#i've been lying in wait for years for someone to ask me to upload these sgjhsfks THEY'RE SO GOOD

[lenneygirl4ever]

the alchemy || Will Lenney

“where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me”

part two of THE ALCHEMY. part one here

pairing: will lenney x fem!reader

warnings & tags: friends to lovers. idiots with tension. idiots in denial. slowish burn. will pov. more will, less football. chrismd gossip bestie.

summary: after seeing the public’s reaction to your performance, you see how your fellow teammate takes to social media after the fact. causing the two of you to reach a breaking point.

a/n: hello!!! this is a long one, so grab a drink lads. thank you for your patience, im a first year college student and the last month has been hectic.

for any clarity, this is the gap between the two charity matches! :)

wc: SO MANY!!!

Recently, you haven’t been able to sleep. The thrill of the match still shocks you awake, every time there are new photos released or a new video, you are quick to engage. Slowly, videos are released from your other mates, and you eagerly tune in to see what they say.

It’s exciting. The feedback has mainly been positive, yet you still feel the uneasy flip in your stomach every time you see someone has released a video. It's all you can think about. And when you weren't thinking about football, you watched it on telly. You missed playing, the competition, the simple act of being active. It's given you a new surge of motivation, pushing you into creating.

The only downside of it all is that your phone has been buzzing with notifications today, especially. Usually, your phone mutes any notifications from social media, allowing you to not get sucked in all day. Truly, you do your best to ignore it, to ignore the increasing number you see every time you open Twitter, Instagram, or TikTok. But you're only human, and humans are quite curious.

You try not to think anything of it, occupying your time in the studio to film your own video about the charity match. You had B-roll shots, stills, and close-ups of players when you were benched. It was becoming a combination of all the things you adored, your friends, film, and football.

Once you begin to sit down to film a portion of the video, you review the brief script you had written until you feel your right pocket vibrate. Getting up to turn off the camera, you pull out your phone to see who's calling. And to your surprise, it's Chris. You slide open your phone and put it to your ear as you click the camera off.

"Do you need to tell me something?" Chris asks immediately, making your heart drop. You hadn't been hiding anything, spoke to him frequently, and were sure you didn't need to tell him anything.

"What? I don't think so, do I?" You wonder aloud. Chris groans loudly, making your phone speaker crackle in your ears. He doesn’t often text, matter of fact, Chris is a god-awful texter— and an even worse mate to call in a time of need. You could text him and he would go at least a week without responding, usually replying with “Sorry I thought I responded!”

Which makes you wonder, what could be so important that he called you first? Usually, like Simon, it was to help film, otherwise Chris would call to gossip. The boys loved gossiping, or catching up, as they would say.

"I've just seen Will's video," He starts, and you wait for him to continue, but it seems he's doing the same. "Came out a few hours ago.."

You walk in circles in the studio, a hand tapping the side of your thigh out of nerves. You knew Will was uploading his pov of the charity match sometime later in the week, but he didn't tell you exactly when. You'd be lying if you hadn't wondered what would be kept in your shared interactions, what Will said about you, and what Mikey would deliberately choose to keep in. It was a thought that had plagued your mind since Will had taken the GoPro off when you two returned to the hotel.

"Right, and what does that mean?" You huff, choking down the unease in your tone.

"Oh my god, have you seen it? You haven't, have you?" Chris exclaimed, and you could hear the small giggle he tried to stifle. "You two really are clueless, aren't you? It's ridiculous that our other mates are on Hinge actively trying to not be single, and you two do it by choice!" he joked hysterically.

“You’re a dickhead,” you cut in between his laughter, choosing to ignore the blatant comment about yours and Wills' peculiar relationship.

While Chris continues to make himself laugh, the curiosity is now starting to gnaw at you, causing you to stride over to your desk. Without another beat, your monitor is turned on, and you pull out the chair to get comfortable. You attempt to ignore his laughter as you open up YouTube, typing in Will's second channel name.

"Take a gander for me, will you? When you get the chance, of course," Chris says, and you can hear the wide grin on his face. You freeze, like you had just been caught, the mouse hovering over the thumbnail of the video. You look around the room, just to make sure you're alone.

"I suppose," you say slowly, sitting up straighter than before. Chris then goes on to talk about his latest endeavors, awful dates, video ideas, and the next time you two will see each other. Under other circumstances, you'd be happy to chat. But right now, all you wanna do is watch Wills latest video.

"Hey Chris, I gotta get back to filming this video, mate," you fib, leaning back into your chair, "I want it up by next week, and I'm the only one editing it."

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm just chatting. Let me know when you watch that video, text me," he responds politely.

