#will lenney fluff

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. 

One he fully intends to keep. 

Becky’s laughing at something George’s just said, Isaac’s leaning against the bar looking faintly overwhelmed, and AB’s got his phone out, filming something he definitely shouldn’t be.

You’re tucked into Will’s side, more out of necessity than anything else. There’s nowhere to stand without touching someone. His arm rests around you easily, familiar, protective in a way that doesn’t feel performative. It was just natural, like a warm blanket of comfort.

That’s why the comment lands so hard.

“Oi is that Willne's mrs? I’d shag her. Proper tart, she is.”

It’s loud, clear and quite frankly unapologetic. It was a group of lads, all who've had about 4 pints past their limit, faces lighting up at the recognition of people like Chris and AB.

For a second, you genuinely wonder if you misheard it, if the noise swallowed context, but then there’s laughter, crude and validating, and another voice chiming in, agreeing far too easily. Your stomach drops before your brain catches up, that horrible sinking feeling spreading through your chest as you register that it’s about you.

Will feels it instantly. His arm tightens around you, his body going rigid in a way you recognise. The chatter at the table doesn’t stop straight away, but something shifts, it fades. He turns slowly, deliberately, eyes locking onto the group of random lads standing a few feet away, pints in hand, grinning like they haven’t just crossed a line they can’t uncross.

“Say that again,” Will says.

He doesn’t raise his voice, he simply doesn’t need to.

The lad who said it looks him up and down. Alcohol gives him the confidence to smirk anyway, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if this is all harmless fun. He mutters something about it being a joke, about how it’s “just saying what everyone’s thinking, you can't put let your bird wear that and not expect her to get comments like that” and that’s when the rest of the group properly clock what’s happening.

Chris goes quiet immediately, expression hardening. Becky straightens beside you, jaw tight. Arthur shifts forward, elbows pressing into the table, eyes sharp in a way that makes it very clear he’s not amused. Chip shakes his head under his breath, disgust written plainly across his face.

“That’s not a joke, mate what,” George says flatly. “That’s grim.”

Will steps forward just enough that you’re fully behind him now, his body an unmistakable barrier. When he speaks again, his voice is controlled.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” he says. “Not here. Not anywhere. She’s not something for you to comment on, and she’s not here for your fuckin' entertainment mate.”

One of the lads laughs awkwardly, trying to salvage it, mumbling something about people being too sensitive these days. The room feels smaller now. Nearby tables have gone quiet, eyes flicking over, the atmosphere turning against them in real time.

“No,” Chris cuts in, sharp. “You’re just out of order.”

Arthur nods once. “Properly.”

AB, still holding his vlog camera, furrowing his brows in the corner. “Fuckin' jarring”

Will doesn’t take his eyes off the lad who spoke. He leans in slightly, not threatening, just close enough that the point lands.

“If you ever speak about her like that again,” he says quietly, “you’re going to have a problem. And it won’t end with you laughing it off.”

That’s it. Whatever confidence they had evaporates. Apologies tumble out, messy and half formed, before they go back into the crowd, suddenly very keen to disappear.

The moment they’re gone, Will turns to you immediately. His hands settle gently on your arms, grounding, thumbs brushing slow, reassuring circles like he’s pulling you back into yourself.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you okay?”

You nod, still a bit stunned, and Becky steps closer without a word, her presence solid and supportive. Chris mutters something under his breath about people being vile, and Arthur raises his pint toward Will in quiet approval.

“Handled that perfectly,” he says.

Decided.

And so you continued on with falling into step with London and its antics. You went to James’ gigs and pretended not to see the way Will was glaring at you on the balcony, where he just so happened to be as well. You went to see Chris in his studio and avoided Will’s stares as you were leaving and just so happened to bump into him in the building. You went out to the pub with the whole group, clinging to Becky’s arm, and tried hard not to let Will’s snarky comments about your new video get under your skin. 

“Happy to see you’re consistent with your content, Y/N,” he muttered once, a pint in his hand, “there’s never enough Zoella-wannabe’s on the market, I’ll tell you that.”

A pit of hot anger swelled in the bottom of your stomach. You tried hard not to let it get to you, you did– because you knew that arguing with him would only make things so much worse for everyone. You were the newcomer of the friend group, you didn’t want to start up any unnecessary drama. Will was just a very sour person, and for some reason, you always got the best of this attitude. “Yeah, because opening Temu packages is some worldchanging content,” you uttered back, catching a few laughs from your mates around the table.

Will didn’t say a single word to you for the rest of the night, and even though it sounds unfortunate, you were actually kind of happy for the fact.

One time while filming a video together for Chris’ channel– a challenge where you had to keep kicking penalties farther and farther away from the goal– Will kept glaring at you so much that even the viewers started to get a little suspicious, creating all those useless theories online. Some of them said you two must have had a falling out (which is ironic, since you never even had a falling in), while some delusionally said he was just staring at you intently because he was interested in you. 

You tried to make yourself believe you didn’t really care.

But the truth is, maybe you did.

Because even before you moved to London, Will was one of the creators you followed. You used to watch his early videos and like all of his Instagram posts. He seemed down to earth and casual– the person you’d love to be friends with. Hell, at one point, you’d even admit to him being a little cute. Sue you.

But the reality? He hated you. He despised being in your presence. Worst thing? You didn’t even know why.

You started to question yourself every time you were around him. It’s not like he was hostile, he was just very unwelcoming. One time, he called you and Becky obnoxious when you were fawning over Max Verstappen, and even though the girl insisted he was being unserious, the comment stung. And it also stuck. 

Was your energy too much? Were you being annoying? Did everyone else feel the same as Will, but didn’t tell you because they didn’t want to hurt your feelings?

You’ll drop it.

You swear you will.

And you did, eventually– when another newcomer found his way into the group. Alfie was a little younger than you, but still, much closer to your age than the rest of them, and his college drop out energy was just what you needed to truly break free. 

After a few shared recordings, streams and meetings downtown, you fell into step with him easier than anyone else in the group. He understood your immature jokes and laughed at them along with you, making some himself. He walked you home and boosted that if anything was to happen, he could protect you with his ‘big guns’ that he even let you touch in the dim lightning of the pub one time (which made you giggle, heat rising to your cheeks. You’ve had a few beers at that point, to your defense– and you’re glad about it. It made Will’s stern glare and the calculated eye-roll at the action much easier to ignore).

Just being around Alfie was easy. He never made you feel unwelcome– hell, he cheered every time you walked through the door, genuinely excited to see you. Alfie made you feel included and clung to you like a lifeline, claiming you were his second working brain cell. You enjoyed his presence. 

Somehow, close to Alfie, you forgot all about Will hating you. It simply didn’t matter anymore. You were enjoying yourself, the lingering doubt of being an imposter leaving your subconsciousness. You were feeling free.

