whisperturnedecho

[whisperturnedecho]

too much ain't enough -- g. clarke & a. hill & c. dixon x reader 18+

an unfortunate incident leads to you having to move into casa hill-dixon-clarke. obviously, they offered you a place to stay. obviously, you are very thankful. and, obviously, the tension that builds up between you and your new flatmates purely exists to give into it.... right?

pairing: george x f!reader x chris x arthur hill genre: smut MDNI!!! warnings: foursome, unprotected sex (woopsie doopsie), throat fucking, creampie, cum swallowing, oral (m. receiving), boys are a bit perverted but oh well, loads of tension wc: 4.9k a/n: hi there! welcome to... this... shitshow? listen, i am just a whore what can i say. i hope you enjoy!!! don't forget to reblog / comment / send an ask telling me what you think <3

as much as you wish it doesn’t, the burning feeling of guilt sweeps through you as you watch arthur roll your suitcase into his (or now your) room. 

“is this really okay?” you ask for the seventh time this hour and arthur chuckles, putting his hands on his hips as he turns to you.

“stop asking already, if it weren’t okay we wouldn’t have offered, alright?” he gives you a smile and you bite down on your lip, hugging yourself with your arms as you nod slightly.

“i just feel so bad for-,”

“kicking me out my room, i know, y/n, you’ve said that about four hundred times.” he walks over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. the smile he gives you reaches his pretty hazel eyes and you finally give in.

“i’m sorry, you’re right. you wouldn't have offered. thanks, arthur, really.”

all of this hassle and your guilty conscience because one of the pipes in your building randomly decided to burst and leave you with a flooded bath- and living room. the damage was too big for you to move back in for the next couple of weeks (if not months) and when you had cried about it to your friends, they had promptly invited you to stay with them. 

you have been friends with chris, george and arthur for over two years now, being in the same circle due to working the same job. the three of them have somehow become your closest friends in the past few months; you hanging around their place with arthur and bach more often than you were at your own place anyways. but you never spent the night, never saw them in the morning, never were part of their daily routines at their flat.

now, that’s about to change.

the first few days go smoothly, even with you around in the mornings. arthur is crashing on the couch for the time being and sharing bathrooms with george while you get his all to yourself. and it’s nice, it’s perfectly fine. 

except for the fact that the more chris, george and arthur are around you, the less they can ignore how attracted they are to you. the way you wear your hair, the sweet perfume you put on every morning, your genuine smile and these bloody skirts you love to wear - it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. 

it becomes a topic amongst them only a few days after you move in. the first time chris mentions it to george is right after he watched you hurry into the living room with nothing but a very short bathrobe on, your skin glowy from what he assumes is body oil and your hair in wet curls over your shoulders. his ability to breath temporarily left him and he could only return the smile you gave him with the most awkward wave of his life. 

he’s leaning over the kitchen island with george eating cereal next to him, seated.

“i am starting to regret this.” chris says and george chews his food, shrugging before swallowing.

“you’re being dramatic. just… don’t look.”

he is punched in the face by karma a minute later when you walk into the room with said bathrobe, laughing about how you got one thing earlier only to forget the second. george chokes on the spoon of cereal he just shoved into his mouth and chris slaps him on the back, giving you another awkward wave. 

“what was that?” he then says to his friend who’s still recovering from his coughing fit.

in reality, the boys are just severely under fucked. seeing a beautiful woman in a bathrobe should not get them this excited. but work is rough and their time is already limited. chris hasn’t been on a date in months which, according to his friend group, is an actual scandal. 

arthur isn’t much better. he’s been thinking about you sleeping in his bed every night on the couch. he feels like a creep, imagining his sheets smelling like you, imagining waking up next to you. he can’t help it though. not when you’re that pretty and that hot. it shouldn’t be legal to be both, he thinks.

the three of them talk about nothing else in their group chat. 

finchy: if i see one of her panties in the washing again i will literally chop my hand off

chris: any specific reason for that particular body part?

finchy: …

finchy: fuck off

george: when i did the washing last week i almost cried 

george: she has this pair of like pink panties with white bows and i’m just

chris: i need you to stop talking 

george: suffer with me wth

finchy: i need a cold shower

george: also arthur don’t you dare wank off on our couch 

it’s the one month anniversary of your move and the boys are out for a football shoot. you take the opportunity to prepare dinner. the last month had been hectic as hell and you hadn’t gotten the chance to properly thank them for their kindness. 

you cook your signature bolognese, clean the apartment and decorate it with flowers you bought from the market in the morning. a beautifully set table, delicious food and several bottles of expensive wine, two candles in some pretty candlesticks you found in the cupboards. you turn on some soft music, humming along as you do the last bits and bobs before the boys come home. 

it didn’t go over your head, obviously. the gazes, the lingering touches, the awkwardness. and maybe, once you’ve figured it out, you did kind of… do it on purpose. walked around in that bathrobe that made george choke and chris lose his ability to speak. chose some more scandalous skirts from your closet when you left your room for the day. let your underwear lay on top of the washing for them to see. 

all of it seems like fun and games to you, but it also opens up a door you never really intended to open. by all means, you never expected to be attracted to your three closest friends, not like this. but living with them also meant seeing them in a way you hadn’t before. george’s bedhead and his bare chest in the mornings when you were already sitting on the couch planning something on your ipad, the way chris’ would stretch before a run and how he’d come back with his cheeks rosy and his hair sweaty, how arthur looked right out of a shower, his hair a mop of wet curls on his head, all his tattoos on display when he walked out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist. 

you are just a girl. a girl with eyes and needs and, fuck, has it been long since someone fucked you properly. getting off in arthur’s bed feels strange so you haven’t even done that and the shower… god, it feels wrong, too. so, you haven’t come in a month. your body is on fire, your thoughts are anything but innocent. and maybe, just maybe, tonight isn’t just about thanking them for letting you stay but also trying to see if they were up for… something. 

just when you get the spaghetti into the water, you hear the front door unlocking. your head turns to the door, a smile forming on your lips. 

“something smells incredible.” you hear arthur say and you giggle to yourself, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. 

a moment later, the three men walk in, all of their jaws slightly dropped.

“surprise!” you grin, walking around the island and over to them. “i thought it was about time to properly thank you for letting me stay here. so, i cooked you dinner and bought some wine, cleaned the place, you know, nothing too grand but still nice.” 

chris, george and arthur are speechless. not just because of the delicious scent inside their apartment, but because of you. it’s like you peeked inside their minds, like you scouted every message to know exactly what they talked about. 

finchy: if i see her in that tennis skirt one more time

george: don’t even get me started

chris: i feel like the creepiest creep on earth but… same

finchy: like fucking hell 

finchy: i vote we burn it so i don’t get another fucking hard on when she’s just standing there

george: i hate that i can’t even make fun of you for that

chris: sigh

chris: same

the white tennis skirt and football jersey over it makes all of their minds go places they aren’t so sure they should. 

“that’s…. wow, you- you really didn’t have to.” chris somehow stumbles out but you shake your head.

“no, no. i wanted to. dinner is ready in like fifteen minutes, yeah?” you give them another wide smile and turn around again, grabbing your phone from the counter. 

the boys exchange looks. how on earth was this night going to end?

the dinner goes smoothly. after the boys all take their well needed showers you gather around the dining table. the wine flows, the bolognese gets complimented and laughter continuously fills the air. it almost feels like it did before you moved in, almost. there is this new addition to the mix, a tension that lays above you all like an invisible blanket. 

it’s in the way george’s eyes linger on your lips when you talk, in the way arthur pours you wine and smiles at you and how chris’ fingers brush against yours when he hands you the salt. perhaps it’s also in the way you speak to them, how you can’t keep your eyes off their handsome faces when they talk, how you thrive on their attention on you. 

after dinner, when arthur and george begin cleaning up the table and chris opens another bottle of the wine you bought, you find yourself seated on the couch, wondering. 

not long and the boys join you. george and arthur on the carpet, chris on the couch with you. the conversation from before continues, but it’s different somehow - the tension is thick and heavy and you wonder how and when it’ll become too much. 

“how about a little game?” you finally propose and the boys look at you with slightly raised brows.

