things Will does that is objectively really really sexy to me:
• the way he catches things in videos.
• eating cereal (no I won’t elaborate the girls who get it, get it)
• his hair.
• his hands.
• how polite he is to his team - you can tell they’re like a big friend group/family
• how funny he is
• this dude is a massive fucking nerd. have you heard how may references he’s made in videos to star wars, lotr, pokémon, marvel sometimes…
• footballer will !!!!!
• his dress sense (I know most of the time it’s black or grey comfies, but it’s still objectively hot. and then when he dresses up…like the white shirt, the blue shirt)
• I can just tell he’s smart (& we know he’s super goal oriented and focused)
• he wants to be a good dad.
• clearly has a good relationship with his parents
• that damn accent
• his teeth !!!!!
• jawline. need i say more?
• he seems like such a good friend
• he is self aware
• he actually knows and cares about James’ music
• I just know he smells good. he looks like he smells so so good.
• the rings. those damn rings.
• the necklace !!!!
• he voted green party :)
• not that it would make him any less sexy but…the man is loaded. like, he’s rich af. and it’s so hot for some reason. not in like a capitalistic way but in a sexy way idk
• his eyes.
• his face is literally so expressive
• he’s weirdly good at accents but only ones that are strong like his own, like welsh and irish and really posh english
• the light eyes with the dark messy hair combo is lethal
• he talks with his hands all the time it’s so cute
• the man wears glasses. yup you heard that right.
• he wears a watch (if you get it you get it okay)
• his height ???? or maybe more generally his frame in general he’s so lanky it’s so hot
• BICEPS.
• pet names. the man 10000% uses pet names I just can’t totally prove it. we’ve heard him say ‘darlin’ a lot (jokingly), he’d maybe say pet because that’s commonly used in england (I think?), love (!!!!) even just like mate, dude, bro, probably some other Geordie word I don’t know.
• I get the vibe he likes nature idk but like the videos with Mikey where Mikey is so unimpressed, Will always seems amazed
• he’s so silly (and I mean that in the best way) - the magic trick video with James where he just can’t figure out the tricks and is so baffled and amazed and so giggly oh I love him
• when he drives !!!!
• the stubble/unshaven face
• he looks like he gives fantastic hugs
• The converse!! They really just suit his style
• When he gets all excited or proud about James and his music/talent
• He gets embarrassed sooo easily
• He’s actually a big kid which is so funny - not in an immature way in an inner child way though
• He’s so so so so clumsy. And I love it. So much.
• the man can eattttttt (sounds more inappropriate than I mean it to sorry)
• the way he cares about animals, he’s so gentle with them even when he’s trying to be silly
• he talks with his whole body
• his face is so expressive
• the way he smiles with his whole face
• the way he smirks, it’s literally how it’s described in fiction
• seems like he has really good self care !
• he laughs with his whole body, sometimes he literally just folds in half or falls over
• his lack of coordination
• fragile masculinity WHERE? not around here
• his voice changes depending on the scenario he’s in or who he’s talking to
• eye contact !!! I feel like I’ve noticed he makes good eye contact when he’s actually listening or paying attention
• the way he does actually give James props/praise for getting through video ideas, or for trying things he wouldn’t normally. like if James tries a food that he would normally freak out about, often Will tells him well done for trying it or fist bumps him or hypes him up and I think it’s the sweetest thing ever
(I have to finish this list sometime, it’s been in my drafts for like two week and I keep adding to it so if you see it change mind your business I’ve probably thought of something new)
in case it wasn’t obvious my life has been completely taken over my WillNE and James Marriott this past week and a half, and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon 🙂↔️🙂↔️🙂↔️🙂↔️
content: 18+! dom!willne. mentions of: shower sex, dry humping, bondage, object kink (trophy as dildo), spanking, being stepped on, homemade porn, degradation (slight dead dove scenario), humiliation, pinv.
