Imagine being in prof!gwils class and a delivery man walks in with a bunch of flowers and all ur friends are like “oooooooh who from” and he’s just there like “I would die for you” and you melt inside knowing he’s going to love you so good when you get home together 🥺
prof!gwil being a secret softie is forever my favorite thing
gwil knows who it is before they even open the door, but the lecture hall still fills with confused muttering and cooing from the rest of his students. the delivery person looks between the professor and his students. “is uh...y/n here?” they ask, and gwil raises a brow, crossing his arms and leaning back onto his desk as he looks up, exactly where you’re sitting.
“you have a delivery, ms. y/l/n,” he says coolly, nodding in your direction.
your cheeks feel hot to the touch and if you weren’t sure it was him who sent them, you would be positively mortified. but it is him, and as you take the vase in your hands from the delivery person with gratitude, your lips begin to grow into a wide grin, ignoring your friends jeering as you make your way back to your desk.
one of your friends snatched the card before you even have a chance to read it, giggling brightly when she reads, “happy wednesday, beautiful. i love you. y/n! who are these from?”
you shake your head, heart still pounding when gwil clears his throat. “alright, everyone. are we prepared to pay attention to the lecture now?”
gwil turns his back to the class to hide his growing smile, stomach flipping with elation. both of you are counting down the minutes until the end of the lecture, waiting to meet at his house and take a long weekend, and as you struggle to find a place for the arrangement, you can’t help but check the time. your flustered laugh makes the rest of the class chuckle too, and gwil finally turns back to you guys with his remote in hand. “who did the reading?”
that sly little smile that keeps tugging at his lips for the rest of the lecture only makes your heart ache for a man standing only feet away, and you think you can feel yourself falling a little more in love with him.
imagine professor gwil teaching middle schoolers instead of uni students. just... imagine. i'm not saying he has students like shawn and cory but he probably has to deal with a lot. and not to mention his students are always surprised to find out that he's married because "he's so... grumpy."
something about this warms my heart so greatly
let’s say he used to work at a university, but you guys move somewhere with better schools for the kids and a bigger house and a safer environment and there isn’t really a university around, and gwilym really can’t stand teenagers, and he’s not exactly equipped to teach elementary schoolers—as it is, he’s already way too overqualified to work at middle school, but it’s the only thing he think will fit. he’s really not warm enough to work with children. he’s not really even warm enough to work with adults, but you think he can handle middle schoolers, and more importantly, you think middle schoolers are just aloof and careless enough to be able to handle him. so he takes the job.
and he has no idea what he’s doing. he likes working at a university—he’s only ever taught at a university and it makes the most sense to him, so working from 8 to 3:30 everyday is a big adjustment. not to mention the kids.
in some ways, he has underestimated them. they’re a lot smarter than he had expected, and they try a lot harder than he plans on. in other ways, he overestimated them. he’s too used to teaching adults, adults who are too afraid to talk in the middle of his lecture and are often too uninterested to do so. he’s used to teaching people who are so scared of him that they don’t bother saying a word to him all semester, but preteens have an unprecedented gall, a trait where their need to make their classmates laugh overpowers their fear of him, and he’s not sure he likes that at all.
some of them are just bold, but some of them want to genuinely get to know him, either to suck up to him or just because they don’t really have much other choice, considering they spend almost an hour together, five days a week. in some ways, he likes it. it’s easier, a little less time consuming, and he won’t lie and say that the kids dont make him laugh more days than not. parent-teacher conference, though, he hates. assemblies, he can’t stand, and teaching his classes back to back all day gets a little tiring.
