summary: will's been in a mood all day and taking it out on you, james isn't having it | Will x fem!reader
notes: posting this from a random field hoping it actually uploads… based on this request!
content: 1.4k wc, angst, will being an asshole, will being rude to reader for no reason, protective james, fluff ending
You can tell something is wrong with Will before he even says a word.
It’s in the way he walks into the room – too quick, too sharp, like there’s something sitting under his skin that he can’t quite shake off. His jaw is so tight, his shoulders set in that rigid way you’ve come to recognise, and he barely even looks at you properly when he comes in the flat with James.
Normally, he would.
Normally, there’d be a smile, or at least something soft in his expression when his eyes land on you, something that makes you feel like you’re the first thing he notices in a room.
But today, it’s like he looks straight through you.
“Hi,” you say anyway, careful, testing the waters.
“Yeah”, he replies, distracted, already moving past you.
You blink slightly, thrown off by how quickly it happens.
It’s not like him.
You try not to let it bother you.
“Hey,” James says as he follows Will inside, rolling his eyes at his mood.
Everyone has off days. You know that. You’ve told yourself that all day, because this isn’t the first time he’s been like this today. There had been things earlier this morning before he left for work – short replies, a tone that felt just slightly off, a kind of restlessness that didn’t quite make sense but still made you feel like you were doing something wrong without knowing what it was.
You’d ignored it then.
You try to ignore it now.
It doesn’t last.
You’re in the kitchen, just doing something simple – making tea, moving around quietly, trying to keep things calm, normal – when he comes back in. there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before, something that feels like it’s been building, even if you don’t know why.
“Did you move my stuff?” he asks suddenly.
The question catches you off guard.
You turn slightly, frowning. “What?”
“My stuff,” he repeats, sharper this time. “On the table. It’s not where I left it.”
You glance over instinctively, then back at him. “I don’t think I touched it.”
“Well, someone has,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
You hesitate, unsure how to respond. “Maybe you just – moved it earlier?”
“I didn’t,” he snaps.
The edge in his voice makes you flinch slightly before you can stop yourself.
There’s a pause.
You swallow.
“Okay,” you say softly, trying to keep things level. “I was just – suggesting.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not helpful,” he shoots back.
The words land harder than they should.
You go quiet.
Because now it doesn’t feel like a bad mood. It feels like you’ve done something wrong.
It keeps happening.
Small things, one after the other.
You ask a simple question. He answers it like it’s an inconvenience. You try to joke. He doesn’t laugh. You offer help. He brushes you off, like you’re getting in the way rather than trying to make things easier.
By the third time, you’ve stopped trying as much.
You move more carefully, speak less, overthink everything before you say it, just in case it sets him off again.
It’s exhausting and confusing.
Because you don’t know what you’ve done.
The moment it breaks comes out of nowhere.
You’re both in the living room now, James somewhere nearby, half-listening, half-distracted by his phone. The tension has been sitting there for a while, thick and uncomfortable, and you can feel it in the way your shoulders are slightly tense, the way you keep glancing at Will like you’re trying to read something you can’t quite understand.
“I’ll just grab that for you,” you say, moving to pick something up from the table before he can reach it.
It’s automatic, Small. Harmless.
But apparently, it’s the wrong thing to do.
“Can you just – stop?” Will snaps suddenly.
The sharpness of it cuts through the room
You freeze, your hand still hovering mid-air.
“Stop what?” you ask, your voice quiet now, caught off guard.
“Just – doing that,” he says, gesturing vaguely, frustration spilling over. “Hovering, getting involved in everything. It’s annoying.”
The words hit harder than anything he’s said so far.
“I was just trying to help,” you say, your voice smaller than you want it to be.
“Well, I didn’t ask for help,” he shoots back.
The room goes quiet.
There’s a split second where everything just… hangs.
And then-
“Alright, that’s enough.”
James’s voice cuts in, firm in a way you don’t hear often. You blink, startled, turning slightly as he straightens up properly, his attention no longer on his phone but fully on Will.
“Mate, what’s your problem?” James continues, his tone sharp now, protective in a way that makes your chest tighten for a completely different reason.
Will frowns, defensive immediately. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Yeah, you do,” James says bluntly. “You’ve been in a mood all day, and now you’re taking it out on her for no reason.”
Your stomach flips.
“James, it’s fine-” you start automatically, the instinct to smooth things over kicking in before you can stop it.
“It’s not fine,” he cuts in, not even looking at you, his focus still locked on Will. “She hasn’t done anything.”
Will opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, but nothing comes out straight away.
Because he knows.
You can see it in the way his expression shifts, the frustration faltering slightly, something else slipping in underneath it – something that looks a lot like realisation.
“I just-” he starts, but it sounds weaker now, less certain.
“No,” James interrupts, shaking his head. “Don’t. You don’t get to snap at her like that because you’re in a bad mood. Sort yourself out.”
There’s a pause.
A long one.
And then Will exhales, running a hand over his face, the tension in his shoulders dropping slightly like something’s finally clicked into place.
“…yeah,” he mutters, quieter now. “Yeah, alright.”
The shift is immediate.
Not gone completely – but different.
He looks at you properly then, really looks, and you see it all hit him at once – the way you’ve gone quieter, the way you’re standing a little more closed off now, the way your expression has changed without you even realising it.
Guilt flashed across his face.
“Hey,” he says, softer this time, stepping toward you. “I’m sorry,” he adds quickly. “I didn’t mean- any of that. I’ve just been-”
“In a mood,” James supplies dryly from behind you.
Will shoots him a look, but there’s no real bite to it this time.
“Yeah,” he admits. “But that’s not your fault.”
You nod slightly, but its small, hesitant.
“It just felt like it was,” you say quietly.
“It’s not,” he says, firmer now. “Not at all. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
There’s sincerity in it now, real and unguarded.
You swallow, some of the tension in your body easing, but not completely.
“I was just trying to help,” you admit.
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know. And I made it seem like you were doing something wrong, and you weren’t.”
He steps a little closer, more careful this time, like he’s aware he has to earn that space back.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, softer.
You look at him for a moment, then nod again, a little more certain this time.
“Okay,”
There’s a small pause.
Then his hand reaches for yours, tentative, like he’s giving you the choice to pull away if you want to.
You don’t.
Your fingers curl around his, and he lets out a quiet breath, relief flickering across his face.
Behind you, James shifts slightly, the tension easing now that things have settled.
“Good,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Because that was painful to watch.”
You huff out a small, surprised laugh despite everything. Will rolls his eyes slightly, but there’s no real annoyance there anymore.
“Alright, Dad,” he mutters.
“Someone had to say it,” James replies, completely unapologetic.
There’s a beat, and then he glances at you properly, his expression softening.
“You alright?” he asks.
The question catches you off guard, but it’s warm. Genuine.
“Yeah,” you say, a small smile forming. “I’m okay.”
He nods once, satisfied, before leaning back again.
“Good. Because if he does that again, I’m kicking him out.”
“Oi, you don’t even live here-” Will starts.
“I mean it,” James adds, not even looking at him.
You laugh properly this time, the last of the tension finally easing away.
Beside you, Will squeezes your hand a little tighter, like he’s making a quiet promise.
Hey queen!! I’m in some desperate need of willne and angst so maybe a one shot where readers having a bad day and will makes a not so nice comment and reader ends up breaking down to him and he comforts her. Ugh please I need a soft spoken man in my life. Please and thank you!!
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Bad Day. ⋆.ೃ࿔*
Will Lenney x Reader ~ angst
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ This time it wasn't me who wanted to write the Will angst lol, we are so drawn to Will angst. The man can be so comforting...
You burst through the door of your flat, exhausted and just relieved to be home. You had just had the most dreadful day at work. Everyone was on your case, everyone seemed like they had it out just for you today.
Scolded by your boss for a mistake that wasn’t yours, yelled at by clients who only accepted to hear that they’re in right, and co-workers who wouldn’t help you even if it were the last thing they do.
It was a stress filled day to say the least.
Luckily for you, you were home. You were ready to take a hot shower, put on your comfy clothes, and watch that new episode of that series you’ve been watching.
Everything seemed like it would go well from here on out, but it wouldn’t would it?
No, because that would be too easy, the universe wasn’t set for you to have it easy just yet. No, it wanted to throw you one more hurdle because it knows you’re strong enough to face it.
You’ve stayed strong this long without breaking, what’s one more thing.
You were in the bathroom getting your hot shower ready when you heard the front door open and close with a slam making you almost jump out of your skin.
You quickly made your way to the living room to see Will laying on the couch, his hair tussled, his white shirt unbuttoned even more than usual, and a scowl on his face to match the energy he presented.
“Will?” You asked carefully. You’ve never seen him like this. Yes, he has his days but this was different. “You alright?” You asked again, just as cautious as before.
He huffed, his chest heaving up then down aggressively. “Just fucking dandy.” He replied in an annoyed tone.
“Well,” You paused, taking a seat next to him only for him to push away slightly, making you frown. “I haven’t had the best day either.” You began.
“My boss is a twat, my co-workers are mindless sheep, and the clients I tended to today were just piss poor.” You complained. You usually tell Will about your day and he always listens to you talk in detail. Never does he complain or whine that he doesn’t want to hear it or that you’re talking too much.
That’s one of the things you admire about him. The fact that he treats you like a princess, that he listens and actually cares about what you have to say. Today was almost like any other. You occasionally have a rough day and complain about it to Will, he listens and you end up cuddling on the couch.
Almost like any other.
“ ~and he told me that I wasn’t doing it right. I told him, this is the way I’ve been doing it since the day I started working here then he-”
“Fuckin’ hell Reader.” He interrupted you, stirring on the couch. You looked at him in confusion at his sudden outburst.
“You always complain about that shit end job. There isn’t one day where you don’t have something bad to say about it. Just fucking quit then? Jesus.” He said, running a hand through his hair.
