should come. But, like, if you need a moment—”
“No, no—we’re all good!” you blurted, already pushing past him, quick to escape the heat of George’s gaze and the weight of what you’d just said.
Jason looked between the two of you, then muttered to George, “What was that?” as you disappeared down the hallway.
Despite just dropping five grand on coffee and an energy drink (admittedly, you’ll let Whitney slide on this one, after all, it is her birthday), the group stayed in high spirits. From George, PK, and Jason fangirling over Uncle P in the bedroom to Whitney and Mya doing something suspicious in the store, it was almost as if the elimination this morning didn’t happen.
You had rolled your eyes when they bought the squiggly ball, calling it a waste of money, but now as you’re pulling at it’s ridiculous plastic ‘squiggles’, you were kind of glad for it. You and Milli turned it into a relaxed game of catch mixed with 21 questions.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do on the Outside?” You asked, tossing the ball her way.
Catching it, Milli fiddled with it in her lap, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “So…I actually started seeing this guy…and I think I’ll go see him first.”
You sat up a little straighter, recognising the telltale signs of the lift in her voice and her hand going straight to twirl her hair. She was gone.
“Oh my gosh, spill!” You leaned in, elbows on your knees, fully invested.
She launched into the story. They met online recently, went on a few dates, and now? She’s heads over heels. “We talk everyday, and it’s been so weird not messaging him. Like, I know it’s only been a few days, but…” She trailed off, kicking her legs a little.
“You really like him, huh?”
She tossed the ball at you, suddenly bashful. “Shut up. Your turn. What are you going to do first?”
You shrugged, not totally sure. “Honestly? A long nap.”
Milli laughed, “Fair, fair.”
You threw the squiggly ball back at her with a grin. “No, but that’s so exciting about you two! You have to keep me updated.”
She smiled, warm and a little dreamy. “Of course, of course. But here’s my next question…” She lobbed the pink ball back at you before scanning the area. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
You caught the ball midair, blinking at the shift. Your heart thudded.
You didn’t answer right away, just pulled at the fraying edges of the ball. Part of you wanted to. Desperately. But here? With the cameras? You’ll beg the boys to cut this from the final episode. Still, the silence between you was patient. Warm. Safe.
You trusted her. You were certain. And you were tired of carrying the weight alone.
You opened your mouth, closed it. Picked at the plastic again. And then, softly—
“I left before he woke up.” Your voice was barely audible, only to Milli and the mic strapped to your chest. “Didn’t text, ignored his calls. He didn’t do anything wrong… it was perfect. I just panicked.”
Milli nodded slowly, like she already knew. Maybe she did. Maybe George had told her something. You wondered what he said about that morning.
“Have you two spoken about it yet?” she asked.
You gave her a look. That was answer enough.
“Okay, fair. It’s a bit difficult with… all this. But you’re going to have to eventually. You know that, right?”
You let out a long sigh, sinking back into the couch cushions. “Yeah. He… actually brought it up earlier. I think he got jealous of Dylan.”
Milli’s eyebrow shot up. “He brought it up? He got jealous?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, fidgeting with the squiggly ball. “He said we should talk about… us.”
She let out a low, impressed whistle. “He isn’t exactly the type to get jealous or throw around the ‘we need to talk’ card… He’s like, one of the most chill, take it easy lads I know.”
“I know.” You stared at the floor, your heart dropping. That’s what makes this all worse. You didn’t want to hurt him, that was never the intention.
Milli’s expression softened. She scooted a little closer. “Do you regret what happened?”
You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know the answer, but because saying it out loud would make it real.
“No…” you said finally, voice fragile. “But I regret running.”
Milli nodded, slow and thoughtful. “You can un-run, you know. Tell him now.”
“Even with the cameras?”
She shrugged. “The Sidemen love you. They won’t broadcast this if you don’t want them to.”
You glanced toward the hallway, where laughter echoed faintly from the bedroom–probably George and Jason, messing around. The sound twisted in your stomach, acting as a reminder that someone important was right there, only meters away. That all this tension could go away if you were only brave enough.
“I’m just scared that if I do… it won’t be the same,” you admitted. “Like I ruined it. Or what if it doesn’t work out? And our friendship changes, and everything is different.”
“Maybe it won’t work out,” Milli said gently, but with a tough love edge. “But what if it does?”
You looked over at her, startled.
She shrugged, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, babe. I think he told me because he was hoping I knew something.”
You didn’t say anything. Just tossed the squiggly ball back at her and rested your head on the back of the couch.
The tension wasn’t gone—but it didn’t feel as heavy. Someone else was helping you now.
“Thanks, Mills.”
She smirked. “Anytime. But seriously—go talk to him before it’s too late. You’ve had enough running."
“I’m so scared to get a coffee!” Mandi squealed, “What if I get eliminated? Can someone else get me one, please?”
Part of you wanted to snap back, after all, spending money hasn’t stopped her before. But Cinna and everyone were right–this game isn’t just about saving money, it’s about making friends. And so far, you haven't spent a thing.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“Really?” Mandi blinked, caught off guard, especially after butting heads with you all day over her jokes taking the piss out of Dylan.
You stood up, starting to head to the shop, trying to seem like spending the prize money was nothing to you (when it was eating you up inside). “What do you like?”
“Yo, if Mandi’s getting a free coffee, surely someone will shout me one, too?” Jason called out from across the room.
Silence, until Cinna begrudgingly offered.
“Oh my God, are they finally spending money?” George cheered, clapping dramatically like you’d both just graduated university.
Everyone mocked outrage, pretending to be upset, rubbing salt in you and Cinna’s reluctance. “How dare you spend money!”
And, you pretended to be unaffected while Cinna was jumping around, showcasing her reluctance. (“It’s okay,” You told her in the shop, trying to justify the purchase for both of you. “We haven’t spent a thing yet. We’re just helping out.”)
