#ws2 x reader

“Yeah, can I do the chicken parm,” he says easily, glancing at Mack as he points to himself, silently telling Will the same for him. “Can I make that two, actually?” Will says, nodding a bit as his eyes flick down to your finger which is pointing at what you want on your menu. “And my wife will have the vodka rigatoni.”

The side of the room you and Mack are sitting on goes dead silent, your head snapping toward him. Next to you, Mack’s eyes go comically wide at the exact same moment yours do. He looks at you, and you look at him. Then, both of you slowly turn back toward Will.

Your fiancé, meanwhile, is just nodding into the phone like he has not just dropped a bomb in the middle of ordering Italian.

“Yeah,” he says to the person on the other end, completely calm. “And can you add an order of garlic knots too?”

Mack is staring at him like he has just witnessed something medically concerning, and you are pretty sure you are too. And as Will ends the call, setting his phone on the coffee table, he leans back again, not saying a word to either of you.

“Uh, what was that?” Mack asks, and the question causes Will to blink in confusion.

“What was what?”

“You just said ‘my wife’ like it was nothing.” Mack says, sitting up a little straighter now.

“Okay?” Will says, glancing between the two of you, looking genuinely confused by this being a topic.

“Okay?” Mack repeats. “That’s your response? Okay?”

You can feel heat climbing into your face, because there is something about the total lack of care that gets you. There’s no teasing tone, no pause, no look to see your reaction first. He just said it like he didn’t even notice.

“You can’t just say that,” you say, your voice feeling small, wobbly almost.

“Why not?” Will asks, his mouth twitches as he takes in the shocked expressions.

“Because I’m not your wife.”

“Engaged is close.”

“No, it is not, that’s skipping arguably a very important part.” Mack disagrees, making a noise like he can’t believe his best friend doesn’t see the problem.

“You did want the rigatoni, right?” Will questions, and that completely derails you for a minute.

“Well… yes.” You start, your face feeling so hot you could probably cook an egg on it. “But Will, that’s not the point.”

“It’s what you wanted, I don’t see the big deal here.” He says, kicking his feet back up on the coffee table as he watches a bit of the game on the tv.

“You’re impossible.” Mack aims at his best friend, dropping his head back against the couch with a groan.

You are still staring at Will, still in shock, in awe. Still red in the face and honestly starting to sweat a bit. He catches it, finally giving you one of those lazy smiles that has the power to make you smile even on your worst days.

“What?” He questions, and he would never admit it, but seeing you like this is half of the fun.

“You said it so casually.”

“Because it felt casual.” He says, his arm finding its way behind you again.

“Can you get all of this mushy stuff out of the way before my dinner gets here? If you guys flirt in front of my chicken I’m going to chuck it at your head.” Mack says to Will, scoffing slightly as he looks back down to his phone. You could only guess he’s lighting the Sharks group chat up with what just happened.

You try to ignore the way your chest has gone all soft and weird over two words, but it does not work. And the thing that is almost as shocking as being called his wife, is that he’s not flustered or backtracking, hell, he doesn’t even seem interested in defending himself.

—

The second time it happens, Grace is in town. She comes down for the weekend, and by Saturday afternoon the three of you are out shopping, carrying too many bags and stopping every few blocks because Grace sees something else she wants to drag you toward. It is fun and loud and easy, full of teasing, slightly too much caffeine, and Will pretending he is not just there to carry things.

Eventually, you duck into a grocery store because Grace wants snacks for later, and Will insists on grabbing stuff for dinner. So you are standing in front of a shelf full of pasta sauces, comparing jars while Grace debates noodles a few feet away. Will grabs a jar of sauce, slipping it into the cart and starting to walk.

“No, not that one.” You say, grabbing it out of the cart and putting it back on the shelf.

“What’s wrong with that one?” He asks, turning his gaze to you as your eyes scan the shelves.

“You always pick that one.”

“And?”

“And it’s too chunky, it freaks me out.” you say, reaching past him to take a different jar off the shelf. “This one is better.” Will looks at the jar in your hand for maybe half a second, debating whether or not he wants to tease you about the smoothness of pasta sauce, but he chooses against it. He just nods, and swaps them without argument.

“You’re right. Happy wife, happy life.”

Grace stills, you freeze with your hand still hovering between the shelves, and Will just continues on like nothing happened.

“Excuse me?” she says, way too loudly, all thoughts of noodles leaving her head. “No,” she says, already laughing. “I must have heard that wrong.”

“What did I say?” Will asks, his wide grin telling both you and his sister that he knew exactly what he said.

“You called her your wife, in the pasta aisle.” She dead pans, shock and surprise so evident on her face and in her voice.

Will just stares at his sister like she is the one being weird. “And?” He says with a shrug, leaning against the cart.

“Can we maybe lower our voices?” You ask as you feel your face getting hotter by the second, not wanting to make a scene in a grocery store.

“Does he do this all the time?” Grace asks, pointing between the two of you delighted.

“Sometimes.” You supply.

“Sometimes?”

“More than sometimes.” You mutter.

Grace makes the most dramatic noise in the world and grabs your arm. “And you let him?”

Will answers again before you can. “She doesn’t stop me.”

“That is not the same thing,” You say, trying to defend yourself.

“Why don’t you stop him?” Grace asks the question as she narrows her eyes.

You open your mouth, but then close it, no words coming out. You never thought in the pasta aisle you would be having this conversation, but here you are. The siblings wait for you to respond, Grace still floored, and Will still leaning against the cart, waiting for whatever bullshit excuse he knows you’re going to try and supply. He knows how it affects you, he sees it on your face every time the words ‘accidentally’ slip from his lips. But you come up short, no explanation will cover your tracks, because the truth is embarrassingly obvious, and Grace sees it.

“Oh my god,” she says, everything falling into place in her mind. “You like it.”

“No, I don’t.” You hesitate as the lie leaves your mouth.

“You do,” she says immediately. “That was way too slow.”

Will is smiling now, small and smug and fond in equal measure.

“Don’t.” You say, pointing your manicured finger at him.

“I didn’t say anything.” He says, holding his hands up in defense.

Grace starts laughing so hard she has to grab onto the cart for support. “I cannot believe this.” But she is still laughing as you move on to the next aisle, and every time she catches your eye after that she starts grinning all over again.

—

The worst part is that it gets under your skin for the rest of the day. Not in a bad way, but in the kind of way where your skin feels flushed everytime you think of it.

Happy wife, happy life.

By the time the teasing stops, dinner is ate, and the sun has long since set, Grace is in the guest room, and the apartment has gone quiet. You are both in bed, the room dark except for the small lamp on Will’s nightstand. He is lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, while you curl on your side facing him, one hand resting on his chest.

For a little while neither of you say anything, but you break first.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Will asks, glancing down at you.

“You know what.” You say, propping yourself up a bit so you can see his face clearly. His hair is messy against the pillow, and it takes everything in you not to run your fingers through it and forget about it all.

“Ah, you must mean the pasta sauce.” Will says, and he can’t keep the cheeky look off his face as you gasp.

“I’m not talking about the sauce, William.”

“Woah, full name?” He gapes for a second, but then he cocks his head, looking into your eyes. “You mean calling you my wife?”

You press your lips together, already a little embarrassed that you are bringing it up at all. “Yes.”

“Why would I care?” He asks, looking like he almost doesn’t understand why everyone is so shocked by this.

“Because-“ You start, but you honestly aren’t too sure what to say. He looks at you for a second, expression softening into something quieter. There is still the amusement there, but underneath it is that steadiness he always gives you when he is being real.

“Because?” He asks, waiting for you to continue, but you don’t. You just look down, at a complete loss for words. “No baby, I don’t care that I’m saying it because you’re gonna be my wife,” he says simply. “I know you’re not yet,” he confesses as his fingers slide up and down your back. “I just don’t feel weird about it.”

“You don’t think people will think it’s strange?” You ask him, your heart speeding up, and your eyes making their way back to his.

He lets out a short laugh. “People do think it’s strange. Mack looked like he was about to pass out the other night.” That pulls a laugh from you. “And Grace almost yelled in the grocery store.”