a/n: he’s finally done!! biggest thank you to my beloved @gerardswhore YET AGAIN for encouraging me to post this 🌝. i wanted to get the headcanons completed for footballer!will so i could write something with him and football coach!chris involved <3
footballer!will who comes in as a professional to help your team. he’s initially brought in by your football coach so that you can get actual professional advice from an active football professional, with footballer!will running a few training sessions which apparently will ‘enhance not only your football skills but your employability into a more professional club’ in the future. but it soon becomes apparent that the job will become a permanent side hustle for will when he’s not training himself with his club.
that time you had changing room shower sex with footballer!will. the club is quiet when it happens, there’s a couple of people around, maybe a few groundsmen and that’s it. you’ve been training with will for a little more than usual, a few extra sessions for some ‘expert help’ as he put it. instead, that extra help is soon called as bullshit as he’s dragging you into the changing room showers, clothes being discarded onto the floor in the process as you stumble, before pushing you up against the white tile as kissing you deeply. all whilst you reach for the shower’s own dial so it turns on, and hot water cascades down over you both. the water does nothing to muffle the obscene moans escaping your lips, because as will has you flipped around, your cheek pressed against the tile, he’s got a hand clamped over your mouth as he fucks your ass so hard that you’re practically seeing stars and feel like you’re in heaven.
humping footballer!will’s football boot. what it says on the tin, to be honest! imagine you’ve been so needy all day and then being made to get onto your knees by will when he’s had enough of your bitching and whining and he just wedges his football boot between your thighs, making you mewl slightly before he says, “hump it, bitch.” and you do, gripping onto his calf with a death grip as your cunt rubs against the material of the shoe, feeling your panties getting even more wetter as you hump even more, your hips getting quicker and quicker with each hump. and will would look down at you with such distaste, or maybe not even look down at you, instead scrolling on his phone uninterested. but his disinterest spurs you on even more as you become more louder, your fingernails digging into his flesh (making him hiss from pain too, in all honesty) before you finish in your pants, with some of your release dripping from your wet fabric of your underwear onto the boot.
footballer!will who uses his team’s scarf as bondage. he has the item of clothing binding your two wrists behind your back as you’re riding him. it doesn’t help that he himself doesn’t want to help you as your hips stutter, your face contorted into a struggle. he’’ laugh in your face, as you whine, telling him to help, before he places a hand on your hip to stable himself before thrusting deep up into you. even better if the situation includes footballer!will who fucks you whilst you’re wearing his old football jersey, and you wearing his number as he fully believes that he owns you in that moment and his scarf is spurring him on even more as you both fuck until the early hours of the morning and your throat is raw from all the moans and your lips are swollen.
footballer!will who uses one of his trophies as a dildo. for will, it was a quick thing to grab off of his shelf. it was small and round enough to use as a dildo, and he sterilised it too, plus he had the lube — so why not, he thought. he’s gentle as he smears the lube around your pussy, whispering into your ear that it’ll be fine and asking if you’re okay throughout the whole thing, before pressing a a deep kiss onto your lips before slowly pushing it in, saying “biiig stretch f’me baby,” before you let out a loud high-pitched gasp as your body accustomed to the size. as he continues to thrust it into you, your essence starts to drip down the trophy onto his hand as he’s breathlessly saying “atta girl, keep going for me,” as you start to grind upwards, the cool metal (stainless steel to be exact) hitting your clit in the best place. you end up finishing on it and will hasn’t cleaned it since, wanting to remember the memory forever.
footballer!will and spanking with a goalkeeper glove. this man knows how to spank, and he does it hard. he’s wearing his goalkeeper glove as he has you spread across his lap, your ass already red raw from the first couple of times he did it — just to “warm you up”, in his words, anyways. will continues to spank you as a punishments for how many times you didn’t score a penalty during penalty training, which amasses really to a hefty amount by the end. maybe by the end he’ll flip you over and as he fucks you, will spank your cunt with the glove still on, watching you mewl as he has you in missionary so he can see every single facial expression you make.