His tone was serious. This wasn’t a joke. Maybe it was advice that he’s been meaning to give you but these words he spewed weren’t intended to be careful, generous advice of someone who loves you but words that were intended to be harmful, intended for you to be hurt by them, by him.
You felt a deep sadness pool in your heart, it felt heavy. He’s never made you feel this way. He always treated you so delicately, so protected, so soft- he made you feel like a precious flower that was taken care of so well, it would never wilt in his care.
“Will, you know I can’t just quit-”
“Then stop complaining!” He said, louder this time. Louder than you’ve ever heard when he’s upset. It felt like a bullet. His words coming hard and fast, so harshly. You watched him stand up and make his way towards the kitchen.
The sounds he was making sounded much louder than they are, much angrier than you’ve ever seen.
That was it. That was the strongest you could have been for the day. The tears that were fighting all day to be held in, were all finally spilling out. You couldn’t stay strong any longer.
You cried, you cried quietly. You tried to hide it. You didn’t want to be a further bother for him. You sat on the couch, sulking at everything but most importantly at him.
You were crying because of him.
You heard him come back into the room and you quickly tried wiping away the tears, cleaning your face but your smudged makeup made it quite evident.
You looked at him, a fake small smile plastered on your lips. His angry expression softened instantly. His eyebrows unfurrowed, and a small frown fell upon his lips.
He quickly made his way to you, sitting on the couch and wrapping his arms around you. This sentiment made your tears fall all over again.
“Will.” You said shakily, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your head in his neck. “I’m sorry.” You said, your words muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
“No, love, no. I’m sorry. Jesus, I was such a twat just then. Sweetie, please don’t cry.” He cooed into your hair, pulling you tighter, rubbing circles into your back with his hand.
Your body shook as you kept crying overwhelmed with emotions.
“I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t. I- love. It’s just, I also had a bad day and instead of talking about it, I took it out on you.” He said, his heart pounding quickly at the realization of his actions and the effect they had.
“But you’re right. I should just quit.” You huffed.
“No love, you need to keep going. I didn’t mean what I said. You need to move up in the company, you need to keep working just as hard as you have been. You’re perfect, you’re amazing, they are lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you. I love you. Please, look at me.” He said, his voice unsteady, his movements careful, as delicate as he always is.
You lifted your head to see his eyes full of concern and regret.
“Please love, I’m sorry.” He apologized once again.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I know I talk about my problems too much with you-”
“No but that’s just it. I love when you talk to me. About anything, about everything. I just want to be with you.” He said, placing a soft kiss on your head.
“But you’ve had just as much of a bad day.”
“Yes and you listen to me when I talk shit all day. I was just, just too stressed at that moment. I needed a second to decompress.” He explained. You melted into him, everything feeling much lighter now.
“I understand. I love you.” You said, placing a soft kiss to his lips. He pulled you even tighter.
“I love you too. Let’s go take a hot shower together yeah?” You nodded your head. He got up, reaching out for your hand. You took it and followed him to the bathroom.
What followed was a night of peace. A night of decompression and understanding. Of two souls who’ve had a bad day now ended in a blissful night in the company of one another.
Taglist ♡ (did not realize I don't have a Will taglist, please lmk if you want to be tagged for Will or any of the boys here.)
a/n: hello! after many mental breakdowns this weekend, i have actually written some angst and fluff after 2 years of fully writing smut? it’s weird. i hope you enjoy though! i also want to thank the lovely brihanna (@gerardswhore) for giving me the confidence to post this — ily bri! :)<3
content: includes angst, fluff & smut. 18+ content includes: mutual masturbation, kitchen sex (oral, f!receiving), semi-rough sex?
background: brother’s best friend willne who married young and got divorced a few years later. your brother brings over will to their house to help him get through the divorce, and eventually it is a permanent arrangement for the time being because his ex wife has practically taken everything— the flat, his dog basil, etc. and he meets you (after a long time of not seeing you) and something more flourishes from there.
angst:
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who you already had history with before the marriage to his ex wife. will had always been a prominent figure in your life, especially with constantly hanging with your brother. you’d always had a thing for will, but never acted upon it because he was older than you and it didn’t feel right to because he was your brother’s best friend.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who tried to confess to you and failed. the confession happened on NYE when you and will were a little tipsy after your family was hosting a new year’s eve party and obviously will was invited. at this point, it was obvious that there was some sort of connection between you both, yet you didn’t act on it. however, will tried to confess his love whilst watching the fireworks and unfortunately you didn’t hear him over the loud bangs. so it was brushed under the rug and never talked about again.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who went MIA for a few years until your brother received an invitation to his wedding in the post. a couple years after the confession and you still couldn’t get will out of your mind. he’s moved away from where you and your brother were in london to another area to fully start off his youtube career, leaving the relationship between your brother and him also a little strained. until you receive a letter in the post addressed to you and your brother, inviting him and you to will’s wedding. you’re heartbroken— dumbfounded, even, that it had only taken a couple of years for will to find. someone else, and you are left questioning whether what you had before was even real in the first place.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who has a mental breakdown over the fact that london reminds him of his ex wife. in which he comes home absolutely battered after being out with some friends and he’s crying on the kitchen floor, saying all this stuff about his ex wife and how much he misses her and he wishes he didn’t mess it up, and you’re just made to sit there and listen to him but really it’s like you’re being stabbed with a dagger over and over again because the feelings you had for him never went away even after all those years and now this has just solidified your theory that you had no chance with him whatsoever. and at the end he has the audacity to say ‘you’ve been the kindest person to me’ to you.
fluff:
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who gets drunk with you. you go on to snicker and complain about life whilst sharing a bottle of cheap red wine between you both. you get onto the topic of complaining about your job and your coworkers, and will’s already hazy eyes light up and he gives you drunken advice, acting like he knows everything. at the end of finishing the bottle, it’s already incredibly late. in an act of tipsy repayment, you kiss him as a thanks, before leaving him flustered and absolutely hammered on the sofa.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who begins to rekindle the relationship with you. in an attempt to ‘get some air’, you and will start to share walks around london together, slowly relighting the flame that you both had together. it becomes a regular to have a stroll and get coffee, taking the moment as a way to “catch up” on everything that has being going on in both of your lives, especially if will’s been intensely filming videos for youtube and you’ve been cooped up in your job all day.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who takes you to a james marriott gig with him as a date. you’d gotten into james’s music through will and luckily enough you had the opportunity to go and see him live with will. the whole concert was great, but during “it’s only love”, will couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you sang your heart out to the song, his gaze soft and his heart warmed as he knew in that moment that you were the one.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who shares a slow dance with you in the kitchen. and he makes a cringy compliment and then you jokingly but also cringed out by it a tiny bit, then says ‘ever say that again and i will kick you out of here’ but it’s fine cause he’s cute and he laughs it off and kisses your neck before just nuzzling into it as you sway together whilst hugging. and then he whispers into your ear something along the lines of ‘thank you for helping me to love again’.
smut:
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who has some unresolved tension with you. it’s an awkward moment shared between you both when you accidentally walk into the bathroom just after will has had a shower. he has the towel loosely wrapped around his waist as his hair is dishevelled from the water, his cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room. your eyes are fixated to him as you stand stupidly in the doorframe, and you can’t look away, even though you know you should. you know it’s wrong to lust over a man who’s freshly divorced, but you can’t stop this internal desire and craving for him in that moment.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who catches you masturbating. will didn’t mean to walk in you using your vibrator, but you weren’t answering your door when he knocked— so of course he opened the door not knowing what would be on the other side. you have your headphones on, listening to an erotic audio whilst naked, your body sprawled on the mattress as you hold your vibe nicely on your clit, whilst breathlessly moaning like ‘yes, will’ or ‘sorry, will’ or just will’s name as the audio is telling you to do things to yourself, imagining it is him saying it to you. he soon leaves your room after becoming hard from watching you pleasure yourself, feeling ashamed for what he’s just witnessed, and swears to never bring it up to you.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who in all honesty, is a little perverted for you. despite his shame for walking in on you masturbating, it seems will does not have any shame for sneaking into your room whilst you’re at work and taking a pair of your panties from your drawer. let’s just say that he ends up masturbating with them wrapped around his cock, imagining it was your gummy cunt walls snugly wrapped around him instead of some fabric.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who’s reunion sex with you is the most passionate thing ever. in the build up, you’re made to sit next to each other and your hand keeps grazing will’s underneath the table and overall it’s becoming all tense. after dinner, you rush him into your bedroom, annoyed and emotion and a confession happens, which rekindles all the chemistry you and him shared before. you and will fuck, and you’re marking each other to the point that all your skin is red raw, switching positions very often because one of you wants to be pouring your love at all times. by the end, he has you in missionary so he can see your facial expressions as you’re filled up with his cock, whilst he’s grunting and groaning into her ear about how ‘you don’t know how long he’s wanted this to happen for’ or how he’s ‘going to mark every inch of you here and now to repay for all those years of heartbreak’.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will who has kitchen sex with your whilst your brother is out. when it’s just you and will in the house because your brother needs to go out and run errands, maybe even get some groceries or whatever and you decide to make breakfast for yourself, and will and he comes up behind you, kissing your neck softly whilst rubbing your hips, maybe even grazing your neck a little with his teeth before he turns you around, and after putting you on the countertop, eats you out there and then, your breakfast forgotten about.
brother’s (divorced) best friend!will and mutual masturbation. in this instance, you and will are watching a rather…. raunchy movie in bed together. your hand is idly tracing his thigh whilst his hand is also rubbing your inner thigh. you give yourselves a knowing look of consent as your breathing hitches. so whilst keeping your eyes glued to the screen, your hand dips into will’s boxers, whilst his is in your panties and you both jerk each other off whilst continuing to watch the movie.
having a really hard time at work with mean coworkers (lowkey bullies), would u be able to write an imagine of will being soft and comforting after reader comes home from a bad day at work please? 🤍
work days ── willne⋆⭒˚.⋆
pairing: willne x fem! reader
summary: request
warnings/contents: mentions of bullying, angsty
a/n: my angel my heart broke when i saw this, i am so happy to talk to you if you ever need. my pm's are open and i 100% get it, you're not alone. so much love for you gorg. <3
Pm me to be on taglist <3
requests are open and i'm happy to write whatever, hope you enjoy xx
You opened the door quietly, hoping will wouldn’t notice how heavy your steps had become, how tight your chest felt, how your throat burned from holding it all in. But the moment you saw him sitting on the couch, half focused on his laptop, the familiar warmth in his eyes when he looked up made everything crack.