"If you even get back to me-" and the phone call ends before you can even say goodbye. You furrow your eyebrows at your phone before setting it down on the desk. You mumble the title to yourself,

SIDEMEN CHARITY MATCH (First Person POV) a bit more willne • 271k views • 3 hours ago

It can’t be that bad, is what you’re trying to convince yourself. You've existed on the internet for a long time now, and there isn't anything you can't handle. Clicking on the video, your heart starts hammering in your chest. You let a few minutes roll by, holding your breath, and then you see the moment when you tapped on Will's shoulder.

"I’m literally shitting myself right now, Will," you let out, and Will watches it back with a soft smile and a tender chuckle.

“Awh poor y/n/n, she was really nervous the entire time, I felt so awful once we split up,” he says over the video.

There it is. The common burn on your face, the shiver down your spine, and the drumming of your heart against your chest. You hit the space bar, pausing the video, to cover your face in embarrassment.

Is it silly to be so riled up by a singular sentence? Are you crazy for wanting to analyze every little thing in the video? You seem to take note of everything. You notice the upturn on the corner of his lips, the way he plays with the ring on his pinky that you got for him-- a nervous tick he picked up, the shifting of his eyes down to his lap when he gets bashful. It's driving you crazy.

So, instead, you watch in complete silence for the rest of the video. It keeps you from pausing frames, reading comments, and feeling lightheaded. But you notice how the GoPro often faces where you're standing on the field, how Mikey left in the bits and pieces of you two interacting that could've easily been cut out. The small waves, subtle smiles, the hug you two shared after you had missed the goal. Half the time Will wouldn't say anything, he would just grin, reliving the moment, occasionally making small comments.

"She really is something, isn't she? Many good assists for her first match,"

and

"Look at that darlin' smile,"

Yet you didn't pause, you remained still in your seat, keeping your eyes glued to the screen as if blinking would take it away. Even though you could feel the air leave your lungs when you appeared on screen.

But then you reach the point where Will makes his goal.

You nervously bite your fingers as he celebrates, telling the audience the same thing he told you on the field, how he had never been a striker and always stayed in the back. The GoPro shot is now playing as Wills words fade into the background. The next few moments play, and it's where Will was screaming something intangible to you.

You aggressively turn up the volume all the way, turning on closed captions to be sure. Your mouse hovers over the timestamp, “most replayed,” and that's when you hear it.

"For you! I did it for you!"

It plays once, then you replay it, and then replay it again. You feel crazy. Taking in his every word, every move, was this okay? A moment that felt so raw and personal was now published for thousands to observe.

“For you! For you!” that’s what Will continues to shout at you on the pitch. And Will doesn’t say much about it, because just before was the clip of you saying he owes you a goal. But when you watch the video you feel like you’re back on the field. Chest heaving up and down, you can barely breathe, and there’s Will running at you shouting something you couldn’t make out. His skin sticking to yours as he embraces you, his hands gripping the side of your body with the proudest smile. A smile, that now says, that was for you.

Just like before, you pause the video, hands gliding through your hair. You don't finish the video. Instead, you step away from the computer and fall back onto the couch that you originally were going to film on.

Okay. It was pretty bad. You understand why your mentions have been blowing up all day and why Chris gave you a call. But it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen this before. Earlier on, you’d often get paired with any boy you came into contact with. It never got out of hand, and most of the time, you were able to ignore it, and the others would too.

But this time it was a little different. The next few days roll by and you aren't able to dodge it. The tweets, the teasing from friends, the edits, god the edits. When filming with friends you were always ready for a joke about Will to make an appearance.

And once you upload your video on the charity match, the comments are bombarded with curiosity and flood in quickly.

StarvxsmWillLoverforever Starting to see why will and y/n can't beat the dating allegations.. 349 likes 17 replies

marriottxmorgan Literally!!!

Admittedly, you feel a little crazy for reading the comments to see if others are picking up on what’s happening. You don’t need to rely on the audiences validation on what’s going— but it does make you feel a little more sane.

Despite it all, Will doesn't bring it up to you, nor does he make any insinuation that he knows about it when he comes by your flat one afternoon.

“Are you coming tomorrow night?” Will asks over your shoulder, his breath fanning the tips of your ears. You turn your head away from the show you're watching and lean back to create space. A chill is sent down your spine as the hairs on your arm stand. He leans over the couch, the sun casting shadows to create definition in the muscles on his arms. Your cat, calamari, follows him, weaving between his arms and purring. A fortuitous combination that focused all the things you loved in one home.

“To what? Watch you prats drink and make a fool of yourselves?” you bantered, turning your body fully to face him. "I have somewhere to be the next morning,"

Arthur mentioned how the lads were hitting the pubs over the weekend, but it seemed he failed to mention that you were meant to accompany them. Will shrugs, arms crossing over one another to lean closer to you.