All until one evening.

It was a Fellas party. You weren’t really that close with either Cal or Chip, but Alfie was– which meant he begged you to come along with him. “I need a babysitter or else I drink too much, you know me, Y/N,’” he proposed.

“I just think you need to hang out around Chip less,” you joked, “and also, some self-control.” Nonetheless, you went along with him. 

You wore your, admittedly, most revealing dress. You did your makeup really pretty and put your hair down in all its glory, the way your girlfriends always told you looked the best. Tonight wasn’t just pub and drinks– it was a reserved bar in central London, people you’ve never met before attending, and girlfriends of the boys paying their visit. You had to make sure you didn’t embarrass yourself.

“Y/N!” Alfie called after you the moment you arrived, already a little buzzed. “You look fit,” he whistled, reaching his arms around you and pulling you close.

A giggle escaped your lips at the comment, shaking your head at the boy. “You clean up well too,” you click your tongue, “who would’ve thought?”

“Ah, just admit it,” he jokes, “you’d go home with me if I asked, wouldn’t ya?”

An amused laugh dragged itself out of your throat, knowing well Alfie was just poking fun. While you must admit he was attractive, your dynamic was strictly friendly– lighthearted flirts, but also teasing and playing around. It’s the dynamic you establish only in the closest friendships, and you were happy to share that with someone. 

“The moment would die down before we’d get through the sock piles on your floor, love,” you muse, grinning when the man tugs you towards the bar instead, no response to your previous conversation.

“Vodka soda?” Alfie asks you, raising his brows at you. A soft smile tugs at his corners, making you playfully push his shoulder.

“We’re not here to get hammered, AB,” you say, “what do you have me for? When have I ever just ordered a pure vodka soda?”

“Like, last week–”

“Never!” you gasp, shaking your head. “We need to keep it classy. I’ll get an espresso martini,” you wave your hand at him, disapproving of his claims.

Alfie sighs at you, but still orders the drinks nonetheless, reaching for his wallet when the bartender gets them out. “What are you doing? I’m financially independent, y’know.”

“It’s for going with me,” he furrows his brows at you, “fuck off and let me be a gentleman once.”

“Is that a tactic to get girls tonight?” 

“A tactic to get you, baby,” he blows you a kiss and a wink, making you punch his shoulder and laugh as he taps his card against the register, paying for your drinks.

His arm finds its way around your waist, leading you towards the crowd of people hanging around the bar. He keeps you next to him at all times, whispering comments into your ear and making you laugh, anchoring you in. You’re thankful for his presence, not really being close to the rest of the circle– it’s some of the Sidemen, who you haven’t spoken to many times before, some youtubers you haven’t even heard of, and girlfriends of the usual circle that don’t come out to the pubs with the rest like you do. Not even Becky is here– which you mourn, since you always hit it off with her.

Somewhere along the way, your glass empties, the conversation stills and you feel mother nature begging you to escape to the toilet. So that’s what you do– slipping away from Alfie that gives your hip a gentle squeeze as you go, a reassurement that you’ll find him exactly where he is when you come back. After you’re done with the business and your lipstick is reapplied in the dirty mirror of the bar bathroom, you think to yourself to get another drink for you and Alfie– to repay the favour– so naturally, you stop at the bar.

“Two espresso martinis, please,” you smile at the bartender, fixing your hair. When the drinks come out and you pay for them with your card, you almost bump into someone on your way. 

Right next to you, seemingly waiting for his drink, is someone you didn’t expect to see tonight. Well, it’s not like his presence here is surprising– he is friends with at least half of the room. If anything, you’re the one out of place, having just joined the scene, but you try hard not to think about it, at least tonight. You just didn’t expect to bump into him tonight– you expected to just be with Alfie, enjoy yourself, and after too many drinks, call it a night. 

No interaction with Will Lenney needed.

“Posh,” he comments, “don’t think he’ll appreciate those.”

You stare at him, caught a little off-guard. He’s wearing a blue striped button up and black pants, hair ridded off his usual cap. It’s a nice look on him– but that’s about the only positive thing you can say about the interaction.

“What?” you murmur.

“Don’t think he’s a posh drink type of guy,” he shrugs, “you’d be better off with a shot of rum, innit.”

Glancing at the drinks in your hands, you furrow your brows at the interaction. It’s not like Will to talk to you about anything– if it’s not for some kind of off-handed insult or a jab taken at your personality. This whole thing makes you confused, brain lagging and getting lost in the darkness of his blue eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re for AB, no? Since he takes you everywhere like you’re his damn pet, or something.”

Of course. You should’ve known better than to think this was a friendly interaction. It was Will Lenney, for fuck’s sake.

“Is that bad, or something?” you mutter, trying to play off the squeezing of your chest. Deep down, you know there’s nothing bad about you hanging out with Alfie, but the tone, the stare Will sends you when he says those words, makes you question everything about every single interaction you’ve had with the young man so far.

“Nah, ‘course not,” he snickers, shrugging, “just noticed you clinging to him like a lapdog lately, that’s all.”

The words sting. And you already know they’ll stick.

Obnoxious.

Lapdog.

Not able to control your expression anymore, your face betrays you. The inner turmoil is too strong for you to keep an unaffected face, too sharp to not cut you and make your faked indifference finally swim up to the surface after so many months of pretending you don’t care, of pretending you’re unaffected.

“You’re such a cunt, you know that?” you let slip out, your voice breaking a little at the end. You’ve never been the strongest when it comes to the opinion of others, letting it affect the way you see yourself so easily. And you know it’s none of Will’s business or responsibility how his words make you feel, but you already know this comment might change the way you feel about yourself for the next few weeks, months. “I know you don’t exactly like me, but does that mean no one else can either?” you get out, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Will’s face falls. He looks almost panicked– which is ironic. You did nothing to hurt him. You did nothing to ruin his mood.

“I never said–”

“You’ve been acting like a complete dickhead towards me for the past– fuck, since you met me, Will, and I don’t know why, nor do I fucking care anymore,” you blurt out, suddenly losing all filter, “but please try not to ruin it for me when someone finally makes me feel wanted and included somewhere, would you?”

His mouth opens and closes, taking gulps of air into his lungs. You see the gears in his brain turning, coming up with a response to rile you up even more, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. 

Instead, you walk away from him, downing both of the drinks before you reach Alfie and the rest again, smiling through the discomfort as you feel Will’s eyes burning a hole into your back.

Will didn’t really know what it was about you that made him so stupidly obsessed with you. At first, he thought he was just annoyed with you. Or maybe intrigued– you were new in London and the group decided it was their job to make you feel welcome and at home. He didn’t mind you at all, initially– quite the opposite, really.

But the more he got to know you, the more he started to get irritated with you. 

