Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

James comes back from Belgium utterly refreshed, tension slid from his shoulders, and entirely fucking bald. 

Well. Not exactly.

But it’s certainly not anything resembling a hairstyle, and it is significantly more jarring in the office than it was down the end of a video call.

“Oh my god.” Ieuan says, at first glimpse, before he’s even put his bag down, and immediately starts giggling. 

The sight’s so distracting it almost pulls Will away from James’ scent; the warming edge of coffee, a hint of salt on the breeze, which slips back under his spine right into the nook where something’s been missing since he went on hiatus - and he’s entirely trying to ignore that it’s doing that.

The haircut nearly helps. 

Nearly. Pissing bloody designations, he’ll never be totally immune, can feel how the pack bond shivers a little, reshaping with James once more in their midst, warming and incredible and right. He pushes it back, even though it makes him want to sink deeper, like slipping into a perfectly-run bath, steam misting up around him. “You remember that this is going to be put up on Youtube, aye? Sure you don’t want to come back with a wig?” 

“I think I look great, and I didn’t go too far with the clippers at all.” James replies, and leans across to scent Ieuan, their cheeks brushing pleasantly together, despite the giggling, a casual mix of sweet and salt, no hint of posturing, despite the alphaism of it all. 

But then again, they’ve never been strange about it, even since the beginning. For an office with at least four alphas within spitting distance, the only time Will’s seen them get agitated was…

Well. On his behalf. 

He thinks perhaps he should be warmed by it. Doesn’t really want to be. Annoying enough being an omega. Doesn’t need others to fight their battles for him. “You look like you frequent certain bars, mate.” He grumbles. Bars that Will would never ever go to, never ever in a million years, no matter who’d asked, and absolutely not a thought he’d had the moment he’d spotted James’ selfie, all dark vest top, glittering earring and bicep, announcing it to the world, as he’d been sunk deep into one of his baths-  

One of those fine lines, eh. 

“And what’s to say I don’t.” James replies, with a wink, and draws away from Ieuan to loom ominously in his direction, arms outstretched.

“You can fuck right off with that, you massive bastard.” 

“What?” James advances, eyes twinkling, reading his complaints for what they are; nothing at all, in the scheme of things, as he wraps his arms around Will’s neck from behind, dragging them together, pressing his chin into the back of Will’s skull. 

“James!” He shrieks, and it’s so performative, unbearably performative, ‘cause he nestles into the warmth of Jim’s embrace instinctively, just about holding back the happy rumbles in his chest, the stupid, annoying, ancestral bit of him that occasionally looks at the moon and wonders what if making him melt.

And he hates it, and he craves it, and he really should be trying to get away. 

“Let yourself enjoy things.” James breathes, beardy cheek against his forehead, not quite a command but certainly more than a simple sentence, and he loathes it as he folds. 

“You can fuck right off with that too.” He grumbles, but stays put all the same. 

It goes a bit like this. 

Presented as an omega at sixteen, in the depths of the North. Not great, in the scheme of things, though his family, for the most part, weren’t strange about it, treated him just the same as before. 

(Got it in the neck at school, obviously, even though one in four people turn out to be an omega, but still, lost any dredges of popularity he had overnight, ‘cause even now, he’s not a perfect fit for an omega, and they'd not loved the idea of having one on the footy team.) 

Started uni. Left uni. Somehow managed to find a footing in the Youtube space; for once, the rarity of omegan men doing the work for him - sometimes there's a bonus in being one-in-ten - and though he'd never actually said it back then they’d… known.

(Thought it all was nonsense, actually, categorizing people by how they were built. There’s plenty of omegas who don't fit the mold, plenty of alphas too, but somehow the ‘slight, slender, waifish omega’ stereotype exists. Pisses him off, actually, if he thinks too hard about it - the most formidable alpha he'd ever met was five foot two.)