you guys really thought i’d do a set of headcanons without ONE sub!will mention?) footballer!will who likes being stepped on. in a moment where you swap places in your moments of passion, you step on will with your football boots still on. the studs dig into his skin slightly as he lets out a strained noise, whilst his eyes are wide and in awe as you look down on him below like he’s the scum of the earth. it’s enough to make himself hard, and he does. stupidly, of course. and that’s when through your teeth you call him pathetic, dragging the boot down to where his hardened cock is, making him moan out loud as it drags over the shaft, his hips buckling upwards for more friction. let’s just say that he doesn’t get his orgasm in the end, and instead is left to shamefully rub one out himself because why the hell did he get hard from that?
making porn with footballer!will and he sends it to coach chris. ugh, i can just imagine having sex with will for one of the first times after a training session and him just absolutely fucking you into the oblivion. i’m thinking you’re either riding cowgirl or he’s got you in doggy and he gets his phone out to take a selfie of you both in the heat of the moment, or maybe even a video if your moans are that obscene. feeling smug that he got to hook up with football coach!chris’s star player, he definitely then sends the video or photo to chris whilst you’re snuggled up against his chest fast asleep.
(YES, you read that right football coach!chris…) footballer!will and football coach!chris who know each other. remember that i said that will was hired to come in by your football coach? yuppp, that was football coach!chris. chris and will used to play on the same team, however, chris retired from the team, wanting to go into coaching rather than just playing professionally. as soon as chris sees that photo of you and will though, war has started. the begin to try and ‘one-up’ each other, in a bit of a sexual rivalry. let’s just say that it will maybe end up in a lovely, tense and passionate threesome between you, will and chris in the end 🫣🤭.
(SORT OF DDDNE. NOT YOUR THING? DON’T READ!) footballer!will who likes to degrade you. maybe upon first meeting with the team, will makes a little comment, shaming you for how big your tits are, telling you that you shouldn’t be a footballer. you’re angry… but the way he said it, it kind of turns you on and you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the training session. let’s just say after a ‘heated’ confrontation from yourself, it ends up with you and him having a heavy make out session to him even taking your sports bra off in the changing room and him ultimately groping your tits straight after, murmuring praises along with other degrading comments into the flesh as he sucks on them, until you’re biting your lip trying to suppress your moans that you don’t want to come out…
🎤 taglist: @italianclarke @writer-jamie @williamlenneys @bambilenny @anglpris @an0nym0nst3r @sturnl0ve @ghostwrittenbygrace @firstofnell @lilyyxoii @rubi-radio @luvbuttlestv @lxzzxebunny @luvlenney @catlenneys @l3nney @ava0609 @prettylittleglamlifex @pretendyoucantseeme -> please let me know if you’d like to be added! <3
summary: you challenge chef will at every turn, what happens when the line between professionalism and want finally disappears? | Will x fem!reader
notes: HE'S HERE!!! finally posting the first part of after service, hope you enjoy the sneak peeks of the other guys :) who do you want next?
content: 4.2k wc, waitress!reader, some fluff, workplace tension, power imbalance, jealousy, swearing, sexual content, slight angst, unprotected sex (dont do this!!!), oral f!receiving, slight dom will
That was the rule he lived by. The one that kept Side Table running the way it did. Precision, discipline, control. The kitchen was his domain, and every service was a performance that demanded everything he had.
Which was why you were a problem.
He heard you before he saw you. Laughter drifted through the pass, light and deliberate, pitched just right for the table you were working. Will’s jaw tightened as he plated, fingers moving automatically as his attention flicked toward the dining room.
You were flirting again.
Not recklessly. Never sloppy. You knew exactly what you were doing - the easy smile, the lean-in, the laugh at something that wasn’t that funny.
You played the role beautifully, and guests loved you for it. Tips reflected that fact.
Will hated it.
