#ginge

Get me out of here -Angry ginge

words: 1.8k+

warnings: comfort with a little bit of angst, feeling homesick (reader and ginge).

summary: after a ten days in the jungle and enduring your fair share of trials you were really missing home, a particularly hard trial left you exhausted and defeated but the boy you’d been crushing on comforts you when he sees you upset.

notes: thanks for the request lovely!🫶🏼 second request i based this on here! this isn’t accurate to the current timeline of i’m a celebrity, i just made it up as i went along. also added the part where ginge gets upset since as he said… men cry too❤️‍🩹. i hope you enjoy!!🤭🌴⭐️

You’re an actress. You’ve been in your fair share of movies alongside a popular tv show, though you don’t have any roles lined up until February so when you got asked to be on I’m a celebrity you just couldn’t say no.

The day you entered the jungle was something you'd never forget. You'd parachuted out of a helicopter and then been dropped straight into your first trial, that you'd managed to win, alongside Aitch, granting you a seat in the getaway car.

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.

“Love you,” he murmurs, already drifting. “And Spike. And… Beano sometimes.”

Down the hall, Beano yells, “I HEARD THAT.”

I didn’t mean fluffmas thank you your writing is so good

homecoming ── angry ginge⋆⭒˚.⋆

pairing: morgan burtwhistle x reader

summary: request

warnings/contents: none!

a/n: a small drabble, sorry if i mischaracterize guys its so hard plz give me feedback

Pm me to be on taglist <3

requests are open and i'm happy to write whatever, hope you enjoy xx

The arrivals hall is a blur of noise, suitcases rattling, people shouting names, announcements echoing overhead, but none of it registers. All you can see is him.

Morgan. Hair sticking up in all directions, sweat still clinging from the jungle, eyes alive, scanning the crowd. Seeing him safe and standing there makes your chest tighten in a way you didn’t think possible.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Morgan was live on Twitch, sitting in his usual spot with his headset slightly askew, camera angled just enough to catch the glow of his monitor on his face. You were lounging on the bed, scrolling through your phone, trying not to watch the way his attention dipped in and out of the screen. Then he spoke suddenly, loud enough to cut through the low music of the stream.

“Chat’s saying my girlfriend’s ignoring me.”

You glanced up, eyebrow raised, masking the small jolt of irritation. “I’m not ignoring you,” you replied, voice even, trying not to let the edge seep through.

“Chat says you are,” Morgan countered, grinning, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh well, if chat says it,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

He leaned back, arms stretching across the chair as if to command the room, voice teasing “You jealous of chat or what?”

You snorted, grabbing a pillow to hurl at him, but missing spectacularly as he leaned back again, laughing. “Why would I be jealous of your chat?”

“Because they love me more,” he said, mock offended, tone loud and sarcastic but tinged with the tiniest hint of insecurity.

“They also call you a ginger nonce every five minutes,” you fired back, smirking despite the playful jab.

“Yeah, but it’s affectionate!” Morgan protested, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation.

“You know,” you muttered, flopping down onto the bed, “I think you secretly like the attention.”

He glanced over at you again, smirk widening. “Chat thinks you’re jealous.”

You groaned and grabbed the nearest pillow, holding it up like a shield. “Turn the stream off before I actually start a fight.”

Morgan’s laughter rang through the room, loud and infectious. “Chat, she’s serious,” he said, the faint softness in his voice betraying a flicker of concern beneath the teasing.

You wanted to roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward. Morgan always had this way of pushing buttons while still keeping the connection warm beneath the banter.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Morgan had dragged you into a joke on stream, and now the messages were blowing up, and you felt exposed.

“You thought that was funny?” you said later, hands on your hips, voice sharper than you intended.

“It was,” Morgan said, shrugging, but you could hear the uncertainty under his tone. “I thought it’d be funny.”

“It wasn’t funny,” you said, taking a step closer. “I didn’t want everyone laughing at me.”

Morgan ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. “I should’ve asked,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You exhaled, tension still lingering in your shoulders. “Just think next time?”

He nodded, voice low, eyes softening. “I will. I won’t make you feel like that again.”

You let yourself step closer, brushing past him slightly. “You’re a knob sometimes,” you muttered.

Morgan laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “but I’m your knob.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It was late. You were tired, cranky, and hungry. Morgan was finishing up some editing on his laptop while you sat at the table, trying not to roll your eyes.

“You’re still on that?” you asked, voice low but pointed.

“I’m finishing,” he said, not looking up.

“Why does it always have to be something?” you muttered, tired of feeling like you were competing for attention.