Found a community, sort of, as a creator. Worked his ass off for it too. Tripped and fell into the lap of an alpha at a party; and it’d burned fast and hot, too fast and hot maybe, ‘cause they’d sacked it off after a month or so, uncomfortable in the intensity of it, the possible public ramifications, and sworn just to be mates.

Seven years later, James feels more and more like a chance he shouldn’t have let slip through his fingers. 

Somewhere within the break between the Ecuadorian and Finnish breakfasts, the crew fucked off to places unknown, James leans over, arm nestling neatly along his own, still jarring to look at and asks, “So how was it? Another month without me to keep you level?” 

“Don’t need you or anyone to keep me level, I can take care of myself.”

“You ran a 5k on the Ridge.” 

And it had hurt like hell afterwards, the solid surface of the fridge awful against his ankles, but he’s not going to tell James that. “And you shaved all your hair off so I don’t think I can be judged, eh.”

“‘Spose not. Want to feel?” 

“Not at all, lad,” he protests, as he always does, but lets James drag his fingers across the base of his skull and across his scalp, bristling at the feeling of buzzed back hair against his palm, the faint tactility of his skin under his fingertips. Suddenly, a desperate yearning to feel it himself, the scratch of nails in his own hairline, they say some bonded pairs share touch sensation, you know, but they’re not bonded, and they’d never be and- a faint rumble under his fingers startles him and- “Are you fucking purring?”

“No.” James replies, infuriatingly, actively purring; or at least, that’s what it seems like, the softness beneath his ear a rolling tide against his cheek. “Not purring at all.” 

As always, he’s a massive liar.

And as always, Will doesn’t want it to stop.

@eloria34 - man i don’t know if they’re even together and i don’t even really care, they’ve got more chemistry than some actual bonded pairs 
                @omegesteron - I don’t think we should be shipping real people.
                                @eloria34 - yeah but LOOK at them 

@junipermarsters - i bet it fuckin reeks in there         
                @dsmpfan2005 - wht do u reckon they scent lyk
                               @junipermarsters - ...hey before i answer this, quick question

@chloecars23 - I don’t even think these two know where Zambia is. 
                 @djfksjdkfsdf - do u
                              @chloecars23 - Yeah, ‘cause unlike Will I actually don’t use chatgpt for everything.

“We tried Breakfasts from Every Country!” 
Friday March 13 2026 - a bit more willne

Chapter Text

There are two things in his life Will will never admit to. 

Back in 2023 when his heats were getting terribly bad and he’d suddenly become single, he’d bitten the bullet and bought a fucking machine. Justified it to himself in the name of efficiency; it was a medical device, if you really thought about it.

His biology, as much as he spent the entirety of his life fighting against it, really wanted him to be fucked and he’d… been missing his ex, but not quite desperate enough to find some random alpha to get him going. 

Turned out being plowed into oblivion didn’t really fill the hole inside his chest but it certainly filled one of the holes inside him, so he’d kept the hunk of metal and various bits of silicon about, tucked under his bed so when he actually did get with a real person, they wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon it.

The other thing he’ll never admit to is that he adores James’ scent. 

In the scheme of things, James’ scent is minimal. None of that overbearing rankness that some alphas have; just gentle bitterness and a tang of salt, and in that blissful, insane month in 2018 where they’d been having it off with each other, somehow it’d woven its way into his skin, rewritten his dna to fold in around it, and he misses it when he’s gone. 

‘Misses’ is probably a gentle way to describe it.

Yearns for and needs is closer to being accurate. There’s been some pretty dire moments when James has been off, slutting about around America or continental Europe, luxuriating in the adoration of fans, where he’s felt… especially lonely.

Not ever going to admit it to the man, though. His head’s big enough. 

The rain slams unforgivingly upon London and Will regrets almost everything about the day previous, but especially the fact that he’d agreed to it. He’d agreed to do another Sidemen Sunday video, barely a month after the last one, another physical thing, and now, he’s regretting it more than he has in years. 