By the time you returned with the drinks, the chaos had calmed down. As you two sank next to Mandi, Jason, Milli, and DDG, the two now enjoying their coffee orders promised to owe both of you big time.
“I really want to play the charity match,” Jason exclaimed, and you had to resist the urge to groan. Not because he wanted to play, but because he’s showing his cards. Whatever anyone said now, the Sidemen were listening; that’s why you’ve been staying vague about your temptation.
Jason turned to you, “You’ve been, right?”
“It’s amazing.” You sighed, eyes flickering to George who suddenly tuned into the conversation.He’s been hoping to get the invite—and Harry already confirmed it with you, even asked you to help plan the reveal. But he doesn’t quite know it yet, and he’s not the type to assume he’d get it.
“Is it that special?” DDG asked, unaware of the special event.
You smiled, “Yeah, I could talk about it for hours, but I’m not gushing over those assholes while they’re giving us all these stupid challenges.” You flipped off the camera with a grin, knowing the boys would take the joke.
Despite the heaviness hanging over you (mostly about Dylan’s elimination), the day had actually brought the group closer. Everyone was either at the table tennis setup or lounging on the couch, talking, strategising together,
Suddenly, KSI’s laugh crackled over the speakers like a horror movie villain, interrupting the conversation at hand. “How’s everyone doing?” Groans filled the room with someone about to shout, before KSI’s voice continued to echo throughout the room. “Shut up! I don’t care! Go to the challenge room.”
You snorted. “I swear, JJ’s voice is like a bad omen.”
Milli nodded. “Morning alarms or challenges. Nothing good.”
But honestly speaking, this challenge isn't as terrible for you. The worst part? Tolerating PK’s fart. Massive respect to him for answering and eating the food, but…you kind of wished he didn’t. The whole room essentially became a gas chamber.
At one point, you jumped from your seat in front of Uncle P and ducked behind George.
“I complimented you!” Uncle P yelled, laughing. He said earlier you were the contestant he’d most want as a daughter. “And you hide from me like this?”
“I’d love to have you as a dad,” you said from behind George’s chair, avoiding eye contact with the footballer. “But that’s just... not a normal smell.”
Cinna was next in the chair, escaping her spot next to Uncle P, as she faced the question: “Who’s the most boring Insider?”
“He’s gone!” Uncle P croaked. Honestly, these Dylan jokes were getting old. He wasn’t even here, and at the end of the day, he helped the group massively. Why keep dragging him in?
Cinna winced, “Maybe Farah, but—”
Another fart ripped through the room, interrupting Cinna’s explanation and making Milli leap up. “Can you aim that somewhere else?!”
While chaos broke out again, George’s hand slid over yours on the back of his chair. His touch was warm, steady. Your cheeks flushed.
Eventually, Cinna tapped out—refusing to shave off an eyebrow before the Streamer Awards. Fair enough. You wouldn’t do it either.
She slumped into her seat, teary-eyed, and you immediately left George’s side to wrap your arms around her in an attempt to comfort her.
PK was next, tasked to rank the girls by attractiveness. Oh God.
“Least attractive is Milli,” he said without hesitation.
Your jaw dropped. “It’s fine,” Milli said coolly. “I said he was the least attractive earlier.”
He rattled off names, ending with you and Mya. Looking between you two, he smirked. “Who’d kiss me?”
After he didn’t hesitate for Milli, you didn’t hesitate either. “I’m good.”
PK ignored you. “Don’t worry, George—I won’t go after your girl.” He winked, then turned towards Mya. “You’re my number one, wifey. We’re married, after all.”
His punishment? Lamb testicles. He pretended it was amala and went for it. Honestly, good on him for finding some way to deal with the taste. The challenge got interrupted one last time by a blaring smell. “I’m sorry, I just have to go to the toilet,” Uncle P said, finally getting up and excusing himself from the room. You love Uncle P, sure, but you were grateful he left. Unfortunately, he left a trail of fart in his wake.
“Your challenge is called Tied for the Night,” Simon read with a shit-eating grin, “and since George failed to answer his question, instead of losing money from the prize fund, he’ll be doing this challenge with you.” You would’ve called bullshit on that reasoning, but hey.
Jason and DDG were handcuffed together, but you and George had your ankles tied together. Forced to essentially compete in a three-legged race that lasts until morning.
“That was wild,” George sighed, head falling back against the couch. His arm was draped casually around your shoulders, reminding you of all the movie nights at his flat with Chris and Arthur. This was your normal, and your heart hurt at the fact it didn’t quite feel like that anymore. “Someone would have shaved their whole eyebrow off, but Milli is just dressed as a banana.”
Honestly, you were kind of grateful for the challenge. It gave you a reason to be close again without arousing suspicion, without prompting any questions; just proximity with an excuse. Even if you had to bite back a million things you wanted to say, motivated by Milli’s pep talk.
Milli stood in front of you two, arm’s crossed in her banana suit. You laughed, making her groan. “Yeah, honey, I don’t think I can take you seriously for the rest of the day.”
As the others piled on, she turned around to argue with them. You could feel yourself drifting off, the emotional highs and lows of the day finally getting to you. Your head felt heavy, and so instinctively, you let it rest on George’s shoulder, your legs still tied, resting on the coffee table. George froze, like even his breath might make you jump away. You ignored his racing heartbeat, and the way yours mirrored it.
“I still can’t believe you heard the chocolate packet from…” Milli turned around to face you and George again, and immediately regretted speaking up when she saw the two of you cosied up, “...here.”
George recovered quickly, pretending he was unaffected (although his flushed cheeks gave him away). “They think they’re slick,” George said confidently, “but they can’t escape…Detective Chocolate.”
You sleepily scoffed, “Please. That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Alright, what about Coco Noir? Hershey Holmes?”
