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A video I forgot to post of Ginge, JJ and Simon looking fit asf!😚✨💕

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Oh my gosh, Harry...

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Valentine’s is now over but I just wanted to post this because it made me giggle😭💘

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Not just you, not just me. Us.

Harry Lewis x Reader

Summary : The Reader and Harry go golfing on Valentines, even though the Reader has never gone and isn't really enjoy it but it ends on a high when they get some food and watch a film Warnings: None Notes: Happy (late) Valentines Day All 😚💕Also I hope this was alright!

You woke up to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a sleepy haze. Your phone buzzed on the night stand, and you reached for it, squinting at the screen. A text from Harry lit up the display: “Good morning, love! Happy Valentine’s Day! Wear something comfy—we’re going golfing!”

Golfing? You blinked, trying to process the words. You’d never played golf in your life. The closest you’d ever gotten to a golf course was watching Happy Gilmore on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But Harry sounded so excited in his text, his enthusiasm practically radiating through the screen. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you dragged yourself out of bed, showered and threw on some comfortable clothes, and texted back, “Can’t wait!”

When Harry picked you up, he was practically bouncing with energy. He had a big grin on his face, his golf bag slung over his shoulder, and a thermos of coffee in his hand. “For you,” he said, handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek. “I know you’re not a morning person, so I thought you might need this.”

You smiled, taking the thermos gratefully. The coffee was perfect—just the way you liked it—and you felt a little flutter in your chest at how thoughtful he was. “Thank you,” you said, sipping it as he drove. “So, golfing, huh? What made you decide on that?”

He glanced at you, his eyes sparkling. “I just thought it’d be fun to do something different for Valentine's Day, I’ve never heard about it being a date. Which is a big missed opportunity. Plus, I’ve been wanting to teach you how to play. It’ll be a blast, I promise.”

You nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm, but a tiny knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. What if you were terrible at it? What if you embarrassed yourself? But Harry was so happy, and you didn’t want to ruin his plans. So, you pushed your worries aside and let him lead the way.

The golf course was breathtaking, a sprawling expanse of rolling green hills that seemed to stretch endlessly under the vast, open sky. The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the perfectly manicured fairways, and a crisp, refreshing breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass. The sky was a flawless shade of blue—which was surprising for the UK—dotted with a few wispy clouds that drifted lazily overhead. It was the kind of day that made you want to stop and just breathe it all in—the beauty, the peace, the quiet.

Harry was practically vibrating with excitement as he led you to the first tee, his golf bag slung over one shoulder and a wide grin on his face. He handed you a club, his eyes sparkling as he began to explain the basics. “Okay, so first things first,” he said, positioning himself behind you. “You want to hold the club like this.” He gently adjusted your grip, his hands warm and steady against yours. “And stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees slightly bent. Yeah, just like that.”

You nodded along, trying to absorb everything he was saying, but your mind was racing. Golf seemed so complicated—so many rules, so many tiny adjustments. When it was finally your turn to take a shot, you took a deep breath, swung the club, and�� the ball barely moved. It rolled a few feet and then stopped, pathetically short of the hole.

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and light. “It’s okay!” he said, stepping closer. “You’ll get the hang of it. Here, let me show you again.” He demonstrated the swing, his movements smooth and effortless, and then handed the club back to you. “Try it like that.”

You tried again and again, but no matter how hard you focused, your shots were either too weak or veered wildly off course. One particularly bad swing sent the ball flying sideways, straight into a cluster of trees. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m hopeless,” you muttered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But Harry just laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re not hopeless,” he said, walking over to you. “You’re learning. And honestly, you’re doing way better than I did my first time. I think I whiffed—like, completely missed the ball—at least five times.”

You peeked at him from behind your hands. “Really?”

“Really?” he said, grinning. “It’s all part of the process. You’re supposed to be bad at it at first. That’s what makes it fun.”

By the time you reached the third hole, your arms were already starting to ache. The sun felt hotter now, and the breeze that had been so refreshing earlier did little to cool you down. Harry, on the other hand, was in his element. He was practically glowing with enthusiasm, his laughter ringing out across the course as he effortlessly sank one shot after another. At one point, he made a particularly difficult putt and celebrated with a little victory dance, spinning around and pumping his fist in the air. You couldn’t help but laugh, despite your growing frustration.

“Show-off,” you teased, shaking your head.

He grinned, walking over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, I’m just trying to impress you,” he said, his voice warm and playful. “Admit it—you’re a little impressed.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, leaning into him. “But I’m still terrible at this.”

“Nah, you’re doing great,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s your first time. You’re supposed to be bad at it. That’s part of the fun.”

You wanted to believe him, but as the hours passed, your frustration grew. Your arms ached from swinging the club, your feet hurt from walking the course, and you were pretty sure you’d developed a blister on your hand. Meanwhile, Harry was still in his element, laughing and joking as he effortlessly sank one shot after another. At one point, he even started narrating his swings in a dramatic commentator’s voice, making you laugh despite yourself.

By the sixth hole, you were starting to feel the strain. Your hands were sore, your back was stiff, and the blister on your hand had definitely gotten worse. You tried to hide your discomfort, forcing a smile every time Harry looked your way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep up the act. When you completely missed the ball on your next swing, sending the club flying out of your hands and into the grass, you let out a frustrated sigh.

Harry rushed over, his expression concerned. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, picking up the club and handing it back to you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You seem a little… off.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “Really. Let’s just keep going.”

Harry hesitated but then nodded, his smile returning. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need a break, just let me know, okay?”

“I will,” you said, though you had no intention of doing so. You didn’t want to ruin his fun, not when he was so clearly enjoying himself.

By the time you reached the ninth hole, you were exhausted. Your arms felt like jelly, your feet were throbbing, and the blister on your hand was now a full-blown annoyance. But Harry was still grinning, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he slung an arm around your shoulders. “This is so much fun, isn’t it?” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “So much fun.”

You wanted to mean it, you really did. But as you walked back to the clubhouse, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that the day was almost over. You loved Harry, and you loved seeing him so happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t how Valentine’s Day was supposed to feel. It wasn’t until you were sitting in the clubhouse, sipping a drink and staring out at the sunset, that Harry finally noticed something was off.

Harry tilted his head, studying your face with a soft, concerned expression. “Hey,” he said gently, reaching over to take your hand. His touch was warm, grounding. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around his. You didn’t want to ruin his mood—he’d been so happy all day, so full of energy and joy. But the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours with such genuine care, made it impossible to keep it all in. “I’m just… not really a golf person,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “I’ve never played before, and I’m not very good at it. I didn’t want to say anything because you were having such a great time, but… it’s not really my thing.”

Harry’s face fell, his brows knitting together in concern. “Oh no,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I just got so excited about sharing something I love with you that I didn’t stop to consider whether you’d enjoy it too.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting him to feel bad. “No, no, it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it at all,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I loved spending the day with you, and watching you have so much fun made me happy. It’s just… I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, you know? Like, maybe if we’d done this on a random weekend, it would’ve felt different. But today felt like it was supposed to be… I don’t know, more us, you know? Something we both love equally.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he squeezed your hand. “I get that,” he said, his voice gentle. “I really do. I guess I got so caught up in the idea of doing something different that I didn’t think about how it might feel for you. I’m sorry if it felt like I wasn’t considering what you wanted.”

You looked down at your hands, feeling guilty for bringing it up. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier because you were so into it,” you admitted. “You were laughing and smiling, and I didn’t want to ruin that. I thought maybe if I just pushed through, it would get better. But by the end of it, I was just so tired and frustrated, and I couldn’t keep pretending.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch soothing. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I want you to tell me when something’s not working for you. I never want you to feel like you have to suck it up just to make me happy. Your happiness matters just as much as mine, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Okay,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you. You seemed so excited about today.”

“I was excited because I was with you,” he said, his tone earnest. “Not because of the golf. I mean, yeah, I love golf, but I love you more. And if you’re not having a good time, then I’m not having a good time either. Not really.”

You smiled faintly, your heart swelling at his words. “I did have fun, though,” you said. “Just… not the way I thought I would. I loved seeing you so happy, and I loved being outside with you. It was beautiful out there. I just think maybe golf isn’t my thing. Or at least, not for Valentine’s Day.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Noted,” he said. “No more golf on Valentine’s Day. Got it.” He paused, then grinned. “How about we make it up to you? Let’s grab some food—your favourite—and then we can go home and watch a movie. Something you pick. No golf, I promise.”

You laughed, the sound light and relieved. “That sounds perfect.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And next year,” he said, “we’ll do something we love. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said, leaning into him. And as the two of you sat there, hand in hand, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the hills, you realised that even though the day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, it had still been pretty perfect. Harry’s arm was warm around your shoulders, his presence steady and comforting, and you couldn’t help but smile as the tension of the day melted away.

“Come on,” Harry said, standing up and pulling you gently to your feet. “Let’s get out of here. I think we’ve both had enough of golf for one day.”

You laughed, the sound light and relieved. “I think you mean I’ve had enough of golf for one day. You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

He grinned, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and taking your hand. “Yeah, well, even I have my limits. And right now, my limit is how hungry I am. Let’s get some food.”