SIDEMEN ALPHAS VS BETAS VS OMEGAS 2 - the group of omegas had won, but at what cost? They’d get it in the neck in the comments anyway - if the omega teams won they always did - and he’d refucked up his legs falling on the slippery tiling whilst on camera, crashing down on his back, in perhaps the dumbest moment of his life. 

The rain pours down, and he aches; curling up in a ball on the office sofa, bad knee throbbing pain all up and down his thigh, tailbone too, up into the wider regions of his back. Eight-thirty, too early for any of the crew to be in and…

Well. At times like these he misses having alphas about. Even if none of them are his alphas, they’re always so stabilising, and as much as he’ll never admit it, the pack bond does wonders for his mood, and he feels the loss of it when it’s only there in the distance. Had felt the loss of Orla when she’d left for far, far longer than he’d said, as the pack bond had mutated, pulling wide, until she’d completely slipped away. 

With a fitful whine, Will considers texting Chris, knows it’s not a Sunday so Chris won’t answer anyway, considers climbing up off the sofa and walking down to see if he’s in yet, but doesn’t, just wraps his arms tighter around his legs, dozing discordantly until someone settles down on the sofa next to his feet.

Sweet and smokey. He knows it’s Ieuan without even sitting up. Ieuan, who’s an alpha without ever being pushy about it. One of the reasons they’ve always gotten on, maybe. “Been a morning?” Ieuan asks, neutrally, hand landing on his ankle and even that’s enough to eke some of the horror from his bones.

“Fuck the Sidemen.” 

“Doubt most of ‘em would want to even if I tried. Where’s it hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“William.” A sharp rebuke, like he’s been batted on the nose, the tone of voice Ieuan only uses when he’s being very, very stupid.

In hindsight, Ieuan had been there, actually, off in the muddied distance, one of the cameramen that’d been following Tobi and Harry, and probably had spotted it when he’d gone down, but hadn’t pushed, even after he’d sat on the steps of the ambulance, getting his leg taped up. 

This, he supposes, is fairly revealing, and Ieuan’s always been pretty protective, even if he’s never been weird about it. That, and he knows he’s pumping out a scent, discord leaching from his skin. 

“Back.” Will grunts, instead. “Tailbone. Bad knee. All misery.” 

Ieuan pulls the back of his hoodie up without asking and hisses at the sight of him. 

Will’d not managed to crane his neck far enough in the mirror after showering off all the mud and sweat the night previous, but he figures it’s less than ideal considering Ieuan’s gentle probing around his back. 

“It’s a state, yeah?” He asks.

“Sure you weren’t supposed to spend the night in hospital?” 

“Nah, only if we started pissing blood and that’s not been a thing.” 

Ieuan snaps a photo, moving to hold his phone out to him, and then stops. “You want to see?”

“Not sure how me head would take it.” 

“Yeah mate, it’s pretty awful, if you were wondering.” Ieuan presses in a bit, palpating, and then just gives up, lying his palm flat against the bruising, and it hurts sharply for a second, before the soothing pressure and general alpha pheromones whisking around his head-

“Don’t biology me, what are you like.” Will grumbles, hating how much he leans into the touch, and how it genuinely feels like it’s soothing him. 

“You want to sit here in pain then for the entire record?”

“Got painkillers.”

“Take ‘em then.” 

Will just huffs a disgruntled sigh, unarsed to move, and lets the alpha vibes wash over him. 

Sue him, he’s not entirely immune, and as much as he wants to pretend they don’t help him some, he’s floating in blissful painless warmth when Aby shows; pleasing alpha notes of vanilla and the sharpness of cinnamon adding to the overall scent of the room as she strokes a hand though his hair. “Is he alright?” She asks, clearly asking Ieuan.

“He’s fine.” Will sighs, dazed. “Bit beaten up.” 

“I can see that.” She, too, pokes around his back a bit, makes various noises of sympathy. “Can you even walk?”

