dean charles chapman + george mackay imagines

comfort - will schofield

request: hey can i have a Schofield x reader where reader is Schofield next door neighbour, and they both secretly like each other. but when schofield comes back from war, he is unable to get past the traumatic events like Blake's death so he often confides in the reader who comforts him like no one can.

For the third time this week, the thins walls of your house couldn't have made the noise any clearer. Your neighbour, Will, was crying out once again, yet you couldn't quite work out what he was saying so you presumed he was asleep, till the muffled sobbing stopped and the creaky floorboards echoed throughout the house. You weren't dumb, you knew this was the shocking after set of the war – your father had experienced the same thing – but you wanted nothing more to hold Will much as your mother had for your dad. Just as your eyes closed to settle back into sleep, a knock at your front door brought you back to reality. Your legs slipped out of the bed, the cold air biting at them as goosebumps formed on the surface. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and making your way down the stairs softly, another knock travelled through the house. You mentally thanked yourself for leaving the keys in plain view, before unlocking it and opening the door only to see a dishevelled looking Will, wearing long pyjama trousers and a short sleeved cotton t-shirt. His hands tucked under his arms as he shivered in the 3am wind.

"Will? What's up?" You asked, genuine concern lacing your voice.

"Uh- Can I come in?"

"Of course you can," you replied, opening the door wider for him to make his way through. You guided him to the living room and sat him down on the sofa before asking if he'd like a cup of tea. You walked to the kitchen, and put the kettle on the stove, flicking the gas on and watching a flame erupt beneath the metal pot. Breathing in heavily, you returned to the living room, letting out the breath when you saw Will absentmindedly staring into the rough paintwork that adorned your walls.

"Are you ok Will?" You asked sitting down next to him, cross legged on the sofa.

"I'm not sure."

"Was it the dreams again?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Walls talk, Will. So how about you talk to me, and I can try and help you out a bit," you returned, offering him a small smile, your hand reaching out to rest on his leg. It came as a bit a bit of a shock when he rested his on top of yours and his hand wrapped around yours slightly.

"Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in France. But I'm stuck and there's nothing I can do. Did I tell you of the time me and a friend got sent on a mission to deliver a message?"

"Vaguely."

"Every dream. It repeats itself. The moment I watched my friend die in my arms, but everytime I try to leave something stops me and I can't finish the job or I'm too late and everyone dies because of me," His says as his hand began to slowly shake, a tear dropped from his eye and cascaded down his cheek, "It feels so real. It's like sometimes, coming home was the dream and I'm actually still asleep in the trenches – it's uncontrollable and I can't stop it and I don't know how to stop it and it's all my fa-"

"Will, calm down, please. I promise you – you're safe. You're here remember. I'm here. Always."

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he walked in. His hand moves to take yours properly.

"Will. I'm here for you. Night and day. Whatever you need, whenever."

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Can y-"He starts, but is interrupted by the distant wailing of the kettle. And so that's how you spent the rest of the night, drinking tea and talking till eventually the sun rays gleamed through the gaps in the curtain and Will announced he should get home, ready for work later that day.

That night you laid down in bed, unable to sleep, distracted by the distance sobs coming from Will's side of the wall. Once again, he came to you and spent the night on your sofa. This happened again and again and again, till one night you knew you need to ask him why. Why you? Why you specifically?

"Because, well, I'm not really sure. There's just something about you, I guess. You just, you make me feel better. Calmer maybe. Whenever I'm around you, I remember who I am, who I was before, you know."

"Will I-" But you were interrupted with his lips coming into contact with yours. They were gentle, almost as if he was waiting for you to pull away and slap him. But you didn't. He pulled you in closer, taking your jaw in his hands as his lips worked with yours. You arm wrapped behind his neck, and his hands moved to rest on your waist. He pulled back for air, keeping his forehead resting on yours.

"I meant to do that the first night I came here, but I chickened out," He whispered as you pressed a small kiss to his cheek.

"I wouldn't have minded," You replied, this time your head made it's way to the crook of his neck to bring him to a soft hug. He lifted your leg slightly to move you to sitting on his lap, your hand falling to his chest and your eyes closing. His hand softly stroked your hair, his fingers running through the strands as his head fell slightly to press a kiss to the top of your head. That was the first time while had fallen asleep without having nightmares since he returned home over a year ago. He felt safer when he was with you.