“what game?” george asks and you shift on your seat, taking a small sip of your wine glass.

“i was thinking… never have i ever?” you grin. 

“cheeky.” chris laughs, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“you start then.” arthur clinks his rings against his wine glass absentmindedly. 

the first few rounds are tame. but with time passing and more glasses of wine getting emptied… it’s no surprise the spirits change and everyone feels a little bit bolder. 

“never have i ever touched myself in a bed that isn’t mine.” arthur’s words reach your ears and your eyebrows raise up. oh, this was surely aimed at you. 

“cheeky, arthur.” you chuckle, but keep your glass down. “but i fear that hasn’t happened.” you tilt your head and arthur’s eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and disappointment in them.

george and chris press their lips together, suppressing a laugh. 

“never have i ever imagined someone touching themselves in my bed.” you then continue, gaze fixed on arthur, who feels his own throat go dry for a second. then, he raises his glass and takes a sip, never breaking eye contact. you smile wider.

“hm, interesting.” 

“but wait, i have a question.” chris leans forward, curiosity playing on his pretty face. “just purely out of curiosity… the shower, then?” 

“christopher dixon, are you actually asking me where i’ve masturbated in your apartment right now?” you reply laughing, throwing one of the pillows at him. george and arthur chime into the laughter, but all of you know it’s not really a joke. it’s the start of something else, something that should feel forbidden but somehow doesn’t. 

“i mean, yeah. if it’s not in arthur’s room it surely has to be the shower, right?”

you lean back, eyeing chris for a second. then, you shake your head.

“i fear you’ll have to live with the fact i have not done that in your apartment as of right now.”

the silence that follows your words is louder than any words. you’ve been living with them for a month. and as far as they know you haven’t been shagging anyone. does that mean…?

“you haven’t gotten off all this month?!” arthur finally breaks through the silence and you turn your head towards him, raising a brow.

“what? like it’s hard?” you stop for a second, grinning. “because it’s not.”

the boys all laugh at your stupid joke, shaking their heads at you. still, the atmosphere-change stays. even with the laughter, with the playfulness - it’s all somewhat feign. 

when the laughter finally dies and all that stays is a loaded silence, the boys, while not communicating openly, know they are all sharing the same thought.

“perhaps,” george now starts, wetting his lip, “we should change the game. fancy a round of truth or dare?”

it’s a farce. you know it, they know it. but you play along, nodding as you bring your glass to your lips, taking another sip.

“sure.” you wait for one of them to ask you, to make you say the words all of you need to hear. 

“truth or dare?” arthur breaks the moment of silence, his pretty eyes focused on you. butterflies go crazy inside your stomach as you lick over your lips, the remaining drops of wine coating the tip of your tongue.

“truth.” it’s probably not what they want to hear - or maybe it is. maybe they want to know what you truthfully feel before daring you to do anything.

“would you like it if…,” arthur’s eyes flick from you to chris and back, “if chris kissed you right now?” his voice is merely a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. you slowly move your head, seeing chris look at you from the other side of the couch, his hand still holding his wine glass. he looks so pretty in this light, green eyes sparkling and the white jumper hanging off his frame. you bite your lip and finally nod, giving arthur an answer to his question.

“yes… yes, i would like that.” 

with every second that passed, the tension in the room seems to grow thicker. the invisible blanket is about to suffocate you in the most delicious way.

“chris? truth or dare.” george’s voice chimes in now and your heartbeat picks up speed. 

“dare.” a no brainer, of course. he is already moving forward, the wine glass finding its way onto the small table separating you from george and arthur.

“i dare you to kiss her.” 

chris doesn’t wait long. his hands find your waist and you’re suddenly so close to him, the smell of his lemony body wash fills your senses and leaves you wanting more. his breath hovers over you for just a second before his lips finally touch yours. what starts out sweet, lips slowly moving against each other, becomes more heated with every fleeting moment. 

your free hand moves to his nape, fingers curling into the hair at his neckline, your eyes shut close. chris tastes like wine and warmth, his tongue tackling yours skilfully. feeling arthur and george’s gazes on you only makes the whole thing hotter. you feel their eyes burning on your skin, can only imagine how much they want to be in chris’ stead or just.. participate in any way. 

parting from chris feels like the hardest thing you ever had to do, but you do it, looking at george and arthur. their faces are flushed and they look even better than you had anticipated. without saying another word, you slowly get up, setting your glass onto the table as well, lowering yourself onto the floor and straight onto arthur’s lap. his breath gets stuck in his throat when he feels you close in, his eyes fluttering shut when your hands land on his cheeks and your lips on his. 

george and chris watch you and arthur hungrily, their best friend’s making out, your legs straddling him, his hands on your hips. 

arthur’s kisses are intoxicating. they are surely going to get you more drunk than any wine ever could. the way his lips feel against yours, the way his mustache rubs against your upper lip, the way his tongue feels inside your mouth…

but there is a third person, someone you can’t leave hanging. so, with all the selfcontrol you can gather, you get off arthur’s lap just to move over to george, who’s already awaiting you. his blue eyes stare up at you, lips slightly parted and, god, he’s so hot. 

his big hands move to your waist, practically dragging you on top of him. having waited the longest, he dives into the kiss right away, one hand now grabbing your face, lips crashing against yours. he devours you deliciously, a moan slipping through your lips as your fingers dig into his pretty curls. 

chris and arthur watch, arthur slowly moving closer and chris getting off the couch. nothing matters anymore, nothing but you and this moment and what they want to do to you - with you. 

it doesn’t take long for you to feel another pair of lips on your body - arthur, you guess - pressing kisses against your neck. and then there is another pair of hands, caressing your sides, slowly moving underneath your shirt. 

it’s all too much and yet not enough. all the unspoken words, the longing gazes, the lingering touches. the pent of frustration of not touching yourself in a month has you drenched, your hips grinding down on george, who groans against your lips, hands now both back on your hips.

“someone’s eager,” he breathes with a smirk and you bite down on your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes. just that alone almost makes him beg you to let him fuck you. instead, he dips forward again, kissing you passionately. 

someone needs to touch you, you don’t care who. and as if he can read your mind, arthur moves even closer, lips still kissing your neck, nimble fingers finding their way underneath your skirt. that god forsaken tennis skirt he has fantasised about so many times. 

he can’t stop the moan when he feels your drenched panties.

“fuck, you’re so wet for us, aren’t you, love?” 

he shoves them to the side, fingers gliding over your folds, thriving on the way you feel,on how easy it is to slip between your legs, and on the sounds you make when he finally touches your throbbing clit. 

chris, meanwhile, frees your tits from the restraints of your bra. his thumb and index squeeze your nipples and you arch your back against arthur. 

“fucking hell.” chris feels like he’s about to explode. his cock is straining against his underwear and joggers and he can only imagine arthur and george feel the same way. after all the dancing around it, the conversations in the group chat… it’s kind of a miracle neither of them came in their pants so far. 

your hips begin to move against arthur’s hand, your senses not your own anymore. fingers dig into george’s shoulders now as the latter continues to kiss you like he owns you. his lips and tongue chase yours, hot breath and saliva, too much and yet not enough to satisfy your yearning. 

“take this off, will you, darling?” chris’ voice echoes through your mind and all you can do is nod and part from george for a second to let them get your jersey off of you. your bra falls down onto the floor with it, leaving you in just your skirt and underwear. neither of the three men know how on earth they deserve this. deserve you.

“jesus christ…” george moves forward, lips catching one of your nipples, his right hand grabbing the other breast, cupping it possessively. arthur is now right behind you, thumb still rubbing circles on your clit while his lips suck marks onto the delicate skin of your neck and shoulders. and chris? chris takes george’s place, claiming your lips with his, hands grabbing your face. 

all their attention on you, their lips, their hands… it’s about to make you explode in a load of fireworks. noone has ever made you feel this way and you doubt anyone but them ever will again. while you have absolutely no idea what this means for you and them in the future, the prospect making slight worry creep up your spine for just a fleeting moment - right now it doesn’t matter. not when you’re about to have your first orgasm of the night, the first orgasm in a month, the first of many to come. 