“Hey,” he said, smiling softly, but it faltered when he noticed the way you were standing there, shoulders slumped, lips trembling. “Hey… what’s wrong?”
You tried to shake your head, forcing a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You stumbled toward him and, before he could even react, sank onto the couch beside him. The second he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, instinctively holding you close, it happened. The dam you’d been holding back all day broke.
And you sobbed.
Big, heaving sobs, tears streaking your face as you pressed your head into his chest. He froze for a moment, unsure, then gently rubbed your back, murmuring softly.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” he said, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on?”
You shook your head against his chest, trying to catch your breath, but it was impossible. Finally, through the hiccups and sniffles, you whispered, “It’s work… it’s… everyone. They’ve been leaving me out… making plans without me… groupchats… I know they’re talking about me. I can feel it.”
Will’s brows knitted together, and his hand tightened around you. “What do you mean? Who?”
“fuck it's everyone… it doesn’t matter… it’s just… I feel so small, like I’m not part of anything. Like I’m… like I’m invisible to them. And I know they’re talking about me behind my back… and I can’t stop thinking about it…”
He pulled you closer, resting his chin on your head, breathing you in as if he could somehow anchor you. “Hey… none of that’s true. They don’t get to make you feel that way. You’re amazing. You’re smart, funny, so much better than anything they’re saying about you. And I hate that they’ve made you feel like this.”
You sobbed harder, muffled against his chest, finally letting yourself collapse entirely against him. “I’ve been trying to just… keep going… pretend it doesn’t bother me… but it does. It eats at me. I feel so alone even when I’m there.”
He shook his head, voice low and fierce with protectiveness. “You are not alone. Not ever. You’ve got me. And I swear, anyone making you feel like this? They can shove it. I hate that they’re treating you like this, genuinley fuck all of them.” he said, his Geordie accent slipping out a little more than usual.
You felt him tighten his arms around you, like he wouldn’t let go no matter what. “I don’t even know how to deal with it,” you whispered.
He rubbed slow circles on your back, soft but deliberate. “We’ll deal with it together. Okay? You don’t have to deal with this alone. You don’t have to pretend with me. You can scream, cry, vent, whatever you need… I’ll listen. I’ll be right here.”
You hiccupped against him, nodding, letting yourself finally just be in his arms. The fear, the hurt, the frustration, all of it spilling out.
“And… and I’m scared,” you admitted finally. “I’m scared that they’ll… make me hate my job… or that I’ll get so tired of it, I’ll… I don’t know… I just… I feel stuck.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, heart aching at your words. “Then let’s make it easier. You don’t have to face them alone. You don’t have to face this fear alone. You’ve got me. Always. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”
You nodded again, pressing closer, feeling the weight of the day slowly lift off your shoulders, just a little, as he whispered, over and over, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.”
And in that moment, safe in his arms, it didn’t feel like work could ever reach you.
You stayed curled against him, your breathing finally slowing, your hands still gripping his hoodie like you were afraid the world might pull you away again. Will kept rubbing your back, slower now, more grounding than comforting.
After a long stretch of silence, you pulled back just enough to look at him. Your eyes were red, lashes wet, lips trembling with the aftershocks of crying. Will cupped your face so gently it almost broke you all over again.
“I hate seeing you like this,” he said quietly. “It’s not right. No job should make you feel like this.”
“but it does,” you whispered, voice raw. “And I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep going back there. Every day feels like I’m bracing for something awful.”
He exhaled, eyes softening but his jaw setting, like he’d made a decision somewhere deep inside him.
“Then don’t,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
He brushed his thumb under your eye, wiping a tear you hadn’t noticed.
“Quit,” he said simply, but not carelessly. Calm. Steady. Certain. “I’m serious. Quit.”
Your breath caught. “I… Will, I can’t just-”
“You can,” he insisted, voice low, but warm. “I’ve got us. I’m happy to provide for us for a while until you find somewhere you actually love. Somewhere you feel valued. Somewhere that doesn’t make you come home like this.”
You stared at him, stunned, and he continued, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.
“And if you want to complain to the board?” he added gently. “I’m here for you either way. I’ll help you write the email, I’ll sit next to you through every meeting, whatever you need. But you’re not going back there alone. Not anymore.”
Your throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t from hurt, it was something warm, something overwhelming in a different way.
“You’d… really do that?” you whispered.
He leaned forward, brushing his forehead against yours.
“Course I would. I’m on your side. Always.”
And somehow, even after the worst workday you’d had in months, sitting there in his arms with those words hanging in the air…
for the first time in a long time, you actually believed things could get better.
the love in your eyes, like a chore. william lenney
willne x fem! reader. angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive, situationship au, sorta exes to lovers type of situation.
6k. warnings! mentions of alcohol, avoidant attachment! will, very inner monologue heavy, fr just a stream of consciousness sometimes at times...
Loving you, to Will, is something he dreads. Something he has to do every day no matter the weather, mood or circumstance. Something that makes him annoyed, something that makes him frustrated with your mere presence. Loving you feels like a chore to Will, for he can’t make the decision not to do so– it’s repetitive, daily, something he often does without thinking about the action, always in the back of his head, buzzing in the background of his brain.
a/n: hi hello i am sorta back from the dead!! requested by this anon ask. hope u like it:)) inspired by thorn by keo and start over by 5sos my beloveds!! thank you @dorims for beta reading ilysm<3
Over a certain amount of time, loving you has started to feel like a chore to Will.
Something he dreads, something he has to do every day no matter the weather, mood or circumstance. Something that annoys him, something that makes him frustrated with your mere presence. Loving you feels like a chore to Will, for he can’t make the decision not to do so– it’s repetitive, a daily habit, something he often does without thinking, always in the back of his head, buzzing in the background of his brain.
Will dreads loving you.
He does so when he first realizes it– in the midst of a relationship that hardly ever had any label. You two met at some event, and he barely even remembers what it was about or which brand invited him. Neither of you were familiar with the other, sending shy glances full of electricity through the room before he gathered up all his courage and walked up to you to introduce himself. You were exciting, sparkling, interesting. All things fatal to Will’s poor heart, making him involuntarily think of you in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, turning in his sheets and cursing you for running laps around his mind and turning him into an insomniac.
He followed you on social media the very day after meeting you and you got the hint quickly when he strided his way into your inbox to chat about the most mundane of things– like changing the tires on his car, or the dreaded sponsorships each of you had to record for your channels.
He never intended for ‘this’, as he liked to call it, to become anything serious. His schedule was packed, his perfectionism at his peak, his career the only thing he saw himself committing to at this time of his life. Will wasn’t a romantic– but as every person, he craved human connection. He craved closeness, touch, thrill. The idea of something without it ever becoming anything.
You two balanced a thin line. Somewhere in between being total strangers and being each other’s partner in crime. Somehow, no one could think of one of you without the other, you came in a pair. And even so, no one questioned when either of you flirted with a stranger at a bar without the other present.
You two never went on any dates. Not official ones, at least. Will wasn’t sure what the social norm was and whether the late-night hangouts at his flat with cartons of pizza, Netflix in the background and his lips on yours, or the coffee runs in the morning, the heated dancing and the contact of your bodies at the bar counted as dates, but in his mind, if he didn’t call them that, they weren’t.
Not in the romantic sense, at least.
He never intended to make you a part of his daily routine. The two of you met weekly, though, as if your touch was a part of his schedule for the next 7 days, something he had to check off for the list to be complete, something he had to have to be satisfied.
Will never meant to fall in love with you. He was smug, egoistic, a little too delusional– he thought he could keep things at an arm’s length, he thought he could have you as someone always in the back of his head. He wanted to be someone you always thought about. He wanted to call you his without it actually being true in the literal sense– a selfish, broken thought that screamed at full volume every time he touched you, every time he held you close.
Will dreads loving you the moment he realizes he does– in the middle of a stupid Christmas party hosted at your house, with barely anyone else to talk, since your circles didn’t really overlap, eggnog making his cheeks rosy and your eyes all sparkly, kissing him under the mistletoe.
He realizes he loves you, because even though he hates the festivities and the music is too loud and in other circumstances unbearable, when you wish him happy holidays, he realizes there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
And that makes him dread the simple truth of it. Because he realizes he’d do anything for you– jump off the roof, give you an organ, pay off your debts, shoot someone for you, anything, had you asked– and that’s nowhere near the nonchalant, non-committal stance he had towards you in his brain.
He dreads it, because it threatens his independence. It threatens his tightly-guarded vulnerability, something he didn’t even notice he gave up the very first time you two met in between the walls of his lonely, lonely house. Loving you feels like a chore– something he does, even though he doesn’t want to.
But more-so, he dreads the idea of loving you the very moment he has to give you up the most.
Days of not speaking to you turn to weeks– by his own doing, fate all in his own hands. Will has always been too scared that if he lets you get any closer, he’d hurt himself by wanting something that threatens the very idea of himself he had since the beginning.
After a few failed attempts at speaking to him, you realize there’s no use trying anymore.
Loving you feels like a chore to Will– something he can’t stop doing, even though you’re gone.