you notice a change in him after a few months. suddenly, he’s staying later, and he’s talking about these kids over dinner, and you realize that he cares. he cares about these kids so much, and things he used to complain about he now laughs about, and he gets so frustrated when they don’t do well on tests because, “he’s so smart, y/n, he just doesn’t care enough” and he celebrates when they do well because “i spent my whole lunch break on wednesday helping her with this and look at how well she did” and god, as much as he denies it, he loves those kids
p.s a solid 60% of them are in love with him
p.p.s at the end of the school year, he’s made such a big change in his personality that the kids who are going on to high school make him a card about how much they’ll miss him and at the teacher awards he had once mocked, they award him “most progress made” and he hangs it up behind his desk
p.p.p.s he loves teaching middle school, even more than he liked university
dressing your baby up as a lobster for halloween and gwil dressing up as a chef and carrying him around with a pot all night 🥺
okay so. this killed me. i will never forgive u for this
gwil insists. he really, truly begs for it and greyson is too young to have a real opinion on his costume yet, so you suppose there isn’t really any reason not to do it.
they’re attached at the hip anyway. if you weren’t still feeding grey, you think he’d spend every waking moment—and most of his sleeping ones, too—on gwil’s hip or strapped to his chest or sleeping on his shoulder. grey is a mama’s boy at heart but those two are partners in crime, so a coordinated costume is more on brand than you could ever admit.
you come up with a lazy apron over your jeans and top, just to pretend that you had put a little thought into family costume, but gwil and grey really sell it, all the way down to the little red socks gwil puts on your son to keep his feet warm and the silly hat he insists on keeping on his own head. greyson fits perfectly into a big stockpot gwil steals from your pantry, his tiny hands holding knuckle white to the lip as he struggles to stand in there when you all test the size. he’s adorable, giggling and gargling and cooing all the way to your friend’s house while he sits on your hip, turning between you and his dad every time a new costume catches his eye.
he’s the hit of the party, too. once you get on the porch, he’s thrilled to be back in the pot, and he’s even more pleased once you walk inside and everyone is fawning all over the two of them. gwil’s face hurts from grinning so hard and greyson is following his dad’s lead, smiling and laughing at everyone who looks at them with the same winning smile that gwilym has.
you’re content to sit along the wall and watch them for a while. there are lots of other kids, something that delights your son. he’s one of the youngest of them all, barely able to even pull himself up to stand, but he gains a little freedom from the two of you to crawl around the living room with his friends.
the two of you are wrapped up in conversation with your own friends, but you can’t do a single thing besides watch greyson, who always looks back to you and gwil with the biggest smile, only a few teeth cut yet, and you smile back at him, leaning further into gwil, who’s just as wrapped up in your son as you are.
he’s hard to miss when he crawls over to you, beginning to fuss as he reaches up. gwil is quick to indulge the tell-tale signs of his bedtime, allowing your son to take a spot in his dad’s lap. they look decidedly too sweet, greyson snuggling into gwil’s scratchy chefs coat and gwilym rubbing grey’s overly-padded back as the boy falls asleep. it’s a sight you make sure to take in a bit longer than normal, because the two of them like this is something you never want to forget.
omg ellie there’s a sleepover ???? am i too late? i would literally die for a gwil blurb i’ll love you forever
u could never be too late
he’s...sweet.
he’s handsome. he’s kind. he’s shy, but you don’t mind. you'd like to get to know him a bit more, but there’s a wall up, and that’s a boundary you can respect. he doesn’t owe you anything, really. simple conversation is good enough. you think if he had any interest in you, he would have said something, but he hasn’t, so you don't say anything, just friendly smiles every once in a while.
gwilym wants to reach out to you so deeply. he’s watched you--in what he hopes is an entirely uncreepy way--for a few months, and what little conversation you have, he’s too nervous to really be himself. he hopes you know that he isn’t so fucking bland, you just make his palms sweat and his heart race. it’s juvenile, but he kind of likes it. he hasn't felt that way in a long time.
sometimes, you’ll hand him a file and your hands brush. you see the way his ears flush and you find it endearing. you find most things about him endearing, and god, he makes it so hard to downplay the crush you have on him when he’s working double time to make you fall in love with him.
one night, you’re both working late and your computer screen is burning your eyes. you’re nothing short of frustrated, overworked, and tired, so you sigh and lean back in your chair. thankfully, gwil is the only other person in the office, and he’s rather quiet, so you’ve got some peace, at the very least.