“Chris said you would,” he insisted, and you could see the smile he was trying to hide. You roll your eyes and lean back onto the couch as Will picks up the feline, cradling her in his arms.

“Why does everyone keep saying I’ll do things before talking to me?” you wondered aloud.

“Because you always end up doing them darlin,” Will teases, kissing your pet before settling down in the open space next to you with Calamari in his lap. "I think Arthur owes Chris twenty quid if you go,"

The silence stretches, reminding you that you're playing house again with Will. There’s leftover takeout on the table, his coat lazily hanging off a chair, and the worn out ball you both had been passing around. The breeze that comes from the open window cools the burn on your face and clears the air of any tension. Your eyes sweep the room, before landing back on Will whose attention is on Calamari.

You awe silently, Will has a habit of adoring every pet he comes into contact with. And often, they end up loving him just as much. Without hesitation, you grab your phone, snapping a picture to save for later.

“I guess I don’t have anything else going on,” you say simply, tucking your phone back under your thigh.

“You don’t disappoint,”

Will stays for several more hours after that, watching telly with you, playing with mari, he watches as you write formal emails, and listens to your phone calls with your manager.

Between all this, you posted the photo of Will and Mari. No caption, no music, no tags, just the photo. You hadn’t thought much of it, a simple photo that was cute. Yet, Wills face wasn’t in it, just the wave of of his hair and the ring on his pinky finger— you weren’t trying to hide him. Either way, it didn’t stop your audience from finding out who it was.

So the hours before you were finally going to get some sleep, were left with you refreshing your phone.

“Fucks sake,” you mumble under your breath, before turning off your phone frustratedly for the night and going to bed.

The music is loud, but the chatter is more audible. You hesitate, not wanting to leave the solace of the cool air. Bars made you anxious, so did large crowds of people, and the only anecdote to that right now—was to drink.

You push open the door, immediately being met with loud cheers as older couples watch the game on the multiple TVs that are displayed. You take a second look at the location you were sent, and you seemed to be in the right place.

Slipping around groups, and bumping into couples, you eventually end up slamming into a familiar face.

“Y/N! Thought you weren’t coming for a second there, mate!” Chris steadies you, yelling over Queen playing on the big speakers. Fixing the pieces of hair that got caught in your lipgloss, you give a shy smile.

“I got wrapped up in editing,”

“We’ve got to get you an editor,” Chip chimes in, appearing with the rest of the lot. You roll your eyes in response, eyeing him.

"Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively, crossing your amrs over one another. “Where’s Sabina?”

"She was knackered and didn't know if you were coming or not! I'll text her, tell her you are thinking of her," he responds politely, pulling out his phone to text his girlfriend. Gaze sweeping the group, you count six men, minus Will, and that’s when reality to hits you—

"This is awful! I'm stuck babysitting you blokes all night, again," you express, the palms of your hands pressing against your eyes.

"Oh we're not all bad," a voice comes from behind you, warmth radiating on your back. And without even turning around, you know it's Will. One of his hands leans against the bar, outstretching infront of you, while the other holds a half empty glass. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder, and Will is looking down at you, head slightly tilted with a small grin.

It's suffocating, his eyes on you, yours on his, and everybody elses on the both of you. It feels more intimate than when Will has fallen asleep in your bed after a quiet evening. This is a public display, both of you slotting together like pieces in a puzzle, your back pressing into his chest accidentally.

"And when you end up singing down the street and getting carried by George later, tell me that," He laughs lightly, breath fanning your face with tequila and mint. He still has the same smile that looked at you, and only you, with adoration.

"Another pint, anyone?” Stephen asks.

“Oi! Shots in celebration!” Cal insists instead.

“We could just do both, really,” you offer, and the rest seem to rally at the suggestion.

"Brilliant idea,"

The lot of you kill more time with conversations about formula 1, filming, football, and more importantly, shots. You could feel the music in your feet, sending shock waves to your racing heart. The pub continued to get more crowded as time went on, allowing you to sneak away to use the bathroom for a moment of silence and peace. The liquor you drank burned your throat and sat heavy in your stomach, while it eased your anxiety and loosened your joints, it was making you impulsive.

There’s surprisingly no line, and your out in no time, fixing your smudged mascara in the foggy mirror. You reach for your purse, only to realize you don't have it, and you also don't have your phone. Quickly, or as quickly as you can handle, you move out of the bathroom and into the crowded hall.

You must've left it at the booth, or maybe outside when you needed fresh air, or maybe by the pool table? You strain your neck, going on your tip toes to sweep the room. Once, twice, and then your eyes fall on Will. He's on his phone, and theres a black bag that hangs on his shoulder.

You feel a sense of relief wash over, but also your heart skip a beat.

“William, I think you have something of mine,” You say loudly, drawing his attention away from his phone, down to you.