Maybe having different friend groups was a blessing and a curse all at once. He doesn’t see you in outings, he doesn’t pass you on the street. He doesn’t know how you’re doing, where you are, what your plans are. He no longer has the privilege of your random updates throughout the day, and he can’t even lie to himself and say he doesn’t miss it.
He told himself that shutting you out was like closing the window during the middle of the storm– to protect himself, to shield his heart from eventually breaking– because how could a person like him, so imperfect, so selfish, ever make it work with someone like you?
How foolish of him. Because even when the rain stops, Will can feel it follow him. His sneakers full of water, clothes heavy from the moisture. There’s coldness to his bones and tension in his muscles, a headache settling into his brain from clutching his jaw too hard in the parts of his day that stretch too long without you to make them go by quicker. His apartment is cold and dark, early February, and half of the things that used to lay forgotten by you in the spaces of the four walls he’s forced to call home are missing, making it feel even emptier without your presence.
His sheets feel hard and scratchy against his skin when he settles into bed every night, brain too tired from running laps all day, replaying the moments you spent together and the moments you spent apart like a broken record, not letting him sleep. And when he does sleep, his dreams are scary– not nightmares you’d wake up from shaking, but bad dreams that linger long after he awakens, mirroring something deep, unconscious rotten inside of him.
In some of the dreams, you two work out. These are the ones he hates the most– they only remind him of something he could’ve had, only if he allowed himself to try a little harder. Maybe they could've been comforting had he believed it had been the two of you from another universe. Maybe you are meant to be together, in some parallel world, after all.
Some days, he stands on his balcony and stares at nothing. It’s nearing March, and it’s been a month since you two spoke last.
A month since he let the conversation die: an Instagram reel he never replied to, only left it on seen. A month since he had a talk with himself in the mirror, hating himself for being so scared to move your relationship into a place that’s more meaningful. A month since he blamed it all on schedules not aligning and both of you being at a different point in your lives. A month since he last spoke to you.
A month he’s spent obsessively reading through your last text messages, a deep, masochistic need inside of him telling him he cannot stop until his eyes burn and he’s forced to throw his phone deep into his sheets, on the other side of the bed, the one you used to occupy.
A month he’s spent watching your life through the screen the way he did before you got close– with the same painful longing in his chest.
They say time heals everything, but Will doesn’t really believe in that anymore. Nor does he believe in out of sight, out of mind– because even though you’ve left, you’re still all he thinks about.
A month after the ‘break up’– if that’s how you could name the slow drifting apart he forced onto the two of you– Will gets batshit drunk for the first time in ages. He does it alone in between the walls of his cold apartment, drinking a whole bottle of red wine on an empty stomach. He throws it up after and never tells anyone. The dullness they all talk about when it comes to alcohol never came– the pain was even sharper, forcing him to look through your old pictures together, all while wondering why he was such a fool to let go of the sight of your smiley face.
Three months after, and Will still flinches at the mention of your name. Something inside of him squeezes on his lungs and takes the air out of him, leaving him vulnerable and defenseless. Whenever someone asks about you, his reaction is dismissive. Talking about you feels embarrassing. He’s the one that ruined it all, but he can’t let anyone know he even cared in the first place.
Four months go by and Will finally deletes the pictures you two took in the club off his phone, deciding he can’t allow himself to torture his poor heart anymore. Five months and he throws himself fully to work again, feeling sick to his stomach as he realizes he is fulfilling his own prophecy. At seven months, he fakes enjoying sex with someone he meets at the club, hating himself when he imagines it’s you he’s kissing, feeling dizzy when he realizes that despite flirting, he hasn’t been with anyone else since he met you.
Eight months, and Will starts wondering why he can’t seem to ever let you fully go. You could move away and build a home with someone new, and he’d still be too busy going over your conversations in his brain, too hung up on the way you never came back to the sweater you left at his house one time after a sleepover. He never moved it from the hanger in his closet– as if letting it there meant you would come back, if only to wear your favorite jumper again.
It’s as if Will foolishly thinks that hanging on means something. That moving on from you means losing you– and Will isn’t ready to lose you twice.
And it’s funny, because it’s his own doing anyway.
Nine months since he last saw your face in a different form than a few pixels on his screen, and he still loves you, doing so as a chore. Doing it and dreading it, for it’s something that’s single-handedly ruining his life.
At the ten month mark, Will and you find yourself in the same place again.
The universe must be playing one big, sick joke on him– because you meet at a brand event again, eyes flying to each other involuntarily across the room. Will feels his throat getting dry as you smile at him, cocktail dress hugging your hips just right, the curves of your waist still engraved in his memory from when he used to run his fingertips along it and listen to you sigh.
“Haven’t seen your face in a while,” you note, humming to yourself as you cautiously reach over the room and finally invite yourself into his personal space.
Will’s knees almost buckle, not ready for the impact your words have on him. After months of not speaking to you, he realizes he might’ve gotten out of practice when it comes to resisting your charm. And maybe, he was never really immune against it anyway– you always had a way of disarming him in your own, personal way.
He wipes the sweaty pools of his palms on his trousers, clearing his throat before he replies. “Y/N,” he tries out the way your name feels on his tongue again, something about it so foreign after such a while, awkwardness teething at his skin. “How have you been?”
You nod to yourself, shrugging, clearly handling the tense atmosphere between the two of you only a bit easier than him. “Well, up and down,” you muse, “life. You know it.”
Will throws you a tight-lipped smile. He hears the thumping of his own heart in his ears. It feels like he is seconds away from a panic attack.
“Hope you’ve been well too,” you say, realizing there’s no way to ease into the conversation now, something in Will’s composure sending off signals of someone that truly doesn’t know what to say.
Well, Will’s been fucking miserable. Not that he’d tell you. Not that you should care.
“Yeah, thanks,” he chokes out, averting his gaze from you to scan around the room, searching for something, anything to turn the conversation to, hating himself for being so bad at small talk in moments where it matters the most. “Brand events are starting to become like… our thing now, innit?” he jokes, but by the bitter laugh that drags out of your chest, he doesn’t really know if it lands.
“Seems to be the only place to catch you nowadays,” you shrug, letting yourself twist the knife in his chest, add a little salt to the wound. He can’t blame you. He never dared to check how you were managing after he cut contact with you– spending one day making himself believe you don’t care if he’s dead or alive and convincing himself you are just as upset about it as he is the very other.
“Yeah, well,” he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “whatever pays the bills, I guess.”
You let out a dry laugh, not really sure how to react to the comment. The conversation feels like torture to both of you, but neither seems to know a way to get out– neither seems to want to get out of it.
“How’s filming going?” you ask, finally something Will can answer to.
“Oh, it’s… it’s going well, yeah,” he says, and actually kind of means it. “Ieuan went freelance, so that kind of complicates things, but other than that, I’ve been working on this thing that I’m really passionate about. It’s like, going to all those random places in Europe and stuff, like, I promise I’m not bragging, but it’s actually really cool.”
There it is– the warm smile, the focused eyes, again. Will almost forgot the way it feels to be stared at by you. It hits him like a baseball bat, square in the face, in full force.
“That sounds really, really nice, Will,” you say, and he can tell you mean it. “I hope it all works out the way you want it, you were always so passionate about those main channel vids, I know it’s gonna be great.”
He knows you wish him well, and that’s what makes him want to die.
“Thank you,” he allows himself to smile, allows himself to relax for the first time. “Saw you hit one mill the other day. Congrats,” he says, watching you roll your eyes, but stretch your mouth into a wide grin.
“Well, it’s not quite like travelling across Europe, but yeah,” you muse, “thank you.”
“Don’t be silly,” he shakes his head at you, tone of voice offended on your behalf, “there’s content for everyone. And what you do, you do best.”
There’s sincerity in his words. A quiet confession that he still cares, that he is still deeply aware of your presence, even though now, mostly the online one. A quiet confirmation of the fact that the admiration he had for you was real, will always be real; something he can’t shrug off.
“Well, thank you,” you say, tone of voice a little bashful. A girl he’s seen in one of your tagged pictures before reaches the two of you, stealing you back into her conversation and the goodbye you share is quick, rushed. Will leaves the event before he has a chance to speak to you again, but still, he replays the interaction over and over in his mind before he goes to sleep that night, the sight of your smiley face making him feel bittersweet, a longing for something he once almost had, but allowed to get rotten.
A week after meeting you, Will throws himself completely into watching your life through the screen. Any more and he’d have to call himself a stalker– he checks all your stories from a burner account, watching all your videos despite not giving a single damn about skincare routines or recommendations for a sweet Christmas makeup party look. (For more reasons than one, this one in particular feels like twisting a knife in his gut the most.)
Slowly, he dares to cross the lines he’d once drawn.
He starts liking your pictures again. He leaves a congratulatory comment on your collab with a makeup line he once saw in Sephora when he went there to buy skincare you recommended to him back when you two started talking. A daring, yet simple message in your inbox on your birthday, wishing for all your dreams to come true. It’s like testing the waters, and he hates himself in moments of self-awareness– it’s like checking if you’re still there, if you’re still gonna reply and let him back in, even for the simplest of things.
He’s starting to get desperate. He knows how it must look in your eyes. He hates himself for having to start over.
One day, you end up on a shoot with Chris. Will feels like chewing up his pillow, punching a hole into his wall. He’s not sure Chris understood the full intensity of Will’s feelings for you, but after some reflection and deep breaths in front of the mirror, he realizes it’s not that big of a deal and he can’t stop you from inching your way towards his friend circle.
In theory, he even welcomes it. In practice, there’s still an alarm going off inside of his chest, preparing him for more pain when the inevitable happens and he has to watch you grow close with his friends, after ruining his chance at being the closest to you.
One thing leads to another and you two end up on a Sidemen shoot together. It’s a silly Among Us in real life video, neither of you knowing who was invited beforehand. Acting unaffected by your presence in front of the camera has proven to be the hardest part yet, only getting more difficult as you clearly had no issue with being friendly with him whenever you crossed paths, even teaming up with him to complete some tasks in front of both his entire friendgroup, and the whole internet watching.