“Will.”
He didn’t look up. “What?”
Chris leaned against the pass, arms crossed, watching the floor like it was live theatre, but still keeping an eye on the running of things. “Your waitress is at it again.”
“She’s not my waitress.” Will snapped, sharper than intended.
But Chris wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part.
You’d been here six months – long enough to become part of the rhythm of the place, long enough that Will could remember exactly when it started. The first time you’d argued over a table modification. The first time you’d rolled your eyes at him and still done it his way. The first time you’d smiled like you knew something and he didn’t.
The cat-and-mouse game had been an accident at first. A clash of personalities. Control versus confidence. You’d pushed back when he snapped. He doubled down when you didn’t fold. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about the food and started being about you.
Will had noticed long before he’d admitted it to himself. The way you lingered at the pass. The way you always found a reason to be in the kitchen during the rush. The way you flirted just enough to make him think it was for him – and then made sure he saw you do it for everyone else, too.
You’d noticed even earlier.
He knew that now. Knew it in the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking. In the way you smiled when he lost his patience with you. In the way you never once stopped pushing, no matter how sharp his tone got, no matter how often he told himself you were just another waitress who liked pushing buttons.
This wasn’t new.
This was delayed.
Six months of glances held too long, of eyes catching at the pass and staying there half a second longer than they should. Of arguments that ended in silence, the kind that followed him for hours, replaying in his head while he chopped, stirred and plated. Of tension that lived in the space between your hands when plates were passed, close enough that he could feel your warmth, close enough that pulling away felt like losing.
Six months of him wanting you and refusing to say it.
Six months of you knowing and waiting.
So when Chris raised an eyebrow, smirked and said, “Could’ve fooled me,” Will had no defence.
Instead, he ignored him, focusing on the dish in front of him. The kitchen hummed around him - pans sizzling, orders being called, the constant motion that grounded him. It was easier when he kept his eyes down.
But then you laughed again.
Something in his chest twisted, hot and unpleasant. He told himself it was embarrassment. That was the word he used. Professional concern. Image. A high-end restaurant didn’t need theatrics.
You breezed through the swing doors, moments later, order pad in hand, still glowing from whatever charm you’d just deployed on an unsuspecting customer.
“Table twelve needs another round,” you said brightly. “But they wanted to say the food is incredible.”
Will didn’t look at you. “They would.”
You lingered anyway. You always did. Leaned against the counter like you belonged there.
“Everything alright, Chef?” you asked, voice innocent.
He glanced up then, meeting your eyes. There was a glint there - knowing, amused - like you could see straight through him.
“It’s embarrassing,” he said flatly.
Your smile didn’t falter. “What is?”
“The way you carry on out there,” he continued, plating with more force than necessary. “Practically whoring yourself out for a couple extra quid.”
The kitchen went quiet.
Even the pans seemed to stop sizzling. Someone dropped a spoon. Will became acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the kitchen, of the way his words hung in the air, ugly and impossible to take back – and still, embarrassingly, true.
Arthur Hill let out a low “Jesus” before Arthur Frederick elbowed him hard.
You didn’t react the way he expected. No anger. No defensiveness. No tears. Just a slow tilt of your head, eyes never leaving his.
“You don’t look very embarrassed.”
Will’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” you replied. “And last time I checked, my job is to make customers happy.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear.
“And anyway, you watch every time.”
His hands stilled, fingers locking around the edge of the counter like if he let go, he’d reach for you instead.
For a moment, the kitchen faded away in his mind. All he could see was you - confident, infuriating, entirely too aware of the effect you had on him.
His hands were gripping the counter so hard that the edge was digging into his hands. “Get back on the floor,” he said tightly.
You straightened, unbothered and said sweetly, “Yes, chef.”
And just like that, you were gone.
Service dragged after that.
Will threw himself into the work, barking orders sharper than usual, correcting things that didn’t need correcting. He hated the way his focus fractured every time you passed the doors, the way his eyes followed you despite himself.