Like that day he saw you at one of James’ London gigs. Nobody told him you were going– which made him scoff in disbelief. You could’ve gone together! Now he looked like a tit in front of everyone for not even talking to you. His eyes kept naturally gravitating towards you throughout the whole set, watching you dance. Something in him was annoyed at the fact that you barely acknowledged his presence, but he didn’t push for the interaction either.

Or that day at the pub. He was deeply aware he was the only one that wasn’t as close with you. He felt like there was something about him that you found hard to approach, something that kept you from interacting with him as much as with the others. And he does admit he hadn’t put much effort into getting close with you either, but that was simply because he couldn’t figure you out, which only made him more irritated. He didn’t know what to talk to you about or what to bring up– and so his tactic started to be to just treat you like he treats the rest of his mates (even though he’d hate if your dynamic ended up at the state it is with him and Stephen, for example). He didn’t realize his playful teasing didn’t come across as funny to you– he didn’t mean to insult you. The misunderstanding only made him more annoyed– he was trying! And he was trying hard.

Another evening at the pub, he overheard you talking about F1 with Becky. Something in him lit up like a firework, buzzing in his fingertips as he moved his attention to fully listen to you talk about the race happening over the weekend. His excitement of finally having a mutual interest with you that he could use and get closer to you was even apparent to Goeorge, which was a little embarrassing. The male teased him about rolling his eyes and sulking when he called you obnoxious for liking Verstappen– which wasn’t meant to be an insult to you, even though he sensed you took it like that.

Which, admittedly, was hard to understand in any different way. It was just the hardcore Hamilton fan in him that spoke out. At worst, he was calling your choice of favorite driver obnoxious, not you! 

But the difference in opinion only made him realize that now, he can’t even talk about your mutual interest with you. As a self-proclaimed Red bull hater, your stance made him annoyed. 

It wasn’t personal, though! 

Will was starting to get annoyed with you all the time. Like the way he always used to bump into you at the office. You were visiting Chris, and neither of you thought to tell him and invite him to hang out together. Chris was his friend first, after all– didn’t he get some privileges in this? Maybe he wanted to get to know you better as well! There was so much about you he didn’t know, and was curious to learn about.

After a while, Will convinced himself he hated you. For what reason? Well, that was unknown to him as well. He just felt a strong mix of emotions towards you, and not able to decipher them, he thought that at core, they must be hatred.

He watched all of your videos just to spite himself. He noticed all your favorite makeup products, remembered your coffee order just because you mentioned it in a vlog once and he desperately needed something about you to make fun of. Hell, he even had his post notifications on for you– that’s how deep the hatred went.

He obsessively checked your Instagram page every day. Just staring at your face made him irritated– because for some reason, it felt like he was the least important person in your life. You paid him no attention at all, unless he was targeting you with a not-so-nice remark.

Maybe he was doing all of this for attention, after all. The realization was embarrassing and late to arrive, but it struck him like lightning from the clear sky the fated evening a young, broad man joined the circle. 

Because hate and love seem to be on a really, really thin ice, don't they? 

Will knows what you like to do in your free time, just so he can joke at your expense the next time you all meet for a pint. Or maybe… maybe he knows what you like to do in your free time, because he is trying to find something in the list that he could silently, naturally slip into just to spend some time with you.

Will hate-watches your get ready with me’s, just so he can fuel his annoyance with you in private. Or maybe he just likes to stare at your face for a prolonged period of time, taking you in. He’s familiar with the slope of your lips, hypnotized by them when you apply lipgloss on camera. He remembers the curve of your nose and the colors that make your eyes pop. He knows it all. (And in his opinion, you’re way more entertaining at it than Zoella ever was.)

Will makes fun of you for his own satisfaction. Or maybe… maybe he enjoys the attention you give him. Maybe he relishes in your smart come backs, amazed by the wittiness not even his life-long friends have in their insults to him. 

All he’s doing, it’s quite masochistic, really.

Hate and love can sometimes look really similar. The stupidity of his initial assumption of this conflict only came to light the moment Will realized he hates your proximity with a certain man in the group.

He was irritated by the sweet looks AB was always giving you. He hated his arm around you, the way he would playfully wink at you and not get punched in his face for it. Will despised how all of your attention was now glued to the younger boy– the more muscular, more handsome, more funny of the group. He wanted to put his fist through the wall every time you two showed up somewhere together. 

And this is when Will finally started to think a little logically– because realistically, why would he give a single flying fuck if you were friends with someone? You were everyone’s friend– just not his. Why would it matter if you were close with AB?

He googled his symptoms.

Closed the laptop when a Reddit thread told him he’s jealous.

It was annoying. All of it.

You and AB didn’t even have anything in common! All he had to do was be sweet and smile at you a couple of times. 

Oh.

All he had to do was just be sweet and smile at you a couple of times.

Will didn’t realize he fucked up before it was too late. Standing in the middle of a crowded bar, a little buzzed and seeing green. Your face morphed into shock, something in your voice breaking making his insides collapse on themselves, the full weight of his words finally settling in and making him despise no one else but himself.

He didn’t realize his actions were hurting you. He was just… figuring it out.

Which is why when he sees you in the communal kitchen right between his and Chris’ office, standing around with a warm mug of coffee in your hand, he decides to finally grow some balls and approach you with a little bit more kindness, a little bit of remorse from his side.

His footsteps are hesitant as he enters the shared space, bracing himself for some kind of hostility from you. However, all you give him is a quick glance followed by focused ignorance, gaze trailing everywhere around the room before you decide it’s your time to leave the room. Will should’ve known– you were never going to lash out on him. That’s above your level. That’s not something you’d do, no matter how terrible he’s treated you in the past. You carry yourself with grace and dignity, something Will has always admired, and this situation is no different. You’re choosing to protect your peace by leaving, and Will could never blame you for that.

It just made things a little harder for him, he admits. But he decides it’s time to finally break the cycle. It’s time to do better, even though it could be too late.

“Hey,” he half greets you, half calls for your attention when you’re almost out of the door, voice low and unsteady, uncertain in all aspects when it comes to interacting with you.

The shock in your frame is visible as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, brows furrowed when you stare at him. It’s clear you didn’t expect him to acknowledge your existence, which only makes Will feel more like an asshole. 

“Hi,” you reply, already walking towards the door.

“Can I- Can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks, chewing at his lower lip, stomach feeling like it’s floating on water.

“What about?” you mumble in disinterest.

Will sighs, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. His inner monologue is not enough for him to really place the words into correct sentences, and even though he tried to rehearse the conversation in his head over and over again when he couldn’t fall asleep at night or during the walk to his office, he failed to get a clear picture of what he really wanted to say, or how the dialogue could play out. He didn’t know you enough to predict what your stance would be, and he wasn’t skilled enough at talking about his emotions to truly tell you what’s been eating him alive for the past few months, too sheltered and too protective of his feelings to get so vulnerable.