You patted his chest with a laugh, “Keep trying, Clarkey.”
Letting yourself drift off on his shoulder, lulled by his voice as he talked with Cinna and Milli, you missed the look the girls exchanged with George. If your eyes were open, you’d learn that Cinna knew as she mouthed, ‘Go for it, dude’.
Unsure of how long you were asleep for, the TV in front of you suddenly jolted you awake.
“Whitney!” Cinna announced, “You’re going to the Temptation Room!”
“Fuck,” you muttered, sitting up fast. There went thirty grand. Maybe more.
George chuckled and sang under his breath, “We’re about to lose some money…”
Not just because it felt ridiculous or because everyone kind of agreed that Whitney fucked up by accepting her temptation, but because today has been a lot.
Dylan’s elimination. Your talk with Milli. The challenge. Uncle P’s gas. Getting literally tied to George.
You were overwhelmed, to say the least.
And honestly? You weren’t expecting the Sidemen to cough up a ‘birthday feast’ worth £30k.
To be fair, you can understand Whitney’s thinking. She wanted to celebrate her birthday and lift the group’s spirits. Maybe, she thought this was cheaper than everyone upgrading their meals. Maybe, on another day, you’d be more open to it. But the speed of her decision, barely five minutes in Room 19, was frustrating. No second guessing, no critical thought; just yep, let’s spend more of the prize fund.
There was no taking it back now, so you were trying not to stay mad. Thankfully, you had George glued to your side, distracting you, now gleefully attempting to play ‘Vienna’ on his newly bought harmonica.
“How does it feel now that George’s attention is all on that harmonica?” Farah teased, making you roll your eyes. While part of you worried she might have overheard anything, you knew she didn’t know anything. After all, she mentioned that she saw the TikTok edits of you two on your first day on the Inside.
Before you could answer, she added, “Also—sorry, again. For earlier.”
You raised an eyebrow, confused about what she was apologising for. Surely you heard her wrong over George’s god awful playing. “Huh? What did you do?”
“For saying I’d marry George during the challenge,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I know you two are together. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful—I just wanted to be honest.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to deny it. “No, seriously. You’re all good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
George pretended not to hear your response—but his harmonica stumbled suspiciously mid-note.
When the party setup was finally revealed, you were shocked. Genuinely.
Was it worth 30K outside? Absolutely not. But it was quite a surprise, and definitely not what you were expecting from the boys.
The room was decked out in balloons, mountains of cake and snacks lined the table. Maybe—just maybe—it was lifting your spirits.
“Hey,” George nudged you, making you turn. He slipped a ridiculous paper party hat on your head and grinned. “Beautiful.”
Before you could even process the compliment, Whitney clapped her hands and pointed to Uncle P.
“It was worth it!” she declared.
Uncle P raised his arms. “It’s worth it if it makes you happy.”
You grabbed the lighters, passing one to George as the two of you lit the cake candles together.
“Can you believe we started the day losing someone, and now we’re throwing a party?” you muttered so only George could hear.
“All in a day of Inside,” George replied, slipping into a faux narrator voice.
Whitney raised her arms. “Okay! Time to sing Happy Birthday! But, before we start, I want to make a speech.” She raised one of the plastic champagne glasses, filled with alcohol. “You guys are all so special—thank you for making this moment what it is.”
You had the admit, the party was actually a lot of fun.
DDG and PK kicked off a rap battle. Patrice gave a heartfelt speech. Milli, still in her ridiculous banana costume, tried to seduce you with an exaggerated sexy dance. Farah had taken up the role of unofficial photographer, snapping polaroids of everyone—she even got a few of you and George. (You made a mental note to definitely steal those before the show ended).
The whole day had been a rollercoaster. But right now, this felt like a decent landing.
Sure, you’d been mad. Upset. There were people you felt closer to than others. But in moments like this, it felt less like a reality show and more like a chaotic school trip—just a bunch of you along for the ride.
“Can we sit?” you murmured to George, motioning to the dining table. “My feet are killing me.”
Without hesitation, he looped his arm behind your back to help you up—like he’d done since the challenge started. The two of you clumsily synced your steps, giggling at your off-beat coordination.
You were too distracted to notice the massive box being wheeled into the room.
“Whitney, please open your present.” The omnipresent voice cut through the laughter, startling you.
You looked up, spotting a huge box now sat in the middle of the room. Whitney stepped towards it, eyes wide.
As she pulled the ribbon, the box collapsed—revealing a single slip of paper.
“In this box reveals the biggest spender and the smallest spender,” she read aloud. Then she stopped, reading silently.
“Who?” Jason called out, confused.
Whitney gasped, hand flying to her mouth. The paper slowly dropped to the ground, almost tauntingly.
“What?” Cinna asked, as murmurs rippled through the group.
“PK and Uncle P have to eliminate someone in the next twenty minutes,” she finally said.
summary: you and george have been best friend’s since year seven, but he can’t handle ‘just friends’
content: best friends to friends with benefits , unrequited love (sort of) , cheating with george (i don’t condone, just for the plot) , swearing , angst , marriage , both reader and george are slightly annoying lol , george is lowk an asshole (to other girls, not you)
notes: bringing more ethel cain inspired fics to u all, this took me two weeks to write // as always with my ethel fics, sections in italics are past memories xx
FOR AS LONG as he could remember, George had been in love with you. Meeting in early secondary school and surviving the entirety of that, sixth form and university together was truly something that many other friendships couldn’t say they’d withstood, but you two could. Unfortunately, the lines of friendship began to blur a little as you got older. You weren’t just his ‘friend’ anymore. You were something much stronger, much deeper than that. He’d never felt the same way about anyone before, not even past ex-girlfriends (that he may or may not have dated to see if it would cause a reaction from you).
hold me, smell of mildew, i wanna die, in this room.