He hated that Chris noticed when he was in the kitchen.
“Mate,” Chris said later, quieter now. “You’re glaring holes through the pass.”
Will wiped his hands aggressively. “She’s unprofessional.”
“She’s good at her job,” Chris countered. “And you’re jealous.”
Will shot him a look. “I’m not jealous.”
Chris smirked. “Sure.”
By the time last orders were called, Will was wound tight. You hadn’t come back into the kitchen once since your argument, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.
When service finally slowed, he found you leaning against the bar, counting tips with a satisfied little smile.
George caught his eye and wisely disappeared.
Will approached, voice low. “We need to talk.”
You glanced up. “About what?”
“About earlier.”
You hummed. “Didn’t seem like you wanted a discussion.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I wanted you to stop.”
You stood, tucking your money away. “And I wanted you to be honest.”
He scoffed. “I was.”
“No,” you said calmly. “You were jealous.”
The words landed between you, heavy.
Will stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You like winding me up.”
“I like that you pretend you don’t like it,” you replied.
The bar was empty now. Chairs stacked. Lights dimmed. But he knew Chris and Harry were still hanging around somewhere before lock-up.
“Come with me,” Will said abruptly.
Your eyebrows lifted. “Where?”
“The walk-in,” he replied. “Now.”
You didn’t hesitate.
The door shut behind you with a solid, unmistakable click.
The sound was final. Private. The kind of noise that made Will’s spine straighten instinctively, every rule he lived by flaring like a warning in his head.
Cold rushed in immediately, sharp and clean, biting through his jacket. The walk-in hummed around them, shelves stacked high, metal and plastic and the faint scent of herbs and citrus. It should have grounded him.
It didn’t.
You turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the low light, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to look. No pass to hide behind. No tickets to focus on. Just you, standing too close already, like you knew exactly how little space he had left.
“You think this is a game,” he said, and it came out rougher than he meant.
You tilted your head, studying him. “I think you don’t like sharing my attention.”
That hit somewhere low in his chest. Ugly. Honest.
He laughed once, breathless, the sound sharp in the cold air. “You flirt with half the restaurant.”
“And you hate it,” you said softly.
“Yes,” he snapped. Then quieter, “because I want it.”
The words hung between you, raw and undeniable.
You stepped closer.
Not touching. Not yet.
Close enough that he could feel your heat against the chill, close enough that every inch of restraint he had left went tight and screaming. He didn’t move. He couldn’t trust himself to.
“Then stop pretending you don’t.”
His hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers brushing your waist like it was instinct. His thumb flexed, barely, as if it was testing whether this was real.
“Say the word,” he murmured, voice low and uneven. “And I’ll walk away.”
You didn’t say it.
Instead, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm against skin that was already on fire. “You’re not very good at letting go of control, are you, chef?”
His grip tightened, the shelves digging into his back behind him like he needed something solid to keep him upright.
“Don’t,” he warned, but there was no weight to it. No authority. Just want.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Or what?”
That was it.
Will kissed you like he’s been holding his breath for six months and finally let himself exhale.
Controlled at first, but it broke almost instantly, turning desperate and messy and full of everything he hadn’t let himself say. His hands found you like they had been waiting, sliding to your waist, your back, pulling you closer until the cold disappeared entirely.
You made a soft sound into his mouth, and he almost lost it right there.
When he pulled back, it was only because he had to breathe. Foreheads touching. Breath uneven. Hands still gripping you like letting go might undo everything.
“We shouldn’t,” he said, the lie weak even to his own ears.
You smiled. “You don’t sound convinced.”
The door rattled faintly as someone passed outside. Reality crept in, unwelcome and sharp.
Will closed his eyes for a second. Then he forced himself to step back.
“Go home,” he said hoarsely. “Before I do something I can’t undo.”
You nodded, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Tomorrow night?”