“What? This? I have one of these myself,” he says jokingly, sliding the purse off his arm and onto the counter next to you both. He then digs in his pant pocket, fishing out your phone and sliding it next to your purse. Under the awful lights, his hair is shinning and freshly washed, the hair near his ears is short meaning that it was newly cut.

“You look better without those hats,” you observe aloud. Your hand reaches and brushes through his hair, ruffling it, “Have you ever considered a mullet? You’d suit one,”

Will tilts his head, like a puppy, his eyes big and bright— “Noted,” and only now, you notice how the rest of the lads had scattered, and Will was by himself. You look over your shoulder, then reaching on your tiptoes to search for the boys.

“Were you waiting for me?” You observe, even though you meant to only think that. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

Will shrugs, trying to hide the small smile that dared to creep on his face.

“Kinda,”

"You can't kinda wait for someone,"

"I was going to wait for you anyway, but then you left your bag near the pool table, gave me a good excuse." Will's gaze swept the room— their friends nearing on the edge of being plastered, singing and talking to strangers. He was searching for something, not someone, but something else.

Grabbing your attention, the bartender slings two pints your way, "For the couple," he winks, making your face burn. You both don’t say anything at first, the atmosphere shifting to try to mold to both of your comforts.

The air had changed, suddenly gotten so dry and tight that it made Will's body stiffen. Ignoring the comment, Will grabs the glass and inspects it before taking a small sip.

“Are you.. seeing what people are saying?” Will asks as you grab the glass left unattended. "About us,"

His voice was low, eyes fixed somewhere just passed your shoulder, like looking at you directly might unravel something you both aren't ready for.

You shift uncomfortably, of course you did. How could you not? Every day since Will posted the video, when Ieuans' photos were released of both of you, last night's post— you’d been getting tagged in edits, clips, everything. The question was big, pointed, and unexpected.

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few things,” you lie, hiding your unease by squeezing the class tighter.

The look on Wills face, you’ve seen it before. When editing software crashes, or when an unplanned event happens during a video, this time it’s a little different. There’s tension in his brows, his jaw isn’t clenched, instead theres doubt, uncertainty, that strains him.

“It’s okay, Will, I swear it doesn’t bother me.” you reassure, “Unless it.. it uh, bothers you, of course—“

“No! No, that isn’t, no, it doesn’t bother me at all,” he sputters earnestly. Will's eyes meet yours—guarded but still steady—before clamping his mouth shut. Holding back on the words dancing on his tongue.

"Okay," You slowly nod, as if you’re still processing it as you’re responding. You should leave it at that, finish your drink and head back towards the group— “Then why did you bring it up?”

What did they put in the liquor tonight?

In all the time you've known Will, he's not a good liar. He’s also not good at hiding what he’s feeling on his face. His tongue presses against the inside of his bottom lip, face twisting to avoid an awkward grin.

“I thought it would make you uncomfortable,” he mutters, his eyes darting down to look at the foam in his glass. You shift, hesitantly moving closer to Will to capture his attention.

“What? No, it’s never made me uncomfortable before. Should it?” You ask, hand grazing his forearm. Which makes Will look at you before he shrugs, quiet and shy, similar to when you first met him.

"I've seen what it's done to other people, it could have a horrible ending,"

“Doesn’t have to,”

“But it could,”

“That stuff doesn't change anything, we're still..." You begin defensively, before the weight of your words slowly starts to settle. "..where we are,”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, the adrenaline bleeding out of your system. You don’t pick up on the shock on Wills face at first, but after a beat of silence you realize the depth of what you just said. Slowly, you swallow the sip from your drink, giving you enough time to possibly save yourself.

But you don’t say anything.

You both stare at each other incredulously.

“Well, where are we, y/n?" Will probes. He can see it now, the look on your face, the shock, the stature of your posture, the mistake it was saying that outloud. You know he’s asking because he already has an answer in his head, but he wants you to reaffirm it. You know Will, and Will knows you, it’s inescapable.

Again, the silence stretches, but not comfortably like it was the night before in your living room. This time it’s heavy, thick with anticipation.

Even with the loud chatter in the pub, it makes your ears ring. You’re convinced you two are the only ones not talking. The look on his face says he’s waiting for you to say something else, but you don’t. You swallow and lick the dry cast on your lips, being the first to break eye contact. Breaking the string tying you two together at this moment.

“Y/n, be honest with me—”

“Hello! What are we standing around for? We’re doing karaoke in the back, George has already had one too many as you can tell,” Chris comes over, his hands clasp Wills shoulders from behind. Chris looks at you first, and then glances to Will, noting the two of you saying nothing. Chris quirks an eyebrow, mouthing something along the lines of “Bad time?”