You and George found yourselves in a bedroom at a stupid house party. The room stunk of vomit and alcohol, but you were much too drunk to compute that and he was more focused on getting you comfortable. The music was still booming on downstairs, vibrating through the floorboards and the sound of laughter and loud conversations could be heard on the other side of the door.
“God, Georgie.” You groaned, your hazy, dizzy vision making discomfort settle in your stomach.
“You okay, pretty?” He frowned, lying you down in bed.
“Hold me.” You hiccuped, clutching onto his hand for dear life.
He stammered before sighing, kicking his shoes off and getting in beside you, wrapping his arms around you loosely.
You hummed contently, nestling into him, clutching his shirt.
His fingers carded through your hair, detangling it gently as he went.
“Georgie.” You slurred.
“Yeah?”
“D’you know Jacob? In the year above?”
“In second year? Yeah, I think, why?”
“He asked me on a date.” You muttered, “I said yeah, but I’m kinda nervous. What if he expects stuff from me, ‘coz, you know, he’s older?”
George’s heart sank.
He wanted to yell ‘Don’t go on a date with him! Go with me! I’d never pressure you into anything’ but he knew that now wasn’t the time. You were way past tipsy and halfway there to passing out.
“… You don’t have to do anything you feel uncomfortable with, poppet. And if it gets scary and he starts being nasty, you call me, okay?”
You hummed, barely consuming his words.
“Love you, Georgie.”
“I love you too, Reader.”
i still shake, just by nature.
You were chilling at his apartment. All of his roommates had gone out for the night but George was suffering from the world’s worst cold, so you’d decided to keep him company. And for some reason, that involved watching horror movies because they were his favourite.
You were sharing a blanket, and your thighs touched his in a way that made him suckle his inner cheek and continuously glance down at the touch.
The moment a jump scare came up, you screamed, turning away from the television and burying your face in his chest.
A light tremble ran through his body.
God know why he was acting like he’d never felt the touch of a woman before, but something about you finding comfort in his presence, in his hold, caused a spike of adrenaline through his system.
Naturally, his arms folded around you, one hand cradling the back of your head as he chuckled lightly.
“It’s okay, poppet. It’s just a movie.”
“About ghosts, Georgie!” You whined, “They could be real!”
“Well then, I’ll just have to protect you from them.”
You untucked your head from his chest, glancing up at him.
Your breath fanned his chin.
His adam’s apple bobbed at the proximity of your face to his and he began subconsciously counting the freckles and beauty marks on your face, trying to distract himself from the way his heart was threatening to leap out of his ribcage and splatter on the floor.
“You will?” You cooed.
He nodded, swallowing thickly, “Of course.”
You grinned and then adjusted yourself, flattening your cheek on his chest and resuming your attention to the screen.
How were you so calm? How were you so normal about … everything?
George felt like he was about to throw up from nerves and the sheer adoration from being in your presence, and here you were, cuddled up against him and looked at him with those eyes that meant the world to him.
easy to hate, easy to blame.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
His girlfriend was shouting at him as he sat across from her, fingers scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
“What, you can’t commit because of— because of her?! So you’re breaking up with me?!”
“I’m sorry, I am, it’s just … it’s not fair for either of us to be in a relationship when I’m not …”
“You’re not what? Ready? Focused?”
“As invested as you are.” He finished, rendering her speechless.
She stared at him, blinking as her jaw wobbled.
He felt awful.
He felt so guilty.
“Six months down the drain.” She seethed, tears dripping freely, “Six months. For … for her.”
“She’s not just her, she’s—“
“She doesn’t even love you back!”
George inhaled sharply, biting his tongue.
“I do! I do love you!” She continued, completely aghast and partly in denial of the relationship coming to an end because of another woman.
“More than I love you, and that’s not fair.” George said.
He winced after he said it.
It was harsh, harsh but true.
“You’re such a fucking prick, George.” She growled, shoving her shoes on, “You’re gonna end up sad and alone because you’re hung up on a girl who doesn’t even give you a second glance, when you should be trying to put yourself out there.”
“What, did you want me to stay in this relationship?! You wanted me to keep pretending like I’m in love with you?! Wanted me to keep acting like I don’t imagine her every time we kiss?!”
Too far.
Way too far.
“Fuck you! I hate you, you fucking bastard. This is all your fault!” She snapped before storming out, slamming the door behind her.
Silence rang throughout his apartment as he flopped down onto his sofa, groaning and dragging his hands over his face.
He couldn’t help himself as he reached over, grabbing his phone and calling you.
You picked up after the first ring.
“Hey, Georgie!”
…
“… Georgie? You okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Please, poppet.”
shoot me down, c’mon, hurt me, i’m wide open, and deserving.
A year later, he’d tried again.
A different girl this time, softer, gentler.
More like you.
He’d gotten horrifically drunk one night, and she was trying to guide him into bed as he stumbled over his feet and slurred nonsense.
“Reader… Need t’call Reader.” He grumbled, leaning against the wall as he felt queasy.
“Reader? Why her? I’m here. I can look after you.” She said, stroking his cheek as his chest puffed out from a suppressed burp.
“She— She knows how to do it properly.”
There was a violently loud silence.
“Properly? What does that mean?”
“She knows me.” George slurred, running a hand through his ruffled hair, “She’s good t’me.”
“… Am I … Not?”
“You’re not her.” He shook his head. “You dress like her and speak like her but … she’s just special.”
She soured then, blinking back tears and stepping back, “Why are you saying this?”
“I’m in love with her. And I … I’m sorry I’m with you to try and fix that hole, it’s shitty, I know. But … She doesn’t love me back and I don’t know what to do about it.”
She slapped him.
So much for softer, gentler and more you.
You’d never slap him, no matter how drunk and mean he was.