The two of you walked to the car, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The sky was now a deep shade of indigo, dotted with the first few stars of the night. Harry opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on yours for a moment as you slid into the seat. “So,” he said, leaning against the door frame, “what are you in the mood for? Takeaway? Something greasy and delicious?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… greasy and delicious sounds perfect. How about that little Indian place we love? The one with the amazing samosas?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yes. A thousand times yes. And we’re getting extra naan. No arguments.”

“Deal,” you said, laughing as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

The drive to the takeaway was short, the streets quiet as the evening settled in. Harry kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your knee, his thumb tracing little circles as he hummed along to the radio. When you arrived, he insisted on going in to pick up the food while you waited in the car. “You’ve had a long day,” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Just relax. I’ll be right back.”

You watched him disappear into the restaurant, a soft smile on your face. Despite the chaos of the day, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Harry had a way of making everything feel right, even when it wasn’t.

When he returned, he was carrying two large paper bags, the smell of spices and warm bread wafting through the car. “I may have gone a little overboard,” he admitted, setting the bags on your lap. “But I figured we deserve it.”

You peeked inside, your stomach growling at the sight of samosas, butter chicken, biryani, and, of course, an absurd amount of naan. “This is definitely overboard,” you said, laughing. “But I’m not complaining.”

Back at Harry’s place, the two of you spread out on the couch, the coffee table piled high with food. You insisted on putting on Four Lions, one of the films that the both of you can enjoy without complaints, and the opening credits were just starting as you dug into the food.

“You know,” Harry said, tearing off a piece of naan and dipping it into the butter chicken, “I think this might be the best Valentine’s Day ever.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping a samosa into your mouth. “Really? Even after the golf?”

He laughed, leaning back against the cushions. “Especially after the golf. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call romantic, but it was… us. And now we’re here, eating amazing food and watching an amazing movie. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. His grin was wide and playful, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. But as he pulled back, you noticed a faint smear of butter chicken sauce on his lips—and now, unfortunately, on your cheek.

“Harry,” you said, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’ve got sauce on your lips. And now I’ve got sauce on my face.”

He blinked, then glanced at the naan in his hand, which was dripping with the rich, orange sauce. “Oh,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “Well, that’s just a bonus. Now you smell delicious.”

You groaned, eyes rolling in mock annoyance and shaking your head as you reached for a napkin. “You’re actually so annoying.”

But before you could wipe it off, he stopped you, his hand gently catching your wrist. “Wait, wait,” he said, his voice teasing. “I think I missed a spot.” He leaned in again, this time deliberately pressing a sloppy, exaggerated kiss to the same spot on your cheek, leaving an even bigger smear of sauce.

“Harry!” You squealed, half-laughing, half-trying to push him away. “You’re the worst!”

“No, I’m the best,” he said, grinning as he pulled back, his own cheek now slightly smeared with sauce from where it had brushed against yours. “Now we match. Couple goals, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you grabbed a napkin and started wiping your cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he shot back, his tone dripping with exaggerated cheesiness. He even winked, which made you groan and throw a small piece of naan at him.

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head, but you were smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Impossibly charming,” he corrected, catching the naan midair and taking a triumphant bite. “Admit it. You love me.”

“I do,” you said, leaning into him and resting your head on his shoulder. “Even when you’re covered in butter chicken sauce.”

He laughed, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Sauce and all.”

As the movie played, the two of you laughed until your sides hurt, the stress of the day completely forgotten. Harry kept stealing bites of your food, pretending to be offended when you did the same, and by the time the credits rolled, you were both stuffed and happy. The room was warm and cosy, the soft glow of the TV casting a gentle light over the two of you as you lounged on the couch, tangled up in each other.

Harry shifted slightly, turning to face you with a mischievous grin. “So,” he said, his voice playful but with a hint of seriousness, “next year, no golf. What do you want to do instead?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… how about a spa day? Massages, facials, the works. Just pure relaxation.”

He groaned, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Fine. But only if I get a massage too. And maybe one of those cucumber things on my eyes. I’ve always wanted to try that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, no, don’t worry, I’m only joking. We need to think of something we both want to do. Not just me, not just you. Something that’s… us. You know, like, our thing.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression softening as he considered your words. “Okay, fair point. So, what’s something we both love? Something that feels like us?”

You paused, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. The two of you had shared so many moments together—some big, some small—but you wanted next year to be something special, something that reflected both of your personalities and passions. Then it hit you.

“How about a weekend away?” You suggested, growing more excited as the idea took shape. “Somewhere cosy, with a fireplace and a big bathtub. We could go hiking during the day—you know, explore some trails, take in the views—and then come back and relax in the evening. No golf, no spa, no pressure. Just us.”

Harry’s face lit up, his smile widening as he leaned in closer. “That sounds perfect,” he said, his voice warm and full of enthusiasm. “A little adventure, a little relaxation. Best of both worlds. And I love the idea of being somewhere quiet, just the two of us. No distractions, no schedules. Just us.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a rush of excitement as the plan began to take shape. “We could find a cute little cabin in the woods or maybe a cottage by the lake. Somewhere peaceful, where we can just… be.”

Harry’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I love that idea,” he said, his voice low and tender. “And I love that you’re thinking about us—about what we both want. That means a lot to me.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “It means a lot to me too,” you said softly. “I want next year to be about us. Not just you, not just me. Us.”

He nodded, his hand resting gently on your cheek. “Us,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I like the sound of that.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling with affection. “And we can take turns planning the details,” you added, your voice light and playful again. “You pick the hikes, I’ll pick the cosy cabin. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, sealing it with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with a mix of love and excitement. “Next year, it’s all about us. Just you, me, and a lot of adventure—and relaxation.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “But you know what? I don’t need a fancy weekend or a perfect plan to know that I’m already exactly where I want to be. Right here, with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a lump form in your throat. “Harry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I mean it,” he said. “Today wasn’t perfect, but it was still one of the best days I’ve had because I got to spend it with you. And next year, no matter what we do, it’ll be the same. Because it’s you. And you’re my favourite person.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away, laughing softly. “You’re such a romantic,” you said, your voice teasing but filled with affection.

“Only for you,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “Always for you.”

And as the two of you sat there, wrapped up in each other and the warmth of the evening, you realised that Valentine’s Day didn’t have to be perfect to be special. It just had to be with him. And next year, it would be exactly what you both wanted—a day that was truly, completely yours.

What do we think? This story was inspired by a couple I was serving while working as a waitress. They were out for Valentine’s Day, and it was clear the woman wasn’t enjoying her meal. I overheard her saying she was allergic to seafood, which was wild because the restaurant’s whole gimic was seafood.

It got me thinking about how couples navigate moments like that—where one person’s idea of a perfect day doesn’t quite align with the other’s. I hope the way I wrote their conversation came across as realistic and reasonable. Let me know your thoughts!

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if you see this, you are my valentine

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☁️ Drunk Lover | ArthurTV

Summary: Coming to pick up Arthur after a particularly boozy Fellas shoot, you come to realise just how much of a drunk lover, Arthur really is

Notes: Happy Valentines <3 🫡

"You feel so nice-"

You were met with an overwhelming weight as Arthur almost toppled over to you, arms slinging around your shoulders and loosely dragging you closer to his chest, his arms letting all his bodily weight rest on you whilst he swayed you from side to side in his drunken embrace.

It was fair to say you were just slightly shocked by your boyfriend's loving greeting, his eyes closed and head resting atop yours as he hugged you, inhaling deeply and allowing his senses grant him a sense of moment - inhaling your scent and sighing contentedly, comforted by the affirmation of your presence which your familiar aroma provided to Arthur. 

He was drunk. 

Off his head.

You'd expected he wouldn't be very sober, having given you a warning at the beginning of the night before he'd left that he was doing a video with The Fellas which Chip had organised ("look, he's just always finds away to get me drunk or in a life-threatening position! I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW-!" ) and clearly the video had ended exactly how Arthur had anticipated.

Proddy had been the one to make the call to you, as the only completely sober cast member, speaking quite calmly yet with a tone of urgency.

"You able to come get Arthur?" Proddy had asked, concern evident within his voice. 

"I've just come back from work - where are you - is everything okay?" You'd only just taken your heels off having returned home from your 9-to-5 and weren't exactly looking to go out again, but the bother within Proddy's voice did unsettle you slightly, raising a slight anxiety to your throat as you wondered whether Arthur was alright.

"Just off Carnaby Street, by one of the pubs, I'll send my location." Proddy recounted, never failing to be helpful. "Everything's... not bad. I just think you might wanna get Arthur. Chip's given him too much to drink again. Even Chip's a state, to be honest. Sabina's my next call."

"Right, if you get that location sent I can get there in the next half hour, Calum," You began slipping your shoes back on - the same stilettos you'd worn to work, shoulder connecting your phone to your ear as you manhandled the heels back on, hearing some commotion from Proddy's side.

"Is t-that Arthur's bird?" You heard slurring in the background which was unmistakeably Chip. "Tell herrshe has a FAT BACK-"

You cut the phone before you could hear any more of Chip's drunken rambles, instead slipping your phone into your bag and getting back into the car, thanking some otherworldly powers for the lack of traffic and congestion that swiftly brought you to the mess that Arthur Television was when you found him outside The White Horse pub.

"Oh I'm so happy to see you," Arthur was somehow even more enamoured than normal, and didn't fail to press a myriad of kisses to your forehead and temple and whole face to show you that - regardless of your swatting at him. 