“Stop sitting around and flirting, will ya? At least when George flirts with him, he shares,” Stephen says teasingly, comes up to join you lot. He doesn’t note the tension between the two of you, or he totally does and just doesn't care. Both of which are completely plausible answers.

“Right, I’ll come on over,” You affirm quickly, seeing this as your only out of the hole you dug yourself into. You give one last glance to Will, and his face is twisted. His eyebrows furrow together, and his lips are slightly parted, it’s a look that reads we’re not done.

But you give him a pleading look that says not right now. 

…⚽️

Will doesn’t say much for the next two hours. He lingers in the back of the group, occasionally sipping on his drink or checking the time on his phone. And you try your best not to stare, knowing that if you look his way— he’ll already be looking at you. He does eventually join the others for karaoke, obnoxiously singing and joining in on music that is playing while you all walk to the next place.

It’s left a pit in your stomach. Knowing that the next time you and Will are alone, you’ll have to be the rawest form of yourself. The part that you’ve been desperate trying to repress and lock away. You’ve never spoken much about how you really feel, afraid that if you start, you’ll never stop. Your feelings for Will are like an oil spill, a match could be dropped and everything would be caught on fire.

You can feel it, the anxiety, it started at your toes and it’s slowly crept it’s way up your torso. The walls are closing in and time is escaping. All because Will doesn’t speak to you, his fingers tapping the table rhythmically, his leg bouncing up and down causing friction to the table. You needed to talk now, even if it was going to ruin you.

Strategically, you get up from the table with a rather forced smile.

“I think it’s time for me to go home fellas,” you announce just after you all had arrived at a new pub. You had been to three pubs already, downed 4 shots, a tequila soda, a couple pints, and a dirty martini. Your shoes were sticking to the wood floors, phone on the verge of dying, and you were tired of having to hover while using the public restrooms.

“Oh not yet, y/n! The night is still young,” George teasingly pleads, and when he leans over to pull you in for a hug you can smell the liquor on his breath. Your nose wrinkles as you pat his back, giving him a small shove after. Unlike Will, it wasn’t as endearing .

“You are so hammered,” you comment, the interaction making the group laugh.

“You aren’t hammered enough,” Cal counters, leaning over to offer you his drink, to which you decline. His eyes are glossed over, and he has this lopsided grin that reads trouble.

“Take care of him won’t you?” You say, pointing at Stephen who shakes his head in response. Regardless, he grabs Cal, and shakes him.

“You stupid, fuckin idiot,” Stephen mutters to Cal, taking the glass between his hands and smelling it. His nose twitches, yet he still takes a small swig, coughing after the fact.

“Drinkin vodka that tastes and looks like medicine, you’re an odd man,”

“Seriously, I’ve got to get going,” Getting up, you shrug your coat on as you briefly say goodbye to everyone.

“We’ll take care of your husband, don’t worry,” Stephen jokes, forcing Cal to sit down in the process.

“You should really work on taking care of yours,” Chris bites back. You roll your eyes, trying to shrug off the overdone comment.

“No one vomit,”

“Will do miss,”

“Can’t promise anything,”

Telling Arthur to tell Chip you said goodbye, smacking Chris on the head for saying you’d come tonight, and finally, you wave to Will.

He nods at you, lifting his drink as acknowledgment. You pause, giving time for more to happen. You expect Will to join you, you hope he does, because you linger for a moment too long that everyone else notices— but he doesn’t. His body still, leaned back into the chair he sat in. Wills eyes flicker back towards the lads, and he doesn’t take a second glance. He’s letting you walk away.

So you walk away.

And once you’re out of the bar, you convince yourself you’ll hear his footsteps from behind. Ones that are hurried and rushed, maybe he was just taking his time to say his goodbyes. Will never let you leave without him, he always accompanied you, eventually going back to each others flat and falling asleep there. But you glance over your shoulder, once, twice, and before you know it, you’re on the train home. It leaves a hollow feeling in your heart, a cold chill that courses through your bones.

You don't remember the last time you left an event, a hangout, or even a video when Will didn't leave with you. You purposefully left thinking he would follow, but he didn’t, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, he had a lot to drink and hasn’t been able to get out very much— he was just having a good time!

Looking at your phone, with 5% left, you go to your messages. Waiting for his text seemed desperate, but he always sent you one after a night out, it was normal. Whatever normal means to you both.

With a loud groan, and a frustrated tug on your hair, your phone shuts off and you let it fall onto your lap. No phone, no company, and no alcohol. What a shit way to end the night.

Now you’re left to wonder on the ride home if that was casual, or if you’re an idiot.