“Might have to carry me into an Addison Lee after the record, Abs.” 

“I’ll leave that for James to do.” She replies. “Get up. He’ll be here in a bit.” 

“Mmhmm.” He doesn’t move, just lets himself drift in the space between moments, hears Mikey and Elliott and the baby editors come in and wander around, but all of that lot are betas so they’re less of a presence and he just about makes up the sleep he’d missed the night before. 

“Darling, how’s your back?” A gentle hand across the back of his neck, fingertips soft against his mating gland, and he shivers and he grumbles, ‘cause he’ll take that sort of behaviour from precisely one person in the world, and that specific person bleeds of coffee and salt.

“Better before you arrived.” He replies, but there’s nowt in it, actually, and he turns over just as James slips onto the sofa, lifting him with absolute ease until he’s nestled on top of him, curled in a loose huddle on his chest. The entire thing was so smooth, he’d not even really had a chance to complain about it. “Jim, you can’t just- do that-” He protests, but James’ arms settle around him again and fuck the pack bond, ‘cause he instinctively curls in a little deeper.

It’s biology. That’s all it is. A need for connection between lov- pack mates. 

Infuriating. All of it. But he lets James’ scent wind around his sleepy thoughts and dozes there until they have to start filming, feeling better and safer than he has for the longest time, sort of wishing he wasn’t.

Heats are… a problem. Will’s never really had time for them, in the same way that he tries to avoid acknowledging he’s sick until the very last moment. Being in heat means that he loses work days, and he loses himself. 

The many, many, vapid alpha/omega romance movies he’s been dragged to by various exes/friends/coworkers describe heats as some kind of joyful occasion, something to look forward to, the perfect time for a couple to get together, but he finds them nothing but dire. 

Yeah, the first few orgasms are a good time, but things gradually get to a point where coming dry, wracked with cramps and a loneliness that no silicon cock can fix just loses its appeal… and he doesn’t want to have it off with some random alpha he finds on the internet anymore. He’s fucking thirty. He’s too old for that shite.

Heat swirls across him, his mouth metallic as his body burns ketones to survive. He’d passed the point of safe and secure long ago, drank through eight separate water bottles, legs too shaky to go and refill them, cock lying soft and spent, and practically raw against his thigh, and still, he yearns, collapsed utterly in a puddle of his own slick, feeling utterly disgusting.

Needs more. Wants more. Could ask for more. Any of the alphas in the office would come if he asked, and would take him through it kindly, safely, sweetly; though there’d be some ribbing at work after the fact but he- can’t. 

James doesn’t need an omegan male mate weighing upon his career, and he certainly doesn’t need him. But he whines, and he shivers, and cramps roll down his legs, and his phone’s in his hand before he can stop himself and-

“Fucking hell, Will, it’s four am-” Then, as Will’s inner self whines and whines and whines, blood surging at the sleep-racked rumble of James’ voice, “Are you good?”

“No-” He whimpers, through bitten, pathetic lips, hating what he’s become. “Jim- please-”

“Oh fuck.” The rustle of him sitting up in bed. “Heat - yes or no? And do I need to call someone - yes or no?”

“Yes-” He stammers, hand already drifting down across his belly, sparks igniting at the sound of James’ voice. “-and no. Just- need you.”

“I’m in fucking France for the weekend, Will, christ-”

Heaves a discordant, upset whine, ‘cause even James is too far away too. Can’t stop himself from taking himself in hand regardless, and he hisses at the feeling, aching, bad this time, hot tears springing to the corner of his eyes. “Sorry, alpha-”

The title must do something, “No, no, no, it’s fine, turn your camera on, lemme see?”

Even at the end of his rope, the self-imposed shame of it stops him. Sweaty, naked, slick, rubbed raw. Pathetic and lost, a small, helpless boy. “Nah, nah- actually- it’s fine-” but it’s not and his cock hurts and he’s still crying, and he needs James like he needs air to breathe. 