His smile was dangerous now. Unrestrained.
“Tomorrow night.”
He watched you leave, heart pounding, already knowing that next time, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
The next day is unbearable.
Will knows it the second you step onto the floor.
You’re already in character – smile bright, posture open, voice pitched just right as you greet your first table. You move like you’re performing, like you know you’re being watched. Like you want him to watch.
And he does.
Every time you lean closer to a guest.
Every time you laugh and touch someone’s arm.
Every time you tilt your head and play sweet and charming, entirely too aware of the effect you have.
It’s worse than before.
Because now he knows exactly how you taste. His hands have memorised the shape of your waist, and he knows what you feel like pressed against him.
“Will,” Arthur Frederick says, scrubbing furiously at a pot. “You good?”
“Yes,” Will snaps, sharper than intended.
Arthur Hill glances between Will and the pass, then toward the floor. “Really? Cause your eyes doing that twitchy thing again, and you look like you’re gonna crack your teeth with how hard you’re clenching your jaw.”
Arthur looks away from his pot and stares at him like he’s crazy. “Dude!?”
“What?” He says incredulously, like he genuinely thought he was helping.
Will exhales through his nose and focuses on the plates in front of him. He tells himself it’s fine. That this is exactly what he complained about before. That he practically asked for this.
Then you appear in the kitchen.
“You’re smashing it tonight, Chef,” you say brightly, eyes flicking over him in a way that is anything but innocent. “Table six wants to personally thank you.”
“They can thank the food,” he replies.
You lean closer, lowering your voice. “They want to thank you.”
His grip tightens on the tongs.
You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head straight back out, hips swaying just enough that it can’t be accidental.
Chris watches you go, then looks at Will.
“She’s doing that on purpose,” he says.
Will doesn’t deny it.
The rest of the shift becomes a test of endurance.
You flirt shamelessly. With regulars. With new guests. With people Will knows don’t stand a chance. You play it up, laugh louder, lean further, let your hand linger just a second longer than necessary when you take menus back.
Every time you pass the kitchen doors, you look at him.
Not too obviously. Just enough.
The looks say you see this?
They say you remember last night?
They say you’re going to pay for that comment.
By the time last orders are called, Will is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
You float into the kitchen at the end of your shift to drop off your apron, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Good service,” you say airily. “You seemed… distracted.”
He glares at you. “You’re enjoying this.”
You smile. Slow. Satisfied. “Maybe.”
“Get changed,” he says, voice low. “Go home.”
You step closer instead. “Last I checked, you’re not my boss. I report to Chris, not you.”
The kitchen and restaurant begin to empty. George heads out first. The Arthurs trail behind, arguing about something stupid and trivial as they go. Chris follows not long after, calling a casual goodnight.
Harry leaves the keys on his way out, trusting Will to finish closing.
The restaurant exhales.
The last of the noise drains away – the hum of voices, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of glass – leaving behind a silence that feels heavy and charged. Will stands still, very aware of you in his space.
Just the two of you.
“You pushed all night,” he says quietly, finally turning to face you.
You untie your apron, unhurried, folding it with deliberate care. “You told me to stop before. You didn’t today.”
“That’s because”, he says, stepping closer, “I was trying not to drag you into the walk-in halfway through service.”
Your eyes darken. “Trying?”
The words feel like a challenge.
He’s right in front of you now – close enough to see the faint flush on your cheeks, close enough that your perfume cuts through the lingering smell of disinfectant and metal in the kitchen. There’s no one left to pretend for. No one left to stop him.
“You wanted to wind me up,” he says, voice low. “Congratulations. You did.”
“And now?” you ask, soft but steady.
He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist – not rough, but firm. Anchoring. Claiming. His thumb presses into your pulse, and he feels how fast it’s racing.
“Now,” he says, releasing you slowly. “Everyone’s gone.”
Your breath catches. Just once. That’s all he needs.