“She did yell in the store.” You correct, your pointer finger tracing small shapes on his bare chest as you smile. But then your voice softens again. “Still. It doesn’t… I don’t know.. embarrass you?”

“Why would I be embarrassed?” Will ask, his brows drawing together like the question itself does not make sense. You don’t know how to answer that, and maybe he can tell that because he answers for you. “I love you,” he says, his fingers going to your chin so your eyes would meet his. “I’m going to marry you. You’re the person I think about when I think about home and my future and all of it. So why would I be ashamed of calling you what you’re going to be?”

You stare at him, at a complete loss for words. And Will just smiles softly, the teasing gone from him. His hand comes up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his eyes searching your face in the dim light. “Does it freak you out?” And the level of sincerity in his voice hits you like a blow to the chest.

“No,” you say softly. “It doesn’t freak me out, it’s just,” you look down at his chest for a second, fingertips smoothing over his peck. “You say it so easily.”

“Because it is easy.”

You laugh a little, but it comes out shaky around the edges. “You know that makes it worse, right?”

“Worse?”

“In a good way,” you mumble and Will’s face changes, it is subtle, but you see it. He cocks his head, almost like he wants to hear you say it again. You make a small sound and hide your face against his chest. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You say with a whine, as he laughs softly, one hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you there.

“So you do like it.” He jokes, but then yelps as you pinch his side, shoving you softly as you both laugh. “I hope you know it’s not some joke,” he says quietly. “I’m not saying it to mess with you.” His fingers move, tracing slowly along your back. “Sometimes it just comes out.”

The room feels very still all of a sudden, and you glare at him weakly as he just grins and leans up enough to kiss you, soft and slow. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead against yours.

“I can stop,” he murmurs. “If you want me to.”

That gets your attention, and because it is late, or because your heart too full of love to lie, you whisper, “I don’t want you to stop.” Will goes still for half a second before he smiles, and it is soft and bright at the same time.

Will just shrugs, completely unashamed, and leans down near your ear. “You want something to drink?”

You nod, “Just a water, please.”

He squeezes your waist once before walking toward the kitchen, his fingertips dragging along your side until the very last second before he can't reach you anymore. Every little thing with him feels like that. Casual, like taking care of you and keeping you close are things he does without thinking anymore, they’re always at the front of his mind. 

Cat watches the whole thing with a knowing smile. “Oh,” she says lightly.

“What?” you question, not knowing where she’s going with this. 

“He is obsessed with you.”

Your face immediately warms, “He is not.”

Cat just laughs. “He walked in the door less than thirty seconds ago and already can't keep his hands to himself.”

“That is not true.”

“It definitely is.”

You open your mouth to defend him, but Will comes back into the room holding your water bottle already opened for you, and before handing it over he presses a quick kiss against the side of your head.

“Thank you,” you say to him quietly, before he heads off to the kitchen again to say hi to the rest of the team. 

Cat just gives you a look over the rim of her wine glass.

You sigh once he’s out of earshot, “Okay, maybe a little.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The night settles easily after that. Music plays quietly through the house while everyone moves between the kitchen and living room. Conversations are overlapping comfortably. It’s loud not in an overwhelming way, but a comforting way, all your favorite people in the same place, enjoying one another's company. 

To no one’s surprise, Will is attached to you through all of it.

When you’re standing in the kitchen talking to Cat and a couple of the other player’s girlfriends, he’s beside you with his hand resting absentmindedly on your hip while he talks hockey with the guys facing the other direction. 

When everyone crowds around the island for food, his thigh presses against yours the entire time. Later when you’re sitting on the couch, he drops down beside you and pulls your legs directly next to his, one arm stretched across the back of the couch behind you. 

It’s so constant you almost stop noticing it. Almost.

Until Macklin walks by, pauses dramatically and goes, “Holy shit, are you two physically capable of existing separately for more than ten seconds?”

Will doesn’t even look away from the conversation he’s having, and answers dryly, “No.”

The room bursts into laughter. “See?” Tyler points out, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Will finally looks over, completely relaxed. “What?”

“You’re clingy,” Tyler says. 

“I’m not clingy,” Will argues lightly. 

“You’ve touched her literally this entire night.”

Will frowns slightly then glances down at where his fingers are now loosely hooked around yours in his lap, like he genuinely didn’t realize he was doing it.

Then he just looks back up, “Okay?”

More laughter from everyone, and you can’t help smiling into your drink.

Because the thing is, none of it feels forced. He’s never draped all over you or trying to put on some kind of show, he just always reaches for you like it’s second nature to him. It's like he’s just more comfortable when you’re close. 

At some point while dessert is being passed around, you get up to help Cat in the kitchen. The second you step away from the couch, Will’s eyes follow you automatically.

Tyler notices immediately, “Oh my god,” he says loudly. “Look at him.”

Will tears his attention away from you. “What?”

“You tracked her across the room like a puppy.”

“I was not—”

“You absolutely were,” Macklin cuts in.

“He’s got separation anxiety,” Tyler adds.

Will rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest hint of embarrassment creeping into his expression now, “You guys are annoying.”

Meanwhile in the kitchen you’re hearing all of it. “You love it though,” Cat says quietly beside you while drying off a plate.

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I really do. It’s comforting in a way, knowing he’s always there.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Hours later, once people start heading out, Will helps finish cleaning up without being asked. Even then he keeps gravitating back toward you every few minutes. A hand brushing your back as he passes by, or his fingers squeezing your shoulder. Your favorite are the quick kisses against your temple while you’re putting dishes away.

Tyler catches one of those kisses and immediately points across the kitchen. “There,” he says dramatically. “Again.”

“Oh my god,” Will mutters under his breath.

You laugh quietly, dropping the dish towel on the counter and leaning into his side, “Leave him alone.”

“We would,” Macklin says from the living room, “if he stopped acting like your emotional support.”

Will just shakes his head, moving around you to put another dish in the dishwasher. As he passes, his hand slides across your lower back, like despite all the teasing, he genuinely doesn’t realize he’s doing it anymore.

Tyler watches the whole thing happen and bursts out laughing again.

“He did it again!” he says loudly.

This time Will finally looks mildly offended. “What do you want from me?”

“Space,” Tyler says. “Personal space. Independence. Growth.”

Will deadpans immediately, “Sounds awful. We get enough of that when I’m on a road trip.”

Everyone laughs again, including you, and he glances over at you with the smallest smile tugging at his mouth, like hearing you laugh is worth all the teasing. You just move closer to him, and wrap your arms around his waist.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Eventually the night finally starts winding down for real. Goodbyes are exchanged at the door, leftovers get packed up and distributed to everyone, and promises to do this again soon thrown around casually.

The second you grab your coat from the couch, Will appears beside you like he was waiting for it. He takes it from your hands before you can put it on yourself, holding it open behind you automatically.

“Thank you,” you mumble, smiling softly as you put your arms through the sleeves. 

“Mhmm.”

His hands settle briefly on your shoulders after helping you into it, lingering there for just a second before sliding down your arms, holding your forearms lightly as you both say goodbye. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The drive home is quieter than the rest of the night, comfortable in that easy way it always is with him. His hand still rests on your thigh the entire drive anyway, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your jeans.

When you finally get back to your apartment, you’re halfway through kicking your shoes off when he says, “Am I actually that bad?”

You glance up immediately, “What are you talking about?”

“With the touching thing,” he says, leaning back against the closed front door now, “I didn’t realize I did it that much until everyone kept pointing it out.”

You stare at him for a second because he sounds genuinely unsure now. “You know none of them actually care, right?” you ask softly, “They were just poking fun at you.” It’s not the time to debate whether that was right or wrong, but all in all you know they didn’t mean anything bad by any of it, and now you’re making sure he knows that too. 

“I know,” he says quickly. “I just…” He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose, “I don’t know. I don’t wanna make you feel smothered or something.”

You walk back over to him without thinking, sliding your arms around his waist and propping your chin up on his chest to look up at him. Predictably, his hands settle against your hips almost immediately. Reflex.

“You don’t smother me,” you say quietly.

His eyes search yours carefully, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re just saying that to make him feel better.

Something in his face softens at that. You continue before he can brush it off. “I mean it. I think if you stopped now I’d actually hate that you stopped.”