His cheek burned with the force of her slap, but it was nothing compared to the fire licking at his heart every time he thought of you.
He nodded, understanding why she’d done it and didn’t even fight as she walked out.
He called you again, desperate for you to come over.
And you did.
“Hi.” You giggled softly, helping him down to his boxers and then under his covers.
You’d had a night out as well, and were just as intoxicated as him.
The thing is, neither of you were that drunk. You were both conscious and fully able. He was just clumsy and stupid and couldn’t control his mouth when it came to you.
His brain overworked itself trying to hide his feelings for you, and so instead of covering his enamoured emotions, it just shut down and disconnected the filter between his brain and mouth.
please don’t leave me, i’ll always need more,
“Stay.” He begged, pulling you down into bed with him.
You shrieked at the sudden drop, holding yourself up over him with your hands bracketing his head.
“I can’t, Georgie. I have to get back to Jacob.”
George huffed and rolled his eyes, “He’s a dickhead.”
“No, he’s not. He’s actually really nice. You’d know if you tried to—“
He shook his head, adamant on talking over you, “I love you.”
“Georgie—“
“I’m in love with you, Reader. And I have been since we were 14 and these feelings won’t go away.”
“We can’t—“
“I tried dating Martina, and I tried it with Lily, but they’re not you. Nobody compares to you, and it hurts me because I can’t move on from you even though we’ve never even— We’ve never even officially been something romantic, but to me … to me, it’ll always be you.”
You swallowed thickly, glancing from his eyes to his lips.
“Do you … do you love me too? Or has Jacob …”
“I do. I do love you.” You nodded.
“Are you … Are you in love with me?”
You giggled, nodding.
“Can I kiss you?”
Another nod.
You found yourself swiftly losing more clothes as the kiss progressed, and suddenly, you were beneath him, moaning down his ear as he thrusted into you, peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck.
“I love you, Reader. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Georgie.”
please leave open your most quiet door.
You refused to talk about that night to anyone. No one (apart from you and George) knew what had happened. To you, it never did.
You got back to your shared apartment with Jacob, finding him sat on the sofa, blatantly waiting for you to come home before he could even think about sleeping peacefully.
“Hey, baby.” He grinned, pausing his show and walking to you, “Had fun with the girls?”
You nodded, hugging him back and trying to swallow back the mountain of guilt that had clogged your throat.
After a few weeks of pretending like everything was normal, you received a text in the middle of cooking dinner. Jacob was sat at the island.
Georgie: I still love you, by the way.
“What the fuck?” Jacob frowned at your phone screen.
“What is it?” You hummed, adding a dash of chilli powder to the pan.
“Why is George telling you he loves you?”
Your face fell and you snapped towards him, “What?”
“Yeah, he said ‘I still love you, by the way’.”
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
“Must’ve texted the wrong person?” You tried to excuse it away.
Georgie: Reader, I can see you reading these.
Georgie: I am so in love with you it’s driving me mad.
“Nope, he just addressed you. What the fuck is he playing at? He knows we’re together.”
“I’ve got no idea.” You gulped, taking your phone off of him to glance at the messages yourself.
“You should block him, baby. I don’t feel comfortable knowing your best friend is in love with you.” Jacob sighed.
“Jacob … I can’t just block him. He’s been my best friend for a decade. I’ll talk to him, okay?”
Jacob grumbled before nodding. You kissed him on the cheek and pocketed your phone.
That night, you sat on the edge of your bed, your phone screen brightness blaring in your face.
Jacob was snoring behind you.
You: Jacob wants me to block you.
Georgie: Why???
You: He saw your messages, Georgie.
Georgie: Oh shit, poppet, I’m so sorry.
Georgie: Did I get you into trouble?
You: No, he’s just mad at you for ‘being weird’
Georgie: Hm
Georgie: I meant what I said
You: I know
Georgie: Do you feel the same?
You: …
Georgie: Reader???
You: Gtg to bed
Georgie: Are you going to block me?
You: No, I can’t do that to you.
Georgie: I love you xx
You: I’m archiving our chats tho.
Georgie: Okay
You: I love you too btw
You sighed before holding down on his chat and archiving it, hiding it from your main messages channel.
i know she’s your girl now, but she was my girl first, she was my girl first.
George stared at his phone screen.
He was in the pub with his friends from youtube, all of them hollering around him, the TV was blaring a football match and a group of middle aged men across the bar were shouting loudly. But all of it faded into silence as he looked at your Instagram post.
It was a slideshow of you and Jacob over the years, the last one being your hand sporting a big, shiny rock as a ring.
That wasn’t fair.
How was this happening?
He had you first.
He’d always had you.
Jacob couldn’t just … change that.
“One sec, guys.” George murmured, sliding out of the booth and making his way outside, holding his phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Are you joking?” Was the first thing he said.
“What?” You replied.
“Engaged? Reader? Engaged?” He emphasised.
“Georgie—“
“I … Why? Why not … We love each other, no? We’re in love. I don’t understand.”
As angry as he was, he couldnt bring himself to raise his voice at you.
“I just … I can’t ruin everything I’ve built with Jacob over the past five years—“
“You can! You can! I will take you, darling, I will. You won’t be alone, I can support you.”
“It’s not that, Georgie, it’s … I—“
“You chickened out.”
“Don’t say it like that!”
“You got home after we had sex, saw him and felt too bad?”
“You don’t know what it’s like.” You whispered, voice breaking.
“No, I really don’t.” George gritted his teeth, “Congratulations, poppet.”
“Georgie—“
He hung up, pocketing his phone and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, cursing under his breath and trying to hold back the tears.
His heart was beating at a pace that was borderline painful and he began pacing the pavement, trying to find the courage to get back into the pub and join his friends, but he couldn’t.
The cold air was biting at him, harsh wind biting at the salty streams on his cheeks and freezing the moment in time.
i can see the end, in the beginning of everything,
When he got home, there was a letter through the post.