“oh, fu-fuck!” you cry against chris’ lips, his tongue licking over your bottom lip and just when his teeth sink into it, you feel it hit, the high you’ve been craving for a whole month. 

arthur leads you through it with his thumb, pressing down as you grind down on him and george, as your head begins to spiral and your body shakes from the intensity of your orgasm. 

“good girl, came so prettily for us,” george kisses his way up, licking along your skin and you whimper, eyes fluttering shut and open, stars dancing in front of you. 

you find yourself laying flat on the carpet next, george in between your legs, arthur and chris kneelings by your sides. from here, you can see that all three of them are clearly… struggling and you lick over your lips, reaching out for arthur and chris.

“let me take care of you…” you whisper, palms pressing against their very present erections. they groan and nod, shoving down their pants and briefs, freeing their cocks - finally. your pussy throbs at the sight just as your mouth waters. you look from one to the other, sure you’re about to wake up from yet another wet dream. 

but no, when you let your thumbs swipe over their sensitive tips to gather precum for the glide, you’re still here and don’t wake up. and when you begin to stroke their cocks, when you hear them breathe heavily - you’re still not waking up. 

george watches you, eyeing you like you’re his prey and perhaps you are. his fingers move to get your panties off your legs and this time he doesn’t feel any ounce of shame when he brings them to his nose, taking in your perfect scent. 

“i fear you’ve opened a door you’ll never get to close again, pretty girl.” 

your eyes meet his and you watch him free himself as well, watch his pretty cock slap against his clothed stomach and, fuck, why are they all still wearing so much clothes? You can’t really complain though, not when george grabs your thighs and pushes them back, eyes now glued to your glistening folds. 

“you have no idea how many nights i’ve dreamt about this.” his words make another shiver run down your spine and you cry out his name when you feel his tip enter you. his big hand is wrapped around his cock, pushing more and more of him inside you. you had had a hunch that he was on the bigger side, but this? fucking hell. 

it takes him a good while to bottom out, your hands still wrapped around his flatmates’ cocks, stroking them. arthur and chris have their heads thrown back, enjoying the way your hands feels around them. 

“what a perfectly tight cunt you have, love.” george groans, both hands now back to pushing your thighs back. when he does his first thrust, you can’t stop the loud moan, your whole body shaking with lust. 

“oh, oh, isn’t someone a loud one?” george teases. “perhaps someone should stuff your mouth, hm?”

the thought alone makes you whimper, tears beginning to well in your eyes. chris and arthur exchange a glance, but finally chris is the one who moves, your hand slipping from his cock, now replaced by his own.

“we don’t want to disturb the neighbours, do we?” he smirks, his cock now right there in front of your mouth. you open obediently and his eyes sparkle with hunger. you are going to end him, he just knows it. he lets his tip glide over your tongue, the sensation already almost enough to make him burst. when you close your lips around him, sucking him deeper into your mouth, he thinks he might be in love with you. 

“holy shit.” he groans once he’s fully buried inside your mouth, his cock feeling right at home inside your pretty mouth. 

“don’t you look pretty with chrissie’s cock in your mouth, darling.” george licks over his lips. “let’s see how pretty you are while you get your pussy and mouth fucked at the same time, yeah?” 

they go mayhem on you. 

and you love it. 

love the way george pounds into your pussy like he was meant for it.

love the way chris sounds as he fucks down your throat.

love the way arthur grips your hand with his to move faster around his cock. 

their sounds make you stumble over the edge again, all too much and still it never feels like enough. 

george feels you clenching around him, his grip on your thighs tightening. holy hell, you truly are a sight to behold. tits bouncing with every thrust, your skirt risen up, hair a mess on the carpet. not to mention the view of chris inside your mouth. 

picking up his speed, george lets his eyes wander over your body, finally reaching where he keeps fucking into you. his breath hitches and he can’t hold back any longer, his head tipping back as his hips chase his high. 

“fuck!” he feels his climax rush over him, quickly pulling out and watching his cum paint your stomach in pretty streaks of white. he falls back, leaning against the couch, his chest heaving. 

“who’s next?” he smirks, pulling a hand through his hair. chris, too focused on your mouth and the way it’s all warm and perfect around his cock, doesn’t even think about switching to your cunt, which leaves the musician of the group to take the spot between your legs. 

“hold on.” he beckons chris to stop for just a moment, turning you over on your hands and knees. 

“much better.” arthur’s eyes can’t get enough of your body, his hands caressing your backside as he jerks himself off a few times before finally bringing his tip to your entrance. you whimper at the contact, your mouth back to being claimed by christopher. 

it’s like music, arthur thinks. the way you sound, the way you work with him and chris. your body reacts perfectly to them, plays along with their rhythm, meets every thrust like a champ. 

“you’re perfect, love, so fucking perfect.” he whispers as he begins to pick up the pace, his hands caressing your back as he fucks you. chris knows it won’t be long until he hits his high, your throat continuing to restrict around him. he is obsessed with the way you choke around his cock, with the way your eyes water when you look up into his eyes. this is everything he had ever hoped it to be and so much more.

and when you swallow around him, your choked moan like a symphony in his ears, he can’t stop himself from croaking out your name as he comes deep down your throat, hungrily watching you swallow it all, not letting even one drop go to waste. 

“yeah, take it all, bloody hell…” chris’ hands hold your head steady, gripping your hair tightly as he rides out his orgasm, finally pulling out and catching his breath.

which now leaves arthur last. and with your mouth now free… he grips your hips tighter, thrusts growing periodically harder again. you moan, pussy fluttering with an nearing third orgasm. his hips chase yours and your body is once again shaking from pleasure. everything feels hot and sweat is running down your temple, hands beginning to grow tired underneath you.

but arthur behind you makes it all worth it. and when he pulls you back by the shoulders, your back now pressing against his chest, when you feel his lips on your neck, his tongue licking along the marks he left earlier, you can’t stop yourself from coming a third time, hard and final around arthur’s cock.

“good girl, such a good perfect girl.” he whispers into your ear as you orgasm, his own climax only seconds away. he fucks you through your high and finally feels his own washing over him, allowing himself to come inside your pulsating cunt, once, twice. 

he’s done for. all of them are. just as you.

you collapse back onto the carpet, arthur right next to you.

“good god.” you stare at the ceiling, feeling chris lay down next to you. only george is still seated against the couch, chuckling at the image before him.

“now, who would have expected this?” he grins. you shake your head. not you. definitely not you.

“george?” chris suddenly says next to you. 

“yeah?”

“i think i just laid down in your cum.”

silence.

then bursts of laughter.

the faint worry from before was for nothing as it seems. because when they help you get cleaned up and you fall asleep in arthur’s bed with not just him but chris and george next to you… you feel like it will all find its place.

[whisperturnedecho]

Could you write something with George realizing how tired reader is and how they’re still trying to spend time with him and do things even though they’re dead on their feet? And George makes them relax and the fall asleep on him?

hiii i hope you don't mind but i combined this with this ask!

contains: established relationship, fluff

george clarke x fem!reader

you don’t mean to fall asleep on him.

you really don’t. you’d texted him just a few hours ago saying you’d come by for dinner- insisting you’d be fine, even after six hours in the library, two energy drinks, and a mock exam that had you nearly in tears in the toilet.

but george knows you.

he knows the set of your shoulders when you walk into his flat, dropping your bag like it’s made of stone. he knows how quiet you get—not the peaceful kind, but the stretched-too-thin kind. like your brain is still in overdrive, even while your body begs to shut down.

“hey, love,” he says, meeting you in the kitchen. “long day?”

you manage a tired smile. “just a bit.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead and doesn’t say anything else, just guides you gently to the couch.

“dinner’ll take a bit. just sit,” he says, already handing you a blanket like it’s a reflex.

you don’t argue. you just sink into the cushions, curled in on yourself. it’s only when he brings you a cup of tea—your favorite, already cooled enough to drink—that he notices your eyes starting to close between sips.

“you alright?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

you nod, too fast. “yeah. just tired.”

he watches you for a second. then gently takes the mug from your hands and sets it on the table. “alright. come here.”

you blink. “what?”

“c’mere,” he says again, softer this time, tugging you forward just enough so he can sit down and pull you into his side. your head finds his chest automatically, like it belongs there. “you don’t have to stay awake for me, you know.”