A small smile finally pulls at his mouth, “You’d miss me being clingy?”

“You’re not clingy,” you correct softly. “You just like being close to me, and I like it too.”

His expression changes a little at that. Warmer somehow. “Can you blame me?”

Your chest aches a bit at how genuine he sounds. “No,” you say quietly, “Not really.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “Cause I don’t really think I know how to not do it.”

You laugh softly, “I know.”

He smiles then, properly this time, and leans down to press a slow kiss against your forehead. Even after the teasing, after the entire team spent hours pointing it out, his hands never leave you once.

He exhales a laugh through his nose before pulling you fully against him, arms wrapping around you tighter this time like now he’s allowed to. You sink into him immediately.

For a minute neither of you moves. The apartment is quiet in contrast to how the rest of your night had sounded, and now that you’re standing here wrapped up in him, you realize how natural this is too. The constant touching never feels heavy with him, it’s not demanding on either part, it never feels possessive, it’s just comforting. 

His chin now rests on top of your head while his thumbs move against your sides. Even in the middle of this conversation about how much he touches you, he’s still doing it without thinking.

“You know what the funny part is?” you mumble into his chest.

“What?”

“I don’t even notice half the time anymore.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “I’m that bad, huh?”

“No,” you correct immediately, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Not bad, I think my body just expects you to be there now. Like when we’re sitting somewhere and you’re not touching me, I notice that more,” you admit quietly. “It feels weird.”

A smile pulls slowly at the corner of his mouth, “Seriously?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes stay on yours for a second longer before he leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, but this time slower. His arms tighten around you again afterward, like your words are the final piece of reassurance he needs after questioning himself.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Cause honestly? I think if I had to sit next to you and not touch you for an entire night I’d lose my mind.”

You laugh, your face tucking back into his chest, “Tyler would probably call that a breakthrough.”

Will scoffs, smiling, “He can deal with it.”

You can hear the smile in his voice now, the uncertainty from earlier finally gone. One of his hands slides up your back slowly to rest against the base of your neck. His hand is warm and familiar, and you melt into him even more without even thinking about it.

It’s that instinctive reaching for each other, like no matter where you are, a crowded house full of teammates or a quiet apartment at midnight, both of you are always unconsciously trying to close the distance.

If you knew one person who hated pda in front of others, it was your boyfriend, Will.

At home it was one story. The second the front door clicked shut behind you, he’d be on you; arms wrapping around your waist from behind, chin hooking over your shoulder while you tried to kick off your shoes, lips brushing the side of your neck like he couldn’t wait another second.

He’d pull you down onto the couch with him, long legs tangling with yours, hands sliding under your hoodie to rest warm against your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles until you laughed and squirmed.

He’d kiss you slow and deep like he was making up for every minute you’d spent apart, murmuring against your mouth how much he’d missed you, how pretty you looked even in sweatpants and his hoodie that swallowed you whole.

He’d cuddle into your side during movie nights, head on your chest, one hand always finding yours to lace your fingers together, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Sometimes he’d just hold you from behind while you cooked, swaying slightly like it was a slow dance, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade whenever you reached for something on the counter.

He hated the thought of having his hands off you.

But the moment you stepped outside; it was a completely different story.

In public, Will kept it subtle. Always touching, but never made it obvious. A hand resting low on your back as you walked through a crowded bar. Fingers brushing yours when he passed you a drink. His knee pressed lightly against yours under the table at dinner with teammates.

He’d drape an arm across the back of your chair, thumb occasionally grazing your shoulder, but nothing that screamed couple in the way other couples did: sloppy kisses, loud declarations, hands everywhere like they were staking claim in neon.

And you were fine with it. You’d been together a little over a year now, long enough that you’d learned his rhythm. You weren’t big on pda either, you didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. The way he looked at you when no one else was watching, the way his eyes softened the second you walked into a room, the things he’d whisper to you when it was just the two of you was enough.

He wasn’t embarrassed of you. If anything, he loved showing you off in his own way. He’d introduce you to new people with his arm casually looped around your shoulders, proud smile tugging at his lips every time someone complimented how good you looked together.

He’d text you links to articles or tiktoks with captions like “Us” and half of them were disgustingly couple-y. He just didn’t want other people seeing the parts of him that belonged only to you. The greedy way he held you at home, the way he’d bury his face in your neck and breathe you in like you were oxygen.

Tonight you and Will went out with a few of his teammates to the bar a couple blocks from the rink that had become your unofficial spot. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something you all learned to enjoy going to. You’d dressed like you always did for a place like this: nothing too revealing, nothing too casual.

Will included you in every conversation like he always did. He’d lean in when Macklin was ranting about a bad call from the last game, repeating the punchline so you could laugh too, or he’d nudge you gently and say, “Babe, tell them what you said about that hit exactly.” His voice easy, and his eyes stayed on you longer than usual.

When the bartender came over, Will ordered your usual without asking and then slid it toward you with a small.

A little while later, you moved on the barstool. “I’ll be right back,” you murmured, slipping your hand from his.

Will nodded once, but as you stood, he reached over and tugged your glass closer to his spot, fingers brushing the condensation like he was guarding it. His other hand lingered in the air for half a second where yours had been before dropping back to the bar.

Once you came back from the bathroom after quickly fixing your lip combo in the mirror light, touching up the gloss that had faded from sipping your drink, you found Will still perched on his barstool, facing his teammates.

If you’d gone straight back to your own seat next to him, his broad back would’ve been turned to you the whole time. But the second he caught sight of you weaving through the crowd, his arm reached out without hesitation.

His fingers found yours, locking tight, and he tugged you gently toward him instead of letting you slide back onto your stool. “C’mere,” he murmured.

You let him pull you in, stepping right between his spread thighs until your hips brushed the edge of the stool. Your hands landed on his chest for balance, as he looked up at you.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, even though he knew.

“Bathroom,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “Took longer than I thought, someone was hogging the mirror.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and then he leaned in. The kiss was slow, sweet, nothing rushed or sloppy. Just his lips pressing to yours like it was the most normal thing in the world, his one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other stayed locked with yours at his side.

Your breath caught. Will almost never kissed you in public, not where anyone could see. For a heartbeat you froze, surprised, but then you melted into it, leaning forward until your forehead brushed his when he finally pulled back.

He didn’t say anything about it. Just handed you your unfinished vodka soda with a small, crooked smile.

You turned with him so you were facing the group again, your back settling against his chest. His arm came across your front, forearm resting easy over your collarbone, fingers splayed loose but possessive against your shoulder. His other hand found your waist, every few minutes he’d tug you closer, like he couldn’t quite get enough, even though you were already pressed flush against him.

Macklin raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You finally figure out how arms work tonight?”

Will just tightened his hold a little, chin dipping to rest lightly on your shoulder as he shot Macklin a lazy look. “Shut up, Mack,” he said a little amused.

You stayed like that for a while, cocooned against him, his heartbeat steady against your back. His fingers kept moving in small, absent strokes along your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your ribs every now and then.

Eventually your heels started screaming. Standing this long in them, even leaning into him, made your calves burn.

You tilted your head back just enough to murmur against his jaw, “My legs are killing me.”

Will’s arm loosened instantly. “Sit,” he said softly, kissing the shell of your ear before letting you go.

For the rest of the night, Will didn’t let the space between you grow. He kept one hand on you at all times: resting on your thigh when you were back on your stool, thumb drawing slow, mindless patterns over the denim; sliding up to play with the ends of your hair when you laughed at something one of the guys said; brushing your lower back.

Every few minutes he’d press a quick kiss to your temple, or drop his chin to your shoulder just to murmur something dumb and sweet.

You were happy for it. The warmth of his palm against your skin felt like nice in public. The guys ribbed him lightly but Will just shrugged it off with a smile and never pulled away.

By the time you both said goodbyes and stepped out into the cool night air, your cheeks were flushed from the bar’s heat and from the way his hand had stayed tangled with yours the whole walk to the car.

When you got home, the apartment was quiet, you kicked the door shut behind you, already reaching to slip off your heels, but Will beat you to it.