This wasn’t about him, though– he recognizes the fact and owes up to it. It didn’t have to be perfect, he thinks– the main thing is to apologize, no matter how unpolished and awkward the situation might be.

“I just wanted to say sorry for what I said,” he says, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean it that way and I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

A thick blanket of silence falls over the kitchen, your body finally turning to face the man. He can’t read your expression and every time he tries to lock his gaze with you to get the slightest hint, you avert your eyes. Will feels like he’d been stripped naked in front of you, hating the way he is being perceived, but he knows he has to fight through it.

“I feel like a complete asshole, which to be fair, I was, and– and I hate the way I made you feel not welcome or excluded before. I didn’t realize it affected you like that…” he mumbles, a string of unplanned and badly stuck together words spilling from out between his chapped lips, his figure shifting weight from one foot to another, anxiously waiting for your reply.

The more time passes between his apology and your reply, the more he thinks you might never speak to him again at all. He hates the idea of it, absolutely despises it, but with the lengthy seconds passing, he thinks he might have to get used to it as his new reality. His own self-induced hell.

“Well, it did. It’s okay if you hate me, I can’t… have everyone like me, y’know, as much as I would love that,” you chuckle bitterly, “I just didn’t enjoy the way you showed it so openly.”

“I don’t hate you,” Will shakes his head, panicked and trying to get the words straight. “At all, actually. I think we just… started off on a bad foot, that’s all. To which I’m sorry, again…”

A hum escapes your throat, seemingly not really satisfied with the apology. Will doesn’t blame you– he himself was quite confused with the way he was acting. He can’t expect you to just run into his arms and start acting like his best friend. It doesn’t work like that. Friendships need work and effort, and Will knows it hasn’t really been easy to get along with him all those months.

“Well, okay then,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Thanks for apologizing.”

“I- I don’t expect you to forgive me, I know I’ve been a total cunt, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable whenever I’m around. And- and if you do, I can avoid you, give you space, or something…” he scratches the back of his neck, not really sure where he’s going with this either.

You force a smile onto your cheeks– the one that’s kind of bitter and doesn’t reach your eyes, nor do your lips really outstretch that much, just a little upturn of your corners– and nod. “It’s fine. I’ll get going now, Chris is waiting for me in the office,” you say, already halfway out of the door. “Bye, Will.”

The coffee he makes himself after is bitter and burns his tongue. The edit he does stuck onto his chair goes worse than expected. It rains on the way home. Will thinks he deserves it.

He feels a bit awkward the next few times you two meet in passing. He puts effort into smiling at you when he says hello to you after he sees you leaving Chris’ office or in the coffee shop down the block from where you two live, and sometimes, you even smile back at him. He focuses on being approachable. Uplifting. 

One day, you come into the pub with Becky, sporting a new haircut. None of the guys really notice, but when you slot yourself into the booth diagonally across Will, he acknowledges it and says you look lovely. Every time he remembers the choice of words, he wants to carve his tongue out, but you smiled at him all appreciative– a real smile this time, perhaps the first one since you two have met– and so Will thinks he might be okay with the way the interaction went after all.

There’s a shift between the two of you after that. 

Will cheers for you when the group goes to a karaoke bar, acting like you’re Sabrina Carpenter yourself, and not just covering her song along with George screeching to the other mic with you. He high-fives you when you and Becky win at bowling and manages to get through small talk with you when it’s only the two of you left alone at the table and the rest have scattered to the bathroom or the bar.

Will thinks it’s progress. He still hates the way AB clings to you like you are his wife, but he doesn’t mention it out loud. It’s none of his business, and he isn’t willing to take three steps back right after taking a hesitant step forward if he causes yet another scene.

He manages to successfully mingle himself into the conversation when you talk about F1 with Harry and Becky again, being really cautious of the way he speaks about your favorites. You don’t ignore his two cents in the dialogue, hell, you even direct some thoughtful sentences at him, and he swears he feels like there’s sun peeking from behind the rain clouds, warming him up and inviting him in for better days.

Becky mentions the trip to Monaco. You express how badly you’d want to see a race live.

“You should go with us next time,” Will finds himself saying before he even has a chance to recalculate the direction the conversation is heading, “I’ll let you know in advance and text you the Airbnb link if you’re free, it’s much cheaper if we all share one place.”

You don’t dismiss the offer. You have plans for the weekend of the Belgium grand prix, though, which makes Will a little disappointed even as he watches the race, but he still texts you live updates and pictures of the circuit anyway. It’s the first proper text conversation he’s had with you, and much to his own surprise, you manage to keep it up after.

The chat is eventually filled with silly Instagram reels. One evening, you passionately talk about the Love island drama and Will finds himself laughing at your jokes a little too hard. You send him ugly pictures of Chris whenever you record with him and Will sends back pictures of James sleeping on the couch after a long day of opening Temu packages for his second channel.

One day, Will hypes himself up so much he asks you if you’d want to get coffee with him. You two have never managed to meet up one on one together before, so this felt like a huge step in the right direction. When you said yes, Will almost ran a lap around his apartment, excitement and adrenaline filling his veins. He didn’t know interacting with you would give him such a dopamine kick.

He fights the battle of finding the right balance between drenching himself in cologne and smelling decently good, alongside with choosing which pair of identical black pants would make him look the best for the occasion. He arrives at the coffee shop 15 minutes early and keeps anxiously checking his phone, as if this was a first date he was afraid you’d cancel on. 

Hell, he almost acts like it’s a date. He compliments you when you arrive in your pretty sundress and holds the door open for you, finding you rolling your eyes at his chivalry. He pays for your coffee and waves you off when you insist on Venmo-ing him back.

“It’s for the months of torture I accidentally put you through,” he jokes as you two sit at the table next to the window, your eyes following the bikers outside on the street. 

An amused smile reaches your face. Will kinda wants to take a picture of it to look at later. 

“You know, it’s kinda funny that we ended up here like this,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “Big progress from you calling me obnoxious, that is.”

“I just took your opinions very personally,” he defends himself, shrugging, “didn’t know you’d be so sensitive about it.”

“Says you,” you call him out, sighing. “You know, I still don’t get why you were so mean to me at the start, but it’s kinda funny to look back on it now. George even said one day how you might be doing it because you like me and want my attention, can you believe that?” you laugh. 

Like it’s funny.

Like it’s a joke.

Will almost chokes on his coffee. There’s beads of sweat appearing on his skin, threatening to roll down his back. He clears his throat to make himself sound normal, completely unaware of just how much more odd and calculated the action makes him seem.

“Well, that would just be awkward, wouldn’t it?” he mumbles, not really meeting your gaze.

He feels himself heating up. Does he have a fever? He feels like the world behind the window is moving a little unsteady, making his head spin. He hates himself for not taking his coffee iced– maybe that would help him feel a little better, to ease and cool down the volcano erupting in the pit of his stomach.