“Promise I won’t say anything, go on.” 

And there’s no command in it at all, but he can’t stop. Just lets the phone camera capture him, drenched and delirious, thin and pathetic nest strewn with water bottles, slick soaking the sheets, chest blotched red. 

“Jesus christ, Will, how many times?” 

“Don’t know. Can’t stop. Prick hurts. Need-” You. 

“You eaten?” 

Snorts. “No.”

“Fucking- okay-” The sound of someone fumbling, tapping at the screen. “I’m going to get someone to bring you some things, okay? Ieuan or Aby could-”

“No!” He whines, unable to help himself. “James- I need you-”

“Okay- not yet- later- once you’re sorted. Just- while I’m doing this… can you be really good for me and get that box out from under your bed? The one you pretend you don’t have?” 

What- Another whimper, how’d he- “James?”

“You told me in August when you’d had a few too many and I’ll take the secret to my grave. Go on. Set it up on the floor?”

He nearly tumbles off the bed in his dizziness, dragging his pillows down with him, they too, stained, but it doesn’t fucking matter as there’s finally something, a thing to do, and his fingers shake as he drags the machine out, doesn’t really remember how to make it work in the heat-haze, gets there eventually via James’ prompting and slumps over his pillows in the end, cock aching against the material, the weight of the HUGE KNOT DILDO SEX TOYS - 10.2"/28CM 3-IN-1* - BDSM SEX MACHINE, SUCTION CUP SILICONE ADULT TOY & GAMES FOR MEN WOMEN -

*Amazon obviously, y’know, for the free overnight shipping, even in the haze between feverishly jerking off, Will knows a great deal when he sees one-

-pressing against him, and he moans, and he whines as he tosses his phone haphazardly somewhere in front of the whole situation, and just about doesn’t beg. 

“You want to turn that on for me?” James asks, way too far away and-

Actually…

Will sends up a silent prayer to Lovense** and their range of very expensive but exquisitely punishing app-controlled fucking machines as he’s utterly plowed into the mattress by the silicon cock. 

**not sponsored. 

Fuck, it is so much better when someone else is controlling the thing, feels a whole lot less lonely, and James listens, too, doesn’t just hammer the thing into him, makes him whine, and squirm until he’s begging for it, the slick but relentless thrusts and his constant praise sending him spinning over and over the edge till he’s got absolutely nothing more to give, cumming dry as the first lights of dawn glint through the curtains and spear him in the eyes. 

And it almost nearly helps.

“I’m going to go back to bed.” James says, when finally the sharp insistence of heat in Will’s veins has slowed to a gentle trickle, and he doesn’t think he could get it up again if he tried. “You need to too.”

“Dunno if I can move, fella.”

“Some of the crew will be over in a bit with food and such so you don’t actually die on the floor but maybe at least put a sheet over you, yeah?”

Will sticks a thumb up at him, and slumps back into his pillows. “Class.” Time to really test the springiness of the omega clause in the work contract, he supposes. Well. It’s not like they’ve not all seen him naked before anyway.

He drags his sheet off the bed, wearily, and throws his duvet over the fucking machine to at least pretend he’s not been actively using it, gives up halfway and just burrows under it instead. Thinks for a second about- wait- “Why voice-only this entire time? You. Why?”

“‘Cause I think if you’d been able to see me wanking myself raw I don’t think I would have been able to keep control of that thing for you, and the medical event seemed more pressing.” James replies, sheepish despite the distance, and sends through a photo, chest shining in the half-light, cum like water-smudges on a page across his belly, boxers tucked beneath his balls. 

Fuck. If there was anything left in him it’d be howling at the moon. “James-” He hisses, suddenly turned on, suddenly terrified. “We really need to talk about this.”

“Yeah.” James replies.

They don’t. 

Chapter Text

“You’re going to make fun of me for this, aren’t ye.” Will grumbles, horribly sticky, half buried under his duvet. He’d have gotten up to open the door but he’s genuinely not sure that he can stand, legs wobbly like a newborn colt under the weighty bedding. 