“i wanted to see you.”

“and i love that. i do,” he says, his hand stroking up and down your arm. “but you’ve got nothing to prove, yeah? not to me.”

you go quiet then. not because you don’t believe him—george has never once made you feel like you’re not enough—but because the way he says it makes something ache in your chest.

it’s quiet in the flat. the oven hums. outside, it’s raining in that soft, rhythmic way that feels almost staged. your eyes flutter closed again.

george kisses the top of your head, so gently it barely registers.

“get some rest, uni girl,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”

and you do. you fall asleep there, tucked against him like he’s your favorite pillow, his arms around you like a shelter.

he doesn’t move.

not when your breathing evens out, not when your phone buzzes twice with reminders, not even when dinner’s ready.

he just holds you.

[whisperturnedecho]

This may not get any traction but I’m going to ask anyway. I’d really like your response and I’m so grateful for how well my George Clarke story did. 🥰

[whisperturnedecho]

puppy love - a. tv

summary -> you’re a big animal lover and fall in love with everyone’s pets the second you meet them so arthur surprises you

wc -> 2k

masterlist | main masterlist | requests

you never stood a chance when it came to dogs. one look at a wagging tail, a wet nose, or those soul-piercing puppy eyes and your heart was theirs. it wasn’t just that you liked animals —no, you felt something every time you met one. dogs especially. you connected with them instantly, like you’d known them in a past life and they were just waiting for you to come back.

it had become a running joke amongst your friends —your inability to resist any dog you met. arthur teased you constantly about it. and now, hanging out more frequently with the sidemen and their circle because of your growing presence on youtube, it was almost too easy to fall in love.

your first true test came at simon’s.

“okay, but i’m warning you now,” simon said, opening the door to his house with a raised eyebrow, “if you make that squealing noise again when you see her, i’mm revoking your dog privileges.”

you grinned, bouncing on your toes. “no promises.”

he stepped aside dramatically like he was revealing royalty.

and there she was. nala.

the golden retriever you’d stalked for months on Instagram, seen in countless vlogs, and now… now she was walking toward you in real life with that serene confidence only retrievers seem to have. like she knew she was the star of every room she walked into.

you didn’t even finish greeting simon properly. you dropped to your knees like your soul had left your body.

“NALA,” you gasped, arms already outstretched.

she blinked at you, tail giving a curious wag —then broke into a full run, barreling into you like you were long-lost best friends.

“she’s softer than i imagined,” you mumbled, face buried in her golden fur.

“she’s also going to leave you in five minutes for a piece of ham,” simon quipped.

“she’s perfect,” you said, ignoring him.

nala licked your cheek, and you genuinely thought you might cry. she was a walking serotonin boost, and you refused to believe that this was just a casual meeting. this was love. soulmate-level.

talia walked in just as you tried to take a selfie with nala’s head on your shoulder. she rolled her eyes with a smile. “another victim, i see.”

“don’t act like you weren’t the same,” simon said, nudging her.

“she’s magic,” you murmured. “i would die for her.”

simon groaned. “you met her two minutes ago.”

“doesn’t matter.”

by the time you left that night, nala had successfully claimed 47 new photos in your camera roll and at least three mentions in your Instagram story. you weren’t ashamed.

the next week, you were at tobi’s.

“she’s a bit shy,” he warned as you walked into his cozy living room. “takes a while to warm up.”

you immediately crouched down and kept your hands in your lap.

“hi, luna,” you said gently. “it’s okay. take your time.”

the black lab mix peeked out from behind the sofa, cautious eyes watching you like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“she’s a rescue,” tobi added. “didn’t have the easiest start.”

you nodded softly, not taking your eyes off her, “she’s beautiful.”

a few moments passed —then luna padded forward, ears back but nose twitching with curiosity.

when she finally reached you and nudged your hand, you felt that same heart-thudding connection again. you let her sniff, then slowly scratched behind her ears. she leaned into it like a sleepy cat.

“she trusts you,” tobi said quietly. “that’s rare.”

you looked up at him with a watery smile. “she’s safe now. she knows.”

after that, it was game over. you visited luna at least three more times in the span of two weeks. you memorized where she liked to be scratched, which squeaky toy was her favorite, and how she did a little full-body shake after every nap.

by the time you were posting a tiktok dedicated to her, arthur texted:

do i need to start barking to get your attention or…?

ypu replied with a photo of luna snuggled against your lap and captioned it:

u couldn’t compete

his response came instantly:

rude. also accurate.

still, he never seemed bothered. not really. he always seemed… amused. a little quiet when you talked too long about someone else’s dog, sure. but his eyes always softened when he saw you like that —all light and affection and no filter.

then one thursday night, while you were half-asleep on facetime with him, he asked, “you free Saturday?”

you blinked. “uh, yeah, i think so. why?”

“got something planned. just be here at 3.”

you sat up a little. “why? what are we doing?”

he smirked. “you’ll see. don’t ask questions.”

you raised a suspicious brow. “if this is an elaborate intervention for how obsessed i am with dogs—”

“you’ll see,” he repeated, grinning before ending the call.

saturday rolled around. you stood outside his flat, suspicious and excited, wondering if maybe he’d borrowed a dog for the afternoon just to mess with you. or worse —adopted a raccoon. arthur would do something chaotic like that.

but nothing prepared you for what was behind that door.

arthur answered with the most casual expression ever, despite the fact that he was obviously dying to spill something.

“hey,” he said smoothly.

“hi,” you replied, narrowing your eyes. “you’re being weird.”

“i’m always weird,” he said, stepping aside.

you walked in —and froze.

you heard it first. a tiny, excited whimper. then a shuffle. then the sound of claws gently tapping against hardwood.

you turned toward the sound —and your heart dropped into your stomach.

in the center of the room was a small playpen. inside it sat a crate, some toys, a tiny food bowl… and the smallest puppy you had ever seen in your life.

golden-brown fur. big floppy ears. a speckled nose. and the moment she saw you, her tail wagged so hard her whole body wobbled.

“Arthur,” you whispered, stunned.

he tried —and failed —to keep a straight face. “so, you know how you keep falling in love with everyone else’s dog?”

you turned to him in disbelief, heart pounding. “you didn’t.”

“i did,” he said, stepping closer. “she’s yours.”

your hands flew to your mouth.

“she’s mine?”

“she needed a home,” he said, voice gentler now. “and you… you’ve got the biggest heart i know. i figured, if anyone could love her the way she deserves—”

you didn’t hear the rest. the puppy barked, a tiny, excited squeak, and you rushed forward to open the gate.

she launched herself at you, clumsy and wiggling and full of joy. you scooped her up, your eyes already full of tears.

“she’s so little,” you whispered, pressing your face against her.

“she’s a rescue, got a bit of retriever, a bit of shepherd —maybe some collie too. bit of everything. she’s smart. and loud. like someone i know.”

you laughed through your tears. “i can’t believe you did this.”

arthur rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “i just wanted you to have something that makes you happy. every time you see a dog, you light up. i thought… maybe this time, it could be yours.”

the puppy licked your cheek, tail wagging furiously as she squirmed in your arms.

you looked up at arthur, heart thudding. “god, i love you.”

the words slipped out before you could even think.

his eyes widened —and then softened.

“i love you too,” he said, stepping closer. “have for a while, actually.”

you stood there, puppy in your arms, love of your life in front of you, and for once, you didn’t have anything sarcastic to say. you were full. complete.

“what’s her name?” arthur asked softly.

you looked down at the puppy. her eyes blinked up at you, full of trust. like she already knew who she belonged to.

“cleo,” you said. “she looks like a cleo.”

arthur grinned. “cleo it is.”

you sat on the floor together, cleo snuggled in your lap, her tiny snores filling the room like the final note in a perfect song.

and somewhere between the crinkle of her toy, the warmth of arthur’s hand in yours, and the feeling of unconditional love wrapped in fur, you realized: this wasn’t just a surprise.

it was the beginning of your forever.

[whisperturnedecho]

these are fic ideas i have that i’ll be writing soon !! but i wanna know which one you guys would like the most <33

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Sweet Treats - George Clarke x fem!Reader

Summary: George has been a bit down recently. But it's nothing a sweet treat can't fix.