He steps back, forcing space between you like it’s the last good decision he’ll make tonight.
“This is your last chance,” he says. “If you walk out that door, we forget this ever happened.”
You look at him for a long moment.
Then you turn.
Not to leave – but to the door.
You reach up, fingers wrapping around the lock Harry left half-turned, and twist.
The click is loud in the empty restaurant. Final. A choice made out loud.
Will laughs under his breath, something dark and unrestrained finally snapping loose in his chest.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
You step back into his space, close enough that he can feel the heat of you again, voice low and sure.
“Neither do you.”
His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb brushing your lip, slow and deliberate now, like he’s taking his time on purpose.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been waiting all night.”
Will doesn’t kiss you this time – he claims you.
His mouth finds yours like it’s been denied too long, hands already moving, already sure, already done pretending this is anything other than inevitable. You barely have time to react before you’re pressed back against the counter, his body boxing you in, voice low and dangerous against your lips.
“Come on, be a good girl for me now?” he murmurs, like he knows you won’t listen – and like he’s counting on it.
You try to answer him, but when his fingers brush against your damp underwear under your skirt, it comes out in a broken noise, breath catching when his grip tightens on your arm just enough to remind you who’s in control.
“You’re soaking already, sweetheart.” He says teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix this for you.”
He lifts you, so you’re sitting on the countertop, leaning back on your hands, and lowers himself so he’s level with your already aching core. You can feel his breath hot against you, making you squirm around and very close to begging for it.
Will drags your underwear down your legs torturously slow, then stuffs them in his back pocket, sending you a smirk.
Before you could respond to that, Will leaned in to lick your slit.
“Oh fuck,” you cried out, head thrown back, arms nearly giving out with the shock of pleasure.
He uses his long fingers to push through your folds and slips one into your embarrassingly wet hole, tongue attached to your clit. He takes his time in a way that almost feels cruel, making you feel every second of it, every inch of anticipation, making that string inside you stretch thin.
His hands hold your thighs in place around his head, steady and unyielding, while his mouth memorises the taste of you, nose nudging your sensitive clit as his tongue dips into you.
Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter without thinking, knuckles whitening. Whines and broken noises escape your lips. The faintest hint of satisfaction shows in the way his grip tightens, but his pace never changes.
“Look at you all, desperate.” He says, pulling his mouth away, but still pumping his fingers in and out. “If I knew this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done this ages ago.”
“Sh- shut up,” you say weakly. Gasping as he hit that spot deep inside you.
“That’s not very nice, honey is it?”
He returns his lips to your drooling pussy, and you let out a whine. You were practically humping his face, and when Will’s tongue moved even faster, you moved your hands to grip his hair and began to press his face deeper into your folds.
“Fuck, Will, yes, so close,” you groaned out, legs shaking as he moved his mouth to suck hard on your clit. After only a few more swipes and licks of his tongue, you could feel yourself on the edge.
When you try to speak, to warn him, to say his name, he hums softly instead, a quiet, controlled sound that tells you he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Go on, sweetheart, cum for me.” You finally let go, shaking as you do, and Will holds you as you fall apart.
When you finally stop shaking, Will stands from his place on the floor slowly, giving you a second to catch your breath.
But his hands don’t leave you. They slide up, steady and smooth, thumbs brushing reassurance into your skin even as his eyes stay dark and focused, watching you like he’s checking for something only he can see. For a moment, he just holds you there, breathing heavy, forehead resting briefly against yours like he needs the contact to steady himself too.
“Look at me,” he says quietly.
You do, and his grip tightens just a fraction, approval flickering across his face like he’s pleased with what he sees.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and certain.
Then his hands move again, guiding you to lean back on the counter.
He leans in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and rough with restraint. “Not done with you yet,” he says softly, unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down.
You reach towards him, freeing his cock from his underwear.
“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckles down at you, capturing your lips in a kiss where you can taste yourself on his tongue, while he lines himself up at your entrance.