He dropped to one knee right there at the edge of the bed, fingers gentle around your ankle as he lifted your foot and eased the first heel off. Then the second, thumbs pressed into the arch of your foot for a second, massaging away the ache without being asked.

You watched him, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did with him. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” you asked quietly.

He glanced up, brows lifting like he had no idea what you meant. “What? I always do this.” He asked setting your foot down and standing.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “No, I mean.. being so touchy in front of everyone, kissing me like that. You never do that.”

He paused, then took your hand in both of his. Slowly he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. “Can’t a guy show how much he loves his girlfriend?”

You laughed softly. “You never do it like that.”

He tilted his head, mock offended. “What? I always show everyone how much I love you.”

“Yeah,” you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, “but not in a way that makes Macklin tease you for ten straight minutes.”

Will’s expression softened. You pulled him down to you, as he started crawling over you until his weight settled warm and solid, knees sinking into the comforter on either side of your hips.

He braced himself on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing you, but close enough that you could feel every breath he took.

“I love you,” he said simply, as if it was the easiest truth in the world. His forehead rested against yours for a second before he kissed you, the kind of kiss he usually saved for when the door was locked and the lights were off. “I just.. wanted to be close to you tonight. Didn’t want to wait until we got home to touch you the way I always want to.”

His hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I like when we keep things private. But sometimes..” He exhaled. “Sometimes I look at you laughing with the guys, or just sitting there looking like mine, and I want everyone to know.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his chest pressed to yours. “That’s sweet,” you whispered against his mouth. “I liked tonight a lot.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “Me too.”

His hands found yours, fingers lacing tight as he settled more of his weight over you, like he was trying to memorize every inch of how you fit together.

TAGLIST: @alliwritespuck @bouncedatahhh @cheerymints @lynsdigitaljournal @ill-uminati7 @behindthescreenobsessed @lemsies25 @definitelynotdomanique @lcvlyhughesy @sh1ft1ng1234 @willsmiths2 @iknowtonystark @mintbrini98 @kazansky-slxt @siennaluvshcky @val413 @wherethezoes-at @macka @beckieepicaz00 @carlottawllms @blankenbirks @mcelebrini @probably--possessed @celebrinigf @postgamevibes @icetimedreamer @misslivinglegend @alexxavicry @sohhh09

The morning sun streams through your window, but the warmth on your skin does little to chase away the lingering chill of Will's absence. His side of the bed is cold, a stark reminder that he's currently somewhere over the Midwest, hurtling toward a week of sun. You can still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin, the memory of his mouth on yours, the desperate, hungry way you'd clung to him last night. It was a farewell fueled by the knowledge of seven days apart, a night that left you breathless, satisfied and now, alone.

The Florida air is thick and humid, a welcome change from the lingering Boston chill. "Last one in the water buys the first round!" Gabe yells, already fumbling with his shirt.

Will laughs, peeling his own t-shirt over his head. The sun is warm on his skin, the familiar weight of his hockey bag gone from his shoulder.

"Whoa, hold on there, killer," Jacob says, his voice laced with amusement. "What the hell happened to your back?"

Will freezes, his shirt halfway down his arms. "What are you talking about?"

Gabe turns, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight. "Holy shit, dude. It looks like you got mauled by a tiger."

Ryan jogs back over, squinting. "No way. Are those... scratches?"

Will's face flushes as he instinctively tries to look over his shoulder. "It's nothing," he mumbles, pulling his shirt back on.

"It's not nothing," Gabe insists, grabbing the fabric and trying to pull it back up. "Let us see! Did you get into a fight with a cat?"

"Or," Ryan says, a slow grin spreading across his face as he points to a small, purpling mark on Will's bicep. "Did you get a new girlfriend? A very... possessive one?"

Will's head snaps up. "What? Why would I have a new girlfriend?"

"I mean," Ryan continues, enjoying himself immensely, "I don't think sweet little Y/N has it in her to leave a set of claw marks like that."

Jacob nods in agreement. "He's got a point. She blushes if the wind blows the wrong way. I'm not convinced she knows what teeth are, let alone how to use them."

A hot surge of protectiveness rises in Will's chest. "Shut up. You don't know anything about her."

"We know she's the definition of a good girl," Gabe counters, his teasing grin softening slightly. "Which is why we're saying there's no way those marks are from her. So, who is she, Will? Spill."

Will's jaw is tight. He can feel his friends' eyes on him, a mixture of genuine confusion and mocking speculation. He knows he should just laugh it off, make up a joke, but the implication that you aren't enough, that you couldn't possibly be this passionate with him, makes his hackles rise.

He doesn't answer. He just stands there, staring them down, his silence a wall of defiance.

The silence stretches and one by one, their expressions change. Gabe's smirk falters. Jacob's eyes widen in dawning comprehension. Ryan's jaw literally drops.

"No," Ryan whispers, his voice filled with disbelief. "No way."

Jacob shakes his head slowly, looking at Will like he's a complete stranger. "Dude."

"It was her?" Gabe asks, his voice barely a squeak. "Our Y/N? The one who literally apologizes when she beats us at Mario Kart? That girl?"

Will's defensive posture relaxes just slightly, replaced by a smug satisfaction. He gives a single, sharp nod.

The reaction is immediate and explosive.

"HOLY SHIT!" Gabe screams, making a nearby family jump. "I take back everything I ever said! She's a freak!"

"A quiet freak!" Ryan corrects, looking at Will with newfound, slightly terrified respect. "The most dangerous kind!"

"I can't believe it," Jacob says, running a hand through his hair. "All this time. We thought she was this delicate little flower and she's secretly a... a panther!"

Will is laughing now, the tension broken. "Told you to shut up."

"Dude, you have to tell us everything," Gabe begs, grabbing his arm. "What did you do? What did she do? I need details!"

"Never," Will says, pulling away. "You'll just have to live with the mystery." He glances down at his arm, a small smile playing on his lips. He's never been more proud of a few little marks in his life.

The evening finds you curled up on the couch when your phone buzzes with his name. "Hey! How's Florida?" you ask, your voice bright.

"It's... eventful," he says, and you can hear the suppressed laughter in his tone.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assures you. "It's just... well, I took my shirt off at the beach."

Your frown is audible. "And...?"

"And, baby... they saw the scratches. And the bite mark."

It takes you a moment and when you realize what he means, your face floods with heat. "Oh my god," you whisper, your hand flying to your mouth. "No."

"Oh, yes," he confirms, his voice full of glee. "They thought I had a new, violent girlfriend. They were absolutely convinced it wasn't you."

You groan, burying your face in a throw pillow. "I want to die."

"Hey, don't," he says, his voice softening. "It's fine. I defended your honor. And then I confirmed it was you, and they freaked out. Jacob thinks you're a panther now."

You can't help it, you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "He does not."

The front door to his apartment slammed behind you with a sound that should’ve woken the neighbours. Will’s mouth was on yours before the lock clicked, his hands fumbling with the knot of your bikini top as you backed toward the stairs.

The hallway wall hit your shoulder blades hard enough to knock a gasp loose, but Will swallowed it with his mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip as his fingers tugged at the knot of your bikini top. The fabric gave way with a wet snap, saltwater dripping between your breasts as he palmed one, his thumb brushing over your nipple with a roughness that made your knees buckle. You fumbled with the button of his trunks, laughing against his mouth when it refused to budge. "Fuck—" Will groaned, breaking away just long enough to shove the fabric down his hips himself, kicking it off somewhere near the staircase.

The banister dug into your back as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel him—hard and hot against your stomach—as he carried you up the stairs, his grip slipping once when your wet skin slid against his. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, nearly tripping over the last step, but you were already pulling him down the hall, your fingers tangled in his hair as you backed into your bedroom door. It creaked open under your weight, and suddenly you were falling, the mattress hitting the back of your thighs as Will followed you down, his body covering yours with a weight that stole your breath.

His mouth trailed down your neck, sucking at the salt still drying on your skin, and you arched into him, your hands scrabbling at his shoulders.

"Off," he demanded, tugging at the knot of your bottoms.