Warnings: like 1 swear word

Notes: hit a massive writer's block on the When in Doncaster final part, so started this instead lol

Word Count: 1.9k

________________________________________________________

After a final adjustment of the ring light and a quick wipe of the bench, it was ready to go. With a quick breath, you finally clicked the button, the little blinking red light on your camera assuring you it was rolling.

Within seconds, the viewers started flooding in. The chat was racing with excited comments and greetings.

“Hi everyone! How are we all?”

A smile spread across your face almost instantly. Your viewer community was so lovely and supportive – small, perhaps, but they never failed to make your day. You’d started streaming before you became affiliated with the UKYT scene and had been gradually growing in popularity. But thankfully, nothing much had changed. Despite being in the odd video with Chris, the Arthurs, Bach, and George, you’d been lucky enough to keep your small Twitch community. You were able to stay at a comfortable few thousand loyal subscribers – and you liked it that way. There was something safe in just doing what you loved without the pressure of pleasing a large audience. Your little community was all you needed.

You’d seen the stress the boys go through to please their large fanbases. Keeping up with millions of sometimes impatient fans across multiple platforms was hard at times. Especially for George recently. Despite his seemingly chill persona, George had been a bit on edge over the past couple of weeks. Balancing filming for the Sidemen, podcasts, streaming on Twitch every other day, on top of filming and coming up with his own YouTube ideas, was becoming a lot to handle. There had been nights where he’d lock himself in his room for hours on end and beg you to ignore him until he finished his seemingly endless list of tasks. By the time he'd emerge, the exhaustion would be etched into his face. His eyes drooping and crease lines on his forehead. No words would be exchanged as he padded over and curled into you, falling asleep almost comically fast with his face tucked into the crook of your neck. It was tough, seeing your usually bouncing-off-the-walls boyfriend so tired and stressed. So you decided to help him out a little.

User 1: Good morning, Y/n and chat!!

User 2: Hello everybody!

User 3: Looking gorgeous as always, y/n!!

User 4: cooking stream??? chef y/n is back!!!!

Ah yes, the multitude of ingredients lining your bench. Flour, sugar, a plethora of chocolate chip varieties – today was going to be a long one.

“Alrightie, my lovelies! In case you haven’t already picked up on it – today we’re doing a baking stream! I haven’t done one of these in a while and you guys enjoyed it so much last time I thought I’d bring it back.” The chat spiked, voicing their approval and sending your long-unused baking emote. “And buckle up, team – we’re doing a long stream today.”

And it was – George was out filming for the Sidemen until around 4 p.m. A quick glance at your watch told you it was 10:30. And you had no doubt you’d still be in the kitchen by the time George got home.

“George has been a little bit busy recently, so today I’m going to be making a few of his favourites, and a few other goodies for him to try. Anyone who knows George knows he loves a good sweet treat, so we’re spoiling him a little bit because, quite frankly, he deserves it.”

The chat flowed with lovely messages.

User 5: their relationship is so cute I’m CRYING

User 6: What I wouldn’t do to have y/n baking me cookies 😭😭😭

User 7: She’s peak girlfriend, I fear

One by one, you ran through all the things you planned to make with your viewers. Chocolate chip and M&M cookies – one of George’s favourites, melting moments – one of your specialties George had been pestering you to let him try, peanut butter cookies, blueberry muffins as a "healthy" option, double chocolate brownies, and finally, a lemon, ginger and coconut slice. A long day indeed. But George was worth it.

To further conceal the surprise, you’d temporarily blocked all of your friends on Twitch, so they wouldn’t be able to see your stream. Thankfully, your chat agreed to keep the stream quiet.

“Okay, I have a whole system ready, guys,” you say with a giggle as you hold up your whiteboard checklist. “I’m going to start with the slice and melting moments, so they can set before George gets home. I’ll work my way through, and make his chocolate chip biscuits and the brownies last, because he likes them fresh out of the oven.”

The hours flew by as you baked. Flour burst into the air on a few occasions, now dusting your hair like you'd been caught in a blizzard. Bags of chocolate chips and pretzels had been opened and scattered across the counter, even though they were definitely meant for George's cookies. Not to mention the egg casualties. The kitchen was messy, to say the least.

The view count fluctuated throughout the day, which is to be expected for an almost full-day stream. Some even left to run errands, returning hours later with an "Oh my goodness, she's STILL going??". It was a long stream, but hey, a lengthy day with your Twitch community was a lot better than an entire day baking alone for hours on end. Throughout the day, your followers made small donations, choosing songs to add to the ever-growing playlist and sending you Text-to-Voice messages with questions, compliments, and random facts – baking streams were definitely a favourite.

By 3 p.m. you'd made the slice, three batches of biscuits, muffins, as well as an unplanned strawberry cake. Home stretch.

User 8: George better appreciate all this effort girl damn

User 9: @user8 if he doesn't, I'm here and willing to eat everything

You let out a laugh at the banter before a ping on your phone caught your attention.

George Pig ❤️✨: Filming wrapped a little early. Should be back in about an hour xx

Me: Great!! See you soon xx

"Well, chat, we have an hour. Keep those songs coming in!"

The next hour is controlled chaos. Flour and chocolate powder particles flying through the air as the batters were whisked quickly, bubbles floating around as you scrubbed the dirty dishes. Your viewers queued up various white-girl anthems to hype you up, speakers blasting 2010s top 20 hits at borderline obscene volumes. The timer for the last tray of cookies sounded through the kitchen just as the front door pushed open.

"I'm home, love!" your boyfriend's voice echoed down the hallway. He sounded content – like he'd had a good day but was excited to be home.

Your smile was instant. "In the kitchen, hon!"

User 10: awwwwwwwww

User 11: yall see how fast she smiled??? 😭

User 12: y/n gets custody of me if there's a divorce

User 13: please I'm too lonely and hormonal for this

User 14: CAN WE SEE HIM PLEASE??

User 15: Y/N WE NEED A LIVE REACTION

You placed the final tray of cookies on the bench and turned the music off just as George wandered into the room. Upon seeing the kitchen, and the delicious spread of cookies and baked goods covering the countertop, he slowed.

"What's all this then?" His smile was wide and his eyes held a mix of disbelief and appreciation.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you."

He only let out a breathy laugh as he walked over and wrapped his arms around you. Instantly, you melted into him, the familiar warmth in your chest blossoming at the feeling of his strong arms circling your waist and faint heartbeat against yours. His hand threaded into your hair to gently tug you closer, allowing him to nestle his face into you. His deep, grounding breath didn't go unnoticed by you. Instead of pulling away, you allowed his scent to envelop you, along with a hint of grass and Mexican food. It was so easy to get lost in him. Especially when he held you like this. What you both momentarily neglected to realise was that the camera was still rolling.

User 16: oh. my. god????

User 17: I'm so lonely guys

User 18: they're so perfect together I'm gonna scream

User 19: may this type of love find me

"Oh, hi chat!" George's voice broke you from your trance. But his hold on your waist didn't waver as he looked over to watch the scrolling messages. "How long has she been on today?"

User 20: All. Day.

User 21: I think I've been here since 11ish??

"11ish?" George burst out, his hands finding your cheeks and tilting your face to meet his eyes, blown wide in shock. "Darling, you've been baking for over five hours?"

Your hands instinctively found his wrists, stroking the skin gently as you spoke, "I had chat to keep me company, we had fun! And I did promise them a live taste test, if that's okay?"

George couldn't help the grin taking over his face as he caught the cheeky glint in your eyes. "You know I can never say no to your baking, love." You turned to walk back to the benchtop before he caught your face. "Wait."

He licked his thumb and swiped it over your cheek, eyes laser focused. After seeing your nose scrunch up in mock disgust, he just gave you a playful smirk. "You had chocolate on your face."

You turned to your camera with a look of betrayal that was quickly overshadowed by your growing smile. "Why did you lot not say anything?"

And with that, you took his hand in yours and led him to the benchtop. One by one, you both tasted all the creations, George toasting each goodie with a signature rhyme. Each bite was met with widening eyes and groans falling from his lips, somehow more impressed by each treat than the last. The way his eyes filled with emotion when you presented him with his favourite cookies did not go unnoticed.