"Yeahyeahyeah, you too love," You pulled him somewhat off and instead let him lean his weight on you from the side as you surveyed the scene.

George was riding a rodeo bull and yelling something unintelligible, Chip lying face-down at a booth, Randolph doing some sort of drinking challenge (it was unclear what exactly) and Calfreezy unmovingly sat in the corner with a pair of ski sunglasses and a wide brimmed safari hat stoutly  sat atop his head.

Proddy appeared from the doorway after a moment, making you  breathe a sigh of relief as you made eye contact - Calum giving a short side hug in greeting to you, briefly holding the side that wasn't already occupied by Arthur. 

"Thank you for calling me," You quickly spoke as you felt Arthur stiffen in your arms. Your hand almost instinctively came up to his chest, rubbing at his defined muscles through the thin costume shirt Arthur had been forced into - your fingers tracing down to his stomach and massaging the defined abs as you did whenever your mans felt sick. Though Arthur's stiffness appeared to not be because of an upset stomach.

"Don'tttouch my girlfriend-" Arthur weakly pointed a finger at Calum, making you facepalm as you took Arthur's wrist and redirected it back down to his side - looking up at Arthur's bewildered wide-eyes which stared with confusion at you, shocked as you'd lowered his hand.

"Proddy's the only reason I'm here for you, he's the one that made the call for me to get you home," You lightly scolded your just-slightly jealous boyfriend, smiling as Arthur simply sniffed, still miffed regardless.

"If you're annoyed with me, you should've heard what Chip was saying at her whilst I called her" Proddy's snickers stopped as you shot him a shutthefuckup look, though it appeared to be too late, as Arthur let out a gasp and attempted to storm back into the pub and confront the curly-headed man who'd just stepped off of the rodeo bull.

"OH NONONO-" You pulled Arthur back, sitting him on one of the barstools instead, making him look up at you as you stood between his manspread legs, holding either of his hands in yours to hold his attention whilst you spoke: "Why don't we go home for now, yeah?"

Your suggestion was met by a blank expression, as Arthur was alternately distracted by how you looked - eyes tracing down your body from the unbuttoned top of your fitted white shirt, covered by a professional grey blazer and matching grey skirt that clung to the curvaceous outline of your hips, black tights sheer and showing off those perfect legs Arthur wished were wrapped around your head - the tall black heels almost intoxicating Arthur as he began pondering on just how good they made you look.

"Oh my God, is this what you wear to work?" Arthur's hands groggily found your hips, senses heightened as he felt every ridge of the stiff material against his fingertips, feeling over your hips and bringing a blush to your cheeks as he fixated on the material. "How has someone more successful and handsome than me not stolen you away from me yet-"

"You are speaking absolute nonsense," You shook your head to disguise the blush that rose to your cheeks at the self demeaning compliment Arthur dished.

"No, I'm being deadly serious-" Arthur did not in fact stop. "You're so out of my league, like, I don't know how I bagged you-" 

You tried to interrupt but Arthur was a rolling boulder at this point.

"-Honestly, some days I see you before you go to work and I just don't understand - how did someone so truly beautiful end up with me?? Beautiful inside out mind you, you're the genuinely smartest person I've ever met and speak so much logic - I've never met anyone as philosophical and deep as you-"

Your heart was in your throat as you pressed your lips to Arthur's, cutting his ramblings off with the ineluctable necessity that was a kiss. You knew he was drunk - you knew he was speaking his mind, too - but you didn't want to let drunken ramblings elicit such a visceral pain in your chest from how much you truly loved your boyfriend.

No, you wanted to show your boyfriend how much you loved him and remove him from this situation where he was likely going to regret everything after a sleep at home. 

"C'mon sweetie, let's get you home now, recordings done my love," You coaxed, lifting his arm and placing it over your shoulders so that you could haul and direct him back to the car. 

"Can I say goodbye to everyone?" Arthur looked at you with the pleading puppy eyes you couldn't say no to. 

A sigh gave him the answer he needed - and he kept his arm around you as he went to wish goodbye to everyone. 

"Love you, Chip!" Arthur said as he tried to wave goodbye to the final cast member.

"COME SHOW MY YOU LOVE ME, ION BELIEVE YOU, YO-ou lying mon-grel-" Chip collapsed into the seat behind him - not passing out - simply losing balance. He laughed as his back hit the leather seat, though you were slightly more appalled as your boyfriend advanced towards the man to really show him how much he loved him.

"Arthur, nonononNONO-" You were too late to stop Arthur, as you watched your boyfriend collapse into the arms of the sitting Chippo and press his lips onto his temple with a loud kissy noise, the man behind the camera laughing as the recorded your devastation at the sight of Chip kissing Arthur - his hand dropping to the brunet's ass whilst embracing.

"Right, that's absolutely enough- come on Arthur-"

At long last, you did manage to haul Arthur up to his feet and across the pub, before Arthur decided he was sick of walking normally and wanted to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder - causing you to elicit a yelp as Arthur effortlessly picked you up and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes - his strength despite being drunk shocking you, as he still managed to walk you out of the bar without falling over or tipping you. 

You didn't even resign or tell him to put you down at this point - as long as you were going to your car, you were fine with whatever happened. You just wanted to go home and get Arthur there, too.

"You have such thick thighs my days," Arthur spoke with such a tone you couldn't tell whether he was admiring or complaining. You rolled your eyes and didn't respond, however. "I think you should sit on my face more often-"

You slapped your hand over Arthur's mouth. Silencing him so that he could walk you to the car without loudly rambling about your sex life. Hearing Freezy and Proddy's laughter told you all you needed to know about who heard Arthur's comment, too, and simply made you fall slack, giving up in Arthur's arms and just letting him carry you away and to the car which wasn't too far from the pub. 

"I'll drive-" 

You stopped Arthur pretty quickly with that one, launching him into the passengers seat and shutting the door before hopping into the drivers' seat and turning your keys, breathing a sigh of relief at the fact that you were at least going home at this point. 

Pulling out, waving at Proddy who gave a nod back and getting back onto the roads, you turned the radio onto a different frequency until loud n clear, The Smiths began playing something at a soothing pace which you listened to - withdrawing your hand from the dial.

"Can you hold my hand?" Arthur asked quietly from the seat besides you.

Your touch-loving boyfriend's request was met (because who could really deny him with that politeness n shy tone), as you let your hand intertwine with his over the centre panel. You were internally thankful that you drove an automatic car, meaning you wouldn't have to control a gearstick, and could instead let your thumb rub over the back of his hand consolingly. 

Finally, arriving back at the apartment, you managed to get Arthur up the stairs and back into your room, locking the door and thankgodFINALLY taking your heels off, breathing a sigh of relief as you slipped into your fluffy slippers instead. 

"You comin'?" You heard Arthur call from the adjacent room. You had only just slipped your stretching your calves to try and release some of that tension within the muscle when you padded across the living room to stand in the doorway of the bedroom. 

And you couldn't help but smile, observing at how cute Arthur appeared, sprawled out and half covered by duvet - his face smushed down into the pillow as he lay diagonally on the bed, looking up at you with wide doe-y eyes begging for you to come and join him. You had to cross your arms and shake your head however, making a whine fall from his lips as you spoke over his noise- "I have work to be doing, Arthur, I still have a case to be looking at from home-"

"Pleaaase, I can't sleep if you're not next to me," Arthur pleaded, rolling over so that he could look at you straight - although you could tell that his vision was obscured by the alcohol he'd drank, as he blinked drowsily and looked up with half-lidded, half-confused eyes. He really did need to sleep.

"Really Arthur - I can join you later but I need to work, and you need to sleep-"

He paused for a moment, bottom lip poutily stuck out as he absorbed your words and acknowledged them before... “Can’t you bring it here? Just... sit next to me and do it?”

And his proposition made you pause to consider it. Because of all things that could've fallen from his lips - a reasonable compromise wasn't what you were expecting. And as though Arthur could read your mind and tell that you were seriously considering at as an option, he quietly added "Just want you here with me," with such a softness and sweetness in his voice that wasn't helped as he only further persuaded you with: "I won't ask anything more - I'll be silent and I won't disturb you - promise..."

"You promise?" You repeated to get confirmation with a raised brow, knowing that you were already going to agree regardless of his answer. Sweet, obedient, drunk and needy Arthur rapidly nodded in response anyways - shuffling along the bed and straightening himself out so that you could join him in the bed.

Collecting you laptop and charger and paperwork from the other room, you put it to the side of the room and stripped out of your work clothes - changing into some comfortable sweater and pair of shorts (whilst Arthur watched in silence - just appreciating the fact that he was blessed enough to have that view) and turning the lights off - creating a darkness that'd let Arthur get his rest and instead turning your bedside lamp on so that you could still work.

You sidled into the bed, setting your laptop on your lap and turning the brightness all the way down - getting ready for some work that'd put your eyes under incredibly unhealthy strain.

Arthur sweetened the strain as he got closer beneath the duvet, shuffling from his side over to yours and letting his hand come to your leg that was splayed out at his level - wrapping his arm around it and shuffling so that he was close to it - holding your thigh as if spooning it in replacement for your body whilst you were busy working.

"So soft n perfect.." He mumbled, bringing his head close to rest against it too, making a warm smile grace over your lips as you found yourself distracted - looking down at how cute he looked - a mess of brown fluffy hair, pawing and so cutely cuddled up to your thigh. 