“Hm,” you hum in agreement, “Will?”

“Yeah?” he asks, voice raising 3 octaves.

“You’re blushing,” you deadpan, making him feel sick. This is not how he imagined the afternoon to go.

“It’s just hot in here.”

“The AC’s on.”

“Yeah, maybe they should turn it up more–”

“Are you serious?” you laugh, catching him off guard. He stares at you, taking your expression in– the big, blown-out eyes, an unfamiliar twinkle behind them. The subtle grin, your glossy lips matching the color on your smiley cheeks. You look pleasantly amused, totally at peace with the revelation Will knows he can’t really run away from anymore. 

“What? Why?”

“If you had a crush on me, you could’ve just said so!” you let out a laugh. Will doesn’t know how you can read him so well, but he bets the sweating and the shaking of his hands around the coffee cup really isn’t helping him either– you don’t need to be a body language expert to get this one straight.

“I didn’t have a crush on you, it’s just–”

“If you just glared at me a little less and talked to me more, we could’ve saved ourselves a lot of time, y’know,” you sweetly say, completely shutting Will up. 

Not because he doesn’t know what to say– just because he’s shocked you don’t hate the idea of him liking you. If he was feeling bold enough, he’d even say you were kind of open to the fact, a little bit pleased with the realization of the man’s true feelings for you. Will feels like the gates to heaven just opened right in front of him and all he has to do is take a courageous step through it to reach paradise.

“Well, let’s not waste any more time then, no?” he mumbles, still a little shy. “Is this a date, or should I invite you to another one?”

The cheeky smile you give him is worth more than any snarky remark or annoyed glare you used to give him before, just scraps of attention. Suddenly, Will feels stupid for ever making it so confusing for the both of you. 

Turns out, all along, it was that easy.

The sun burned down onto the tarmac of Imola, heat shimmering off the asphalt, tension vibrating through the paddock. You were locked in, your helmet on, gloves fastened, strapped into the cockpit of your Alpine with intense focus. It was race day, a stormy mix of nerves and adrenaline flowing through your veins, just the way you liked it.

Back in London, the usual chaos of Will’s filming schedule was unfolding. He and James were halfway through a new second channel video, that obviously including the famous good bin bad bin, and a bunch of nonsensical products and a very confused production team. But Will wasn’t really in it today, not fully.

His mind focusing on the race happening just two hours away and the fact that you were on track.

His eyes constantly flickering to the small screen of Orla’s laptop that was propped up behind the camera setup, streaming the race live. The crew knew what to do, the same ordeal happening every race weekend for the past two years. Ieuan had helped rig the stream to keep it discreet but visible, Orla had her phone open with live race telemetry, and Aby occasionally piped up with lap times between takes.

“She’s in P6 now,” Orla called out, pretending to adjust a mic on James’s hoodie.

Will exhaled through his nose, half-relieved, “Come on, baby,” he muttered under his breath.

James threw a playful glance his way, “You’re more invested in that screen than this whole video.”

“Mate, my girlfriend is doing 300kph in a tin can. Excuse me if my brain’s not on what products are shit,” Will snapped, though there wasn’t any real heat behind it.

They filmed for a while longer, bits of James making crude comments, quick brand deals, an argument about cheese that Will couldn’t even fake interest in. The screen blinked with lap 42. You were holding P5 now, DRS on the car ahead. The team radio crackled faintly in the background, and Will couldn’t stop smiling.

Until everything stopped.

The camera was rolling; James was mid-sentence.

And then: the sound.

A collective, visceral gasp echoed from Orla’s side of the room.

The screen showed your car, well what was left of your car, no, hurtling into the barrier at Tamburello. Carbon fibre exploding on the impact, debris skittering like fireflies across the track. You had lost the rear. Hard.

First was smoke and then the silence followed.

Will froze.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He stood so fast his chair skidded back with a screech.

His face drained of any colour as he stepped toward the screen like it could give him answers, “Where is she? Where is she? why haven’t they cut to her?”

The camera angle changed and there was med staff sprinted toward the wreckage with the safety car being deployed but there was still no sign of movement.

“Fucking hell,” Will whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for his phone. He hadn’t even realized James had crossed the room until he was pulled into a tight, grounding hug.

“She’s tough, mate,” James said, trying to keep his own voice steady, “She’s the toughest person I’ve ever met. Just breathe.”

Will didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was spiraling.

Aby handed him a glass of water, as Orla was trying to call contacts at Alpine. Ieuan was frantically pulling up Twitter, live F1 feeds, anything. The screen now showed the red flag.

Will sat on one of the chair, his shoulders shaking as his breaths came out in broken gasps with his knuckles digging into his eyes.

“I should’ve gone with her,” he muttered over and over, “Why didn’t I go with her?”

The flight to Bologna felt like years.

Will hadn’t slept, not even a minute. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and puffy by the time the cab dropped him outside the hospital. He could barely comprehend the ride over or entering the hospital. All he remembered was the receptionist saying your name, confirming you were okay and stable and in surgery.

The rest of the team had been texting him nonstop. Alpine had released a brief statement: minor concussion, fractured wrist, bruised ribs and out for a few weeks. But you were alert and talking.

Still, nothing would calm Will until he saw you, until he saw with his own eyes that you were okay.

Hours had passed and Will paced and he waited.

Until finally, a nurse gave him the nod, “She’s waking up.”

He slipped into the dimly lit recovery room, nerves shredding him from the inside out. You were just lying there, pale, bruised but alive. Wires and monitors tethered to you, bandages wrapped around your arm and forehead.

And then you blinked, “Will?” Your voice was rasped and throat dry.

He rushed to your side instantly, gripping your good hand like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, “Hi, love.”

You squinted at him, studying his tired, tearstained face, “Bloody hell. You look like you hit the barrier.”

Despite everything, a soft, hoarse chuckle escaped you.

Will let out a laugh that was a half-sob, dropping his forehead to the bed beside your arm, “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand, “Didn’t plan on it.”

He looked up, brushing your hair back carefully, “I was watching with everyone. I thought, I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered, “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy, Lenney.”

Will blinked at you, voice low and cracking, “You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

“Guess I had to make sure you’d fly to Italy.”

You both laughed, broken and breathless, but the sound was full of love and relief. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, “I love you so much.”

“Good,” you said, smiling sleepily. “Because I plan on being very dramatic and milking this crash for at least a month. You’re on tea duty.”

“Deal.”