The thought flickered through your hazy mind—how lucky you were that the apartment was empty, that no one would hear the way the bedframe groaned as Will shifted his weight, his hips pressing yours into the mattress. (you really didn’t want a repeat of last time when Mack had to listen to you go at it like rabbits and then help you two fix Will’s bed.) His fingers fumbled with the drawer of his nightstand, knocking against the lamp, and you could hear the crinkle of foil before he even pulled the condom out. You reached for his wrist before he could tear the wrapper open. "Don't," you breathed, your voice already wrecked, and Will froze, his pupils blown wide. "Will, please. I need you now."

"But—"

"You know I'm on the pill, Will, please just fuck me. Please."

The moment Will’s tip skimmed your slit, dragging through the wetness there, you swore your vision whited out. His touch was deliberate, teasing—the bastard knew exactly what he was doing, circling your entrance with the tip of his cock but never pushing in, just letting the heat of him hover there while you whimpered into the crook of his elbow. "Will," you gasped, your hips bucking uselessly against his restraint, "stop being such a fucking—ah—"

His laugh was dark, uneven, as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds again, smearing your slick between you. "Such a what?" he murmured, his breath hot against your jaw. "Say it."

You could feel him grinning against your skin, the cocky bastard, and you dug your nails into his shoulders hard enough to make him hiss. "Tease," you spat, but it came out half-moaned, your voice cracking as he finally, finally pressed the tip inside—just enough to stretch you, just enough to make your back arch off the mattress.

Will groaned, his forehead dropping to your collarbone as he inched deeper, his hips rolling in slow, torturous circles. Every drag of him sent sparks up your spine, your thighs trembling around his waist as he bottomed out with a curse. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice ragged, "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—"

Will groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as he rocked deeper, the drag of him so slow it bordered on cruel. "You feel—" he started, but the words dissolved into a hissed curse as you clenched around him, your nails biting into his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, keep doing that and I'm not gonna last."

You laughed, breathless and unsteady, but it caught in your throat when Will pulled out almost entirely, the head of his cock just barely inside you before he pushed back in with a sharp thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. "Asshole," you gasped, but your hips arched up to meet him anyway, your body betraying you with every ragged breath.

Will grinned down at you, his hair damp with sweat and saltwater, his eyes dark with something hungrier than you'd ever seen. "You love it," he murmured, dragging his cock through your folds again just to hear you whimper. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your thighs shaking, and you nearly sobbed when he slid back into you—this time with no hesitation, no teasing, just one smooth stroke that buried him to the hilt.

The sound you made was obscene, half-moan, half-scream, and Will's hips stuttered like he hadn't expected it either. He choked out a moan, his grip on your hips tightening as he set a brutal pace, each thrust punching a broken noise from your throat. The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his movements, the rhythm so relentless you could barely catch your breath between gasps.

And then it was gone. 

"Will," you whined, your voice cracking on the single syllable, and his smirk was downright sinful as he traced your entrance again, the tip of his cock catching on your folds just enough to make you sob. "God, you're dripping," he murmured, his voice thick with awe, and the way he said it—like he was discovering something sacred—sent heat crawling up your neck.

His thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles, and you nearly screamed, as he pushed back in, your nails raking down his back hard enough to leave raised red lines in their wake. Will hissed but didn’t pull away, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm that had you seeing stars.

The sound ripped from your throat before you could stop it—a guttural, desperate moan that didn’t even sound like you, raw and unfiltered in a way that made Will’s hips stutter mid-thrust. His breath hitched, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he stared down at you, eyes wide like he’d just discovered something earth-shattering. “Jesus Christ,” he choked out, his voice wrecked, and you barely had time to process the awe in his tone before he was moving again, deeper this time, his cock dragging against some spot inside you that made your vision blur.

You were close—so close you could taste it, the heat coiling tight in your belly—but the second Will’s rhythm faltered, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck, you slapped a hand against his chest. “Wait—wait—” The word came out slurred, your fingers twisting in his sweat-damp hair as you pushed him back just enough to roll your hips beneath him. Will groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening as you flipped him onto his back in one clumsy, drunken motion, the mattress creaking in protest beneath you.

The moment you straddled him, sinking down onto his cock with a gasp, his hands flew to your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head dropping back against the pillows as you rocked against him, slow at first, then faster, your nails scraping down his chest just to watch his abs clench under your touch. His throat was flushed pink, sweat glistening in the hollow of his collarbone, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to drag your teeth over the sensitive skin there, sucking until his groan vibrated against your lips.

Will’s thumb found your clit again without hesitation, his touch rough and uncoordinated in the best way, and you nearly sobbed at the contact, your thighs trembling around him. His words dissolved into a groan as you clenched around him, your hips rolling in desperate little circles that had his fingers twitching against your skin. The pressure built like a storm, every nerve in your body alight, and when Will’s breath hitched, his grip on your hips turning bruising, you knew he was close.

The sound that tore from your throat was raw—something between a gasp and a sob, pitched higher than you’d ever heard yourself before. Will’s hips jerked beneath you like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in your skin. “Fuck,” he choked out, his voice shattered, and you could feel the way his cock twitched inside you, pulsing with every ragged breath he took. “’M gonna cum.”

You didn’t recognize yourself—the way your body moved, the noises you made, the sheer need that had you grinding down on him like you were trying to fuse your bones together. Will’s hands slid up your sides, rough and desperate, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before settling on your hips again, guiding you into a rhythm that had your vision spotting at the edges.

The words left your lips before you could stop them—raw, ragged, barely recognizable as your own voice. "Inside, please—Will, I want—" Your plea dissolved into a moan as his hips snapped up into yours, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that made your thighs tremble. You could feel him twitching, pulsing, his breath coming in uneven gasps against your neck.

Will groaned, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "You—you're sure?" His voice was wrecked, strained with the effort of holding back, and you nodded frantically, your nails scraping down his chest. "Yes, yes—Will,please— inside, inside, inside!"

Will didn’t need to be told twice. His hips jerked up once, twice—then he buried himself deep with a groan that sounded ripped from his chest, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your waist as he came. You could feel it—the hot pulse of him inside you, the way his cock twitched with every throb, the sharp exhale that ghosted over your collarbone like a prayer.

The sensation hit you like a lightning strike—sharp, sudden, inescapable—as Will pulsed inside you, his release triggering your own with brutal efficiency. Your body clenched around him in erratic waves, your nails digging crescents into his chest as pleasure ripped through you with a force that left you gasping, shaking, your thighs quivering against his hips. The orgasm tore through you until you collapsed against his chest with a sob, your forehead pressing into the sweat-slick hollow of his throat.

Will’s hands slid up your back, slow and reverent, his fingertips tracing the ridges of your spine like he was memorizing them. His breath was still ragged against your temple, his chest rising and falling beneath you in uneven hitches. “Holy shit,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, and you could feel the way his laugh vibrated through you, warm and disbelieving. 

"Why did it take so long for us to do that?"

you’d go days without seeing him outside of class because he had practice, workouts, film sessions or whatever it was freshman hockey players filled their calendars with. you had cheer, assignments, brad, and the constant balancing act of pretending your life hadn’t become significantly more complicated over the span of a few weeks.

it wasn’t like you saw each other every day - you never usually did to begin with. you didn’t now disappear halfway through a lecture to make out in a supply cupboard, or have will skip hockey because you fancied company. things were still the same. you still encountered each other the same - you still saved him a seat, and he still pushed every one of your buttons before the lecture could even start.

but there were the nights when brad disappeared to a party with the football boys, or headed across town for poker, or decided he was ‘busy’, leaving you with an empty dorm room and absolutely no business thinking about a certain freshman.

you always texted the same thing: what you doing rn? or are you out?

casual, like you were only making conversation.

he’d reply with a range of different answers, sometimes with a photo of him and three of the guys crammed into a booth at some burger place:

with the guys.

at dinner rn.

just finished practice, why?

every time, you’d cave almost immediately:

nothing, don’t worry about it!

was just asking.

never mind! it’s okay.

then, without fail, your phone would buzz again, sometimes he called when you took too long to answer. “what?”

“nothing.” you’d blush even though he wasn’t around, but the thought of him taking the time to call you whilst out with his friends sent your heart leaping. you weren’t that important. it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“you don’t text me ‘you busy?’ for nothing.”