"You're a clingy drunk, you know that?" Your voice was velvet soft and quiet as your hand came down to his head - fingers interweaving between his locks and coming to massage his scalp and play with his already-messy hair.

“Not clingy,” He protested sleepily, his lips brushing over your knee as he kept his arms firmly around your leg. “Just...obsessed. With...these perfect, thick, pillowy thighs...”

"Arthur," You chuckled slightly at his lack of filter. "God, you are such a sweetheart.."

Arthur let out a noise of appreciation - something between a hum and a fulfilled sigh - and you continued looking down at him and playing with his hair until you felt his breathing slow against your leg - eyes relax and close while soft snores fell from his lips. Asleep.

"Goodnight, cutie," You whispered at his sleeping body - knowing he wouldn't be able to hear it, nor feel your lips on the back of your head as you ducked down and pressed your lips to his temple, admiring how innocent and cute he looked with his face smushed up to the side of your leg - lip caught slightly against the flesh and keeping his mouth just slightly ajar, causing those soft little snores to fall from his lips.

Even if you acted like he was a heavy load whilst drunk, you couldn't pretend you didn't absolutely love seeing him all soft and domestic like this <3

just this once boys

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[octaneink]

Valentines Day Fics Posted

(for Will and James)

I posted the Valentines Day Fics for them! I hope people like it ❤️

James - Chocolates and Risotto

Will - Let me be honest

Apologies if the one for James was a bit rushed. I wanted to post the two of them today for my lunch break because I won't be free this evening, unfortunately I'll be doing some overtime.

So that means that the one I was planning on making for Harry will be released this weekend!

I hope everyone has a good day! 😘💕

[octaneink]

Chocolates and Risotto

James Marriot x Fem!Reader

Summary : James and the Reader spend Valentines Day together making dinner Warnings : None Notes: Happy Valentines Day All 😚💕

You had to give James credit—he really tried. When he suggested cooking a fancy Valentine’s Day dinner together, you were sceptical. You’d seen the state of his skills in the kitchen during his YouTube videos with Will, and let’s just say it wasn’t exactly Gordon Ramsay-approved. But James was so excited, scrolling through TikTok and showing you recipes with names like “Decadent Truffle Risotto” and “Molten Chocolate Lava Cake.” He even joked about how Will would probably laugh at them if he saw this. “Good thing it’s just us tonight,” he said, grinning. “No cameras, no pressure—just you, me, and Otto.”

The plan was simple: James would handle the main course (garlic butter shrimp and risotto), and you’d take care of dessert (the lava cakes). He was optimistic, as always, convinced that this would be the perfect Valentine’s Day. “It’ll be fun!” he said, waving a wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton. “And if it goes wrong, we’ll just order takeout and laugh about it. Low-key vibes only.”

Things started falling apart almost immediately. James, deciding to multitask, had shrimp sizzling in one pan, risotto bubbling in another, and a TikTok tutorial playing on his phone—though he swore it was just for reference. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was already a mess, flopping into his eyes as he stirred the risotto with one hand and flipped the shrimp with the other. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, so focused yet so clearly out of his depth. He looked up at you, catching your gaze, and flashed that lopsided grin of his. “Chef Marriott at your service,” he said, giving a mock bow with the wooden spoon. “Tonight’s menu: chaos with a side of romance.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to your own task—the chocolate lava cakes. Or at least, what was supposed to be chocolate lava cakes. The batter was supposed to be thick and glossy, but yours was more like soup, pooling in the bottom of the mixing bowl. You frowned, stirring it again, as if that would somehow fix it. “I think I messed up the measurements,” you admitted, holding up the bag of flour that had somehow exploded all over your apron. 

James glanced over, his nose wrinkling as he tried to stifle a laugh. “You’ve got a little… everywhere,” he said, gesturing to your face. You reached up to brush it off, only realising too late that your hands were covered in chocolate. James burst out laughing, and you couldn’t help but join in, the sound of his laughter filling the kitchen like music.

The moment was interrupted by the risotto, which had started to bubble ominously. James turned back to it, poking at the glutinous mess with his spoon. “Why is it so… gluey?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You leaned over his shoulder, peering into the pot. “Maybe you’re supposed to add more wine?” you suggested, grabbing the bottle of white wine from the counter. Without waiting for his response, you poured a generous glug into the pot.

The risotto hissed angrily, releasing a cloud of steam that set off the smoke alarm. The shrill beeping filled the room, and James leapt into action, waving a tea towel at the detector like a man possessed.

“Okay, maybe we should’ve just ordered food in,” he said, laughing as the alarm finally stopped. He turned to you, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the effort, and shrugged. “But hey, at least we’re doing this together, right?”

As if things weren’t chaotic enough, Otto decided to make his grand entrance. He had been suspiciously quiet up until now, but the chaos in the kitchen was clearly too tempting to resist. With a graceful leap, he landed on the counter, his tail swishing as he eyed the sizzling shrimp with predatory interest.

“Otto, no!” James yelled, lunging to intercept him, but the cat was too quick.

Otto darted toward the pan, his paw swiping at the edge and sending a few shrimp tumbling to the floor. James moved like lightning, scooping Otto up just as the cat was about to pounce on his prize. “Oh no, you don’t,” James said, holding Otto at arm’s length as the cat squirmed indignantly. “You’re not ruining dinner. Well, not any more than we already have.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as James carried Otto out of the kitchen, setting him down in the bedroom with a stern look. “Stay,” he said, pointing a finger at the cat, who blinked up at him with an expression of pure innocence. “Yeah, right,” James muttered, shaking his head as he walked back to you.

By this point, the kitchen looked like a war zone. The shrimp was overcooked, the risotto was gluey, and the chocolate lava cakes were still a soupy mess. But somehow, none of it mattered. James reached out, pulling you into his arms, and you leaned into him, your laughter mingling with his. “We’re a disaster,” you said, resting your head against his chest.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’re our disaster.” And at that moment, with the kitchen in shambles, the smell of burnt risotto in the air, and Otto’s paw prints trailing down the hallway, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

After the chaos in the kitchen, James declared the cooking experiment officially over. “Takeout it is,” he said, grabbing his phone and scrolling through the delivery app. You nodded in agreement, leaning against the counter as you surveyed the mess.

The risotto was still bubbling, the shrimp were beyond saving, and the chocolate lava cakes were now a solidified puddle in the bottom of the pan. Otto, meanwhile, had been banished to the bedroom after his shrimp-stealing antics, though you could hear him meowing indignantly from behind the closed door.

“I’ll clean this up while you order,” you offered, grabbing a roll of paper towels and a sponge. James shook his head, stepping closer and taking the sponge from your hand.

“Nope,” he said firmly. “We’re in this together, remember? I’ll help.” He grabbed a green food bin bag and started scooping up the ruined risotto, while you wiped down the counters and mopped up the olive oil. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but there was something oddly comforting about working side by side, laughing as you tried to scrub flour and chocolate off the counter.

By the time the doorbell rang, the kitchen was mostly clean—or at least, clean enough. James went to answer it, returning with a bag of burgers and chips from your favourite spot. The smell was heavenly, and your stomach growled in anticipation. “I think this is the best decision we’ve made all night,” you said, grabbing plates and napkins.

James set the bag down on the counter and started unpacking the food, placing the burgers and chips onto plates with a surprising amount of care. “We’re doing this properly,” he said, handing you a plate. “Blanket on the floor, candles, the whole vibe.” You raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, helping him spread a blanket across the living room floor. He lit a single candle—carefully placed out of Otto’s reach—and turned off the overhead lights, leaving the room bathed in a soft, flickering glow.

You sat down cross-legged on the blanket, balancing your plate on your lap. James grabbed a couple of sodas from the fridge and joined you, sitting close enough that your knees brushed. “Okay, this is way better than risotto,” he said, taking a bite of his burger. You laughed, nodding in agreement. The food was simple, but it was exactly what you needed after the disaster in the kitchen. The chips were perfectly salty, the burgers were juicy, and the soda fizzed as you popped open the cans.

As you ate, James started making up a silly song about your failed dinner, his voice warm and teasing. “We tried to cook, but it went up in smoke, now we’re eating burgers and telling bad jokes…” You laughed, leaning against him as he sang.

The sound of his voice, the flicker of the candle, the way his arm brushed against yours—it all felt so perfect, so right. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of affection for him. “You’re such a dork,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

He grinned, setting his plate aside and shifting closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to savour every second of this moment. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, but I’m your dork,” he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, as if the words were meant for you and you alone. His eyes held yours, warm and steady, and there was something in his gaze that made your breath catch—something tender, something unspoken, something that felt like home.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if he was trying to imprint the moment into your skin. Then he moved to your cheek, his breath warm against your face, and you could feel the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as they brushed against yours. When he finally kissed you, it was slow and sweet, a gentle exploration that made your heart flutter in your chest. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, and you melted into him, the taste of salt and fries still on his lips, mingling with the faint sweetness of the soda he’d been drinking.

For a moment, the world outside the two of you faded away. The flicker of the candle, the soft hum of the refrigerator, even Otto’s occasional indignant meows from the bedroom—it all seemed to dissolve into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in a bubble of warmth and quiet intimacy. His other arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. It was a kiss that felt like a promise, like a thousand unspoken words, like the kind of moment you’d want to remember forever.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he smiled. “You know,” he said, his voice low and a little rough, “I think this might be my favourite Valentine’s Day ever.” His thumb brushed against your cheek again, and you could feel the sincerity in his words, the way they wrapped around you like a blanket.