Finally, with bellies full and trays embarrassingly empty, it was time to end the stream.

"Thank you so much for joining me today, guys! I'll be updating next week's stream schedule in the next few days, so hope to see you guys soon!" George's arm snaked around your waist and tugged you into his side, waving at the camera with a smile. "Bye everyone!"

User 22: bye y/n and george!!

User 23: thank you for the long stream mother🙏🙏

User 24: see everyone next time!

A silence fell over the room like a warm blanket as the camera light flickered to a stop.

"I can't believe you did all this for me."

George's eyes were full of love. He always looked at you like you hung the moon and stars, but his gaze now somehow held even more.

You didn't need to say why you did it – he already knew. That was something that made your relationship so special. There was such a deep and raw understanding of each other that couldn't really be explained, and it had started within weeks of knowing each other.

At your first pub crawl with the boys, George, somehow sensing your social battery depleting, had led you outside with a protective hand on the small of your back. When you'd asked him how he knew, he’d simply answered, "Just a feeling." And you were the same for him. He'd been editing in his room, and opened his door to find you standing there holding a warm box from his favourite pizza place. He asked you how you knew he was hungry, or how he even felt like a pizza, and you'd simply parroted back to him: "Just a feeling." Your friends joked that you were telepathic. But your favourite theory, by far, was ArthurTV's: you were stardust soulmates. Every human has remnants of stardust in their bodies, and Arthur always said that you and George had to be from the same star. And it almost became a little theme in your relationship.

No words were needed. You just wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers into his curls like you were anchoring yourself. His head immediately dropped to nestle into the crook of your neck, pulling you tightly into his chest. For a beautiful moment, everything was quiet, broken only by soft breaths and syncing heartbeats.

His voice came out no louder than a whisper, "I love you. So fucking much."

"I love you too."

"And you have flour in your hair."

[whisperturnedecho]

Bring it on

guys next fic is literally just gonna be the entirety of AB’s newest vlog so i hope you enjoy that 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[whisperturnedecho]

Jersey boys

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Favs x

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Look at his eyes 👀❤️ in this one

[whisperturnedecho]

forgot i did this yesterday i was too invested in my HOTD rewath

[whisperturnedecho]

Hi! Would you be willing to do a Arthur Tv fic where he has a crush on Y/n and accidentally tells her because they're all in costume...and a bit of alcohol is involved?

She could like be in a mask?

a/n : thanks for the request, hope this is what you meant and that you enjoy :)

Behind the Mask

Summary: During a chaotic costume party filled with drinks, laughs, and questionable wigs, Arthur finds himself talking a little too openly with a mysterious masked girl who catches his eye. Except... she isn’t a stranger at all. He just doesn’t recognize that the girl he’s been lowkey crushing on for months is the very person he's been confiding in. With alcohol lowering his filter and a mask hiding her identity, Arthur admits far more than he should. But when the masks come off, will it be a disaster or a moment that changes everything?

The party was already in full swing by the time Arthur arrived, adjusting the pirate hat on his head for the third time and grumbling under his breath.

"Why did I agree to this?" he muttered as he stepped into the crowded flat. Music thumped through the walls, laughter bounced between the rooms, and every corner had someone in a ridiculous outfit.

Chris was already tipsy, dressed like a cowboy for the second party in a row, and Arthur found George in the kitchen wearing a full suit of armor made from tinfoil. It was classic.

Arthur grabbed a red cup from the counter and poured himself a drink, already knowing this night was going to be long. His costume was basic at best—a slightly lazy attempt at Jack Sparrow with eyeliner that took him twenty minutes and a fake sword strapped to his belt. He looked around for anyone he knew well enough to chat to without making the effort of small talk.

That’s when he saw her.

She was standing near the window, laughing at something George had said. Wearing a dark masquerade mask and a velvet cloak that dipped off one shoulder, she looked like she belonged in a different time. Or a fantasy novel.

He didn’t recognize her immediately. That was the point of the costume, wasn’t it?

Arthur found himself walking over before he realized what he was doing.

"Nice mask," he said, raising his cup in greeting.

She turned to him, her smile slow and curious. "Nice eyeliner."

Arthur chuckled. "Took me twenty minutes and I stabbed myself in the eye twice."

"Worth it. You look terrifying."

"Thanks. That’s the goal."

She tilted her head. "Are you supposed to be Johnny Depp or just someone going through a phase?"

He laughed again, this time more relaxed. Something about talking to her felt easy. Natural. She was funny, quick-witted, and her voice had the kind of warmth he could sink into.

They started talking, slowly drifting toward the quieter end of the living room where fewer people were gathered. He didn’t ask her name. He didn’t need to. It was just nice talking to someone without the pressure of expectations.

The drinks kept flowing. One turned to two, two turned to three, and Arthur felt his tongue loosen. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't exactly sober either. Just... pleasantly warm.

"So, anyone you're secretly pining for tonight?" she asked, her eyes gleaming behind the mask.

Arthur hesitated. Laughed. Looked down at his boots.

"Maybe," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Ooooh. Do tell."

He looked at her, the girl in the mask who had been listening to him for nearly an hour, who had asked him questions about his favorite TV shows and what he would name a dog if he ever got one. Who kept brushing her hair back in the exact same way someone else he knew did.

And he said it. Just like that.

"There’s this girl," he started, "and I’m probably an idiot about her. She’s funny, like really funny, and she always knows what to say. She's got this laugh that makes you want to say the dumbest shit just to hear it again."

The girl tilted her head, her lips parting slightly.

"Sounds like someone special."

"She is," Arthur said softly. "But I don’t think she sees me like that. I think she sees me as just... Arthur. The friend. The guy in the background."

She was quiet for a moment. "Have you told her?"

He shook his head. "Too scared to. Besides, she’s probably got someone better."

She reached for his cup and took a sip. "That’s a shame. I think she might be into pirates."

Arthur smiled, a bit lost in the way her voice sounded. Like he knew it. Like he should know it.

Then someone bumped into them, laughing loudly, and she stepped back to keep from spilling the drink. Her mask shifted slightly.

Arthur froze.

"Wait," he said slowly. "Y/N?"

She paused.

Then she smiled and pulled off the mask. "Hi."

Arthur's eyes widened. "No way."

"Way."

"You've been messing with me this whole time?"

Y/N bit her lip. "Not exactly. I mean, I didn’t plan to. But then you started talking and I... didn’t want to stop."

Arthur groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh my God, I told you about yourself."

She laughed, stepping closer. "Yeah, and it was adorable."

He stared at her. "You're not freaked out?"

"Arthur. I've been waiting for you to say something for months."

His heart did something strange and uncoordinated in his chest. "Really?"

She nodded. "Really."

Arthur looked down at his stupid boots and then back at her. "So, you like pirates, huh?"

"Only if they're awkward and charming and terrible at eyeliner."

He grinned. "Perfect. That I can do."

She stepped in and brushed a stray hair from his forehead. "You're not just a background guy, Arthur. You never were."

He didn’t know what to say, so he kissed her.

It was sweet, tentative at first, then deeper when she leaned in, fingers tangling in the collar of his jacket. When they pulled apart, she was smiling.

"I think I like costume parties," she said.

Arthur laughed, a little breathless. "Me too."

Word Count: 3782

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[whisperturnedecho]

anything to do with a chrismd x reader where they’re showering together

a/n : thanks for the request , hope you enjoy :)

Warmth in the Water

Summary: After a long day of filming and editing, Chris comes home exhausted. Y/N suggests a warm shower to help him relax. What starts as a practical way to wind down together turns into one of the softest, most intimate moments they've shared. Between laughter, forehead kisses, and gentle touches, the bathroom becomes a haven of peace and love.

The flat was quiet except for the soft tapping of keys as Chris hunched over his computer. The blue light from the screen painted his face with tired hues, and his fingers moved slower with every passing minute.

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him. He hadn’t moved for hours, save to shift positions or grab a sip of water. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and his posture screamed exhaustion.

“Chris,” she said gently, stepping forward. He didn’t look up.

“Mhm?”

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You need a break. Come shower with me.”