your computer dings with a new email and you huff, lazily opening the message.
gwilym lee: are you as miserable as i am?
you snort and across the office, he smiles victoriously.
y/n y/l/n: i am truly despondent.
he chews at his lower lip, tugging his earlobe nervously before he types another message and sends it.
gwilym lee: have you eaten dinner?
y/n y/l/n: i have not. have you?
his stomach is flipping when he types and sends a message before he can think twice about it.
gwilym lee: no, i haven’t. you want to grab something with me?
your heart jumps into your throat at the message and you trap your lip between your teeth when you write back.
y/n y/l/n: gwilym lee, are you asking me on a date?
he chances a look over at you to see you smiling at your computer, playing with your necklace gently. it gives him a vote of confidence.
gwilym lee: only if you plan on saying yes.
y/n y/l/n: i plan on saying yes.
gwil grins, biting his knuckle.
gwilym lee: in that case, can i take you to dinner?
you shut down your computer and grab your purse, crossing the office to lean against his desk playfully. with a teasing smile, you take in the sight of his flushed cheeks. “where are you taking me?”
he grins, reaching to turn off his own computer. “wherever you want.”
Ugh. It’s yearning hours. Thinking bout laying my head in gwils lap while I have a migraine and he’s playing w my hair 🥺
hooooo can you IMAGINE.
here’s the thing. i ALWAYS have a deep seated need to be taken care of by gwil, but as someone who suffered from chronic migraines for YEARS, this makes my heart ache. like he’d always keep the lights really low and he’d read a book while you laid your head in his lap, sometimes drifting off but sometimes just soaking in his warmth, and he’d scratch your scalp with his free hand. OR he would just brush his fingers through your hair gently, and he’d always be there to go get you a heating pad or an ice pack if you thought it would help, and he’d lay with you FOREVER just because he knows that you feel poorly and he wants to help in any way he can, even if that just means holding you in the dark for a while
“max!” lottie squeals, giggling as her brother chases her around the living room, his cape fluttering behind him.
you’re all a bit disjointed, really. matching costumes had never been in the cards for your little family, not when max insisted on being a superhero and lottie had bounced between a princess and a snail for weeks (no, seriously). jack, despite his considerable upperhand when it comes to weight compared to his siblings, fits in max’s old skunk costume, something lottie had also worn when she was far too young to go door to door.
your youngest gurgles happily as you draw his whiskers on with eyeliner, and your husband finally makes his way into the living room. “hey, hey, hey. slow it down, you two. we’ve got a long night ahead, best not wear yourselves out before we’ve even begun.”
you swing your head around to look at him, snorting a laugh. “what is that?”
he raises a curious brow. “what is what?”
“why are you wearing a suit?”
lottie laughs, tugging on her dad’s hand. careful of her costume, he lifts her off the ground, resting her easily on his hip. “it’s my costume!”
“gwil, honey, you wear a suit every single day,” you laugh. “that’s your dress code.”
“i’m an fbi agent, y/n.”
“you’re a professor.”
he huffs indignantly. “and what are you supposed to be?”
you glance down at your sweater and you know that even your kids, ever leaning in their dad’s favor, would be on your side. “i’m waldo.”
“it’s a sweater!”
“a waldo sweater,” max cuts in, glancing up at gwil.
your husband waves you all off. “fine, whatever,” he finally give in. jack laughs capriciously from his stroller and you chuckle, reaching for his flailing hand. “even if your costume is a cop out,” he teases, reaching to pull you closer by the belt loops. “you look adorable.” he kisses you chastely, mindful of the little girl still on his hip. “and all my babies are looking fantastic. mum worked very hard on your costumes and it shows,” he praises, kissing lottie on the head once before he drops her back to her feet.
gwil grabs max’s hand, lotties in the other, and he guides your family out the front door, smiling back at you sweetly as you maneuver jacks stroller out after everyone. he really does look silly in that suit, sunglasses hanging from his collar, but as you watch him giggle along with your kids down every street, the silliness just makes your heart sing.