He tore the envelope open half-heartedly and sunk back into the couch, jaw clenching at the sight of the invitation between his thumb and forefinger.
Your annoyingly beautiful face, that bright grin that he knew far too well, next to that smug son of a bitch who had his arm around your shoulders. In bright green, the text read ‘Save the date!’
He knew that wasn’t your choice. You certainly wouldn’t have used that phrase, and you definitely wouldn’t have used bright green.
With an infuriated grunt, he tore the leaflet in half, splitting the picture of you and Jacob into two halves. He scrunched one half into a tight ball and threw it in the bin before storming into his bedroom and slumping onto his bed, back against the headboard and fingers tracing the image of your face.
He remembered the day you first introduced him to Jacob.
“Georgie! I’m so glad you made it!”
It was your 20th birthday party, and your arm was tightly locked around your new boyfriends one, who seemed to be reluctantly glued to your side.
George would never.
He’d do anything to have you hold his arm or hand again.
“Hey, poppet! Happy birthday.” George grinned, hugging you.
You hugged him back, giggling from your slight intoxication before pulling back, “This is Jacob! He’s my boyfriend. Jacob, this is George! He’s been my best friend for …”
“Seven years.” He finished for you.
“See! Finishing my sentences for me. Anyway! You two get to know each other, I need to go and find Ellie.”
You disappeared then, probably to the bar.
There was an awkward silence between the two men. They both knew each other from before your acquaintance.
“So … best friends? For seven years?” Jacob began.
“Yeah.” George nodded, taking a sip of his beer, “Since we were 13. It’s crazy how quick time goes.”
“Yeah.” Jacob hummed, “How’d you put up with her for so long?” He half joked, letting out a breath of a laugh.
“You struggling already?” George smirked, but he wasn’t amused.
Jacob was making out that you were difficult to handle. That you were a problem. That didn’t sit well with George.
“Not struggling, just curious.” He said, “She’s a big character. Loud, lots of friends. Social butterfly.”
“That’s one way to describe her.” He tutted, eyes finding you as you laughed at high volumes with your group of girls.
George caught your smile, finding it on his own face as well.
and in it you don’t want me.
He couldn’t stop replaying your phone call in his head.
He tossed and turned in bed, trying to sleep, but your heartbroken voice on the other side of the phone was the only thing he could think of.
You were getting married.
To somebody that wasn’t him.
He wasn’t the most important person in your life anymore.
Your heart was beating for another man.
George had obtained a headache from the constant stressful thinking paired with the tears and pulling at his own hair.
but i still play pretend like i don’t watch you leaving.
It was your birthday again, and instead of throwing a massive party like usual, you had a small get together in your garden with your closest friends. You were trying to save up for the wedding, after all.
You had invited George, and he had showed up.
“Hi,” He smiled, wondering if it was appropriate to hug you or not, “Happy birthday.”
You sighed, embracing him tightly, “Thank you.”
His arm tightened around you, and you fit together perfectly.
Like it was you two who were meant to be together.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered, trying to swallow back the violent wave of emotion that was clogging your throat, “I’m so sorry, Georgie.”
“It’s okay, poppet. It’s okay.” He rubbed your back.
“You’re still … You’re still you, y’know? That’s not going to change because I’m getting married. You’re still my best friend, and I still love you.”
But I’m in love with you!
He wanted to shout.
“I know, and I love you too.” He nodded, “It’s okay, I understand.”
He didn’t, he really didn’t. But he would rather keep you as a friend than lose you forever.
So he would just stay quiet and pretend he was okay with it all.
Like it wasn’t tearing him up inside.
The pair of you went back to regularly hanging out with each other after that. Casual meetings at a coffee shop or going for a walk in the park, going over to each other’s houses and seeing your parents. But the way you pulled away didn’t go unnoticed by George.
He noticed your extremely late replies to his messages and the constant cancelling of plans.
He believed you when you said you were busy with wedding planning, and that wasn’t your fault.
You was partially honest, but you conveniently failed to mention the fact that Jacob had been breathing down your neck about spending too much time with George.
“You’re my fiancé, you know?! Not his!”
“I know that! I’m just meeting up with a friend!”
“No, you’re not.”
“Excuse me?!”
“We’ve not finished the financing for this wedding venue, and confirmation is due tomorrow, so you’re going to sit here with me and figure it out.”
i will always love you
You were sat on George’s bed, watching Love Island as you’d insisted. He was reluctant, but before you knew it, he was as engaged as you were, constantly calling out people and shouting at the TV as if they could hear his complaints.
“Wait why’s she so pissed with them going for a chat? She just called things off with her man!” George exclaimed.
“Oh my God, okay, so!” You sat up, pausing the show and going into a full detailed rant about the show so far and how one particular couple were really toxic and kept ‘breaking up’ and then getting back together.
He listened intently, eyes dropping from yours and to the way your lips moved rapidly, hands motioning at an enthusiastic rate.
He smiled — cheesed, even — as he hung onto your every word, enamoured with the way you rambled so passionately about a show as silly and immature as Love Island.
Everything seemed to slow in that moment, because all that mattered was that you were there, in his bedroom, talking to him and him only. There was nothing else, nobody else to steal your attention or drag you away from him.
i will always love you
For your 17th birthday, he’d done something personal for you.
With the help of some of the friends he’d made by taking art GCSE, he managed to trace your favourite music album onto a t-shirt.
He spent two weeks painting it to perfection, making sure all the colours were the right shades and double checking the proportions.
Along with that, he’d made you a card that opened up to reveal a pop-up image of the two of you from year eight.
Two things that symbolised the importance of having each other in your lives, the way he read you like a book, and the longevity of a friendship that could never be replicated again.
When you’d opened your gift, you’d screamed and jumped at him, arms around his neck as you thanked him over and over again.