“Obviously.” Ieuan says, and cracks every single one of his windows open, his presence a gentle comfort. Placid Alpha, nothing in it at all, and it’s honestly sort of refreshing. “This place stinks, man.”

“Naaway, really?”

“Like someone set a maple syrup factory on fire. You know that’s also a sign of diabetes, yeah?” Ieuan plucks a water bottle from his bag and presses it against Will’s aching forehead. “Scent profile of maple. I wonder how doctors cope.”

“Yeah, you can shut up now, thank you, you’ve pulled us out of the hole.” 

“Pulled something out-”

“Don’t push it, lad.” 

“Drink.” The other man says, the cool water against his forehead a command in itself and petulantly, Will takes the bottle and drains it in one, which almost does something to dent the horrid, sweaty feeling.

Then, of course, Ieuan finds the fucking machine, and his surprised gasp melts into chuckles almost immediately, especially when he knocks the thing with his calf and the dildo jiggles.

Oh yeah, Will’s just going to kill himself. He’s going to die, right now, on the floor, covered in cum and his disgusting, sweaty duvet. “If you repeat this to anyone, I’ll swing.”

“You couldn’t land a punch, Will.” Ieuan, the fucker, is still giggling, but to his credit, doesn’t even flinch when Will cranes his neck up and kicks him in the calf, just moves the fucking machine out of the way with his boot and eyes the toy attached like it’s any other piece of tat from the office. “Could have just phoned instead of all this.”

“Feel as though we’ve had slightly too much sex with our employees.” He grumbles, as though the hierarchy's ever just been employees with all of them. “Needed some variety.”

“And James couldn’t talk you off if I was there. Or maybe he could. Is that the sort of thing he’s keen on?” 

Will’s face burns. “Go on. Shove off. I’m fine. Where’s Aby, she’d at least be nice to me.” 

“We threw for it and she beat me. She’s running you a bath.”

“A queen.” He slumps back down, suddenly exhausted, eyes shuttering closed. “Both of you. For this. Thanks.” 

“You owe me a pay rise.” Ieuan grumbles, but picks him up anyway - fuck the Alpha thing for giving him unearned strength, it’s always slightly pissed Will off - and by the feel of it carries him and the duvet towards the bath. 

He falls asleep in the bath. Aby and Ieuan both have to drag him out when he realises he can barely walk. Yes, it’s embarrassing. Yes, it’s far too damp for them all.

Yes, he feels very, very grateful for them both.

(And even more grateful it’s not Mikey doing the lifting.) 

He’d never admit it, but Will slightly weights the idea pool on the office wheel picker towards any video idea that’s got something to do with AI as he knows it’ll annoy James. 

Something between them has always made him want to… act out a little. Push. Some people would call it ‘being bratty’, but those people know to keep their mouths shut around him if they’re smart about it. 

It’s possibly the omegaism. A direct rally against it, to act out, to not fall into those same patterns; find an Alpha wife, have a kid - god is he terrified of pregnancy - white-picket fence, they’re all things that the world’s said he needs, and he doesn’t want to just slip into the patterns that he’s supposed to follow.

‘Cause he had done, back in 2018, when James had been drinking, and he had been worse; stunned silent by the thrill of it, the rightness of the feelings, the wrongness of the circumstances, how he’d probably have had James’ pup then if they were dumb enough to get that far, the endless biological drive subsuming them both.

These days, he’s got his head more in the game. Wants stability. Comfort. A respite from the loneliness. Someone to be with and to disagree with. An actual relationship.

(And he’s actually got a suppressant pump now so he’s not so heat-drunk he can hardly think.)

(Usually.) 

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Rodd’s sea salt and maple is… something. The best they’ve ever made, probably. Just enough salt to curb the horrifying sweetness, and Will thinks it bangs.

They’d thrown around enough ideas during the process.