the night is long, and your kids are relentless in their attempt to gather as much candy as possible. even jack finds his way out of the stroller at some point, toddling along with his siblings and stealing the heart of every homeowner he comes across. they’re exhausted by the time you get home, jack asleep in his stroller, whiskers flaking off, and max and lottie both dozing off on gwil, one on each hip. when you had first gotten together with gwil, you spent halloween going to frat parties and showing up to his apartment wasted at 3 o’clock in the morning.
now, you both revel in the fact that all three of your kids are tuckered out before 10:30. you change them into their pajamas, brush lotties hair out, and wipe jack’s whiskers off with a makeup wipe. it’s only a matter of time before you’re both shedding your poor excuses for costumes and slipping into bed together, wrapped in one another so tightly that you can barely tell where you end and your husband begins. as you drift off, you can’t help but think you prefer this over those long-past days of partying, and gwil feels the same.
can we talk about script writer/playwright gwil for a second?
dor it’s like you read my mind bc this is basically all i’ve thought about all day. listen i think we’ve collectively decided that gwil writes everything on a typewriter just bc he’s a pretentious lil hoe but can you just imagine him rambling to you for literal hours about whatever script he’s working on or one that he hasn’t even started, just something he’s been thinking about, and he doesn’t even care if you’re listening, because he just wants to get all these ideas out of his head so he can stop thinking so much but of course, you’re hanging onto his every word. he’s constantly having conversations with himself, saying the lines he’s already written and testing out new ones as he washes dishes, and pondering details that will never even make it into the script, like a tertiary character’s middle name, and he’s always trying to find inspiration anywhere he can, even if it means eavesdropping on total strangers conversations, a habit you have just had to come to terms with and i am :( good god dor i am about cry
So I listened to britishfilth for the first time last night (which thank you btw 😂), and now I can’t stop thinking about playing a round of truth or dare w/ Joe and Ben, and the question [what’s the weirdest thing you’ve gotten off to?] coming up. Reader has to admit that it’s not weird, but she’s gotten off to audio porn and the boys wanna hear. When they do, joe asks “why does this sound like Gwil?” and the boys are assholes and invite gwil over, smirking at you every time he talks 😂
@ someone who can do this idea justice: PLEASE DO
“it’s a little weird.”
“it’s not weird!”
“yeah, but it kind of is, right?”
you pointed your toes to gently kick ben’s bicep as he giggled, grabbing your ankle. nights spent in always ended like this, with a juvenile drinking game and you being teased mercilessly by your friends for something you admit to them.
“are you, like, scared of regular porn?” joe asked.
you laughed, finally sitting up and pulling your legs from ben’s lap. “no,” you chuckled. “it’s just…better. it’s easier to immerse yourself.”
“so you have trouble immersing yourself in real porn?”
“no!” you cackled, rolling your eyes. “you know what i mean.”
“i don’t think we do,” ben smirked, and you knew that look all too well, so before they could even ask, you began shaking your head wildly.
“aw, come on, y/n! you don’t even have to listen, just tell us what it’s called,” joe promised. as much as you hated to give in to them, you knew that the longer it went on, the worse it was going to be, so you huffed.
“fine. i’ll send you the link, but i’m leaving the room and when i come back, we aren’t talking about it. deal?”
they looked between each other excitedly. they were sure they were going to have to pry your phone from your hands and find it themselves, so even if they couldn’t tease you about it, the whole deal was worth it. “yes!”
so you sent them a link and they gave you a grace period as you rushed to ben’s room, closing the door behind you and huffing as you sat on the bed. it doesn’t take long enough—less than a minute—before they’re giggling, and you know they haven’t even gotten to the good part yet, so your brows furrowed.
“holy shit,” ben wheezed. “it sounds like gwil.”
“she doesn’t even know,” joe marveled. “oh, there’s definitely something we can do with this.”
when they finally called you out of ben’s room, they were still giggling to themselves and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. they were always working an angle, something to embarrass you or scare you or disconcert you in general, and you knew it must have been coming, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was or when it would happen.
a week later, you were heating up your lunch as you spoke to ben about your plans for the night. “hey, we’re inviting gwil. we think it’s finally time you guys meet,” ben mentioned over the phone, and you nodded absentmindedly.