“Please, Will.” You finally beg, and he pushes into you, stealing your breath away.
“There you go, pretty girl.”
He starts slow at first. Deliberate. Dragging his cock in and out of your walls like a punishment for every time you teased him, every time you smiled at someone else just to make him lose his mind. His voice drops again, closer now, and when he says your name, it sounds like it’s been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting.
“Still want to play?” He asks teasingly, breath warm against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck.
Your breath stutters, and he notices, smiling like he’s been waiting for that reaction. He reaches up to fondle your tits, making more pathetic noises fall from your lips and echo in the empty kitchen.
The steel counter is cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat building everywhere else, and you squeeze around his cock hard.
The control he’s been holding onto slips, not completely but enough that his breath stutters, enough that the brutal rhythm changes. The sound you make pulls a groan out of him, low and rough, and he presses closer instinctively, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Fuck”, he breathes out.
You feel him lose the careful pacing, the way he finally stops dragging it out, thrusts turning needier, and everything narrows down to sensation, pressure, and the way he keeps you close. His hands slide to your back, holding you through it.
You moan out again. “Will– fuck- I’m gonna-”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”
You finally cum for the second time that night, and Will follows soon after, hips stuttering as he releases into you.
Will rests his forehead against yours for a second, eyes closed, your breath mingling, like he’s grounding himself before he moves at all.
When he does it’s careful. Unhurried. He guides you off the counter and down with him, hands warm and steady, until you’re both sitting on the floor.
The kitchen floor is cold.
Or it should be – but you barely notice, curled into Will’s side with his jacket half-draped over you both, the faint hum of the fridges filling the quiet. The lights are dimmed, the world reduced to his breathing and warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
One arm is wrapped around you, firm but easy now, thumb tracing absent-minded lines along your arm, the other hand is tangled in your hair, gentle in a way that feels new – careful, almost reverent.
You feel safe.
Not in a this changes everything way.
Just… steady. Warm.
It’s nice you think – the quiet after the storm. The way the tension has finally burned itself out into something softer, something easier to breathe in,
Will presses his lips to the top of your head without thinking about it.
You smile and let yourself melt a little more into his side.
For once, there’s nothing to prove.
The next few days at work feel… different.
Not dramatic. Just shifted. Like the air has settled into a new shape around the two of you.
Will’s calmer.
Not soft but less sharp around the edges, less quick to snap when things go slightly wrong. He still runs the kitchen like a drill sergeant, but there’s a looseness to him now, like he’s not carrying quite so much tension in his shoulders anymore.
And everyone notices.
You catch him looking for you without realising he’s doing it – eyes flicking to the floor when he thinks no one’s watching, hands stilling for half a second when you pass the doors. He doesn’t shout at you anymore, not once. Just meets your eyes, smiles slightly, lets you get on with work.
It’s almost worse than the arguing was.
Arthur Frederick is the first to say something.
“So,” he says one afternoon, scrubbing a pan that’s already clean, while you linger in the kitchen on your break, his eyes darting between the two of you. “You and Chef got, like… a truce or something? Because he smiled earlier, and it was terrifying.”
Will doesn’t even look up.
“Arthur.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and do your job.”
Arthur Hill snorts from the other side of the sink. “There he is.”
Will finally looks up, glare sharp and familiar. “Would you like to join him?”
Both Arthurs immediately shut up, returning to their work with exaggerated focus.
You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.
Later, when you pass the kitchen, Will catches your wrist briefly – quick enough that no one sees – just long enough to brush his thumb against your skin.
“Dinner tonight?” he murmurs.
You nod, and he smiles.
The cat-and-mouse game is over, and somewhere between service and silence, you found something worth keeping.
can anyone remember the arthur tv video or vlog where he's cooking a hello fresh meal with Bach and he's eating soooooo slowly and bach inhaled the meal, i need ittttt help
gummygunk
2087
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
stormborns
theartofmadeline