The banoffee was foul, the black forest maybe something to come back to, but they’d both lingered on the sea salt and maple, which was familiar for reasons none of them could place, until Elliott, who’d been there filming behind the scenes content had rolled his eyes and said, with the energy of someone who’d been gentle parenting two toddlers, “It’s ‘cause it smells like you both, obviously.” 

Absently, Will had known he’d scented vaguely maple - no-one had the ability to smell their own scent, it was some kind of evolutionary whateverthefuckhesnotascientist - but one of his exes had said she’d gotten really into a specific brand of takeaway hotcakes ‘cause of him, after they’d broken up, so he guesses it’s maybe a bit obvious.

Apparently really obvious, if a beta can smell it. 

He’d gone faintly pink, the taste scientist man had asked them if they were sure, and they’d both decided on - yes. They were. 

Insanity, to lock themselves together like this, and he hopes that no-one’s ever at an event with them both and twigs about the product, but secretly, inside, he loves it a bit too. 

The shoot before the launch is the first time that he’s seen James since-

The whole being fucked into the floor by a sex machine he’d been controlling thing, and fuck, is it weird. Terribly weird, for about two seconds, until they hug, and the awkwardness very quickly finds itself replaced by that same, burning skin hunger, and oh, he is so very desperately fucked.

“Get up to anything exciting while I was overseas?” James asks, smug as anything.

“Not a single thing, Jimothy.” He says, and knows his heart rate completely gives him away. “Nothing comes to mind.”

Yeah. 

Lumberjack shirts, CGI stand-ins, the waiter costume yet again, Madonna Tiktoks - it’s all on, and throughout it all, James is just there, annoyingly present, and vaguely smug. Bastard. Will knows he’s never really been very good at hiding these things, and after eight years he knows James can pick it up in his scent and his shoulders.

Are they going to actually discuss it, though?

Probably not. 

As they’re wrapping up the shoot, Will’s entire body beginning to ache from the attempt to hold himself together, he picks up his phone, noticing two missed calls and a text that makes his blood run cold. No way. 

No, no, no, no way.

Dr O’Rourke - Hi Will, your Smartguard-O’s detecting concerning levels of certain hormones, call me so we can discuss what your options are. 

James finds him pacing the studio’s tiny kitchen, phone clutched in one hand, knuckles white and tight as he worries. The conversation with his doctor… It’d been one he’d never wanted.

“Should have just stuck to the bloody pill schedule, fuck’s sake.” He grumbles, and can’t seem to stop, his shoes wearing a tread into the floor. “Stupid fucking product-” He glares at the lump under his shirt near his hip where he places the Smartguard-O each week and is almost tempted to rip it out.

But that’d just make things worse, wouldn’t it?

“Words. Use ‘em.” James says, leaning back against the cabinets. “What is it? Are you good?”

“This thing.” He grunts, lifting his shirt a little to reveal the stupid, stupid rounded plastic device. “I’m the one in a hundred thousand that’s been getting misdosed for over a year.” 

“And?” 

Well. He wouldn’t know. Only the most highly-strung Alphas need to take any kind of medication, and Jim’s certainly not that man anymore. 

Will doesn’t really know the science around it, something around hormone levels and heats, how the auto-injector hormone device gives him a mild form of withdrawal heat every couple of months to keep him level, or at least he thought keeping him level but- “...I have to go off this. Stop using it until I have a real heat or else I’ll get ill. I’m gonna fuckin’ swing, Jim, I’ve not had a real heat since-”

Well. Since 2018. Since he’d been dosing too low or forgetting to take his Omegesterone, having it off with all and sundry, since they’d-

Since they’d… had their thing. Their beautiful, furious, dangerous thing.

He swallows, a lump in his throat. 

Not this again. 

James just leans in closer, takes him by the shoulders and pulls him in tight. “We’ll figure it out.” He says, and maybe there’s something reassuring in his tone that actually helps.