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will the munch. a simple one to start off with. eats pussy like it’s his last meal or he’s been starved his whole life. it doesn’t help that he seems to be an absolute master of the art, knowing exactly how to make you feel good when he goes down on you for the umpteenth time. sometimes he’ll even slip a finger or two in to create some more stimulation for you, causing you to become an absolute mess when you finally come, completely squirting all of his face.

will who loves when you ride him. he love love LOVEEES watching your facial expressions as you hop on his cock. from the way that your eyebrows furrow initially as you try and get comfortable with him inside of you to the way that your lips part and your cheeks flush as the heat of your blood rushes around your body… it’s enough to make his own brain fuzzy. but he also loves the way that he can reach up to your throat, his grip tight as he chokes you. he loves the way you look down at him with wide eyes as he just holds his hand there, unmoving, as you whimper— becoming overwhelmed with the pleasure and adrenaline you’re experiencing.

will who loves causing you to be loud. i think we’ve already established that will loves when you ride him, not only does he love looking at you all fucked out on top of him… but it gives him perfect access to your breasts. he loves slapping them as hard as he can, watching you gasp and writhe— maybe even stutter and break your rhythm whilst you ride him. but GOD, does he love pulling at your nipples. he loves when you’re rolling your hips as he toys with your tits, making them hard before pinching them, pulling them hard causing you to cry out— maybe even make your eyes water a little….

(can you see where this is going?) will who loves to see you cry. there’s nothing hotter to will than seeing you cry because he’s making you feel so good that it brings you to tears. if anything, it makes him want to make you cry more. he loves the way your mascara gets ruined as he pushes himself so deep into you to a place that even yourself didn’t even know existed, making his ego a little bit larger at the same time.

but also will the cream pie addict. will loves fucking you in the ass to be straight to the point. like, he’s addicted to the way you cry into the pillow when it becomes too much… the way his cock just splits you open like it’s nothing— it drives him crazy. he also loves the way that he can easily spank you if you misbehave, AND how his handprint can easily mark your cheek when he does so.

(DARKER THEMES, SKIP IF YOU’RE NOT INTO THIS!!!) this leads me to will and his breeding kink! to be frank, condoms do NOT exist in will’s world. desperately wants to be a father and will do anything to breed you at any chance he gets in bed. hence why he loves creampies so much! he loves the way that he can plug you full of his seed and then push it back into your tight little hole when it even dares to spill out. before muttering about how you’ll be such a good mother for his child.

then there’s will with a fullness kink. oh my god, this man is the epitome of ‘where there’s a hole, there’s a goal’. he’ll have you in a butt plug, riding a dildo as he deep throats you at the same time. he looooves the way you bounce on the dildo, your hands gripping so tightly into his waist to ground you whilst your cheeks are hollowed, gagging on his cock. if you stop riding the dildo however? he’ll pull his cock from your mouth, giving you a slap on the cheek telling you not to stop riding it or he won’t come in your mouth.

we all know how much will is in front of a camera, and i just have this feeling that he likes incorporating that into the bedroom. so, will and his homemade adult film-making addiction! he loves recording you guys fuck. you’ll never understand why, but he loves how creative you can both get. it’s also the fact that if he is filming a video in another country or on something PR related, he’s easily got a little reminder of you and the way you look when you’re fucked out on his cock or fingers or even a toy!

however, more specifically he LOVES when you both do role-plays on film and off film. hence why he’s will the role player. he loves how the limits are endless— and definitely loves when he can be a police officer putting you in cuffs or something of that sort….. you gotta remember that he has got a lot of costumes from old videos that you can both use, after all!

oh and don’t forget will who does not mind a fuck in public. you’re looking hot at a get-together with your friends? he’ll easily drag you into the pub toilets and absolutely ruin you in the cubicle with not shame. hell, he doesn’t even care if he leaves you dishevelled afterwards, if anything he loves the messy look on you. you’re wearing a dress that barely covers your ass or thighs? his hands will be all over those body parts whilst you sit snugly next to him. and he doesn’t even show any emotion when he feels the wet patch growing on your panties as it comes too much for you. what a cruel guy. <3

"This is for lazy people..." You mutter, holding up the self-stirring mug and squinting your eyes to inspect how it works. Then, glancing toward the camera with a grin, you add, "perfect for Will."

"What's perfect for me?" Will's voice comes from behind the camera as he strolls back into frame, arms full of Cadbury hot chocolate powder.

"Oh nothing...just me." You tease, lips curving into a smirk.

Will rolls his eyes, setting everything down with a dramatic sigh. "Come on, you know they're gonna make edits about that now."

You can't help but laugh, mostly because you know it's true. The fans have been shipping you and Will for years even since you joined his group of friends. Every shared glance, every off camera cameo, every time your laugh is in the back of his videos... they notice. There are dramatic TikToks with screenshots of your Instagram stories and YouTube compilations titled "them being in love for 10 minutes straight !!!" and endless comments claiming for us 'to just admit it already".

If only they knew how close to the truth they really were.

He huffs a laugh, leaning over the table as he unboxes the mug. “Right, science time. It’s meant to stir itself, yeah? You just press this button—”

The mug starts whirring violently, splattering chocolate up the sides. You jump back with a yelp. “Oh my god, Will! Turn it off!”

“I am turning it off!” He insists, jabbing the button as liquid chaos swirls. “Why is it spinning like it’s possessed?”

You can’t stop laughing, doubling over as he finally manages to stop it. The hot chocolate looks tragic; foamy and uneven, but Will takes a sip anyway.

“Well?” You ask, still giggling.

He shrugs. “Tastes like regret and batteries.”

You snort. “Perfect. I’ll have two.”

He shoots you a look, but his mouth twitches into a smile before he can hide it.

The video rolls on with you try a neck-massage pillow that nearly strangles Will, a mini popcorn maker that explodes kernels across the room, and a gadget that claims to fold laundry automatically (spoiler: it doesn’t). Every failure makes you laugh harder, every sideways glance between you two more obvious.

By the time you reach the last box, you’re both crying with laughter and surrounded by cardboard carnage.

Will rips it open dramatically. “Okay, final one! A miracle cleaning gel. Says it ‘picks up dust and crumbs from hard-to-reach surfaces.’”

You lean toward the camera, whispering, “Finally, something for his room.”

He throws the packaging at you. “I’ll have you know I clean... sometimes.”

“Sure, sure...”

Ignoring you, he presses the goo into a keyboard, watching it stretch and pick up crumbs. His eyebrows lift, impressed. “Oh, hang on. This is actually kinda satisfying.”

You reach for it too, both of you poking at the sticky blob. It squelches. “This is gross,” you mutter. “Feels like alien jelly.”

“Yeah, but look!” He holds it up to the light. “It’s actually cleaning the cracks and everything. This’d be perfect for our cleaning Sundays in the apartment.”

Silence.

The sentence hangs there, soft and heavy, suspended in the quiet buzz of the camera.

Your eyes flick up. His are already wide.

“Our what?” you say, fighting back a grin.

Will freezes, still holding the slime mid-air. “No, wait, I didn’t— that’s not— I meant your apartment. Or, like, an apartment. A generic apartment. Could be anyone’s.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “Uh-huh. The apartment we don’t share at all.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Oh, I’m so finished. They’re gonna... they’re absolutely gonna clip that.”