You smiled, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “Even with the burnt risotto and Otto’s shrimp heist?” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, the sound soft and warm, and pressed another quick kiss to your lips. “Especially because of that,” he said. “It’s us. Messy, chaotic, perfect us.”

Just then, a particularly loud meow came from the bedroom, followed by the sound of Otto pawing at the door. James glanced toward the hallway, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, mate, hold on,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from you. He stood and walked over to the bedroom, opening the door just enough for Otto to slip through. The cat strutted into the living room, his tail held high, as if he hadn’t just been banished for causing chaos. He sniffed at the empty plates, clearly unimpressed, before jumping onto the couch and curling up in his favourite spot.

James sat back down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Otto’s soft purring filled the room, blending with the flicker of the candle and the warmth of James’s embrace. It wasn’t the Valentine’s Day you’d planned, but it was perfect in its own way—messy, chaotic, and utterly, completely yours.

How did people find this? I hope it was okay and hit a craving for something on Valentines Day.

[octaneink]

Let me be honest

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : The Reader and Will go on a date on Valentines and end it on a promise for the future Warnings: None (Reader wears a dress so its more feminine coded) Notes: Happy Valentines Day All 😚💕

The soft hum of the city outside your flat window was a distant backdrop to the flurry of excitement buzzing inside you. Tonight was Valentine’s Day, and Will had promised it would be special. You’d been dating for just over two years, and every moment with him felt like a new adventure. His humour, his kindness, his unwavering support—it all made you fall for him harder every day.

But tonight… tonight felt different.

There was a nervous energy in the air, a quiet anticipation that made your heart race and your palms tingle. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but the way Will had been acting all week—smiling to himself, stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking—hinted that something big was coming.

You stood in front of your mirror, adjusting the hem of your dress for what felt like the hundredth time. It was a deep red, something you’d bought specifically for the occasion, and it hugged your figure perfectly. The fabric shimmered faintly under the soft glow of your bedroom light, and you smoothed your hands over it, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. Your heart raced as you glanced at the clock.

Will would be here any minute.

A knock at the door startled you, and you took a deep breath, your reflection staring back at you with wide, excited eyes. You smoothed your hair one last time, touched up your lipstick, and walked to the door, your heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. When you opened it, there he was, standing in the doorway with a bouquet of roses in one hand and that boyish grin you loved so much on his face. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, his hair slightly messy in that way that made him look effortlessly handsome. The scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy—wafted toward you, and your breath hitched.

“Hey, you,” he said, his voice warm and inviting, like a blanket on a cold night. His eyes swept over you, and for a moment, he seemed speechless. “You look… wow. Just wow.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, a blush spreading across your skin as you took the roses from him. Their sweet fragrance filled the air, mingling with the scent of his cologne. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Will stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed against your cheek. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively, your heart fluttering at the way his eyes softened as he looked at you. There was something in his gaze—something tender and unspoken—that made your stomach twist with anticipation.

“Ready for our date?” He asked, his voice low and warm, like the flicker of a candle flame.

“More than ready,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened. You reached for your coat, but Will was already there, holding it open for you. His hands brushed against your shoulders as he helped you into it, and you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something electric.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He said, his voice soft but firm, like he wanted to make sure you heard every word. “Like, properly stunning. I don’t tell you that enough.”

You laughed, the sound light and breathless. “You tell me all the time.”

“Not enough,” he insisted, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. “I could tell you every day for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you squeezed his hand, your heart swelling with affection. There was something about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world—that made you feel seen, cherished, and utterly adored.

“Come on,” he said, his grin returning as he tugged you gently toward the door. “I’ve got a whole night planned, and I’m not about to let you freeze in this hallway.”

You laughed again, the sound echoing in the small space as you followed him out into the night. The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed. Will’s hand was warm in yours, his presence a steady anchor as he led you to the car. He opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you slid into the passenger seat. The gesture was small, almost unconscious, but it made your heart skip a beat.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, you glanced at him, taking in the way the streetlights cast shadows across his face. He looked…nervous, almost. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, and he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, like he was trying to gauge your reaction to something.

“What?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he said, feigning innocence, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Like you’re planning something,” you replied, narrowing your eyes playfully. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” he asked, his tone teasing as he pulled away from the curb.

“That look you get when you’re about to do something ridiculous,” you said, laughing. “Like the time you tried to recreate that football trick and nearly knocked over the coffee table.”

“Hey, that was a masterpiece,” he said, grinning. “And for the record, I’m not planning anything ridiculous. Tonight’s all about you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached over to squeeze his hand. “I don’t need anything fancy, you know. Just being with you is enough.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, well, you deserve fancy. And tonight, I’m going to spoil you rotten.”

The restaurant Will had chosen was cosy and intimate, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The soft murmur of other diners blended with the gentle clinking of cutlery, creating a soothing backdrop to the evening. A small vase with a single red rose sat in the centre of your table, its petals velvety and perfect, and the flickering candlelight reflected in Will’s eyes as he smiled at you from across the table. His gaze was soft, almost reverent, and it made your heart skip a beat.

“So,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “How’s your day been?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You saw me like two hours ago, Will.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear about your day,” he insisted, his tone playful but sincere. His fingers traced the stem of his wine glass, his attention fully on you. “Did anything exciting happen? Did you finally beat me to the last slice of pizza? Or, I don’t know, discover a new flavour of tea that’s life-changing?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Nothing that exciting,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “But I did find that scarf I thought I’d lost. You know, the one you got me for my birthday?”

Will’s eyes lit up, and he grinned. “The blue one? The one you said made you look like a ‘fancy librarian’?”

“Exactly,” you said, laughing. “Turns out it was buried under a pile of laundry. I’m starting to think my flat is just a black hole for missing things.”

“Or,” Will said, raising an eyebrow, “you’re just really good at losing stuff. Remember that time you lost your keys for a week, and they were in the fridge the whole time?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I told you to never bring that up again.”

“And I told you I’d never let you live it down,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s too good of a story. I’m saving it for our wedding speech.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you peeked at him through your fingers. “Our wedding speech, huh? That’s awfully confident of you.”

Will shrugged, his expression mock-serious. “What can I say? I’m a man with a plan.”

You felt your cheeks flush, and you looked down at your plate, suddenly shy. “Stop it,” you said, laughing. “You’re going to make me blush.”

“Good,” he said, his tone teasing but sincere. “You’re cute when you blush.” You could see his eyes soften as he watched you.

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Will had a way of making you feel seen, appreciated, and utterly adored, and it was one of the things you loved most about him.

The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with him. You talked about everything and nothing—the ridiculous video he’d posted earlier that week, the time he’d accidentally spilt coffee on his keyboard during a live stream, and the inside jokes that only the two of you understood. His laughter was infectious, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by the way his eyes lit up when he smiled.

When the food arrived, it was as delicious as the company. The plates were artfully arranged, each dish a masterpiece of flavour and presentation. You shared bites of each other’s meals, stealing a fry from his plate and feeding him a forkful of your pasta. Will’s hand found yours across the table again, his fingers intertwining with yours as he told you about the Valentine’s Day surprise he’d been planning for weeks.

“So,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Remember that time we went to that arcade, and you absolutely destroyed me at air hockey?”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the time I beat you six games in a row? Yeah, I remember. You were pouting for hours.”

Will groaned, shaking his head. “I was not pouting. I was… strategising.”

“Sure you were,” you said, laughing. “Is that why you kept muttering ‘this is rigged’ under your breath?”

“Okay, first of all, it was rigged,” he said, his tone mock-indignant. “And second of all, I’ve been practicing. I’m ready for a rematch.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Oh, really? And when exactly are we having this rematch?”

Will’s grin turned mischievous, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s the surprise. But let’s just say… you might want to bring your A-game.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a rush of excitement. Will had a way of making even the simplest things feel magical, and you couldn’t wait to see what he had planned.

As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—his latest video ideas, the ridiculous memes he’d found online, and concerts you were thinking of going to. His laughter filled the room, rich and warm, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled.

When the dessert menu arrived, Will insisted on ordering something decadent to share. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “We’re legally required to eat chocolate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine, but only if you promise not to eat all the whipped cream.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning. “But no promises if you steal all the chocolate sauce.”

After dinner, Will suggested a walk, his hand finding yours as you stepped out into the cool night air. The city was alive with the soft glow of streetlights, their golden halos reflecting off the slick pavement. The occasional burst of laughter from passersby echoed in the distance, but the world felt quiet, almost still, as if it were holding its breath just for the two of you. It was chilly, but you didn’t mind. Will wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you nestled into his side, the warmth of his body shielding you from the cold. You felt safe and cherished in his embrace.

“Where are we going?” you asked, glancing up at him. The faintest hint of a smile played on his lips, and his eyes sparkled with mischief under the soft light of the streetlamps.

Will smirked, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly. “It’s a surprise.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “A surprise, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Depends,” he said, his tone teasing. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” you replied without hesitation, and the way his smile softened at your words.

He led you through the winding streets, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm as you walked. The city seemed to fade away, the noise and chaos replaced by the quiet intimacy of the moment. Will’s hand slid down to intertwine with yours, his fingers warm and steady against your skin. Occasionally, he’d glance at you, his eyes lingering as if he were memorising the way you looked under the soft glow of the night.