Recently, Will hasn't been able to sleep. Ever since he watched you walk out of the pub a few nights ago, he's felt this lingering regret. He hasn’t seen, texted, or called you since that night. And normally, he sends you a text to make sure you got home safe, but he didn’t even do that. Instead he anxiously turned off his phone the rest of the night and has been avoiding the feeling since.

At first, Will thought it best to keep it to himself, until one morning Will gave James a call in the early afternoon.

“Y/n says rubbish all the time, it could mean nothing,” James comments. 

“No! You knobhead! She had this, this look and she said it like she regretted it,”

“Or it could mean everything, and you’ve completely screwed up–” James continues to mumble to himself.

“Why don’t you just make me feel worse about the situation, yeah?” Will huffs.

“This is why I didn’t want to give you my honest opinion because I’m not involved in the situation. How am I supposed to know what look she had?” James points out.

“You’ve known her just as long as I have,” Will says quietly, picking up the dishes left on his bedside table and bringing them out into the kitchen.

“What, you want me to write a song about it?”

“James!” Will whines. 

“Okay, okay, what else happened?” Will sucks in air through his teeth, trying to recall the rest of the night.

“She left after a couple hours, that’s it,”

“What’s the matter with you?! You let her leave?” James yells over the phone, causing Wills eardrums to pop in response.

“What was I supposed to do? Follow her on the chance that she tells me that it was nothing?” Will argues, setting the dishes into the sink. There’s a silence over the phone before another loud yell,“YES!”

A beat of silence goes by, and then a wave of realization washes over. Will loudly groans, his palm banged against the counter sharply then slaps his forehead.

“..I’m a proper idiot, aren’t I?” Will asks, but mainly to himself. Finding himself leaning against his kitchen counter, pressing his phone to his ear with just his shoulder. He lets out another heavy sigh, using the pads of his fingers to rub circles on his temple and forehead.

“Mate, what do I do?” Will asks defeatedly. James shifts over the phone, drawing his attention back to the phone call. He can hear James footsteps stop, settling down to think about the question.

“Realistically, you talk to y/n. You’ve known her since you were twenty-two, If you don’t talk to her now you’ll be dancing around your feelings until you’re sixty, and by then she’ll have grandkids. You and I both know that this isn’t going away anytime soon,” 

“Why are we being nasty?” Will says, a small exhausted smile making its way onto the corners of his mouth.

"I'm not! But I think it's ridiculous that you have any reason to believe that your feelings aren't reciprocated," James explains calmly. His tone was sure, confident, Will doesn’t think he’s ever heard James be so serious before.

"Have you been watching those edits of her and i recently?" Will tries to steer the conversation where it doesn’t put him in a vulnerable spot. Lightening the mood with a small quip, “They’re quite good, I can see how it would get in someone’s head,”

"Maybe. But regardless, I can still see how obvious it is that you two want to be together. Do us all a favor, Will. Make it happen. I don’t know what you're waiting for, really.” James confesses. As much as it was a weight off Wills shoulders, it was a weight off his as well.

So that's what Will does. After the phone call, he writes and deletes, and rewrites the text he's attempting to send you. Before he knows it, the sun is setting and he’s wasted the day away. So, instead, he gives up and heads towards your flat and arrives at seven sharp. No phone call, no text, just him.

With a small knock at your door, and his nerves making his hands twitch, he waits.

Will hears a few meows from inside, and then footsteps, before you slowly open the door.

“Will, hey,” you say softly, your eyes big with surprise. Will cradles a ball between his arms and a black jumper, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced, I just..” Will trails off for a moment, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. You observe his nervous nature, and stay still, patient.

“Do you wanna go for a walk, maybe?” he asks carefully, trying to give you space if that’s what you need. You lean against the door frame shrugging,

“It’s cold out,”

“I brought an extra jumper,” he says immediately, and your stature seems to soften. He holds it out for you, an expensive black knitted jumper he always wore in videos. From where you stood, you could smell his cologne, it makes you feel giddy. Even though you were still angry at how he disappeared the last few days.

“Alright, let’s go for a walk then,” you decide finally, knowing that Will wasn’t here for just a walk. He knows you know that, but the look on your face makes him feel a little more hopeful than before.

TAGLIST: @dandelionpixels @ooostarwarsfandom501st @melancholicandmessy @migilini @lyssaluvs @alysbaby @kneelforloki @formulaal @f10pc @i-need-to-be-put-down @blu-cuffie @ellouisa17 @marijas-stuff @pianor481 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @whistlef0rthechoir @edgyficuselastica

a/n: again, ty for all the love and patience. some peoples users i can’t tag but i promise i see u all !!!!

[mostlyanything19]

do you still have the radio Sherlock Holmes? 🥺

Hello, I am so happy you ask, yes I do! Here they are:

Included are the 60 short stories originally written by Arthur Conan Doyle and adapted for Radio by the BBC, with Clive Merrison as Holmes and Michael Williams as Watson (in 64 episodes, bc the longer stories are split up into parts), and the 16 Further Adventures, this time with Andrew Sachs taking the role of Watson.