Perhaps it means you have no hard feelings towards him anymore. Which would mean you never cared that deeply in the first place, right?
Maybe you could be friends. Friendly acquaintances. Will would have to settle for that.
He starts to accept the fact the more he casually meets with you.
Another Sideman shoot. A Chris MD shoot, your hearty laugh resonating through the football pitch. In the hall of his office building, on your journey to a podcast recording for the Fellas studio. At someone’s birthday party.
And each time, you offer him at least a small talk, a little breach of truce.
He starts despising you for being so polite.
It’s a year later– early February– when everything breaks. It’s a year since he shut you out when it finally overflows, breaks at its seams. At a stupid Valentine’s day party that Chris and the two Arthur’s dragged him to somewhere in east London, insisting on a night out for the ‘single lads’. He hates everything about the packed club, the cheesy music, the expensive entry fee and the overly-perfumed women on the dance floor. The thing he hates the most, though, is the sight of you on the dance floor, enjoying the attention of all the men that aren’t him, dancing face to face with men that are nothing like him, making him question everything that makes him him.
Will never realized how insecure he was up until this night. And with that realization comes one even harsher– that perhaps, this was what ruined it all in the first place. A prisoner of his own mind, guilty of his own choices.
He chugs shots the whole night. His vision goes blurry and his mood is on a stable, slow, downwards spiral. His friends abandon him for cheerful girls on the dance floor, getting lost somewhere in the middle of the sea of people, but he stays glued to his seat. Not even the flirtiest of women make him falter.
After a particular shot sometime after 2 in the morning, he starts feeling sick to his stomach and makes the smart decision of walking out of the club, resting his back against the concrete wall. He takes a few calming breaths to steady himself, but they do nothing for the uneasiness in his intestines. He fears that if he gets a whiff of the cigarette smoke in the air one more time, it might genuinely make him gag, and so he tries to mentally force himself to think of anything else than how messed up he feels in the moment– so much he almost misses your figure walking out of the club, purse on your shoulder, ready to leave.
He doesn’t notice you walking up to him, a frown sitting on your face. Your voice makes him jump, and for a second, Will thinks he’s entering a state of delirium, your presence nothing more than an image in his head, a hopeless fata morgana.
“Will? Are you all right?” you ask, looking up at him, trying to catch his gaze from where it’s zeroed ont his sneakers.
“Yeah,” he nods, almost too quickly, almost too sure.
It takes you only a few moments to grasp the situation– the wobbling of his figure, the refusal to meet your eyes. He looks wrecked. Something like sympathy rips through you– a feeling you told yourself to bury a long time ago, especially when it comes to Will Lenney. Still, you can’t resist the urge inside of you– almost like a primal instinct, a need to keep him safe.
“Are you on your way home?” you ask.
“Just… getting s’me fresh air,” he slurs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
There’s a moment of silence as you contemplate your next words, clearly overthinking in the tense atmosphere. “I’m… heading back, actually. We can share a cab, if you’d like,” you offer.
Will considers it, he really does. But the way you look tonight– beautiful, free, sexy– makes him feel defeated, too aware of the knife in his chest that carries your name and he keeps twisting in himself. He shakes his head, declining. “Nah, it’s fine. Would be a detour for you,” he tries to offer a weak smile.
“Will, look–”
“It’s fine,” he insists, “really.”
A car pulls up. Your eyes move from his figure to the vehicle, then back towards the male. You press your lips into a tight line. “Come on,” you order, bringing your hand to his, dragging him towards the cab. “It’s getting late,” you offer as an explanation, the physical contact of your fingers between his quickly disarming the man, making him shut up.
In the taxi, you recite his address from memory. Will hates the nights it makes him remember.
The ride to his place is a blur. He doesn’t remember much from the journey, nor how he got inside of the apartment– only focused on the contact of your body glued to his side to help steady him on his struggle inside. He faintly remembers handing you his keys, too blurry-eyed to unlock the front door himself. When his legs finally cross the threshold of his bedroom from where you’d carefully led him to, he’s left with panic squeezing on his chest when you turn your back on him to leave.
“Please don’t go,” he blurts out.
You freeze in the doorway, shoulders tensing at his request. He’s not sure what got over him– he was never brave enough to beg you to stay, only ever having courage to push you away instead– but he guesses it’s time he starts to do things a little differently.
“I won’t– I won’t try anything on you, or something, I just…”
“I know, Will,” you mumble, a sad smile landing on your lips as you turn to face him again.
“I just… don’t want you to go,” is all he settles on, not really having it in him to choose different words, to spill his heart out just yet. Now more than ever, he’s deeply afraid of scaring you away, since digging up the deep abyss in between of you.
For a moment, you look at him with sympathy in your eyes. He cowers under your stare, shame prickling the tips of his ears in crimson red. A soft exhale escapes your mouth, looking anywhere but at your past lover still standing– albeit a little wobbly– right opposite of you.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Will,” you offer, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“Y/N,” Will tests the way your name tastes on his tongue, much preferring it to the burning of the alcohol he’s consumed in the past few hours, “you… you came a long way, and it’s– it’s late–”
“You know I can’t do this, Will–”
“Please?” drags out pathetically out of his throat, teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard it bleeds. “I–” he chokes out helplessly, his cold fingers slipping around your wrist, trying to hold you in your place, stopping you from leaving. The look on your face is steady, staring at him as if he’s a child that’s acting out, having a melt-down– disappointed, condescending, sorry.
Another breath drags out of your throat as you tear your gaze away, pointing your glossy gaze towards the ceiling. Something breaks in Will at that, slipping to kneel on the floor, pleading.
“Just stay?” he says, clearing his throat. “I… I’ve been too much of a pussy before and pushed you away, but… but now, for what it’s worth, every second without you makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”
The sight of him on his knees in front of you– albeit close to passing out, behavior clearly amped up by the state of intoxication he found himself in– makes you close your eyes tightly, counting your breath. Your hand slips away from his fingers to rest softly on the top of his head, threading your digits through his disheveled hair.
“You’re drunk, Will. Just… just go to bed, yeah?” you say, tone of voice defeated– as if you were already preparing for the inevitable, preparing for him to pretend he never said anything in the morning, when he sobers up and his head hurts more than his heart tonight. You say it like it’s breaking you, you say it like you’re hating him for making you hurt.
“I’m drunk,” he nods, admitting, “but– just let me speak. I– I mean it all. I do.”
“I don’t think you’ll even remember this in the morning.”
“I will,” he assures you, “I will. I promise.”
“I– I don’t think–”
Will, selfish as always, cuts you off before you have a chance to say anything. “I mean all of it, I’m just too much of a pussy to say it sober,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “the same way I was back last year.”
Silent, knowing that if you dared to counter-attack or leave, you’d fail and he’d cut you off or beg you some more, you just stare at the man, waiting for his next words.
“I…” he starts, swallowing hard and licking his lips, preparing himself for the cascade of words coming straight out of his chest, “I’ve spent the last year thinking about you. Not a single day goes by without me thinking about you, and I– I know it’s my fault, ‘cause I pushed you away, and that, but– I… for what it’s worth, I always cared,” he nods to himself. Unsatisfied with his unrehearsed speech, he doubles down.
“It probably doesn’t matter anymore, and it’s fine, like, I get– I get it. I’d hate me too,” and he does, a pathetic voice inside of him screams, “I just… I want you to know that it was never because… I never stopped talking to you because I got bored, or something. I just– it felt too real and I got scared. I dunno why,” he slurs, looking up at you with a hopeless blue of his eyes, “I just did.”
“It was real,” you admit, now also chewing on your bottom lip, “for me, at least.”
“It’s– it’s still real,” he grunts, watching you as you stroke his hair, an open, vulnerable look behind your orbs.
Much to his dismay, you stay silent. After a moment, one he spends mentally cursing himself out– a cycle he’s been long used to by now, after all these years– he allows himself to try a little harder, to selfishly beg you for more.
“Will you… will you stay until the morning?” he asks, throat hoarse, voice deep. “Please?”
In the morning, he feels restless. Sun shines brightly into the room and the air is thick, heavy with the words of last night. When he turns to you, you’re already looking at him from your usual side of the bed, filling him with a mix of emotions he can’t quite decipher, but feel hard and deep in his heart, throat, the pit of his stomach. He can tell you didn’t sleep much. From the look of it, you barely closed your eyes.
Could you tell him if you’re slipping away? You might not see a reason to stay– but he does.
For a while, neither of you speak. You just study each other’s faces, much like you used to after nights spent together entangled in his sheets, skin on skin. The circumstances are different, but the intimacy still lays over you like a thick blanket. The vulnerability hurts quite the same.
Then, a breaking point. An alarm sound, a call of a siren.
“Did you mean it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper, searching his eyes. “Last night, I mean.”
Will holds your gaze, nodding. “I did.”
You heave out a breath, pressing your lips tight together before pursing them. “Okay,” you nod, hair tousling in the sheets.
“O-okay?”
This is not the reaction he expected. Not sure what to do, uncertain in situations that handle the matters of the heart, he desperately opens his mouth again, scrambling up a word vomit that would hopefully relieve him– or better, make you stay again, this time, forever.
“Y/N, I lo–” drags out of his throat, scratching at the walls of it, leaving claw marks behind– before you cut off the frantic confession with a press of your lips to his, savoring them on your tongue.
And Will responds, shutting his eyes closed, feeling manic. You’re here, tangible, real. Everything he wished for, everything he’d imagined in the last few months of silence. He wants to breath you in like a vapor, get high on your fumes. Your lips work soft, then harder, harsher as you move closer towards him, reaching for his cheek to angle him so you’re comfortable.