“no, i just . . .” you’d sigh, picking at the corner of your duvet. “it was just if you weren’t doing anything. i’m in my dorm by myself if you wanted to . . do anything.”

a pause, then—

“’kay.”

“’kay?”

“’yeah, i’m coming.”

“no, it’s fine! it was only if you were bored and not going anythi—”

“—oh trust me, i was bored.” you’d hear the movement on the phone, leaving to make his way over to your place.

he could’ve been halfway through dinner, watching a game, out with his teammates or even catching up on workload he desperately needed to do — it didn’t seem to matter.

within twenty minutes there’d be a knock at your door.

you were still getting used to kissing him - not in a bad way, but in the way that he could do it so. . . naturally. the way he’d lean over without making a big deal out of it, like kissing you had somehow become the most ordinary thing in the world.

it hadn’t become ordinary to you — not yet. it still caught you off guard.

your heart still tripped over itself every time his hand found your waist, and you still caught yourself thinking, i shouldn’t be doing this, but you never wanted him to stop; and you never regretted it either.

kissing will always gave you butterflies, always summoned a hunger you were unfamiliar with until that faint voice in the back of your head told you to calm down. whether it was the nerves or guilt, you couldn’t bring yourself to go further than the line you’d already crossed. he never rushed you, and he never pushed. the furthest either of you had gone was the night in the laundry room and that had only happened again once.

or twice.

three times?

he never complained nonetheless, never guilt-tripped or let out a huffy sigh — just gave that stupid, patient smile that somehow made saying no feel even harder and carried on with what you were happy with.

it was a friday night when you were bunched up together in your room, will entering your room with his hood up, water droplets from the rain sitting on top. you hadn’t seen him since last friday, with you missing the weekend to go back home for your mom’s birthday and him playing away games with his silly sidequests inbetween. he was the one who had texted you this time:

6’1 in skates

u home?

you

in dorm room, yeah

6’1 in skates

coming over

you

doors unlocked

6’1 in skates

well let’s change that! not very safe of you

you

will shut up

you tried to conceal your excitement to his arrival, tried not to sit so eagerly and smile so hard at the sight of him. you tried not to look so bashful - although he’d had that affect on you for a while.

the guy made you squirt all over a washing machine . . . it was safe to say he owned a large part of your dignity.

“hi.”

“hello gorgeous,” he smiled, shutting the door after him with the heel of his foot. “how are you, sweet stuff?”

“i’m ok,” you watch him make his way over to your bed where you sat up, back lost in pillows, blankets sprawled across the bed. “what’d you get up to today?”

“nothing much, been stuck with the guys. grabbed some lunch. squeezed in a haircut.”

you could tell. even with his hood up, you could see his shaved-in sides. “productive.”

he winks. “i know, right?”

“i got your mark for you.”

he pulls a face while stepping over your slippers, throwing himself on your mattress with a puff. “don’t wanna know.”

“it’s good,” you smile down at him, watching him pull his hood down.

and wow.

holy fresh cut.

he lays in front of you, leaning on an elbow, hand wrapped around a bottle of water that looks smaller than it is. “don’t care.”

you tilt your head. “you should.”

“i don’t wanna talk grades right now,” he grins, lifting a large hand to cup your waist with a familiarity to it that still catches you off guard.

heat immediately pools in your stomach. the feeling of his long fingers slowly caressing your side in a gentle stroke while he subtly pulls you a couple inches closer.

you can’t stop checking him out. really - he looks so good with the fresh cut, and there’s something about him in all black that makes your heart hum. “no?” you rest your arm over his shoulder, pretending to be far less affected than you are. “what do you wanna do?”

he looks up at you through his lashes, the corner of his mouth tugging into that stupid smile. “you tell me what you wanna do,” his teeth make an appearance as his fingers slide from your waist to your arm, wrapping loosely around your wrist where it rests against him. “or tell me what you want me to do.”

you feel your face warm immediately. “will.”

“what?” he snickers lightly, unable to stop himself from leaning in to kiss your cheek.

the room falls comfortably quiet, friends murmuring from the television in the background, neither of you paying the slightest bit of attention to it anymore.

will watches you for a second, amused.

your shyness never stops surprising him.

the first day he’d met you, he’d assumed confidence came as naturally to you as breathing. you’d been the girl everyone noticed, the one who always had something smart to say, never looked intimidated by anyone. you were older. popular. in a league of your own.

then he’d discovered this version. the one who ducked her head when she blushed, who smiled into her shoulder when he caught her off guard, who suddenly found the carpet fascinating whenever he flirted a little too confidently.

it was easily his favourite.

not because it meant he’d won something, but because it was a side of you hardly anybody else ever got to see.

and selfishly, he wanted to be the only reason it appeared every time. “so,” he rolls onto his back, shirt rising a little as he rests his arms behind his head, revealing that little bit of hair below his bellybutton that disappears into the waistband of his boxers. “how much did you miss me?”

you trail your eyes back just to roll them enough that they almost hurt. “i think i survived the week just fine without seeing you.”

“just fine?”

“mhm.”

“not even a little bit?”

“not even slightly.” you grin, looking down at him sprawled across your entire bed. he looks huge like this.

“liar. i heard you were crying everyday.”

that makes you laugh out loud. “ok.”

“you were even contemplating writing me a letter.”

“oh yeah? with my locket hanging around my neck with your picture in it?”

“like you were waiting for me to return from war.”

you laugh and hit his chest. “you keep going, your head isn’t gonna fit in this room.”

“no?”

“no. never mind your hockey helmet,” you reach to stroke his brow hairs in place without thinking.

he grins. “i’ll make it fit.”

you shake your head to yourself as he sits up, flopping his back into your mountain of pillows, and throws an arm around an empty space next to him with your name on it. “so, you gonna admit it?”

“admit what?”

“you missed me?”

“i didn’t.”

“liar.”

“i didn’t,” you insist, determined to see how long he’ll keep this going. the smile on your face refuses to cooperate though, betraying every ounce of fake annoyance as you finally shuffle over into the fortress of pillows beside him.

will grunts, his arm falling across your waist until his hand rests over your stomach. “that’s weird.”

“why?”

“’cause i missed you.”

the way he says it so bluntly makes your heart thump and cheeks bloom, even though he’s messing around, trying to cringe you out. “you’re a cornball.”

“just telling the truth,” he absentmindedly traces slow shapes against your side with the pads of his fingers, eyes still fixed on the tv. “you should try it sometime.”

“will,” you laugh, giving his shoulder a shove.

“what?”

“stop.”

he just raises his shoulder, paying you no attention until you admit it out loud.

you lean on him slightly, arm rested on his shoulder, scanning his side profile. he doesn’t even glance your way.

the fresh haircut really wasn’t helping. or how his jaw looked sharper. his stupid eyelashes somehow longer. it was irritating.

he doesn’t even acknowledge you staring.

“. . . you’re really committed to this.”

“very.”

“you’ve got nothing better to do?”

“nope.”

“no homework?”

“tomorrow.”

“hockey?”

“tomorrow.”

“your friends?”

“probably surviving without me.”

you sigh dramatically. “your ego genuinely needs its own dorm.”

“still avoiding the question.”

you let your head fall lightly against his shoulder. “ . . . you’re exhausting.”

“been called worse.”

another minute passes as his thumb keeps absentmindedly moving against your skin that’s exposed from your rising shirt - back and forth, back and forth - completely unaware he’s doing it.

you eventually give in, mostly because you know he isn’t going to. “fine,” you roll your eyes, hand laid flat on his chest.

he doesn’t even look at you. “fine what?”

“i—” god, he really is as big-headed since the day you met him. “—might’ve noticed you weren’t around.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

you let out a groan, hiding your face briefly against his shoulder. “fine! i missed you a little.”

“a little?”

you pinch his side.

he laughs. “not like, a medium amount?”

you pinch him harder.

“ow!” he pinches you back, and you jump. “OW!”

“admit it!”

“alright! i missed you too much.” you give in, laughing at his audacity to pinch you back. “happy?”