That got his attention. He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Together?”

She grinned. “Yes. You look like you need someone to peel you out of that chair. C’mon. Warm water, soft towels, my excellent company.”

Chris gave a tired chuckle and finally pushed away from the desk. “You had me at warm water.”

They padded to the bathroom together, the sound of their bare feet echoing softly off the tiles. Chris leaned against the sink, watching as Y/N turned on the water, waiting for it to heat. Steam began to fill the room, curling around them like a warm blanket.

She tugged her shirt over her head and glanced at him. “You gonna stand there looking like a zombie, or are you joining me?”

Chris smirked, finally peeling off his clothes and stepping in behind her. The water was perfectly warm, cascading down their bodies in soothing waves.

He groaned in relief. “Okay, this was a brilliant idea.”

Y/N turned to face him, water dripping down her cheeks like rain. She reached up and brushed his damp hair back. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Probably because I haven’t.”

She ran her fingers down his jaw, thumb brushing across the soft stubble. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

Chris leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know. I’m trying.”

They stood like that for a moment, the water pouring over them, bodies close but relaxed. Chris rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“This is nice,” he murmured.

“It is.”

He ran his hands slowly over her back, fingertips tracing patterns across her damp skin. There was nothing rushed or heated about the moment—just soft, genuine affection. He pressed a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth.

Y/N smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I love you.”

Chris pulled her closer, letting the warmth of the water and the comfort of her words sink into his bones. “I love you too. More than anything.”

They washed each other slowly, laughing when shampoo dripped into Chris’s eyes and Y/N scrambled to rinse it out. He took his time rubbing conditioner through her hair, his fingers gentle and methodical.

When the water started to cool, they stepped out and wrapped themselves in fluffy towels. Chris stood behind her at the mirror, his arms around her waist as they looked at their reflections.

“You look happier,” she said, meeting his gaze in the glass.

“I feel happier,” he replied, placing a kiss on her damp shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

They padded back to bed, skin still warm from the shower, and curled up beneath the covers. Chris pulled her close, his face tucked against her neck.

“Let’s always do this,” he mumbled sleepily. “End our hard days like this.”

Y/N smiled, fingers stroking through his hair. “Deal.”

Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and she followed not long after, wrapped in warmth, comfort, and the quiet certainty of love.

Word count: 3671

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[whisperturnedecho]

When the Noise Fades

Summary: James Marriott is the loudest in every room—but silence tells a different story. You’ve always seen the cracks in his armor, but he’s never let you close enough to mend them. One stormy night, the façade finally breaks. And for the first time, he doesn’t just let you in—he asks you to stay.

The rain had started hours ago—light at first, the kind you could ignore. But now it beat against your windows like it was trying to get in, drenching the already-dark sky in a deeper shade of grey. You liked it, usually. Rain gave the world permission to be still.

But tonight, the stillness was tense. Wrong. The kind that filled a flat too large for one, wrapped around your chest too tightly. James was late.

He wasn’t supposed to be, not really. There wasn’t a plan. Just a vague text sent around four: “Might come by later if that’s cool.” Your response had been short and obvious: “Always is.”

That had been three hours ago.

You didn’t text again. James hated being smothered. He hated expectations even more. So you waited. Lit a candle. Put on the playlist you’d built together over late-night takeaways and the soft, in-between hours of friendship that teetered on something else. Something unspoken.

When the knock finally came, you weren’t surprised. You’d known he would come. You just hadn’t known he’d look like this.

Hair wet and matted. Hoodie clinging to him like it didn’t want to let go. Eyes rimmed red—not from crying, but from the lack of it. From holding everything in.

“Hi,” he said simply.

“Hi,” you echoed, stepping aside to let him in.

He walked past you, dripping slightly on the hardwood floors, hands shoved deep into his pockets like if he let them out, the weight of his own body might become too much to carry.

You waited for him to say something. He didn’t.

So, you broke the silence the way you always did—with a question.

“Did you walk here?”

A half-laugh left him, humourless and low. “Yeah. Didn’t feel like waiting for an Uber.”

You nodded. “Do you want to change? I think I still have one of your hoodies.”

He gave you a faint smile—grateful, maybe. Tired, definitely. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

You disappeared into your room, grabbing the navy hoodie he’d left here last winter. When you returned, he was still standing in the middle of the living room like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

He took the hoodie and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he returned, he looked warmer, but not better. His hair was still damp, curling at the edges. He smelled like rain and familiarity.

You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, watching him as he hovered like a ghost near the edge.

“Sit, James.”

He did.

Silence again. Not the comfortable kind.

You shifted. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His jaw tensed, and he shook his head. “No.”

But he didn’t move away when you reached for his hand.

Fingers cold. Rough. Calloused.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Then don’t.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like just having the choice meant something.

The rain softened outside. The playlist shifted songs. You recognized this one—James had played it for you months ago, claiming it was his favorite when the world got too loud.

You turned to him. “Why did you come here?”

The question wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Curious. Honest.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, finally: “Because here doesn’t feel like everywhere else.”

Your heart clenched. “And what does everywhere else feel like?”

His grip on your hand tightened.

“Loud,” he said. “Fake. Like I have to smile or say something clever or be this person everyone thinks I am.”

“And here?”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you.

“Here… I can be quiet. And you won’t try to fix me.”

“I don’t want to fix you, James.”

“I know,” he said, voice cracking for the first time. “That’s why I’m here.”

You shifted closer, knees touching. He let go of your hand, only to reach for your face instead—fingers brushing your cheek like he was memorizing the shape of someone real. Someone safe.

“I’m so fucking tired,” he whispered.

You leaned into his touch. “Then rest. You don’t have to say anything else.”

But he did. Voice breaking, words quiet and raw.

“I feel like I’m falling apart, and no one’s noticed. I joke, I post, I make music—but none of it matters when I’m alone. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I feel like if I stop performing—if I stop being what they expect—everyone will leave.”

You didn’t interrupt.

He swallowed hard. “But I didn’t want to be alone tonight. And I didn’t want to pretend. So I came here. I walked in the rain for an hour just to get to you.”

You reached for him, gently pulling him into your arms. He didn’t resist. He collapsed into you like a wave finally hitting shore—body shaking from something deeper than cold.

Your fingers ran through his hair. “You’re allowed to fall apart. Just… don’t do it alone.”

He nodded against your shoulder, breath hitching.

“I won’t leave,” you whispered.

“I’m scared I’ll make you hate me.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “James. I couldn’t hate you if I tried.”

He stared at you like he wasn’t sure he believed it. But he wanted to.

You kissed his temple. Soft. Barely there.

“Show me where it hurts,” you said. “And I’ll sit with you there. As long as it takes.”

James closed his eyes. Let the weight drop. And for the first time, he let you in without apology.

Word Count: 3865

m.list

james m.list

[whisperturnedecho]

hi!!!

could you write a fic where george and reader get into a fight because george said something hurtful so the reader gives him the silent treatment and he grovels non-stop

a/n : thanks so much for the request

The Space Between Words

Summary: After a long day filming content, George Clarke lets a hurtful comment slip during an argument with Y/N. It cuts deeper than either of them expect. When she shuts down and gives him the silent treatment, George quickly realizes just how badly he’s messed up. Groveling becomes his full-time job—through awkward apologies, heartfelt notes, and a desperate attempt to rebuild what he broke. But some words leave echoes, and George will have to prove that he’s willing to earn her forgiveness—one quiet moment at a time.

The kettle clicked off.

Y/N didn’t move.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms folded, staring blankly at the tiles while steam coiled from the spout. Her jaw was tight, eyes glassy. The silence in the flat was thick enough to choke on.

Behind her, footsteps.

“Tea’s ready,” George said, voice cautious.

She didn’t answer.

He winced like the silence stung.

He knew what he’d done. Knew the moment the words left his mouth. And now, with Y/N treating him like furniture—something to exist around but not speak to—he was learning the true cost of his temper.

“You know I didn’t mean it.”

Still nothing.

George leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, fair enough. I was a twat. I said something cruel. And I’m sorry.”

She moved past him, wordlessly pouring herself a cup and walking into the living room.