The drag of your nails along his stubble makes him huff into the kiss, his tongue slipping out to dance with yours, licking into your mouth. He hovers over you, nose pressing into your cheek, moves uncoordinated, messy, tamed down for too long. When your hand trails its way along his spine, nails gently scratching back up his back as you slip your palms under his shirt, he feels need slightly creeping up on him, actions following the desire.
Lips moving to your neck, sucking on it and listening to the way you sound when he finds your sweet spot, one of his hands gently presses your wrists above your head, crossing one another, his own image of Mary on a cross– you’re there, breathing under him. You survived, nails to join your hands. And Will knows he deserves to light like a fire– but truth be told, you’re all he’s ever wanted. In his own, messy, faulty way.
Receiving heated, firm kisses to your neck, you let him slowly unravel you. You let Will be in charge– even though he never did so in leading your relationship. Perhaps this is his way of seeking redemption, your way of letting him show you he can do it.
“Let me try again, will you?” he says into your ear, nose glazing the soft skin and making you shudder. “I’ll be better this time. I’ll do better.”
High on him, you believe it.
Almost a year later, 365 days since the morning after Valentine’s day, Will still loves you like a chore.
But this time, it’s different. He doesn’t find it annoying or disrupting to his daily schedule. Sure, it’s still something he has to do every day, no matter the weather, mood or circumstance. Loving you feels like a chore to Will, for he can’t make the decision not to do so– it’s repetitive, daily, something he does without thinking about the action.
Loving you feels like a chore, because he can’t stop doing so. Not when you’re here, more-so not when you’re far. But it’s something he no longer dreads doing– like washing the dishes after a good meal; you do it without thinking. Because you have to. You have to wash the dishes to have something to eat from when you plan to have another meal. You have to put effort into loving someone so you can also enjoy the benefits of their closeness, their affection.
You have to try in order to make a relationship work. You have to stop being scared of losing your freedom in order to have someone to devote yourself to, someone who would do the same for you, someone to call home.
Loving you is a chore. One he checks off every day, one he looks forward to.
Loving you is a chore. He chooses to love you, every morning. He can’t stop doing it. Not now, not ever– and what a blessing it was to be able to start over. To love you, and to choose loving you, like doing a chore. Every single day.
will and reader are in monaco for the f1 and reader is having an anxious day but will is too busy to notice
mentions of panic attacks and anxiety, some angst but is mostly resolved
2.7k words
it was a sunny day in monaco and it was another day for y/n to paint on a brave face as everyone talks to will and ignores her existence. she was having fun don't get me wrong, but she didn't quite realise how much of an intense few days socialising it was going to be. y/n didn't know much about f1 but will had asked if she wanted to come along with him and watching him in his element was her favourite thing and he told her becky would be there so it was enough of a reason to go.
she smoothed the final creases on her already pristine floral dress. "is that new? i really like it" will says, ruffling his hair, coming out the bathroom. "yeah, bought it for the special occasion" y/n smiled. "well it looks great" will came round and pecked y/n's lips and she smiled.
the pair made it downstairs, hand in hand to breakfast and loaded up on chocolate croissants and sugary cereal. "free bar today, so eat up" will smiled, knowing how much of a lightweight y/n was.
it was a 20 minute walk to the dock where the yacht was where they would be spending the day. "this place is just actually crazy. they have more money than they know what to do with" y/n says, looking around in shock. "right, i think we're down here" will says, leading the way and checking his phone. "surely we're not on that" y/n laughs in disbelief before noticing becky waving her arms like a crazy person. "i think we are" will also laughs and the pair make their way up the ramp, will leading the way and holding y/n's hand to help her up the step like the gentleman he is. "right, where's the alcohol?" will joked, rubbing his hands together. "will! it's 10am!" y/n scolds back, laughing until becky appears, beer in hand. "5 o clock somewhere" she says and y/n face palms before there is a waiter waltzing around with champagne and will takes two, handing one to y/n. "just one" he says and she rolls her eyes jokingly but accepts the drink, knowing full well it won't be just one. will turns around, "i'm just gonna go say hi to chip, stay with becky" he kisses y/n's cheek and takes off into the crowd in front of them. "how have you been?" becky asks y/n as they sit down and chat. the girls chatted for about 20 minutes before will appeared again with a freshly topped up glass. "think we're setting sail in a minute" will says holding y/n's back. "okay, great" y/n smiles and before she knows it, he's taken off again, talking to someone else. "another one?" becky asks, referring to her empty cup. "i'm good for now" y/n smiled and becky furrowed her brows as if to ask are you sure but accepted the no and drank alone.
will was right, the boat set sail and the networking commenced. becky wanted to go and see alfie, so grabbed y/n's hand and pulled her to his position. there was AB, chip, arthur and some other people y/n didn't recognise. she'd never met alfie so didn't know what to expect. "hi boys" becky said, slotting herself right in between them all on the bench. y/n stood, looking around for will but couldn't see him until she heard his laugh. her snapped in the direction and saw him talking to two girls. 'that's fine' she thought he'll come back over soon. becky made room for y/n too and she awkwardly sat in between the boys. luckily, arthur was chatty as always so y/n made conversation with him and chip joined in eventually. "where's your fella?" he asked. y/n just shrugged, beginning to feel anxious at the lack of his presence.
the rounds of drinks continued and will still hadn't returned. "i'm gonna go toilet" y/n said, getting up and headed towards the bathroom. on her way, she finally found will. he was sat down, talking to one of the girls from earlier and y/n felt a pang in her chest. will noticed her heading to the bathroom and flashed her a smile before diving straight back into whatever conversation they were having. y/n didn't smile back, just headed straight to the bathroom. she could feel the anxiety rising in her chest and needed a second to breathe. she sat on the toilet seat and clutched her chest, trying so hard not to turn this into a panic attack. thankfully after what felt like only a few minutes, the feeling subsided with the waves of her breathing.
y/n exited the toilet and headed back up the steps to the deck. and could hear a lot of commotion, chip and the fellas camera man were out and everyone was gathered round and will was the centre of attention, smiling away. y/n hovered behind, not wanting to be on camera until she noticed the same girl from earlier, getting insanely close to will and trying to talk into the tiny mic that was clipped to his shirt. y/n's brows furrowed slightly at how will was letting all this happen but it was now around 2pm and he was clearly pissed and enjoying being the centre of attention. becky ushered y/n over and will finally noticed y/n's presence but didn't push the girl attached to his chest away as she was still rallying off predictions for the race that y/n knew nothing about. will laughed again at one of her predictions, "that's just not going to happen!" he says as she finally straightens up and moved away from y/n’s man. "if it happens, i will get you a drink later" will says and the girl replies, "will, the drinks are literally free!" and he just laughs before turning around and sitting down to watch the race happening over the edge of the boat. everyone slowly disperses, y/n walks over to will and takes a seat next to him. "you okay?" he asks, eyes not leaving the track. "um yeah" y/n slightly whispered, uncertainty in her voice. "ah, can you do us a favour love and go and grab me a beer from the bar?" he asks and y/n feels even more deflated. "sure will" she says before sighing on her way to the bar, the girl that's been glued to will's side walks past "i love your dress" she says in passing, probably on her way to chat to will. y/n musters the fakest smile she can and orders will's beer at the bar.
she takes it over to him and as predicted, the girl was sat at will's side but so was becky, so y/n's lucky escape was also ruined. she accepted her fate and held her breath as she walked over. "oh y/n, sit next to your man" becky smiled and shuffled over as y/n handed will his beer. "thanks sweetheart" he smiled at her and she mustered up as much of a smile as she could right now. she tried to calm down, she was safe, she was with will and becky, nothing bad was gonna happen. "come on! come on!" will yelled watching the cars zoom past. "y/n, who do you want to win?" the girl who still remained nameless asked. "umm-" y/n was cut off by will. "oh she don't know anything about this lot" he says pointing to the track and him and the girl laugh together and y/n raised her eyebrows in shock at will's comment. "well actually, i want norris to win" y/n says and they both nod in agreement but the conversation ends. y/n began anxiously tapping her foot, no one noticed. becky got up to get more drinks and the nameless girl followed her. "who's the girl?" y/n asked will. "oh, it's bella. she makes F1 content, i met her at some quadrant stuff. she's really nice" will says and y/n nods. "why? you jealous?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "no" y/n says, eyes not leaving the track before the two girls re-appear.
the rest of the afternoon y/n spent in anxious silence and becky was the only one seeming to notice. after the race finished, music blasted on the boat and everyone was dancing and singing and y/n felt like a party pooper but the one champagne she had at 10 this morning was not carrying her through this. "i'm just gonna go toilet" she told becky.
and that's when it happened. her chest got tight, her breathing uneven and hands sweaty. y/n really didn't know what was happening today, normally she could drink and socialise with everyone but today she really wasn't feeling it and the one person that she depended on to make her most at ease was basically ignoring her existence. the room was spinning but y/n focused on her breathing as much as she could. about 30 seconds later, there was a banging on the toilet door. "anyone in here? we're leaving the boat now" it was a man's voice that y/n didn't recognise so she quickly wiped her eyes and tried to hold her breath as much as she could before exiting the toilet, thanking the man and heading upstairs. she noticed becky waiting for her. "will and bella are just up there" she said and y/n muttered, "of course they are". becky didn't notice, just lead the way off the boat.