“Oh, definitely. Title: Will Lenney Accidentally Reveals His Secret Girlfriend.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He glances at you, cheeks pink, mouth twitching. “Shut up.”

You grin at the camera, holding up the cleaning gel like a trophy. “Ten out of ten. Perfect for your… shared household needs.”

Will groans, burying his face in his hands. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

In the coming weeks, Will releases the video, and he calls you to the couch to come check out the comments, "hey love, come here."

i'm sorry 'our cleaning sundays'????? excuse me! GUYS GUYS GUYS!!11!!! WE KNEW IT!!! they're literally an old married couple!

Will pretends to sulk for an hour before grinning at you from across the couch. “You know, could’ve been worse. At least I didn’t say our bed.”

You smirk. “Give it time, Lenney. Give it time.”

husband!will who’s absolutely enamoured by you. i think this was one a given. will is absolutely obsessed and in love with you, and is in awe that you’re his wife. he practically worships the ground you walk on, following your every command because he just wants everything in the world to be right just for for you. if he could, he’d give you the world. that’s how strong his love is. he also thinks so highly of you, and is so so grateful that he is the one that gets to spend the rest of your life with you.

husband!will who has different pet names for you that are associated with levels of guilt. i definitely think will has an array of pet names for you which match his mood or at least his guilt and sorrow. “darling”, “pet” and “love”, are definitely associated pet names when he’s feeling happy, or at least they’re the most common ones he’ll use when referring to you. then there’s “sweetheart”, “babe/baby” and “gorgeous”, when he’s feeling a little lower. these pet names are definitely delivered with a side of his puppy eyes too, or a little pout. then there’s “my lover”, “wife” and “beautiful”, when he’s feeling extremely down. especially if he’s away on a shoot in another country and you murmur the words “i miss you,” when it’s been a long time since he’s been home as he absolutely melts and feels immensely guilty.

husband!will who calls you ‘wife’ when he’s about to do or has done something stupid. you know how i mentioned that will practically worships the ground you walk on? well, as your husband he also has the obligation of being scared of you. especially when he’s done something stupid. i can imagine many instances when you’ve had to go off to work and something has gone terribly wrong whilst will has been home alone. maybe he’s broken something, or something stopped working, but he’s soon on the phone to you trying to defend himself. you’ll pick up the phone, concerned that he’s maybe injured himself only to his hear his broad geordie accent vibrating through the speakerphone saying, “hello my lovely, gorgeous wife, you know i love you right?” you roll your eyes lightheartedly on your side of the line before replying with, “what did you do, husband? you only use this tone with me when something’s gone wrong, will.” as you know something’s most likely gone wrong whilst you’ve been out. then he’ll dramatically gasp, saying “how could you say that to me!! can’t a man simply adore his lovely wife?” and you’ll be quick, responding with, “well, yes they can. but you’re using that tone again, so you may as well tell me what’s wrong,” and he’ll sigh, before saying “fine, you see…” before telling you of the horrors that have happened to the house whilst you’ve been gone.

this leads on nicely to husband!will who brings home random stuff from wnj shoots because he thought they were ‘cool’. we all know that will is a chronic nerd, getting excited at the most randomest stuff that he and james reviews on the second channel, but i just can’t stop thinking about will coming home with a gift that is just so stupid and useless for you both but he couldn’t get rid of it because it was ‘cool’. imagine it’s some stupid little tiny robot device that helps to track your plants’ water level so you know when to water them, and he’s excitedly showing it to you saying in a high-pitched voice, “it’s absolutely amazing, pet! look at it! it’s so bloody cool!” as you just look him dead in the eyes, maybe even arms crossed before you say basically flatly, “william lenney, we don’t have any plants. plus, you’ll never use it,” as he looks up at you from looking down at the device before giving himself a silent moment of realisation. “oh. right. yeah, you’re right,” he’d then say, before his eyes light up again with a ‘light bulb’ moment, “well if we did have some plants, this little fella would help us??!” and you just know that damn well after that he’s going to be ordering plants so that he can use his stupid device just to prove your point wrong.

adopting a pet with husband!will. i can imagine the sheer joy on will’s face after you present the idea of adopting a pet with him. you’d innocently ask “hey will? do you fancy adopting a dog? look how cute these are,” in relation to seeing an animal shelter post on your facebook feed or something and his eyes just light up. he’s ecstatic. “do i fancy adopting?! fuckin’ hell pet, i don’t just ‘fancy’, i’d fucking love to!”, he’d exclaim, maybe even jumping off of the sofa that you’re both sat on — elation written all over his face as he then goes in to give you a big kiss which you instantly melt into. and when you do adopt a pet, a dog in particular, he so lives up to the title of ‘dog dad’. he takes it everywhere— the office and on walks around the city, for example— and is honestly just so so happy that he’s able to share this responsibility and own a pet with you.

this leads nicely to snuggling with husband!will and the dog on the sofa. i can imagine a situation where you and will are snuggling on the sofa, already tangled between each others limbs whilst underneath a blanket together. you’re both content, soaking up each other’s presence and warmth as you both feel a rather large thing hop on top of both of your laps. and it’s only gone and been the dog! the dog (in all honesty) innocently traps you both underneath the blanket, making you both face a fate of not being able to leave the sofa. you chuckle softly as will brings a hand up to stroke the dog’s fur, whilst your head comes to rest on his shoulder, whispering into his ear, “looks like we’re trapped here for a little longer.” and will smiles in response, a warm chuckle vibrating in his chest as he replies quietly too, “i think so too pet,” before pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

looking after husband!will when he’s ill. let’s just say that i can imagine will to be an absolute drama queen when ill. he’ll make a mountain out of a molehill over a little cold, wrapping himself snugly in blankets and your bedsheets as he grumbles, “don’t worry about me, love. go to work,” as he sniffles, nose stuffy and red, whilst his mullet unruly and messy as his pout is barely seen over the covers on his face. it’s obvious that he wants you to stay, but he’d never express that. “you’re ill. i’m staying here, will,” you say deadpan and serious, not giving up. the ‘quarrel’ will continue for around two more minutes until will finally caves in when you say, “alright then. i’ll go to work,” and you’re about to leave through the bedroom door, by saying “no please, don’t go to work. stay here!”which has you tutting to yourself, smiling as you shake your head at how pathetic he is in that moment.