After a few minutes, he turned down a narrow path, and you found yourself standing at the entrance of a small park you’d never noticed before. It was tucked away between two buildings, hidden from the bustling streets, and it felt like stepping into a secret world. The entrance was framed by an arch of twinkling fairy lights, their delicate glow casting a magical aura over the space. The trees inside were strung with more lights, their branches shimmering like constellations brought down to earth. The path ahead was illuminated by lanterns, their soft light guiding the way.

“Will, this is beautiful,” you breathed, your eyes wide as you took in the sight. The air was crisp and cold, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the warmth of Will’s hand in yours and the way your heart raced with anticipation.

He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I’m glad you like it. Come on.”

He led you deeper into the park, the crunch of snow beneath your feet the only sound breaking the silence. The world felt still, as if time had paused just for the two of you. The fairy lights above cast a soft, golden glow, and the air was filled with the faint scent of pine and winter. You could feel Will’s eyes on you as you walked, his gaze steady and warm, and when you glanced up at him, he was already looking at you, his expression soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

When you reached a small clearing, Will stopped and turned to face you. His hands found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he took a deep breath. His expression was open, vulnerable, and his eyes searched yours as if he were trying to find the words to say what was in his heart.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “This past year with you has been… incredible. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. And tonight, I just… I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your heart swell with emotion. Will reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook, its edges worn and slightly crumpled. You recognised it as the one he’d been scribbling in for weeks, always hiding it whenever you walked into the room. He opened it to a page filled with sketches and notes—a house, a map with places circled, and little doodles of the two of you. There were notes in the margins, his messy handwriting detailing plans and dreams, and your eyes welled up as you realised what it was.

“I know it might sound crazy,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly, “but… I want all of this with you. A home, trips to places we’ve never been. I want to keep building this life with you. What do you think?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at him, your mind racing. This wasn’t a proposal, but it felt just as significant—a promise of a future together, one filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities. The notebook in his hands was more than just paper and ink; it was a testament to the life he wanted to build with you, a life he’d been dreaming about and planning for weeks.

“Will…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This is… everything. I want all of that with you too.”

He let out a breath you didn’t realise he’d been holding, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you into a hug. His heart beat steadily against your chest, and you could feel the tension in his body melt away as he held you close.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as tears streamed down your cheeks. “I can’t wait to see what our future looks like.”

Will pulled back just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his touch so tender it made your heart ache. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had spilled onto your cheeks. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a quiet promise whispered between you. His lips were warm against yours, moving with a gentle certainty that left you breathless. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was a moment suspended in time, a silent declaration of everything he felt but couldn’t put into words.

When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cold night air. His eyes stayed closed for a moment, as if he were savouring the feeling of you, and when they opened, they were filled with so much love it took your breath away. The twinkling lights above reflected in his gaze, making them shimmer like stars, and you felt as though you were falling into them, lost in the depth of his affection.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with emotion. His thumbs traced the curve of your cheeks, his touch feather-light, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held on too tightly. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m never letting you go.”

Your heart swelled, and you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, where you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. It matched the rhythm of your own, a silent reminder that the two of you were in this together, always. You tilted your head up, capturing his lips again in a kiss that was sweeter, deeper, and filled with all the love you couldn’t put into words. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Then you melted into him, your world narrowing to the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body, and the safety of his embrace.

The world around you faded away—the cold, the lights, the distant hum of the city—until it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other and the promise of forever. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a secret you’d been holding onto for too long.

Will’s smile was soft, almost reverent, as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “I love you too,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “More than anything.”

I was giggling when I wrote this! I hope people like it as much as I did making it!

[octaneink]

🌹Valentine’s Day Fics Are in the Works🌹

Hey everyone! Just wanted to drop in and say I’m (craving and) cooking up some Valentine’s Day fics for you all! (I’m a hopeless romantic...)

Will: Almost done! Just need to add a few more bits and read over things to make sure its not TOO cheesy...

James: Currently in the works—got a vague outline but that's it

Harry: I’ve got ideas brewing, but they might not be ready in time for Valentine’s Day (sorry!)

I was thinking of writing something sad/angsty (never done that) but I got really sad thinking about it and bummed myself out so that is on the back burner for now 😏

ANYWAYS... here is a snippet of the one for Will

“More than ready,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened. You reached for your coat, but Will was already there, holding it open for you. His hands brushed against your shoulders as he helped you into it, and you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something electric.

[octaneink]

arthur lowkey channeling archertv here

[octaneink]

more harold centic sdmn stuff

[octaneink]

I’m a sucker for a golf pic

[octaneink]

Confessions

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Previous: Only the memories Summary : The memory of his forehead kiss replays in her mind, soft and lingering. Did it mean anything? She can’t stop wondering, her thoughts tangled between hope and doubt. Warnings : mentioned death of a relative (breifly mentioned) Notes: Heads up for my fellow lactose intolerant folks, this gets cheesy as FUCK...enjoy 🩷

You wake to the sound of rain tapping against your bedroom window, a steady rhythm that feels almost soothing, if not for the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head. The memory of yesterday plays on a loop behind your eyelids, vivid and unrelenting. His thumb brushing your shoulder, slow and deliberate, as if he was afraid you might shatter under his touch. His quiet patience, sitting there beside you in silence, offering nothing but his presence when words felt too heavy. And then—the press of his lips against your forehead. So soft, so fleeting, it could’ve been a trick of the mind, a figment of your sleep-deprived imagination. But it wasn’t. It was real.

You sit up, the sheets pooling around your waist as your fingers drift to the spot where he’d kissed you. It still tingles, a phantom warmth lingering like a promise you’re too afraid to fully believe in. You press your palm there, as if you could trap the feeling, keep it from fading. Was it just for comfort? The question gnaws at you, relentless. You’d replayed the moment all night, dissecting every glance, every smile, every word he’d said. Did he mean it? Did it mean something? Or was it just Will being Will—kind, thoughtful, always knowing exactly what to do to make you feel better?

You reach for your phone, the screen lighting up with the time and a handful of notifications—none of them from him. Your stomach twists, a mix of disappointment and something else you can’t quite name. You scroll through your messages anyway, half-hoping you’d missed something, but there’s nothing. Just the same group chat with the lads, a meme from James, and a reminder about the shoot today.

You toss your phone onto the bed, running a hand through your hair as a small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips. The rain outside picks up, its gentle rhythm filling the quiet of your flat like a comforting lullaby. You glance at the framed photo on your night stand—the one of you as a child, grinning with your family, so full of joy and innocence. It’s been there since you got it back, a reminder of what you’d almost lost, but also a symbol of how life has a way of bringing things full circle.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine what your grandparents would say if they were here now. You can almost hear their voices, warm and teasing, encouraging you to stop overthinking and just let yourself feel. The photo doesn’t judge you—it feels like it’s rooting for you, a silent cheerleader from the past.

You take a deep breath, the tension in your chest easing slightly as the weight of your thoughts begins to lift. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself hope. Maybe it’s okay to believe that the kiss meant something more, even if it was just a small, fleeting moment. After all, wasn’t it the little things that often meant the most? The way he’d looked at you, his eyes soft and searching, as if he was trying to tell you something words couldn’t quite capture. The way his thumb had brushed your shoulder, steady and reassuring, like an anchor in the storm of your emotions.

“Get it together,” you mutter to yourself, though this time there’s a lightness in your voice, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet hitting the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the knots in your shoulders loosen. The rain outside continues its gentle patter, a soothing backdrop to the quiet determination settling over you.

You glance at the photo on your night stand one last time, the child in the frame grinning back at you as if to say, “Go for it.” And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a flicker of excitement, a spark of anticipation for what the day might bring.

You’re reorganising the prop table, the familiar chaos of cables, mics, and random bits of equipment scattered across its surface. The rain outside has slowed to a drizzle, but the sound still filters through the walls, a steady hum that feels almost comforting. You’re lost in the rhythm of sorting—coiling cables, and testing mics—when the door swings open with a soft creak.

Will walks in, hair damp from the rain and slightly out of breath, as if he’d sprinted there. In one hand, he holds two takeaway cups, condensation beading on the sides of one—an iced coffee, you realise, his usual. In the other hand is a steaming cup, the sleeve damp from his grip. He freezes when he sees you, his hand still on the door handle, cheeks flushing pink. For a moment, he just stands there, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. Then he clears his throat, his voice louder than necessary. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you reply, suddenly hyper-aware of the three feet between you. Your heart skips a beat, the memory of his forehead kiss flooding back in vivid detail…again. You force yourself to focus on the prop table, fiddling with a mic to keep your hands busy.

He steps closer, his shoes squeaking faintly on the floor, and thrusts the steaming cup toward you. “Extra shot,” he says, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Figured you… uh… might need it.”

Your fingers brush as you take it, and the brief contact sends a jolt of warmth through you. His gaze flicks to your forehead, lingering for the briefest moment before he looks away, his throat bobbing as he swallows. You can’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple moves, the way his jaw tightens just slightly, as if he’s holding something back.

“Thanks,” you say, fighting a smile. The coffee smells rich and familiar, and you take a sip, the warmth spreading through you. It’s exactly how you like it. You glance at him, surprised. “How’d you know?”

He shrugs, his lips quirking into a half-smile as he takes a sip of his iced coffee, the straw crinkling slightly. “Lucky guess.”