"what's the plan, guys?" bella asked the group. "i'm up for a drink" chip says. "yeah i could go for a drink" will says and y/n internally sighs. "will, i'm not feeling well can i take the keys?" y/n turned to will and he handed the keys over before running over to the rest of them and jumping on chip, definitely drunk. becky stays with y/n for a second, "sure you're okay going back alone?" "well, will doesn't seem to care, does he?" y/n rolls her eyes. "i think he's just drunk and wanting to carry on the fun" becky says and y/n just nods. "get back safe, okay? love you" becky hugs y/n and attempts to run and catch up with the rest of them. y/n turned on her heels and walked alone back to her and will's hotel.
becky catches up to the group. they walk to a nearby bar. once they're all sat down, bella asks, "where did will's girlfriend go?" not even remembering y/n's name. "she went back" becky said. "did she even drink today?" bella slightly laughs. "i don't think she's feeling well" becky says and will turns around. "was she okay?" "i think you should've gone with her" becky says and she can see will internally debating. "fuck" he sighs, downing his beer. "right guys, i better go check on the mrs" he says, standing up. "nooo, stay for one more" bella calls out and will does debate if he's making the right choice, i mean you're only going to get this moment once, in monaco with all your friends. but y/n was also important to him. "no no, i better go" will looks down at becky for reassurance on his decision and becky nods.
will completes the 30 minute walk and knocks on the hotel door. "who is it?" he hears y/n call out. "it's me, will" he says. "ello ello" he cheerfully says as he enters the door. however, his smile drops when he notices y/n's eyes. "y/n, have you been crying?" he asks. and she quickly wipes her eyes. "no" she says but her voice cracks. "babe, what's wrong?" y/n crumbles immediately, tears flowing. will reaches forward to hug her and y/n falls into his arms. "what's going on? you not feeling well?" he asks, sobering up quickly to deal with this situation. “how have you notched noticed will?!” y/n almost shouts. “what?” will asks in genuine confusion, pulling away to look y/n in the eyes. “you’ve ignored me all day when i needed you the most” she continued. “well it’s not my fault you’re so co dependent on me that you can’t even get through a social situation. you had becky! i’m sorry for wanting to have fun with my friends!” y/n was shocked at what came out of will’s mouth, she’d never seen him like this. she just shook her head. “sorry for being so co dependent i ruined your day. go back out and be with your friends” y/n sat down on the bed, waiting for will to leave. “go” she said when he hadn’t moved. “no, y/n i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that” he says, realising what he’d done. “will, go” she said sternly, facing away from him. “y/n, i didn’t mean it, i’m sorry” he tried to sit down next to her. “seriously will. you’ll only be in monaco with your friends once and i already ruined your day so go and have fun” she said, standing on her word. “but y/n/n, i want to be with you” he said softly, now sat on the bed but giving her her distance. “if you wanted to spend time with me, you wouldn’t have ignored my existence today” she says, anger slowly turning into sadness. “i’m sorry, y/n i really am. i just got ahead of myself, there was lots of people that i knew and i just got sidetracked” will said sincerely. “yeah but it wasn’t loads of different people was it?” y/n asked snarkily. “are you… jealous?” will almost laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “no” y/n said, trying not to smirk. “i think you are” will laughed. “you’re cute when you’re jealous” will added on. “will, i’m not jealous!” y/n said adding a tiny of seriousness back to the conversation. “i had my first panic attack in months today and i just wanted you there” she says and will immediately snaps back to reality. “oh lass. i’m so sorry, i had no idea” he says, moving slightly closer to touch y/n’s arm. “i try so hard not to be co-dependent on you but it’s just you’re the only one who can help me in situations like that” y/n finally turns around to face will and he can see the softness in her eyes. “y/n you’re not too co dependent, i should’ve never said that. i’ve been anxious, i know how it feels and you helped me out of that. ugh i hate myself for not noticing this and i’m sorry for being an arsehole” will runs his hands through his hair frustratedly. y/n would forgive will eventually but she wasn’t letting him down easily because truth is, he did upset her and he did say some hurtful things but deep down she knows he loves her. “it just hurt when it felt like you were ignoring me, like i don’t expect you to cling to my side but just checking in now and again would’ve been nice… away from that bella girl” y/n grunted the last bit under her breath. will did hear but ignored and let her have her anger. “i promise to do better” he said and y/n nods. “can i have a hug?” will asked and y/n nodded and moved into will’s side. he reached his arm around her and her head rested in his neck. will rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “you’re the most special and beautiful person to me in the world and can’t afford to lose that. i’m sorry about today, i’ll make it up to you i promise” he kisses the top of her and they stay like that for a while before getting an early night and getting ready to start all over again tomorrow but this time with better intentions.
(idk if this fic entirely fits the song but there’s deffo elements there lmao)
Summary: Arthur had agreed to film a pub golf for Chris’ channel. Chris however had invited an up and coming influencer, whom may have have one too many red flags, and very out of pocket takes. This however, is definitely the life of his life. He just doesn’t know it yet.
| Warnings: Joke about death, mildly out of pocket jokes.
| Hey guys, Tried a little different of a writing style. Hope my Arthur girlies enjoy! xx
It all started at Hole 4, or as Y/N liked to call it: “Where dignity comes to die.” She was halfway through a Guinness, when Chris had made a comment about pineapple on pizza. She immediately said without hesitation “I once dated a guy who liked pineapple on pizza. He’s dead now. Not related at all, just thought I’d mention it.”
Chris almost choked on his beer, Becky cackled, whilst Harry bach and George sat there wide eyed. Arthur, who had only just met Y/N fifteen minutes ago, stared at her like she was a rare Pokémon card with a knife “Wait, dead… like, actually?” She sipped her drink. “Guess you’ll never know.”
Chris had warned him. “She’s unhinged, but in a hot way.” Arthur didn’t know what that meant until Hole 7, where Y/N asked him what song he was working on.
“It’s kind of acoustic, soft rock vibes, emotional-“ Can you write me a diss track about my Year 9 maths teacher? Preferably with a banjo?” He laughed, like a little school girl. Jeez, this was so cringe for everyone.
“He told me I’d never amount to anything. Now I have 400k subs and IBS. Who’s the real winner?” Arthur blinked. “You… okay?” “Absolutely not.” He was in love. He didn’t know it yet, but he was.
By Hole 9, everyone was hammered. George was doing a shot off a traffic cone. Harry had somehow just realised he’s left his phone at a previous pub. Y/n was quite obviously affected by the alcohol, which tends to make her a little more… unhinged.
She was currently sitting, and listening to everyone talk. As Chris began to talk about his ex for the 50th time tonight, she decided to speak up. “God Chris, at this rate you’re going to die alone. I don’t know how girls manage to make it through the date if all you talk about is your ex. I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than hear another not-so fun fact about your ex.”
Chris immediately shut up, pursing his lips into a thin line as everyone began to laugh at her comment. If there’s one thing about Y/n, she doesn’t hold back when she hates the topic of interest happening.
They ended the night sitting on the curb, drunk and giggling whilst Arthur and Y/n were singing his song “Apetite” together. News flash, they sounded awful. Somewhrre between the out of pocket jokes and stolen chips, Arthur realized something: She might’ve been a walking red flag with a god complex… But he’d let her ruin his life completely.
song rec: Too Sweet by Hozier, too sweet (but from the girl's pov) by Brielle Anderson
It can’t be said I’m an early bird / I know you said I’m an early bird
It’s ten o’clock before I say a word / It’s twelve o’clock before you say a word
Baby, I can never tell / Baby, I just can’t relate
How do you sleep so well? / How do you sleep so late?
I’d rather take my whiskey neat / I think I’ll keep my conscience clean
My coffee black and my bed at three / Ignore your murmurs as we hit the sheets
You’re too sweet for me / Saying “you’re too sweet for me”
summary: he swears that it’s not you, it’s him. it’s a fighting battle between two people who are determined to change each other.
contains: angst, established relationship, drinking + alcohol, suggestive scenes and jokes, breakup
notes: another fic based on a song, yk how it goes here. suggestive scene ahead, no actual explicit smut proceed with caution. hope yall enjoy, any feedback is appreciated
word count: 2.7k+
When you first met Will, your similarities and common interests were what drew you in. It was like love at first sight, he was easily enamored by whatever common grounds you both had. You moved quickly, and it seemed as if you were a perfect match for each other.
Pretty soon, you both realized that you were almost total opposites, completely different from each other. But it didn’t stop you both from staying together. They say opposites attract, and maybe you could balance each other out.
You had public social media accounts, but you were mainly out of the public eye as you had a traditional 9 to 5 job, contrasting to Will’s entire career of being on YouTube and having a public platform. You’d make occasional appearances– Instagram stories, five seconds of being in frame of a video, a mention in a video or a podcast, tags and comments under your boyfriend’s posts.
You and Will framed your opposing lifestyles as an “opposites attract” type deal– that you were a fresh breath of air from Will’s all-consuming online presence and grounded him, while he added a new perspective to your life with entertainment and stories from his videos. He’d travel for videos and worked late into the night on projects, while you kept a consistent routine that you hardly strayed from. You’d work your usual 9 to 5 with an hour break for lunch, where you’d go on your phone to check in on Will. You’d come home with the 50/50 chance that you’d find Will ordering takeout for dinner or the flat empty and having to cook yourself dinner.
Truthfully, you rarely got to see each other outside of work. Will had more flexible hours, but he was hardly a morning person. His job required him to travel a lot, work was constantly on his mind. You were stuck working 40 hours a week, only having the weekends off. The little time you got to spend together was unplanned, often taken up by business meetings, influencer trips, or Will spending extra time on projects.
He’d always tell you that you were too sweet for him, and perhaps that was closer to the truth. You were like caramel– soft-spoken, laid-back, as opposed to his sharp-tongued sarcastic humor and serious demeanor– he reminded you of black coffee, bitter and strong.
It seemed that both of you were always in denial about how different you were from each other, and how your differences were affecting your relationship.
Because then came the long nights you’d stay up until Will got home, only for you to go to bed right as he opened the door. You’d wake up early as he’s still asleep in bed. He’d wake up with an empty space to his left.
Despite everything, a part of you yearned to stay with him. In your mind you pictured an idealized future with him– something closer to fantasy– your relationship was magically perfect. You dreamed of days when he’d be there when you’d come home, cooking dinner together and cuddling on the couch as you’d commentate on some shitty reality TV. To you, this perfected relationship with Will was entirely possible, you could have the domestic dream with him. All you had to do was stay.