I hope you enjoy them, they're really well done and to this day rank among my favorite Holmes adaptations ever. Also, this is the only adaptation in history so far that has managed to do all 60 original ACD cases!

[allforyoumylovely]

emma, hiii. you're taking requests, like that's the best thing ever hihi. idk why but I've had this image in my head of sander resting against robbe's chest as he robbe reads to him, while he runs a hand through sander's hair. maybe sander is coming out of a bad episode or maybe they're just relaxing on a sunday, but yeah.... maybe something like that hihi. much love to you emma <333

Cille, this was an absolute dream prompt for me, my gosh 💘 📖  I went off on a few tangents but hopefully that’s okay sfhjg. Walk, shower, read. It’s their little routine 🧡  Thank you for sending me this. Love you! Btw let me know if I should upload these on ao3 or if they should just be little tumblr exclusives?

Sander always knows when he’s fading away, when he’s turning into a shell of himself. But he never knows when he’s going to fall asleep at the wheel. Until it’s too late, until he crashes. And that’s when he loses all sense of who he is, of what he enjoys or how he likes to dress or what his voice normally sounds like. Sometimes the only indication of time passing is his alarms that tell him to take his meds and eat at set times.

Although he doesn’t reach the point anymore where he wants to be physically erased – he knows that this seemingly perpetual state of sadness isn’t definitive no matter how much his brain tries to convince him otherwise – some days all he can drag himself out of bed for is a cup of coffee and a cigarette or a few slices of tangerine, the scent reminding him of his boy, his college boy. He’ll crack open a window in the living room and curl up against the cushions in the window-seat, the hood of his black hoodie over his head, and there he’ll try weaving his way through the weeds and the tangled neurons in his thunder-stained mind to anything resembling an actual thought with a pinch of substance.

For the days where he’s more clear-headed his mama puts up little post-its around the house with simple tasks for him to do to help him feel useful and necessary. And in the mornings whenever Robbe has spent the night, Sander finds little notes from him too; there’ll be an I love you on his pillow, an I’m so glad you exist placed on his desk and I’m bringing you flowers later <3 hanging on his door. The first time Sander doesn’t think Robbe actually means the one with the flowers, but when he buzzes him in later that afternoon, the first thing he sees is a bouquet of light pink lilies cradled in his arm against the autumn brown of his jacket, the hues so lovely and gentle, just like Robbe. It’s more than Sander’s frail mind can take, and Robbe wipes away the thin streams of warm tears with his sweater paws, and they laugh softly when it only makes it worse.

Since before Robbe, Sander has been figuring out what soothes him, what makes him feel more at ease, what helps him settle back into his body and bones when coming out of a bad episode, and he has slowly built up a list of things that assist in bringing the puzzle pieces of his mind back into place.

Walks

Sander’s aunt has a golden retriever, Bella, who goes on a little holiday at Sander’s when he’s down and spends most of his days at home. In the mornings she’ll pad over the hard-wood floor to his bed and nuzzle her nose against Sander’s face until he wakes up, waiting patiently for her walk. It’s easier for Sander to get out of bed knowing there’s someone relying on him for their needs and wellbeing. He’ll take her and himself on a walk in the fog-blue mornings when the morning traffic is yet to come, and then again in the early evening when it’s still light out but the streets are quieter, enough for him to give his brain some stimulation when it feels like it has slowed to a halt. The sound of his boots against the sidewalk reminds him that he’s still part of the world, that he hasn’t completely vanished after all.

Sometimes he goes by himself, just listening to and observing the city around him with pale eyes. Other times Robbe goes with him, sleepy-eyed and rosy-cheeked in the mornings, relaxed and loose-limbed at night. He doesn’t curl his hand around Sander’s but lets it hang by his side with their pinkies brushing, open and inviting, for Sander to take if and when he feels like it. Sander will thread their fingers together always, but he loves Robbe for giving him a choice and never forcing anything on him.

Often, they find a bench somewhere, in a park or at the river, a place that isn’t too crowded but still has plenty of things for Sander to rest his eyes on. It’s only the middle of September but some leaves are already falling, lying yellow and limp on the ground, and Robbe notices Sander’s wondering expression.

“It’s probably because the weather has been so dry; they’re shedding their leaves to conserve water and energy,” he says.

And Sander instinctively inches closer, a small smile on his lips. “Clever you.”