Before you can respond, the door bursts open again, and James strides in, whistling a tune. He stops mid-step, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene—Will standing awkwardly close to you, the coffee in your hand, the faint blush still colouring his cheeks.

“Well, well, well,” James says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Look at Mr. Thoughtful over here! Where’s my coffee, Will?”

Will rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his expression. He grabs a sugar packet from the prop table and chucks it at James’ head with surprising accuracy. “Make your own.”

James catches the packet with a grin, holding it up like a trophy. “Oh, I see how it is. Favouritism at its finest.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Shut up, James,” Will mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words. He glances at you again, his gaze softening for just a moment before he turns back to the table, pretending to inspect a mic.

You take another sip of your coffee, the warmth settling in your chest. The room feels lighter somehow, the tension from earlier easing into something more comfortable. James starts humming again, louder this time, and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

Will looks up at the sound, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the noise of the room fading into the background. Then James claps his hands, breaking the spell.

“Alright, lovebirds,” he says, grinning. “Let’s get to work.”

Will groans, running a hand through his damp hair, but you catch the way his lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. You shake your head, turning back to the prop table, but the warmth in your chest stays.

Filming passes in a haze of stolen glances, each one carrying a quiet weight that lingers long after he looks away. It’s not just the way his eyes find yours across the room—though that alone is enough to make your pulse quicken—but the way he seems to gravitate toward you, his presence steady and grounding amidst the usual chaos of the shoot. There’s something in the way his hand lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer than it should when you pass him a prop. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there—a quiet undercurrent that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Later, during a lull in filming, you’re adjusting a camera angle when you feel his eyes on you. You look up, and he mouths, “You okay?” His brow is furrowed, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to memorise the answer. You nod, offering a small smile, but the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flip. 

James, of course, notices. He always does. Every time you and Will share a moment, no matter how small, James is there, clutching his chest and fake-swooning. “Oh, the tension!” he declares dramatically, flopping onto a nearby chair. “I can’t take it!”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn. Will just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Prat.”

Ieuan, ever the peacemaker, steps in with the next item for the video—a small, unassuming box—and shoves it into James’ hands. “Here, make yourself useful,” he says, cutting off James’ next quip. James grins, unbothered, and immediately starts inspecting the box like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, holding it up to the camera and narrating in his best documentary voice.

“And here we have… a box,” he says, his tone overly serious. “What secrets does it hold? What mysteries lie within? Stay tuned, folks, because this is about to get epic.”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he turned to face James. You smile, too, though your attention keeps drifting back to Will, the way his shoulders relax when he laughs, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

By wrap time, your nerves are frayed. The day has been a whirlwind of emotions—Will’s lingering touches, James’ relentless teasing, the constant awareness of every glance and smile. You’re packing up your things, trying to steady your breathing, when Will appears at your elbow. His sleeve is rolled up to reveal the faint tremor in his forearm, and you can’t help but notice how close he’s standing. You could smell him. 

Is that weird?

You swallow and focus when he speaks. “Walk you out?” he asks, his voice low and a little hesitant, like he’s not sure how you’ll respond.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his eyes. “Sure,” you say, your voice wobbling slightly. You sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to ignore the way your hands shake as you zip it closed.

He nods, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze never leaves yours. The set is quiet now, the crew is already heading out, and the sound of your footsteps echoes in the empty space. You walk side by side, the distance between you shrinking with every step. The rain has stopped, but the air is still damp, the scent of wet pavement mixing with the faint aroma of his cologne.

You glance at him, your pulse quickening when you catch him looking at you. He smiles, a little sheepishly, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. For the first time all day, the tension eases, replaced by a quiet, steady anticipation.

You’re halfway to the tube station when he stops under a flickering streetlamp, the amber light casting a warm glow over his face. His shoulders are tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if he’s trying to steady himself. The rain has stopped, but the air is still damp, the faint scent of wet pavement mingling with the crispness of the night.

“I need to say something,” he blurts, his voice breaking the quiet between you.

Your pulse thrums, a steady rhythm that feels impossibly loud in the stillness. “Okay,” you say softly, turning to face him fully.

He runs a hand over his face, his laugh strained, almost nervous. “The kiss. Yesterday. I didn’t—I mean, I did mean it, but not… not just as your boss, or—or a friend. Christ, I’m rubbish at this.”

You step closer, your shadow merging with his under the flickering light. The space between you feels charged, electric, like the air before a storm. “Try again,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a shaky breath, his eyes locked on yours, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or courage. “I know this isn’t… professional. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Not just today—for ages.”

The world narrows to his eyes, earnest and a little scared, like he’s baring a part of himself he’s kept hidden for too long. Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the way his words hang in the air between you, fragile and raw.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” you ask, your voice trembling.

He huffs a laugh, his grin lopsided, almost self-deprecating. “James says I’m obvious. …Am I?”

You reach for his hand, your fingers trembling as they brush against his. “Only to everyone but me,” you admit, your voice soft.

His fingers intertwine with yours, warm and sure, like they were always meant to fit there. The contact sends a shiver through you, a quiet reassurance that this is real, that he’s here, that he feels it too.

“And now?” he asks, his voice low, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again.

You rise onto your toes, your heart roaring in your ears as you close the distance between you. “Now you’re perfect,” you whisper, the words barely out before his free hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

The kiss starts soft—a question, a tentative exploration—until you loop your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He responds instantly, his other hand settling at your waist, anchoring you to him. The world falls away, the flickering streetlamp, the distant hum of traffic, the cool night air—none of it matters. There’s only him, the warmth of his lips, the way he smiles against yours, giddy and disbelieving, like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

When you finally part, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours, he whispers, “Took you long enough.”

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine, and he grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other, the weight of everything unsaid finally lifting.

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch achingly gentle. “You could never ruin this,” he says, his voice steady, certain. “You’re… you’re it for me.”

The words settle over you, warm and grounding, like the first rays of sunlight after a long night. You smile, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

“Good,” you say, your voice teasing now. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

He laughs, the sound rich and full, and pulls you into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, like a promise. The flickering streetlamp above you hums softly, casting golden light over the two of you, as if the universe itself is smiling down on this moment.

The photo of your five-year-old self sits framed on your desk, its edges slightly worn but still vibrant with the joy of that long-ago birthday. It’s nestled now among other frames—your parents’ wedding photo, your grandparents laughing on a sunlit porch, and a new addition: a snapshot of you and Will, taken just last week.

In it, you’re both grinning, his arm slung casually over your shoulders, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

You smile every time you see it, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. It’s not just the note or the photos—it’s the way they tell a story, a quiet reminder of how far you’ve come. The family you thought you’d lost, the love you thought you’d never find again, and the man who somehow managed to give you both.

I hope people like this! And its as sweet as they'd expect! I think it's becoming really obvious that I'm a romantic...😅

[octaneink]

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

[octaneink]

Come take your chance with me

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : The reader likes Will, she decides to show that she loves him in the most romantic way she can think of. Write a song dedicated to him. Now she just has to post it privately on YouTube so James can have a look at it... Right? Warnings : none (unless you count some cheesy ass writing) Notes : I have once again decided to write something based off a song that just got me in the mood! Its a bop, 10/10 would recommend. Also, I know nothing about music theory, I looked up most of this stuff on Google, I apologise if I got it wrong.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, your guitar resting against your knees, the hum of your desk lamp casting long, flickering shadows on the notebook sprawled open in front of you. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of your chair and the faint hum of the city outside your window. Your mind, however, is anything but quiet.

Will’s smile flickers in your thoughts—that easy, crooked grin that’s been haunting you for months. You can still see it so clearly: the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the way he’d leaned in close to hear you over the noise of the bar that first night, his breath warm against your ear. Focus, you chide yourself, shaking your head as if it will dislodge the memory.

The melody has been looping in your head for days, an insistent rhythm that feels like it’s woven itself into your very being. The instrumental beat, the steady thrum of the would be drums—it’s like an earworm no one else can hear, a secret soundtrack only you know. It’s there when you wake up, humming in the back of your mind as you brush your teeth. It’s there when you’re scrolling through your phone, tapping out the rhythm on your thigh. It’s there when you’re lying in bed at night, the notes swirling in the dark like fireflies you can’t catch.

But the words? The words are a mess.

“I’m lost in your eyes"

You pause, tapping your pen against the paper. I'm lost in your eyes? Too cliché. Too… obvious. But the next line comes unbidden, as if your heart has been waiting for permission to speak:

“But you’re the cool to my calm each day…”

You wince. Cool to my calm? That sounds like something you’d find on a motivational poster in a dentist’s office. You nearly scratch it out, but the rhythm of the words keeps your hand still. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest. And isn’t that what matters?

Your mind drifts back to Will. You’d met on a night out, of course. James, your best friend since college, had dragged you to some trendy sports bar downtown. “You need to get out more,” he’d insisted. “You’re turning into a hermit.”

You’d rolled your eyes but let him drag you along anyway. And there he was: Will Lenney, standing at the bar with a drink in hand, his laugh cutting through the noise like a beacon. James had introduced you, and Will had flashed you that grin—the one that makes your stomach do somersaults.

Will said your name, “Nice to meet you. James talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I hope,” you’d replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Mostly,” Will had teased, his eyes sparkling.