You’d always try to tell him off when he’d stay up too late. Or distract him from stressing over a new main channel upload. It was like reeling him back into reality. You’d beg him to fall asleep with you, to finally get a good night’s rest.
“Will, it’s almost 1 a.m.” You peeked your head outside your bedroom door to see Will sitting on the living room sofa, typing away at the laptop in his lap. “C’mon, go to sleep,” you urged him.
It was like you were almost invisible, an afterthought that lingered in the air. He sighed. “I’m just checking on some main channel stats. I don’t need to be in the office until noon.”
“But you shouldn’t stay up so late.” You tiptoed over to him, hovering behind the couch. “I want you beside me in bed.” You reached one hand down to his shoulder, “If you go to bed now we could wake up together, spend the morning together, you could get a proper breakfast before going to the office tomorrow.”
He stopped typing for a second and touched your hand, gently squeezing it before brushing it off. “I want to wake up with you, I swear. I’m just not a morning person.”
“And you always wonder why you’re so tired all the time, why you can’t get up in the morning.” That was always his answer, you knew to expect it. But that didn’t stop the wave of disappointment that hit you. You swore to yourself that one of these nights Will would actually listen to you and you could get ready for bed together.
He didn’t say anything. Hiding your reluctance to go to bed alone, you leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. “Goodnight, love.”
He turned his body towards you, reaching to grab your hand. “Goodnight, darling.” He brought your hand closer, kissing the back of it. It felt like an apology.
It was the little acts of affection from him that made you feel like it was worth it– or that you could justify that it was worth it. Worth staying, worth nagging, worth begging, worth working.
You laid in your shared bed, staring at the ceiling with your thoughts before turning onto your side and closed your eyes, ignoring the painful absence to your right.
The next morning you awoke to your alarm at 7:30 a.m. You hit the snooze button on it. You rubbed your eyes awake and glanced to your right to see Will sound asleep. The usual.
Routine was always a comfort to you. Every day was the same order and same song. You were always structured, and it always showed in your relationship with Will. He was always flexible hours and spontaneous trips, expenses, ideas. You always kept a low profile, not needing to draw attention to yourself. Your tendency to stay out of the limelight drew people in to you, however. Everyone always talked about yours and Will’s relationship, how different you were and how unlike him and everyone he was friends with, you didn’t crave the attention or fame. And that made people online yearn for your presence.
They searched for crumbs of your existence, basically begged for you to show yourself online, say something, do anything. It was overwhelming at first, but you got used to it. People were quick to flock to your public Instagram anytime you posted a cute photo dump– the idealized version of your life. You showed the adorable moments you shared with Will, hiding the boring and bland parts of your relationship. You slowly started showing up in videos, stories, TikToks, though it was not frequent.
You sat in your cubicle, ready to work another day away.
During your lunch break you opened your phone to check your notifications. You looked for any messages from Will. It was one text from him, “Filming videos for second channel. James says hi.”
Viewers begged for Will to have you in a video properly, the same way James usually is. Your work schedule didn’t allow for you to visit the office whenever filming would usually happen, and Will didn’t like filming in the evening.
Though, an exception was made for one time. It was one video, all about alcohol, that of course James couldn’t both be in, so you were the next best option. Will was dressed up in a nice white button down shirt and black slacks, matching your work clothes as you had just finished work. The timing of filming made drinking a little more appropriate, and you honestly needed a drink after a long day at work.
“Right, hello my friends! Welcome back to another video. Here with me today is my wonderful girlfriend!”
The conversations between you and Will felt casual, natural, but it wasn’t anything crazy that made it obvious you both were dating. Other than the occasional pet names, inside jokes, forbidden nicknames, and lighthearted banter, the atmosphere and environment made you look nothing more than coworkers.
“Dude, they should make a show called Love or Host Island,” you giggled in your seat, the alcohol getting to you.
“Lass, the fuck are you on about?”
“It’s like Love Island– but it works like Love or Host.” You took a sip. “The participants can choose Love: they get to go on a private date on the island with the contestant, or Host: they get to have the island all to themselves for the week and the contestant has to go home.” You look at the camera with a wink, “AustinShow hit me up if you like my idea.”
Will continued to mix up the next drink as you rambled, looking focused as opposed to your relaxed and giggly demeanor.
“Mate, you look so locked in,” Ieuan teased from behind the camera. “Your girlfriend is happily yapping away and you’re focused on not spilling!”
It was a funny image– you beaming a bright smile without a care in the world while Will was slightly hunched over, eyebrows scrunched and hands gripping the drink mixer.
You glanced over at him, your eyes landing on his hands. “How about you grip my throat like that tonight?” you joked, earning some reactions from everyone in the room, including Will.
“God, you’re so drunk off your arse right now,” Will muttered, sounding more annoyed than amused.
“Oh, come on,” you slurred. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, that’s enough.” Will looked up at the production team behind the cameras. “No one here needs to know about our sex lives and we’re gonna need to cut all of that.”
You only giggled to yourself and kept drinking.
You were definitely more of a lightweight compared to Will, evident by your inability to walk in a straight line as you came home. You had one arm around Will for support as he guided you to your shared bedroom, helping you take off your shoes.
“You definitely should’ve eaten dinner or something before filming. You’re such a lightweight.”
“Oh, but you love that you don’t have to buy as many drinks for me to have a good time.” You sat on the edge of the bed, shooting him a euphoric smile.
He sighed, but his face softened as he looked you in the eyes. “Yeah, yeah, pet.”
Your smile never faltered, and your hands gripped the front of his shirt, as you were naturally clingy when intoxicated. You kept reaching towards him, pulling him closer to you into a hug with your arms wrapped around his middle and head pressed into his chest. He settled on gently wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his hands softly caressing your head.
“I’ll order us something for dinner,” Will pulls away slightly to look at you. “You want anything specific?”
“Mmm I can think of something specific I want for dinner,” you said suggestively, eyeing him up and down with a flirty smirk.
Will rolls his eyes playfully, patting your shoulders. “Alright, lass. I’ll just order us something simple.” He presses a quick kiss on the top of your head and begins to walk away but you grab his arm to pull him back.
“Willllll,” you drag.
“Love,” he says cautiously, like a warning.
You don’t let go of him, instead bringing him closer again. You drag your hands up his arms and to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt. You reattached your lips onto his, growing more desperate.
Will pulls away slightly, leaving a small amount of space between you two. “Darling,” Will tries again. “I need to order food for us. You haven’t eaten dinner yet.” His hands rested on your shoulders.
“I want you,” you say boldly, the alcohol in your system giving you sudden confidence. “Need you.” You say a little softer, staring up at him. “Now.”
“You sure, pet?” Will asks gently. His hands found their way down to your thighs, resting gingerly.
You pulled him in again, reconnecting your lips onto his. Your hands trailed upwards, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers played with the back of his mullet, tangling themselves in his hair.
He melted at this, hands now on the sides of your waist to push you closer to him. “Fuck, who am I to deny you?” he spoke softly, moving down to your neck. You let out little soft noises, knowing their effect on Will.
He pushed you back slightly against the bed, his knee on the bed and between your thighs. His lips never left your body as his hands fumbled with the buttons of your shirt. With your upper chest now exposed, his lips moved down to your collarbones while your fingers stayed in his hair and legs wrapped around him to pull him closer.
“You’re too sweet for me, darling,” he murmurs into your skin. He says it like he’s undeserving of you, like he can’t believe you’re really here with him. He sighs when he feels your hands trailing down his body, stopping at the now obvious bulge in his pants. You shift to buck your hips up into him, rubbing yourself on his thigh that’s between your legs.
He manages to get your shirt off while you fiddle with his belt and undo the button of his pants. You’re about to pull the zipper down when he suddenly grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.
“Want you to feel good, first,” he whispers softly. You don’t protest. He’s got you half-naked on the bed, his hands now on your thighs. You invite him to keep going. You let him take charge.
He tastes you, and he says it again. “You’re too sweet for me.”
You lay in bed in his arms, spent and satisfied. His hand traces little circles on your back. You’re still catching your breath when he presses a kiss to your temple, “You’re too sweet for me.”
It becomes apparent to you how Will sees you. He’s too stubborn to change, and you’re too stubborn to leave. He wants you, but you’re not what he needs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
You let the moment sink in, your eyes feeling heavy and eventually falling asleep.
You wake up the next morning with Will’s side of the bed empty. It’s the same routine every time, but this time it doesn’t reignite something inside you the way it has before. You feel a change in the air of your shared bedroom, the realization of last night settling in. This time, you feel a sort of heaviness on your shoulders. A weight is now left in your stomach.
It’s a feeling you can’t quite shake off.
The next time you see Will you’re aware of how he lingers, but you can’t seem to really feel him. He’s like a ghost, he’s just hovering. You don’t really feel him there.
Your bodies don’t ever touch while you’re in bed. You face away from each other, an invisible wall separating your sides of the bed. Sometimes an arm or a foot will cross that invisible wall, a small and silent invitation for some physical touch. But neither of you ever give in.
And Will continues to stay up late, working. Every night ends the same, you kiss him goodnight and go to bed without him. He becomes less present in your life, and the distance between the two of you increases each day.
You don’t ever talk about it, but you’re both aware that it’s there.
There’s one last night of intimacy, another chance at reigniting something within you.
But you return back to the same old routine, and the distance is louder than ever. It screams at you, that you’ve been ignoring the obvious.
So then comes the conversation with Will, it’s mutual. The wall between you is torn down, and you’re both transparent. You’re honest, but you’re tired.
It was never going to change, and you’re both frustratingly stubborn.
He helped you pack your things away in boxes, never really saying a word to you. You don’t break the silence either. You let it settle.
The frustrating fight between two people who were determined to change each other is now over. Before you leave, Will says one last thing to you.