which then leads to cradling sick husband!will’s head in your lap. (in all honesty, i can imagine this happening as just a normal thing, but i’m linking it to sickness because it just makes sense in this context for the sake of the flow) later on in the day, when you’ve finally dragged will out of bed and now onto the sofa, his frame now bundled in blankets, you’re making him rest his head in your lap so he can get some sleep. “come on,” you’d urge, patting your lap, “lie here. i can see you can’t settle. it’ll help,” you add with a warm smile as he happily does so, lying down on your lap. “thank you,“ he’d mumble through another sniffle or sneeze as he’s getting comfortable, your head subconsciously comes down to his head, as you start to pet his fluffy brown curls, slowly scratching his scalp as you notice him relax, his eyes getting more and more heavy as your cradling lulls him into a peaceful sleep on the sofa. 

having lunch dates during busy days with husband!will. i like to think that will comes by your office often during lunch time on busy days with a meal deal for you so you don’t need to go out on your lunch break. the only problem? your drink is always rodds. “rodds? again?” you’d ask him, holding the bottle in your hand. “uhh, yeah? its the best iced coffee in a bottle that doesn’t taste like iced coffee in a bottle, my lovely wife,” he’d then respond with, to which you’d roll your eyes in response to the response he’d been giving you to the past few months since rodds first released. “well, what if i want a different drink? like a pep—“ and will would be quick to press a finger on your lips, “don’t say that! you want your husband’s iced coffee brand to stay in the meal deal don’t you?!” before you’d burst into laughter after he removes his finger from your lips, “well i think that’s your fanbase’s duty. not your wife’s, william.” before you tuck into your lunches together.  

getting meaningful, matching tattoos with husband!will. what it says on the tin, to be honest. i also think this was definitely a drunken wedding night choice for you both, getting each other’s initials tatted somewhere on your bodies in a way to fully “seal the moment”, in both of your words. but in the end it was meaningful, even if you both woke up confused in the morning to see each other’s letters tattooed on your bodies. 

husband!will who after living with you for years, still doesn’t know how to properly tidy up the dishes. washing the dishes is definitely very comedic scenario for you and him. “will, no!” you’d exclaim as he goes to put a plate in the wrong cupboard, “what?!” he’d then exclaim in confusion. “those plates don’t go there!” you’d then exclaim, before pointing to the right cupboard, “those plates go here, and the almost identical ones go in that cupboard there!” pointing back at the cupboard he was going to put the plate initially in, “is is that hard?!?!? you’ve been living here for 3 years!” and then will has the audacity to have a massive grin on his face whilst he puts the plates in the right place mumbling “alright, alright! keep your hair on,” before grabbing you by the waist, pulling your front flush to his chest, “you’re cute when you get stressed and boss me about, you know that?” he’d mumble against your lips before pressing a deep kiss, which you immediately melt into.

husband!will who finds your voice so sexy. i like to think that in your married life with will, there has been multiple occurrences where will can’t concentrate on what you’ve been saying because he finds your voice that sexy. especially when you’re angry or ranting in his face. “are you even listening?!”you’d exclaim as you get right into will’s face, your front brushing against his chest as his breath has hitched, completely in awe and in love with you. in all fairness, he’s also exceptionally hard at this stage and his mouth is dry. when he doesn’t respond to that, you’d snap your fingers in his face, “earth to will? hello?” to which he’ll blink before looking down at you, broken from his trance. “well?!” you’d then say, expecting a response, but instead you have will dumbly saying, “has anyone told you that you’re sexy when you’re mad?” let’s just say that you’re soon on each other, groping each other’s bodies as you push will by his back down onto the sofa as you make heated love to each other in that tense moment.

dirty talk with husband!will. you and will are like the dirty talk final bosses. you’re constantly flirting with each other in the comfort of the flat. you and him will be embracing each other in the kitchen after doing the dishes or whilst you’re waiting for the food to cook. “you’re staring,” you’ll murmur, noticing how will’s eyes haven’t left you, fixated on your face. he’d bite his lip, smirking before mumbling, “mm, well am i not allowed to appreciate my beautiful wife?”with a knowing look on his face. “no! no, i never said that, did i?” you’d laugh, a cute flush painting your cheeks as one of will’s large hands comes to squeeze your ass, making you giggle, “will!” and will would then just put his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling the skin around the nape making you shiver, before murmuring “i love you, pretty girl,” on your skin as he lifts you onto the counter to eat you out.

slow morning sex with husband!will. the best type of sex with will. the type where you both don’t want to leave the warmth of your bed, and as he’s playing big spoon he’ll slip into you, moaning lowly into your ear as you gasp. will’s hips would then move slowly against yours fucking you softly and tenderly as he presses kisses to the back of your neck, his hands coming up in front of you to grap and play with your tits, squeezing them until you squeal. before he can come he’ll slide out of you, pressing your back softly to the mattress before hovering on top of you, sliding back inside of your wet heat as you moan softly again. a lot of “i love yous” and “keep goings” are muttered until you both climax, before settling into each other’s warmth again afterwards. 

comforting husband!will with a massage that turns into something more. after a long day of working, you often don’t mind giving will a massage. in all honesty, he’s practically begging for them because you’re so good at them. so that is how he comes to be sat in between your thighs, shirtless and on the floor as your hands work miracles into the tense muscles of his shoulders. a little “oh— oh fuck, yes,” will slip out breathlessly as will gasps, overwhelmed by the immense pleasure he’s feeling. it doesn’t help that you’re also breathing down his neck, which sends shivers down his spine, all whilst one of your hands snakes into his sweatpants to find his already hard cock begging to be played with too. he moans out loud as you squeeze the length, smearing the precum around the shaft after you’ve dipped your hands fully into his boxers so you can jerk him off. the massage ends up being forgotten about as you pleasure will’s cock, leaving him a breathless and gasping mess as he ultimately comes in his boxers, before you kiss him lovingly on the temple before mumbling into his ear, “feel better?” as he nods in response, beautifully fucked out.

strip teasing husband!will which turns silly. i can imagine in a way to ‘spice up’ your sex life after not seeing will for so long, that you plan a strip tease to surprise him. he’ll walk into the bedroom after being in the shower, a wet towel hung loosely to his hips and his hair wet and tousled on his head as he looks at you in confusion. “hey, honey,” you’d speak in a sultry tone after letting the robe cascade from your body to reveal your sexy— and his favourite— lingerie which was hiding underneath. “holy shit,” he’d gasp then as will just looks at you in awe. subconsciously, his feet work for his brain as he’s walking over to you, letting the towel fall from his body as well as you soon get on top of him, watching how some lone droplets of water still glimmer on his chest. “well, do you like it?” you’d giggle, tracing a finger along his bare body, whilst biting your bottom lip. “do i like it? fuck me pet, i love it,” he’d say breathlessly, bringing his own hand to the elastic of your panties, pulling it back and making it snap against your body. “will!” you’d then yelp, jolting a little forward, losing the ‘sexy’ act, “be careful!” and he’d just laugh, before saying “you’re gorgeous,”through them. let’s just say that during the whole ordeal you’re giggling and laughing messes as you both appreciate each other for the night. <3