“gassed,” he continues his caressing of your side, focusing on the small area he’d nipped. he turns his head to look at you, something to it that makes your stomach feel strangely light. “. . ‘cause i did miss this pretty face” he says again, his hand coming up to grip your jaw and almost pucker your lips in its hold.

your heart thumps as he leans in, placing a soft kiss to them like it’s the most natural thing ever.

when he lets go, you cower into his shoulder, the softness of his hoodie stroking your cheek.

the tv chatters away in the background, neither of you following the episode anymore.

you’re tucked against his side, his arm still around your middle, your breathing gradually slowing to match his. it’s peaceful.

too peaceful.

will glances down after a minute, seeing the way your eyes are focused elsewhere from the tv, how your brows move like you’re in conversation with yourself. “you’re cookin’ up there,” his finger presses to your temple.

“mm. just thinking.”

“‘bout me?”

he takes your groan as victory and rubs your arm as if to let you know he’s just playing. then his brows furrow, “why are you so tense?”

you blink. “what?”

“your shoulders.” his hand gives your side a gentle squeeze. “they’re up by your ears.”

you hadn’t even realized. a small laugh escapes you. “oh, sorry.”

“don’t apologise, just . . ” he chuckles, “relax . . i locked the door.”

you snort. “no, will, it’s fine. i’m just—"

he looks at you; his eyebrows lift.

“i’m just . . nervous still.”

“about . . ?”

“you,” you say like it’s obvious. “being around you. you make me nervous,” you admit before you can overthink it any longer.

will’s brows drop. “in a bad way?”

“no! no, just,” you laugh. “it’s nothing. i’m just being stupid,” he comforts you with his soft touch, large palm still soothing you with gentle strokes. “just getting used to this still. i need to relax,” you nuzzle deeper into his chest, feeling his hand come up to places on the back of your neck, warming you at the same time shivers tingle down your spine.

will doesn’t understand what his presence does to you.

he doesn’t realize that most days, your automatic stance is to move with your shoulders braced before anyone’s even spoken to you. that somewhere along the way you’d become so used to watching people’s moods, choosing your words carefully, anticipating reactions before they happened, that it felt normal.

you hadn’t noticed you did it until you met him, because when you’re with him, your body keeps trying to do something it isn’t very good at anymore:

relax.

it happens in tiny pieces: your jaw unclenches, your breathing deepens, your mind stops running a hundred conversations ahead and it actually feels . . quiet up there.

it’s unfamiliar - which is unsettling.

like stepping onto solid ground after spending so long balancing on something that kept moving beneath your feet.

will brushes his thumb gently across your neck, drawing you out of your thoughts, “hey,” his voice is soft, “you don’t have to be nervous.”

“i know, i know. i need to chill out,” you agree, focusing on the soft touch of his hand.

will’s eyes linger on your face before he nudges it closer with his knuckle until his lips plant on your cheekbone. your eyes close dreamily, as he lifts another soft kiss on your cheek, and then further down to your jaw.

then you feel his lips part slightly as he kisses your jawline, and you hum, smiling at the weird buzz that rings up to your ears.

“will,” you breathe when your feel the wetness from his mouth on your neck. he continues to kiss, leaving a hot, open mouth trail along the skin until you feel the sudden nip from his graze of teeth. “will,” you repeat, sliding your hand to the back of his neck.

the lack of hair reminds you of his cut, as you slide you fingers deeper into the back of his head, tangling then into the short strands that had been chopped.

now, the only thing you can think about is his mouth.

will kisses up and down your neck slowly, soft smacks filling the air every so often before he nips you with his teeth. you don’t think much of it until you feel it — the sucking by your pulse point, the area that makes your mouth pop open and unleash an accidental moan.

you feel the grin on his lips, the way he goes in again, hungrier this time, tilting your head to give himself better access as he continues to assault the skin; kissing and sucking, nipping the odd time which makes your toes curl.

caught up in the act, you don’t even realize his hand has slipped down from your waist to your legs where he’s slid it in between your thighs.

caught up in the act, you don’t even realize the damage to your neck is done already by the time he’s rubbing you through your panties and sending you over the edge with yet another loud, lazy cry. “awh—will! i can’t, i can’t,” you wriggle against his chest as your hand latches around his thick wrist to stop it’s movement against your cunt. overstimulated and spent, your nails dig into his wrist to stop him.

breathing heavily as you come down from the high, the freshman kisses your neck some more. small, featherlight ones as your brain tries to clear the haze of fog around it, grounding you a little.

as always, he brings his fingers to your lips, but you refuse to so much as look at them, always turning your head away as he slips them into his own mouth, a deep chuckle echoing in his chest as you refuse to watch him commit to such crude acts. the burn on your cheeks is more intense than when he’s pumping them into you, and it only encourages him more and more to do it each time.

“mmm, tas—”

“stop it.” you hold onto the arm that’s got you in a slight headlock, keeping your eyes away from him sucking his fingers clean of your slick right next to you.

he finishes with another sweet kiss to your cheek, squeezing you tight in his arm before the night melts into one you always forget how to end. will never stays. you always drift fast. it’s always a deep sleep, and the next time you see him, he pretends he’s sucking something out of his finger then plays it off that he was chewing off a rag nail when you hit him for teasing you.

but it’s a saturday and you don’t see him. you don’t see him on sunday either, because you don’t see anybody over the weekend. you spend all of saturday catching up on all the different things you were supposed to do - clear out your wardrobe, change your bed, tidy your dorm, finish an assignment. saturday night blurs into sunday morning as you decide to carry on your lazy day into the next.

you go for a walk through the city, noticing the big drop in temperature as the colder months begin to approach. leaves begin falling off trees and you buy new hat on the way back for the chilling autumn season.

brad texts you whilst you’re out, telling you he’ll be over by 7:00 tonight. you reply, telling him that’s fine, asking how the weekend went, if you guys wanted to get food. he’d went home for his older cousin’s stag, one of the 16 invited. he’d seemed to have a good time, though he’d texted you more than you thought he would, checking in every so often like he felt bad for leaving you. it was strange. unusual.

the last you’d seen him was thursday night, when you’d helped him pack a small duffel bag and spent the rest of the evening in bed, laying next to him with a movie playing. his head was engrossed in his phone as he showed you all the different places he’d be going to over the weekend, and you nodded along, acknowledging each one. he kissed your cheek a couple times before he left, nose brushing your cheekbone as his lips hovered by your jaw.

“don’t have too much fun while i’m gone,” he sang, a playfulness in his tone.

“no promises,” you sang back, eyes locked on the movie.

it was a nice evening. chilled. relaxing.

well, whatever your bunched up shoulders classed as ‘relaxing’.

you tidied what little mess around your dorm again, lit a candle and got a shower before he came. it wasn’t long before you were tucked up in bed together, side by side, your cheek pressed to his bicep as he flicked through his camera roll to show you all the funny videos he’d captured.

they were funny, yet, all you could think about was why the fuck are my shoulders so tense?

“watch this babe,” he giggles, turning the phone to show you a clip of his cousin drunkly climbing a street sign, only for it to break and have him land on his ass.

you hummed a laugh.

brad locked his phone and threw it further down your bed, reaching his arm to come around over you, pulling you into him some more. “what’s wrong with you? you’re quiet.”

“just gettin’ tired,” you snuggle deeper into his chest, eyes still on the tv. “glad you’re back though.”

“yeah? y’miss me?” he kisses your temple.

“mhm.”

“what’d you get up to?”

“nothing,” you shrugged, feeling his hand move down to your hip. “literally nothing. just lazed about whole weekend, did some work. cleaned.”

“didn’t go out with tash?”

“no. she went out with some of her other friends,” you sat up suddenly, hunting for the remote to press play on the next episode of desperate housewives. “couldn’t be bothered going out this weekend.”

he doesn’t respond. instead, you lay back down, back against the pillows as the next episode loads.

“. . . what is that on your neck?”

you don’t react straight away. his words don’t even hit you, you’re too busy soaking up his body warmth, getting cozy when he moves until you get off of him. that’s when you sit up, looking at him confused as his irritated gaze seems directed at you. “what?”