“Georgie, this is incredible!”
He chuckled, cheeks enflamed, “Only took a couple weeks.”
“A couple weeks?!” You exclaimed.
“I-It’s nothing.” He patted your hip.
“It’s— Oh my god, I love you! I actually love you! This is insane!” You pulled away, holding the t-shirt up and ogling at it.
I love you more, I promise, I love you more. He said mentally.
i will always love you, i will always …
“Okay.” He groaned as he lifted you out of his car and into his arms.
You were passed out, mascara smudged and lipstick smeared.
Your party outfit had gone askew from the bustling crowd at the house.
It was quiet now, though. Just the two of you.
He walked down the path to your front door, grunting with struggle as he found the spare key under a flower pot and unlocked your door.
He knew it was there, of course he did. He knew everything.
He carried you up the stairs, wary of any floor boards that he knew creaked particularly loudly, not wanting to wake you or your parents.
When he got to the landing, he walked the short distance to your bedroom door and nudged it open with his hip.
Your room was the same as always, white and beige with the daintiest pink accents. There were pictures of your friends scattered around your room, some framed and some polaroids blue-tacked to the wall — a show of admiration to all the people that made you you. There was a framed picture of you, George and the rest of your friend group from prom on your bedside table.
George slowly lowered you down onto your bed, slipping your shoes off and shuffling the bedsheets around until they covered you.
“Georgie?” You slurred, eyes breaking open a fraction of an amount.
“Hey, I’m here, poppet. I’m right here.”
You smiled, lopsided and wonky, “Stay.”
“I— I…”
“Please?”
“Yeah, okay.” He sighed.
His inability to say no to you grew stronger everyday.
He kicked his shoes off and got in on the other side of the bed, laying rigidly next to you.
You turned over, curling into him with a soft sigh.
“Nuh-night, Georgie.”
“Night, poppet … I love you.”
“Mmmm … love y …”
You fell asleep, not finishing your sentence.
George exhaled heavily, brushing your hair back from your face and smiling softly at your relaxed features.
He kissed your forehead before reaching over and flicking off the lamp on your bedside table.
“I love you so much.”
it’s not looking good, but did it ever?
George was watching your constant story uploads.
You were on a night out with your girls, an engagement party of sorts.
Of course, he’d been invited to Jacob’s stag-do, but he’d opted out. He didn’t like anyone there so what was the point?
His eyes kept flickering to the door, to his coat, and back to his phone where a video of you dancing and singing was on repeat.
Fuck it.
low stakes, low faith.
He showed up at the bar you’d last posted at, hoping you were still there.
You were.
Just leaving with your friends.
It was like this was fate.
“Reader!” George called out.
You turned, “Oh my God, Georgie!”
He could tell by the slight slur in your words that you had been drinking and had gone a little bit past your capacity.
“You’re not with Jacob?” You asked.
“No, uh,” He cleared his throat, “No, I’m not feeling too good.”
“Oh, no!” You pouted, stepping closer, “Why did you come out then?”
“I need to talk to you.”
You swallowed thickly, looking back over your shoulder at your girls, “Give me a sec, yeah?”
“‘Course, we’ll wait down the road.” They nodded and walked away.
“What’s up?”
“I can’t— I’m, uh … look, Reader, I’m going to be completely honest here but I— … I really don’t think I can keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” You frowned.
“This,” He gestured between you two, “Pretending like … like I’m not desperately in love with you.”
“Georgie—“
“No, please let me talk.”
You sighed and nodded, suddenly feeling the cold biting at your skin.
“I am so in love with you, like it’s actually pathetic. I’m pretty sure my pupils dilate at the thought of you, never mind the sight of you. I just … I need you to love me back. I do. I need it. I know you do, you’ve told me—”
“No, Georgie.” You shook your head, gulping back emotion.
“No? Why? Why can’t you say it now? You think a rock on your finger makes all the difference? You think that twat you’re about to share a name with means anything to me?”
“Stop it. Stop it, you’re being mean.”
“No I— I’m just telling you! I need you! I love you! I am in love with you! You can say it back—“
“—No.”
“—I know you can, you’ve said it so many times before—“
“—No, George.”
“You’re in love with me as well, and that’s okay.”
“George, stop!” You snapped, tears streaking down your face a sob got caught in your throat, “Just stop, okay?!”
He frowned, a tear trickling down the curve of his cheek, “Don’t call me that. Don’t call me that like I’m … like I’m just a random ‘George’. I’m … I’m Georgie. I’m your Georgie, and you’re my poppet.”
“I’m not yours at all, okay? I’m not yours now, and I won’t ever be. I am getting married in a month!”
“Marry me instead. Call it off. We can—“
You let out a scoffed sob and turned around, making your way back to your friends.
“Hey! I—“ He rushed to you, latching onto your forearm and spinning back around, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier, I’m sorry I … I’m sorry I let everything with Jacob happen before and … and I’m sorry I made it all a mess, but I’m here now, I’m here and we can fix it.”
“No …” You whispered tearily, “No, we can’t.”
“We can, we can. I will fix it.” He nodded rapidly, adamant.
“George …”
“Please.” He whispered, cupping your face in his hands.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Why couldn’t you have just opened that stupid fucking mouth when we were 18?” You sobbed, weakly hitting his chest with your fist.
“I was scared, okay? I was scared you’d think I was weird or— or, you wouldn’t want me back. I’m sorry, okay? But I will fix this. I will make this — us — possible.”
“No, you can’t.” You whispered hoarsely, “It’s done. It’s already done.”
“Reader, it’s not. Stop talking like we can’t work—“
“I need you to stop, Georgie. I need you to … to just stop. Have some space, okay?”
“I don’t need space.” He shook his head, bringing you closer to the point where your breaths mingled in the thin slip of space between you, “I just need you.”