Bella sits by Sander’s legs with her head propped on his knee, her deep brown eyes alternatively scanning the place and glancing up at him, sensing his sadness. She’s calm and curious and cuddly, reminding him of a certain someone. When Sander tells him, Robbe breathes out a little giggle, making Sander gaze at him more deeply than he has in days, at the silky curls around his ears and the blinking hoop and the crescent dimples curved into his cheeks, and he’ll quietly rest his head on the slope of Robbe’s shoulder, a few tiny clearings of blue sky starting to appear in his overcast mind.

Showers

Back at home, he and Robbe linger in the hallway for a bit, their hair messy, the scent of fresh air in their clothes. When Robbe says that his green, sparkly eyes are coming back, Sander curls a few fingers in the front of Robbe’s shirt, feeling the firm plane of his stomach against his knuckles as he mumbles, “Shower.”

Some nights Sander can’t stand the mere idea of catching glimpses of himself in the mirror; hates the way he looks with his violet circles and dull, greasy hair. So Robbe will light a couple of candles, and they’ll undress in the dim orange glow and quietly get under the shower spray. And there, with Sander’s forehead resting against his own, Robbe will wash Sander’s hair and tell him that he looks beautiful in this light, while his fingers work in small, bone-melting circles. The near orgasmic pressure on his scalp helps reconnecting Sander’s mind and body, making him press up tightly against Robbe, finally diving back into the swirling, velvety heat that licks into every cell of his being.

“Thank you for… For staying with me,” he says between hushed breaths and light kisses. It falls clumsy from his lips, sounding graver than he intends it to, but Robbe, the angel soul that he is, moulds his answer into five words of pure reassurance that protectively wrap themselves around Sander’s heart.

“I’m going to marry you.”

Sander doesn’t cry. But he’s very damn close.

Reading

This one begins one night maybe a year into their relationship. While Robbe brushes his teeth, Sander wanders Robbe’s room, taking in the familiarity of it, running a hand over the forest green sweatshirt draped over his chair, trailing the edge of his desk with a few fingertips. When he reaches his set of shelves, he sees it wedged in between a plant and some school supplies: a book of bedtime stories filled with beautiful watercolour illustrations, the cover a painting of a dark blue night sky with a full moon reading for her stars over a little sleeping village. The spine is threadbare, seemingly from the countless times of being opened and closed. As he flicks through the crinkled pages, soft lips press against the nape of his neck and the back of his shoulder.

“Are you snooping around my room?” Robbe mumbles.

“Mhm,” Sander hums. “What’s this book?”

Twining his arms around Sander’s stomach from behind Robbe says, “When I was little my mama used to read these stories aloud for me at night. She was looking through some stuff the other day and found it again.” He hooks his chin over Sander’s shoulder. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Very.” Sander glances back at Robbe with a squeezing feeling in his chest. “Did it make you fall asleep?”

Robbe smiles. “Every time.”

Sander drops his gaze back to the book, asking quietly, “Will you read for me?”

And Robbe brushes a “Sure” and a kiss behind his ear, tugging him along to the bed.

It’s something they do now: Robbe reading aloud for Sander whenever he feels low and doesn’t have many words to offer. Sander then tucks his head under Robbe’s chin, and Robbe tangles his fingers in his freshly washed and citrussy-smelling hair, scraping over his scalp in endless, soothing motions. Safe and sound, Sander listens to stories about naughty star-children, wizards flying about in rolled up rugs, and a Goodnight-ship with live stuffed animals as passengers. They flow over him like dripping streams of honey, Robbe’s voice lovely and wonderful and a little sleepy, and Sander tries so desperately to make his foggy brain hold onto the words.

Sometimes when the night air is cooling Sander’s room and Robbe feels a little cold, he’ll wear a thick hoodie to bed. Sander loves the scent and the comfy feel of the well-worn fabric under his palm, but sometimes he gets a little frowny and frustrated at having to fumble for his small waist; so Robbe pulls it off despite the goosebumps rising on his skin, and Sander presses his ear to his heart and tightens his hold around him, sharing his body heat his only job while he listens to stories from when Robbe was little. And Sander feels little too; but it’s something he allows himself. A few years ago, he didn’t dare dream that he’d ever have this with someone; didn’t think he even had this level of softness in himself.

But here he is. Here they are.

He has never wanted to be someone’s more than he does Robbe’s; it’s so clear that he belongs to him. And it’s crazy, Sander thinks. Because no matter how feeble and numb around the edges his body and mind feel, his love for Robbe is always right there in a molten pond at the core of him, and Sander could cry at the fact that his brain always lets him have that.

In the days following, when he finds that he has enough energy to send Robbe little dorky, flirty texts throughout the day, such as Bella woke me up with wet, sloppy kisses. Wish it was you or when you’re in the mood for a snack but you’re not there💔  with an attached photo of himself pouting at the open fridge, he knows that the darkness in his chest and brain is releasing its hold and taking flight.