“i said what is that on your neck,” he suddenly snaps, hooking his finger in your pajama top to pull it away from your skin.

your eyes squint in confusion, your hand reaching for your phone to check out whatever the heck it is he’s freaking out over in the camera.

that’s when you see it - the dirty old mark by the base of your throat.

a hickey.

you freeze.

holy fuck.

your life quickly flashes before your eyes, the realization dawning on you as your body goes still, your mouth still open.

oh . . . god.

it feels like time slows as you quickly calculate how to navigate this situation, your stomach twisting with nerves.

fuck.

what you’re about to do is so incredibly evil . . you know it’s wrong but you don’t care. what else are you supposed to do? tell him the truth?

you glance at him, mouth still agape and quickly recover, “are you kidding me?!” you throw the phone on your bed with effortless care. “you scared me, brad! i thought it was a spider or something!”

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“what?” you play dumb.

“what?” he repeats. “what do you mean, ‘what?’ y/n, fucking answer me,” he throws his bottle of water across your room, it knocks over your tidy row of files.

you blink at him like he’s lost it. “what the fuck are you freaking out for?!”

“what am i freaking out for?! who the hell gave you that?” he storms over, standing with his arm out toward your neck like the evidence is so obvious he can’t believe you’re making him explain it.

“are you— wait, are you serious right now?” you let a smile slip through. “or are you—are you trying to be funny?”

he gives you a look like you’re insane. like he’s wondering why the hell you aren’t crumbling right now, shaking like a leaf beneath him. “am i being funny?”

“wait, are you being for real?” you stare at him in shock.

his eyebrows shoot up. “y/n what the FUCK are you talking about right now?” he grabs you by your neck. “start talking!”

“you did that?” you immediately push him off, scoffing up at him. “what the hell do you mean?”

“like hell i did.”

you laugh in fake disbelief, climbing back onto the bed like he’s being ridiculous. “are you seriously arguing with me right now? like serious? ‘cause i’ll actually lose it.” you shoot him a warning look.

“yes because i didn’t do that!” he shouts again.

“yes, you did.”

“when?”

“thursday fucking night!” you lie.

“thursday?”

“you were kissing all over my face,” you raise your voice, arm held out to him.

“yeah, and?”

“and you did it?!” you say like there’s no other explanation needed.

“y/n—” he starts smiling, like he’s about to actually lose his shit.

you knuckle down. “i am NOT laughing brad! you’re fucking pissing me off!” you throw the blanket off you.

“you’re pissed off?!”

“YES! ‘cause what the fuck are you saying right now?! you’re initiating i what? i let someone else give me a hickey?!”

“well i sure as hell didn’t!”

“yes. you. did!” you smack the back of your hand to your palm.

he stares at you.

you stare at him. “i can’t believe this right now. i honestly don’t.” you pull the duvet higher, trying desperately to make yourself look bored rather than terrified.

“y/n,” his eyes narrow. “i did not give you that.”

“why are you acting like i’m accusing you of something bad?”

“because you’re telling me i did something i didn’t do.”

“okay, so i just woke up with it?”

“god knows i didn’t wake up giving you it.”

“so you forgot?”

“i don’t fucking forget shit like that.”

“apparently you do.”

he stares at you.

you hold his gaze, even though your pulse is beating so hard you can feel it beneath the mark. “you really don’t remember?”

“NO! ‘cause it didn’t. happen.”

“brad!” you whine. “co—”

“don’t.”

you stop.

for half a second, neither of you says anything.

then you scoff, shake your head and let out a sigh. “fine. whatever,” you turn, reaching for your phone. “if you don’t remember, you don’t remember.”

that somehow seems to bother him more. “no. no don’t do that.”

your heart is beating out of your chest.

you glance over your shoulder. “do what?”

“act like i’m stupid.”

“i didn’t say you were stupid.”

“you’re making me out to be.”

“i’m telling you what happened.”

“no, you’re not,” his voice is bitter now, like his temper is really about to break.

you sit up again. “then what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to tell me who did it!”

“i just did.”

“and i’m telling you it wasn’t me!” he slams his fist into your desk.

“then who the fuck was it?!” you look around the room. “tell me! you tell me.”

he scowls, his jaw set. it feels like you’re swimming with sharks with an open wound here. “it wasn’t fuckin’ me, that’s for sure.”

“okay,” you lie back down. “fine.”

“fine?”

“yeah,” you throw your hands up. “you don’t remember. i don’t know what you want from me.”

“i want you to stop fucking lying to me.”

“oh, and there it is. just because you don’t remember something it makes me a liar. ok.” you smile sarcastically.

“you ARE a fucking liar!”

you stare at him for a second, stunned enough that your mouth actually falls open.

then, your expression crumples into something wounded. “okay, brad,” you sound defeated. “yeah, you’re right. i’m sorry. i lied. someone else gave me it. i let someone else suck on my neck while you were gone,” you hear how ridiculous it sounds the second the words leave your mouth. so does he. “there. is that what you want to hear?”

“what i’m hearing is bullshit.”

“so because you don’t remember, that makes me a liar? a—a cheater?! that’s what you’re getting at here?” you perk up again, ready for another round.

“yeah. i fuckin’ am!”

“that is SO fucking unfair brad! you know you were here on thursday night, you know you were kissing down my face and neck, you literally can’t deny that,” your brows pinched together as sadness takes over your features. “we were sitting like this in your bed and you were all over me! you know you were!” you pat the bed frustratingly.

god, you deserve an oscar for this.

“yes, but i wasn’t sucking on your neck?”

you pinch the bridge of your nose with your eyes open. “oh. my. jesus. christ.”

“so what?! so you’re dying on this hill? you think i did it?”

“think?” you quickly snap your head to him. “i don’t think you did it, i know you did it because i was pRESENT IN THE FUCKING MOMENT YOU DID IT?!!!” you scream.

brad blinks.

woah.

you need to chill out.

you’re starting to belive your own lies.

for the first time, he doesn’t immediately have an answer.

the thought slips in before he can stop it: did i?

you catch the hesitation and immediately pounce. “honestly! who else was it supposed to be?”

“i—i don’t know, y/n but i—”

“who! tell me! seeing you’re so adamant, there’s gotta be someone in mind?” you demand. “huh? will—is it will?”

his face hardens instantly. “don’t bring him into this.”

“it is, that’s who you were gonna say,” you sit angrily on the bed. “honestly, i’m so over this. you’re — you know what? just go brad.”

“what?!”

“i’m done. you’ve just ruined the whole night and put me in the worst mood over nothing. honestly - when did you get so insecure all of a sudden?” you throw yourself back under the sheets.

“in—insecure?”

“yes!”

“i am not ins—”

“—you called me a liar and accused me of cheating because you saw a bruise on my neck! accused me of cheating because you don’t remember something you did!” you gesture toward it.

his eye twitches.

you point toward the door. “honestly, go home. i’m done talking to you.”

“y/n—”

“no. i’m done talking about this, you’ve seriously hurt me,” you grab your phone, already looking away from him. “i think if somebody else gave me a hickey, i’d be smart enough to cover it,” you snap, watching him head for the door.

he looks back at you, at your neck and the faded purple-y, green-yellow mark, and stands there for another second, looking genuinely conflicted.

you refuse to look at him, keeping your irritable look on your face as you scroll through your insta feed, waiting to hear the safe sound of your door click shut.

“whatever,” he mutters. “we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“we won’t.”

he looks at you, but you keep busy with your phone screen, “because no matter what i say, i’ll be accused of a liar, so.”

“babe—”

“don’t ‘babe’ me!”

“i’m just trying to work out what happened!”

“there’s nothing to work out when i’m telling you what happened! now get out brad!”

“but i—”

“OUT.”

he slams the door after him.

you don’t move.

for several seconds, you just lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to the thudding of your heartbeat.

silent.

motionless.

then—

you exhale.

a huge, shaky breath that feels like you’ve been holding it for ten straight minutes. “holy shit.”

you cover your face with both hands. your heart is pounding.

you’d just spent the last ten minutes gaslighting a completely sober man into believing he’d done something he absolutely had not done, and somehow — he’d left wondering if he had.

you slowly lower your hands.

the room is quiet again.

you’re alive.

you’re not caught.

and only now, with the door safely closed behind him, does it hit you just how close you came to being completely screwed.

fucking shit.

you text will immediately.

you

i

you

am

you

going

you

to

you

kill

you