“yeah, sure. should i bring anything?” you asked.
you could have sworn you heard ben snickering, but his voice was even when he said, “nope, just you. see you soon.”
gwilym ended up running late, which gave you the perfect amount of time to throw something together from whatever you could find in ben’s fridge. it was almost finished when there was a knock on the door, and you were just chastising joe when you heard ben’s excited greeting to their friend.
joe was watching you expectantly, waiting, and you raised a brow in question when you heard gwilym’s voice. you couldn’t hear exactly what he’s saying, but the accent and the easy cadence were enough to prick your ears.
“oh, you’re an asshole,” you gasped, and joe began cackling loudly, large hands keeping you at a distance as you tried to lunge for him. “you’re evil, joe mazzello, and i’ll get you back for this, i swear to god.”
joe was laughing wildly, holding you away as you glared at him, and when ben and gwilym got to the kitchen, they shared a knowing look. “gwil, this is y/n. she’s a lot nicer than she looks, promise.”
you glanced over, smiling politely as joe dropped his hands from your shoulders. you reached out a hand to grip his, careful to ignore the way ben and joe watch you like hawks. “hi, sorry. i’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you.”
“lovely to meet you, y/n. i’m gwilym. i’ve heard a lot about you,” he grinned. the men beside you tried not to howl with laughter as your cheeks flushed red, but only joe succeeded.
the whole night was spent almost the exact same; dodging glances from gwilym, feeling as though you were burning up with every word he spoke, though ben and joe had finally calmed down, seemingly just excited to spend time with all four of you together. you must have looked ridiculous, avoiding his eyes and laughing nervously every time he spoke, and not even joe could hide his smug smile when gwil spoke to you.
by the time they’d decided that you’d had enough teasing, it was well into the early hours of the morning, and ben refused to let any of you go home, corralling you in the living room and doling out room assignments.
you were happy not to leave, even when you heard joe and ben bickering about which couch joe was meant to sleep on, since ben had awarded you the guest room (“for putting up with us all night,” he had said. it didn’t make it worth it, but it was definitely a start). as you folded your jeans, still in your t-shirt and a pair of shorts you had left at ben’s months ago, a knock sounded on your door and your heart fluttered. it must have been gwilym—neither joe nor ben ever knocked, so with shaky hands, you crossed the room and opened the door.
it should have been illegal to be so gorgeous, especially up close. gwilym was all smooth skin and bright smiles and gorgeous eyes, and he smiled smally as you peaked out from behind the door. “hi,” you said quietly.
“can i talk to you really quickly?” he asked, voice hushed, the perfect antithesis of joe and ben arguing down the hall. you opened the door a little wider, allowing him into your room before you closed your friends out, your brow furrowed in confusion as you looked at him. he smiled sheepishly. “so, joe just told me why i’m here.”
you felt heat rush to your cheeks, rubbing your eyes as you groaned. “oh, my god. that’s…so embarrassing. i’m sorry.”
he could hardly contain the ecstasy he felt at how nervous he made you, and he reached out tentatively with one hand, wrapping, his fingers around your wrist. “hey, no. it’s okay. they’re just—they’re assholes.”
“yeah,” you laughed. “they are.”
he smiled at you, pulling you a little closer, eyes watching you carefully for your reaction. when you bit your lip, leaning into him instead of pulling away, he pressed a hand to the small of your back, holding your body flush against him. you gazed at him, waiting for his next move, and he sighed softly, reaching to brush some hair from your face. “you’re so cute when you’re flustered.” you placed your hands on his chest, heart pounding wildly as he brushed his nose against yours. “does my voice turn you on, sweetheart?”
you couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips and gwil released a small laugh, the air breezing over your lips. “yes.”
lips brushing over yours, he grinned. “why don’t we do something about that?”