That had been six months ago. Six months of late-night conversations, of stolen glances, of moments that felt like they could mean something if either of you dared to say it out loud.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, your guitar resting against your knees. The chorus has been nagging at you all day, a snippet of melody that refuses to leave you alone. You strum a chord, humming under your breath.

“Honey dance with me

Come take your chance with me"

It’s catchy, you have to admit. But is it too much? Too obvious? You groan, flopping back onto your pillows. Writing a song about someone who has no idea how you feel is harder than you’d thought.

Your phone buzzes on the night stand.

Will (9:42 PM): You free this weekend? James and I are filming a collab. Thought you might want to hang after.

Your heart leaps, but you force yourself to play it cool.

You (9:43 PM): Depends. Will there be snacks?

Will (9:43 PM): Obviously. I’m not a monster.

You smile, your fingers itching to pick up the guitar again. Maybe you’ll figure out the bridge tomorrow.

Past you was clearly an optimist.

The bridge is giving you trouble. You’ve rewritten it three times already, but nothing feels right. Each attempt feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—close, but never quite there.

“Now we’ve been losing our way

A little bit more every day…”

It’s close, but something is missing. You sigh, setting the guitar aside and reaching for your coffee. The song is almost done, but the closer you get to finishing it, the more terrified you become. What if Will hears it and realises it’s about him? What if he hates you for thinking about him in that way? What if he doesn’t?

Your phone buzzes again.

James (11:15 AM): How’s the song coming?

You (11:16 AM): It’s… coming. I think. Maybe.

James (11:16 AM): You’re overthinking it. Just finish it already.

Easier said than done.

By the end of the week, the song is done. You sit back, your fingers sore and your heart pounding. You glance at the clock and groan. You have work in the morning, but there’s no way you’re sleeping now.

Instead, you grab your phone and open your messages.

You (12:07 AM): Hey, James. You awake?

The response comes almost immediately.

James (12:08 AM): Barely. What’s up?

You (12:08 AM): I wrote something. Can you look at it? Tell me if it’s too… much.

James (12:09 AM): Send it over.

You snap a picture of the lyrics and hit send, your stomach twisting as you wait for his reply.

James (12:12 AM): This is… wow.

You (12:12 AM): Wow good or wow bad?

James (12:13 AM): Wow good. It’s raw. It’s… you. Will’s going to lose his mind when he hears it.

Your breath catches. When he hears it? You hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

You (12:14 AM): I don’t know if I can let him hear it. What if he hates it? And its still not finished…

James (12:15 AM): He won’t. Trust me.

You don’t respond, your mind racing coming up with random, horrible, horrific scenarios of what or how he’d react when he heard it.  

But then you think of his smile, of the way he’d looked at you that night at the bar, and something in your chest tightens. Maybe it’s worth the risk.

The red recording light glares at you, unblinking, as if it’s judging every note, every word, every breath. You’ve been at this for hours—days, really—trying to get it right. The song is finished, but capturing it perfectly feels impossible. You’ve already done seven takes, and now you’re on your tenth. Or is it the eighteenth? You’ve lost count.

Your voice wavers on the line “murky waters, baby,” and you stop mid-verse, groaning in frustration. You hit pause on the recording software and slump back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. It’s late—way too late—but you can’t stop now. Not when you’re so close.

You glance around your home studio, a space you’ve spent years curating. The room is small but cosy, soundproofed with foam panels you and James installed last summer. Your guitar rests on a stand next to your keyboard, and your mic—a decent condenser you saved up for—sits in front of you, its pop filter catching the soft glow of the desk lamp. Your laptop screen displays the waveform of your latest attempt. It’s not terrible, but it’s not perfect.

You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and recall how to get to where you are now.

The first day is a disaster. You’re too nervous, too stiff, too aware of every little mistake. Your voice cracks on the high notes, and you keep stumbling over the words. “Honey dance with me (oh sugar)” sounds more like a question than an invitation, and you cringe every time you play it back.

You give up after the fifth take, deciding to focus on the guitar track instead. You plug in your acoustic, adjusting the mic placement until the tone is just right. You record it clean, layering in a soft strumming pattern that matches the rhythm of the song. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

By the third day, you’ve managed to record a decent vocal take. It’s not flawless, but it’s raw and honest, and you decide that’s better than perfect. You open your DAW—Digital Audio Workstation—and begin syncing the vocals with the guitar. You add subtle reverb to give it that dreamy, intimate feel, tweaking the EQ until your voice sits just right in the mix.

You play it back, your heart pounding as you listen to the chorus. 

It’s close. So close. But something’s missing.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted. Your fingers are sore from playing the guitar, your throat is raw from singing, and your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen for hours on end. But the song is finally done.

You play it back one last time, your heart in your throat. It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. It’s you.

You open YouTube, preparing to upload the video. You set it to Private, your thumb hovering over the upload button. You’re not ready for anyone to hear it—not yet. But then your phone buzzes.

Will (1:14 AM): You up?

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at the screen, your thumb slipping as you fumble to reply.

Public.

You don’t realise your mistake until it’s too late.

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on your nightstand. Groaning, you reach for it, squinting against the harsh light of the screen. The notifications are overwhelming—hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. YouTube comments, Twitter mentions, Instagram DMs. Your heart skips a beat as you open YouTube and see the number: 1.2M views.

Overnight.

Your stomach drops. You sit up, your hands trembling as you scroll through the comments.

“This is so beautiful. Who’s it for? 👀”

“The way she sings ‘your lips on mine’… I’m obsessed.”

“Who’s Will?? Someone find him!”

You freeze. The description. You’d written it in a sleep-deprived haze last night, not thinking anyone would actually see it.

“For Will.”

That’s all it said. No last name, no context. Just two words that now have the entire internet speculating.

You open TikTok, against your better judgement. The first video that pops up is a stitch of your chorus, overlaid with a clip of a random guy named Will from some obscure show. The caption reads: “Found him! This is the Will she’s singing about. #HoneyDanceWithMe”

The comments are worse.

“No way, that’s not him. She’s way too talented for that guy.”

“It’s obviously about Will Smith. She’s just being subtle.”

“Will SMITH?? Girl that man is married. She’s obviously talking about Will Stuart.”

“This song is a BOP. Also, Will better step up because this is breath taking.”

You close the app, your face burning. This is worse than you thought. 

You cradle your face and scream into your hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be private. A secret. Something you could share when you were ready—if you were ever ready.

Your phone buzzes again, and you flinch. It’s James.

James (8:57 AM): You didn’t mean to do that...right?

You (8:58 AM): NO WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT?? 

You (8:58 AM): ALSO 

You (8:58 AM): NOT HELPING!!

James (8:59 AM): Relax. It’s raw. It’s… you. Will’s been asking for your address, by the way.

Your stomach drops. Will’s been asking for your address.

You type out a response, delete it, then type it again.

You (9:00 AM): What did you tell him?

The three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.

James (9:01 AM): Relax, I didn’t give it to him. Yet.

You groan again, louder this time. This is a nightmare. A beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

By noon, you’re a wreck. You’ve avoided social media, but the texts keep coming. Friends, acquaintances, even your mum has seen the song.

Mum (12:30 PM): Pumpkin, is this about that boy you told me about? The one with the nice smile?

You groan, flopping back onto your bed. This is a disaster. You type back a quick yes and for the moment, ignored her messages.

Your phone buzzes again.

Will (12:45 PM): Hey. You okay?

You stare at the message, your heart pounding. What do you even say? Hey, sorry I accidentally wrote a song about you and posted it online. My bad.

Before you can reply, another text comes through.

Will (12:46 PM): The song’s amazing, by the way.

Your breath catches. He’s heard it. Of course, he’s heard it. It’s everywhere.

You (12:47 PM): Thanks. I didn’t mean for it to go public.

Will (12:48 PM): I know. James told me. You okay?

You’re not sure how to answer that.

The knock comes at 1:00 PM sharp. You’ve been pacing for what feels like hours, your stomach in knots, your mind racing with a thousand what-ifs. You glance at yourself in the hallway mirror—hair a mess, still in your pajamas, and a worn old hoodie, eyes wide with panic. Great. Perfect timing.

You take a deep breath, smoothing your hair as best you can, and open the door.

There he is. Will. Standing on your doorstep, his hands shoved in his pockets, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes are soft, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and warm.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You step back to let him in, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet of your hallway. The air feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

“So… the song,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You wince, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield. “Yeah. The song.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “It’s amazing. Really.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Thanks.”

He hesitates, then reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch is light, almost tentative, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “You could’ve just told me, you know,” he says, his voice soft.

You look up at him, your breath catching. “Told you what?”

He smiles, that same crooked grin that’s been haunting you for weeks. “That you feel the same way I do.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Will, I—”

But before you can finish, he steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. He murmurs your name, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything. The song said it all.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepens, sweet and slow, like honey dripping from a spoon. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the warmth of his body, the way his breath hitches when you slide your fingers into his hair.

It’s messy and imperfect, just like the song, but it’s real. It’s you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“So,” he says, his voice rough, a grin tugging at his lips. “Does this mean I get to dance with you?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you. “Shut up.”

He kisses you again, quick and playful this time. “Never.”

[octaneink]

This song gave me an idea for a fic, and while I feel dead I feel like I may as well write it to get it out of my system...😚

But yea the lyrics, plus the instruments and just the overall vibe of this is a 10/10! I wish it had more views!