The neon sign of a bar light flickered to the right of you, and there were swarms of people walking along the streets enjoying their night out, but in that very moment, it was just you and George.
No one else was real.
No one else mattered.
And that’s when your lips brushed before committing to each other.
Your hands were at his neck and jawline, holding him lightly, whereas his were tangled in the back of your hair, strands spreading between his fingers and flowing over his wrist.
It was desperate and fierce, a last minute opportunity to make his dreams come true, or at least a chance of possible.
but i will wait, i will wait.
The day had come, finally.
It was the loveliest day in the peak of spring.
Flowers were blooming, birds were fluttering about, and everything looked brighter.
It really had to be some sort of sick prank against George.
Everyone was chattering amongst themselves, catching up with old friends and family members.
He was sat next to his sister, gnawing the inside of his cheek so consistently that he was beginning to taste hints of blood.
“Could everyone please take their seats?” The wedding officiant instructed before muttering into Jacob’s ear.
The man nodded, clearing his throat with his hands clasped at his front.
George grimaced.
“Stop.” Emily whispered, squeezing his leg.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Control your face.”
The low strings of an orchestral version of some awful song began playing.
A song you and George knew far too well.
It was your best friends wedding, and you were her maid of honour, while George was part of the groomsmen.
That song was paying through the speakers, and you kept making eye contact across the ceremonial stage, faces screwed up in suppressed laughter and turning away from the crowd so they wouldn’t catch your wheezing amusement.
“For fucks sake.” George muttered, making Emily swat him with the leaflet.
A low rumble of murmurs began through the attendees as everyone’s heads turned, watching you walk down the aisle.
George could’ve sworn time slowed down.
Here you were, in a beautiful gown that puffed out at the waist, and an intricate veil flowing along your perfectly styled hair.
His breath caught in his throat as tears pricked along his waterline.
A toddler gasped particularly loudly, making you laugh and wave at her.
You were perfect.
You were so, so perfect.
“Oh, she’s beautiful.” Emily whispered through her own tears.
“Yeah.” George nodded, crying for reasons entirely different.
Your eyes met his.
Out of everyone in the room, you looked to him.
You smiled.
He wiped his cheeks and smiled back.
It was bittersweet, really.
He got to see you looked like the utter pinnacle of beauty on your wedding day, yet your destination at the end of the aisle was a different man.
A man that didn’t understand you, and didn’t love you like George did.
you’ll keep changing, i will stay the same,
George continued to watch your life go by through a series of Instagram posts.
Sure, he went to your housewarming party when you and Jacob moved out of the apartment, and yeah, he went to your gender reveal party when you found out that you were pregnant.
But he was never there.
He was watching it all go by from the sidelines.
He wasn’t where he should be.
He should’ve been the one cutting the cake with you, and squeezing you tightly over the sight of blue frosting.
He should’ve been the one to unlock your shared front door for the first time.
He never changed.
He stayed the same.
The same lovesick fool he had been for over a decade.
George would never move on from you, that was purely impossible.
and turn the page to find it blank, except for my last name.
You were going through your old things in the attic, trying the decipher what memorabilia could be scrapped, and what had to stay.
You ended up scoping through old school notebooks.
You laughed at the sight of your awful workings out and the multitude of maths tests you failed.
But in the back of it, the last page had a selection of games played on it; hangman, tic-tac-toe, who can make the most squares? and …
And a very chicken-scratch-esque illustration of you in a veil and George in a tuxedo. Underneath it, you’d scrawled your first name, and in the handwriting you’d recognised to be his, he’d written his last name.
i know you love her, but … she was my girl first.
You’d always been George’s girl.
Always.
It’s just a shame that time caught up to you, and shame had caught up to him.
Fem/dom lesbian with a soft spot for good conversation, confidence, and chemistry. I love intelligent banter, dark humor, and people who know what they want. Looking to connect with a younger woman (18+) who’s genuine, playful, and open-minded. My DMs are open darlings💋
he knew exactly what you were doing the moment you lifted his arms, but decided to play along anyway. and as soon as your lips reached his, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer. and when he felt you laugh against his lips he smiled. “seen the trend , have you?” he said smirking. “ugh i hate you why didn’t you tell me!!” you shouted embarrassed but he pulls you back in kissing you to stop you talking.
louis tomlinson:
“y/n i’m not being in a fucking tiktok, you know i hate it” he says frowning dramatically however there was no actual bite to it. “just shut up and put your arms up.” you tell him. he listens, still having a stubborn look on his face though. when you lean in for a kiss he froze at first not expecting it. but then melted into it perfectly. and louis being his cheeky self , squeezed your bum.
niall horan:
“yes ma’am” putting his arms up like a soldier. you giggled “ni you can relax them”. “oh right sorry”. he relaxed them but you were still laughing but you still tried to kiss him. he melted straight away, big big smile against your lips. his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled away “well, wasn’t expecting that, but i’m not complaining” he said with a goofy grin still hugging you and swaying you side to side.
zayn malik:
he felt silly standing in front of a camera with his arms up. but you didn’t expect anything different , i mean remember x factor? “dont even think about it” he gave you a warning look. “think about what?” “tickling me” he said dead serious. “that’s not my plan babe.” you said laughing “oh? what is then?” you leant into the kiss and he put his arms around you straight away leaning into it. after you break apart, he smirks, “i can get used to that”. and kissed you again.
liam payne:
“put my arms up? , what like this?” he does it straight after you say , but was laughing at the randomness. and when you leant it kissing his soft lips , he smiles against yours. you break apart and he smiles down at you “ so that’s why you had me stood there like that”. you smile at how adorable and precious he was.
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hiii!! i hope you enjoyed it!! also can someone lmk if my request box is there because im new to tumblr and dont really understand 😭 ilys all 🌷
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