He followed like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“I just—the shoot was a nightmare. The editing software crashed twice, the sponsor pushed back the deadline, and then you told me we’d double-booked your sister’s dinner and the upload schedule and—”

Y/N sat down, turned on the TV, and turned up the volume. The pointed avoidance was loud all on its own.

George dropped into the armchair, rubbing his temples.

“What I said wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean it. I’d never actually think you make things harder. You help more than anyone else ever could.”

Nothing.

“Y/N, love. Please say something.”

She sipped her tea.

He groaned.

By the third day, George had tried everything short of skywriting.

Flowers—her favorites—arrived in the morning. A hand-written note was tucked into her handbag: I miss your voice more than my own sanity.

When she got home that night, a post-it note was stuck to the fridge. Dinner’s on me. Also, I’ll watch that terrible romance you like without complaining.

He even attempted baking. (The kitchen still smelled like burnt cinnamon.)

She read everything. Smiled—just a little—at the note in her bag. But still, not a word.

That night, George sat on the edge of their bed, watching her brush her hair in silence.

“Do you hate me?” he asked quietly.

She paused, then shook her head.

Hope flickered.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

She met his eyes in the mirror.

And finally, she spoke. Soft. Cold. “Because if I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t want to give you that, not yet.”

George’s chest ached.

Day five. Rain pelted the windows.

Y/N found him in the spare room, curled on the sofa with a half-edited vlog forgotten on his laptop.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said without looking up.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

He continued. “When we met, I remember thinking you were the most patient person I’d ever met. You let me ramble about cameras and content creation for an hour straight. You asked questions. You laughed at my awful jokes.”

He looked up.

“And I fell for you because you see things in a way I never could. People. Emotions. The stuff that doesn’t fit into a thumbnail or a video timeline.”

She said nothing, but her arms slowly lowered.

“I’ve been lucky in my career,” he added. “But you’re the best part of my life. And I said something cruel, something you didn’t deserve. I’m not asking you to forget it. Just... maybe give me the chance to be better.”

A beat passed.

Then she stepped forward.

Sat beside him.

Silence, still. But not hostile.

He didn’t push.

Eventually, she whispered, “You really hurt me.”

“I know.”

“I needed you to be the safe place, and you made me feel small.”

He swallowed hard. “I hate that I did that.”

She looked at him.

“I’m still angry.”

“You have every right to be.”

“But I don’t want to be forever.”

His breath caught.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll spend as long as it takes showing you that you don’t have to be.”

A pause.

Then she leaned into him, head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in days, the silence between them felt like healing.

Word Count: 3784

m.list

george m.list

[whisperturnedecho]

I love Arthur and Chris sitting like this together. Their friendship warms my heart.

[whisperturnedecho]

Anything you want.

this was a request but I genuinely cannot be bothered looking for it sorry also this may be cringe

You were curled up on Chris’s sofa in your favorite hoodie — well, his hoodie — and a pair of leggings that had definitely seen better days. Your feet were tucked beneath you, blanket draped on your legs.

“I think I need new trainers,” you said absentmindedly, sipping from your tea.

Chris glanced down from where he was scrolling on his phone, one arm thrown around the back of the couch. “Yeah, babe, I’ve been meaning to stage an intervention.”

You nudged him with your foot. “Oi.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned. “You deserve trainers that don’t look like you've taken bites out of them.”

You snorted. “I like my beat-up ones.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, a mischievous glint already forming in his eyes.

You didn’t think much of it.

Until two days later, when he showed up at your door — black hoodie, sunglasses, and a grin that told you he was up to something.

“Get dressed,” he said, stepping inside like it was the most casual thing in the world. “We’re going shopping.”

You blinked. “Shopping?”

“Yep. For you.” He leaned in, pecked your forehead. “And don’t argue. I’m not having you walk around in tragic trainers and threadbare jumpers any longer.”

“Chris, seriously — ”

“Nope.” He backed away, hands up. “Don’t want to hear it. You’re my girlfriend. I fancy you stupid. And I want to spoil you. Let me.”

It was only once you got to the shopping centre that you realised just how serious he was.

He took you to the fancy part of town — clean walkways, shiny glass storefronts, soft music playing outside shops that you’d never dared enter alone. The kind of stores with stylists who greeted you like old friends and folded tissue paper into your bag with ridiculous precision.

The first store had the comfiest trainers you’d ever seen.

You tried on a white pair, bouncing a little on your heels. “These are actually nice.”

“Perfect,” Chris said, tossing them over to the cashier. “We’ll take those — and those two as well.”

“Wait, I didn’t even try the other ones — ”

“They’re your size, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, but — ”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then trust me. You’ll look fit in all of them.”

You wandered in and out of shops, Chris barely letting go of your hand the entire time. Every so often, he’d pull you to a stop just to tuck your hair behind your ear or press a kiss to your cheek.

“You realise I don’t need all this stuff,” you said as he piled two cardigans and a dress onto his arm.

“I know you don’t,” he replied. “But I want you to have nice things. And I like the way your face lights up when you find something you like. Also,” he added with a crooked grin, “I’ve been fantasizing about you in that dress since we walked in.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your stomach flip. He always said things like that so casually, like complimenting you was as natural as breathing.

Eventually, you found yourself standing outside a changing room, clutching a handful of clothes.

“Go on then,” Chris said, sitting on the little bench outside the curtain. “Let me see the goods.”

“You’re not peeking.”

“I would never,” he said solemnly, though the smirk tugging at his lips suggested otherwise.

The first outfit was a cropped jumper and a pair of high-waisted jeans. You stepped out shyly, smoothing the fabric.

Chris looked up from his phone — and grinned. “Alright, who is she? Look at you.”

You flushed. “It’s just jeans — ”

“It’s not just jeans when it’s on you,” he said, pulling out his phone to sneak a photo. “Turn around.”

You spun slowly, cheeks warm.

“Yep,” he said. “Buying it.”

You ducked behind the curtain again, changing into a sage green sundress with tiny white flowers. Then a white blouse with subtle embroidery. Then a pair of faux-leather trousers that made you laugh out loud.

"SO slay." "...Please never say that again."

Chris insisted on seeing all of it.

Until you reached the last item in the pile: the silky, fitted navy dress.

It wasn’t something you’d usually pick for yourself. It had thin straps, a low neckline, and stopped just above your knees. When you pulled it on, the fabric slid like water over your skin.

You hesitated, fiddling with the hem. Then, slowly, you stepped out.

Chris had his head bent over his phone, scrolling. But the second you appeared, he looked up — and froze.

You shifted awkwardly. “Is it too much?”

His eyes raked down your frame, slow and reverent. “No.”

You fiddled with the strap. “I mean, it’s a bit… fitted.”

He stood. “No.”

You bit your lip. “Chris — ”

He reached for your hand, tugging you gently closer until your chest bumped his. “You look unreal,” he said, voice low. “I mean it. That dress was made for you.”

“You really think so?”

He stared at you like you’d hung the stars.

“I think… I could look at you in this dress every day and still freeze on the spot." He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You looked up at him, touched.

“And don’t even get me started on how kind you are,” he continued, stroking your arm. “Every shop assistant you’ve thanked. Every person you smiled at. The lady you held the door open for like it was second nature. You’re just… you.”

“Effortlessly kind?” you teased.

He grinned. “Exactly.”

You reached up, pulling him into a soft kiss. He tasted like spearmint and warmth.

When you pulled away, he was smiling stupidly.

“I love you,” he said. “You’re my favourite person in the world.”

By the time you reached the car, you were exhausted, buzzing, and maybe a little overwhelmed. The backseat was stacked with shopping bags, and Chris was whistling as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you said, glancing back at the bags.

He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Believe it. And we’re not done yet. You’re wearing that navy dress tonight.”

You groaned softly. “Chris…”

“Nope.” He winked. “I’m taking you out. Somewhere nice. You, me, that dress, and a stupid amount of compliments you’ll pretend to hate.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You really are the most dramatic boyfriend in the world.”

“And you,” he said, squeezing your hand, “are the love of my life.”

TAGLIST :

@jamiekluivert

@wherethezoes-at

@pretendyoucantseeme

@artvscvntymullet

@chrisolivia4l

@formulaal

@smzyyx