Morgan finally looked at you, expression a little annoyed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, voice sharper, “that I’m here, you’re here, but you’re not really here. You’re on your laptop, you’re editing, you’re everything else. And I just wanted food and a conversation.”

He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Okay. I get it. I just, I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”

“I know,” you said, softer now. “But it still feels like it.”

Morgan got up, closed the laptop, and moved to sit across from you at the table. “I’m here now,” he said simply. “Food, chat, whatever you need.”

You smiled weakly, tension easing. “Thank you.”

Morgan shrugged, a little awkward. “I’m not perfect, you know.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you said, reaching for his hand. “Just present.”

“Present. Got it,” he said, nodding, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You had been on edge all day. Your stomach hurt, your head throbbed, and every little thing felt amplified. Morgan had been distracted all morning, hopping between his stream, chat, and editing, and by the time evening rolled around, the tension inside you was like a pressure cooker.

“I’m going to make some tea,” you muttered, voice clipped as you stood up from the couch.

Morgan glanced up from his laptop, frowning. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said automatically, but the word felt hollow even to your own ears.

“Seriously, you don’t sound okay,” Morgan pressed, tilting his head, that mix of concern and curiosity he always got when he knew something was off but wasn’t sure how to approach it.

“I’m fine!” you snapped, sharper than you intended. The word sounded loud in the quiet living room, and even you flinched. “I need some space.”

Morgan blinked. “Space?” he repeated slowly, a little hurt in his tone. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now!” You threw your hands up, frustration spilling over. “I can’t deal with your jokes, your stream, your chat, your everything right now!”

His brows knitted together, voice going firmer but cautious. “Okay but I’m not doing anything to you. I’m literally sitting here, and you’re yelling at me.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,”you said, voice cracking slightly. “It’s just, I’m on my period, my body hurts, I’m tired, I feel like crap, and I’m trying to deal with it, and I can’t even think straight because everything annoys me!”

Morgan froze, eyes wide for a second, and then he looked down at his hands, quiet. “Right. Okay. I get it. I didn’t, I didn’t realize it was, that bad,” he said softly, finally lowering his voice, tone careful.

“I know it’s not your fault,” you said, letting your hands fall to your sides, voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I don’t mean to be like this, but everything just gets too much sometimes. And right now, it’s all too much.”

He leaned back in the chair, running a hand over his face, silent for a beat, then finally came over slowly and sat beside you on the couch. “Look,” Morgan said quietly, voice low and careful, “I don’t want to make it worse. I just I want to help. Even if I don’t know how.”

You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, tired, frustrated, vulnerable. “I don’t even know how to let you help,” you admitted, voice small.

Morgan reached for your hand, holding it gently. “Then tell me. I’ll follow you. I’ll do whatever you need. Even if it’s just sitting here and doing nothing, I’ll do that.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I just feel awful.”

“I know,” he said softly, rubbing your arm in small, careful circles. “And I’ll deal with you being awful. That’s fine. I don’t care. I just want you to feel a little better.”

You let yourself slump into him, the tension finally giving way, messy and real. Morgan didn’t say much after that, he just stayed beside you, quiet but present, and somehow that was enough. Not perfect, not fixed - together.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Morgan was on the couch, remote in hand, scrolling through Netflix options for the fifth time. You had been trying to watch a show you started the week before.

“Can I have the remote?” you asked, voice mild.

“Nope,” Morgan said without looking.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m deciding. It’s a very serious decision.”

You huffed. “We’ve been deciding for ten minutes. I just want to watch something, anything.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “That’s why it’s serious. I can’t just pick. It has to be perfect.”

“Perfect for who? You?” you snapped, plopping down on the floor.

“Yes, obviously,” he said, still scrolling. “Also me.”

“Obviously you,” you muttered under your breath, glaring.

Morgan finally looked down at you. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms, voice flat.

“I heard it,” he said, voice teasing. “You said ‘obviously me.’”

You threw a cushion at him. “I did not!”

“Yes, you did,” he laughed, ducking. “And yet, you’re still here.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Some fights don’t even need words. Both of you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phones, tired of each other, the room thick with silence.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered, finally breaking the quiet.

“Me?” he said, looking up. “You’re literally the one who started the silent treatment.”

“I did not start a silent treatment!” you said, pointing at Morgan.

“Uh-huh,” he said, smirking. “You literally haven’t said a word in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is not long!” you protested.

“Yes, it is,” he said, leaning back, arms behind his head. “And yet, here I am, still tolerating you.”

“Wow, so noble,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I know,” Morgan said, shrugging. “You’re welcome.”

You groaned, throwing your phone down. “You’re impossible.”