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777bae · 4 months ago

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MORE THAN WORDS WILL SMITH

Summary :: After overhearing harsh comments about your age gap with Will, doubt creeps in. But Will reassures you with love and understanding, reminding you that others’ opinions don’t matter. In his arms, you find comfort and certainty. (REQUESTED :: prompt 28)

Warnings :: age gap (reader is older), insecurity within a relationship, kissing

Word count :: 3.8k

The room is bathed in soft shadows, the only illumination coming from the city lights filtering through the thin gaps in the curtains. Faint streaks of gold and white carve patterns across the walls, shifting ever so slightly as the night passes. The steady hum of the air conditioning fills the silence, a low, rhythmic whisper that should be soothing, should be enough to lull you to sleep. It’s constant, unchanging—so unlike the restless energy swirling in your mind.

Will lies beside you, his body warm against the cool sheets, his breathing slow and even. He fell asleep easily—he always does. There’s something effortless about the way he settles, the way his body sinks into relaxation the moment his head touches the pillow. You envy that about him. It’s not just sleep; it’s him. His quiet confidence, the way he moves through life so sure of himself, so unwavering in his choices. You’ve always admired that. He never second-guesses. He never hesitates.

You wish you could say the same.

You shift onto your side, the fabric of the sheets slipping against your skin as you press your cheek into the pillow. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, but Will doesn’t stir. He’s deep in sleep, lost in a place you can’t seem to reach. You exhale slowly, willing your body to relax, willing your mind to quiet.

But it doesn’t. It won’t.

Because every time you close your eyes, you hear it again.

“I mean, he could literally have anyone, and he’s dating… her?”

“It’s kinda weird, right? Like, she’s older. Not by a lot, but still.”

“I don’t get it, man. If I was Will, I’d be aiming younger, not up.”

The words hit like an echo, circling your mind, growing louder each time they repeat. They were thrown around so casually, spoken without thought, tossed into the air like meaningless locker room banter. But to you, they weren’t meaningless.

Because you heard them.

And now, you couldn’t un-hear them.

Your stomach twists, a dull ache settling in your chest. You try to tell yourself that it doesn’t matter. That those guys—teammates, but not friends—don’t know Will the way you do. That their opinions hold no weight.

But knowing that doesn’t stop the doubt from creeping in.

The worst part is that you hadn’t even meant to overhear. You weren’t eavesdropping, weren’t searching for something to hurt you. You had simply been walking by, on your way to meet Will after practice, when their voices had carried through the open door of the locker room.

You hadn’t even realized they were talking about you at first.

Not until you heard your name.

And by then, it was too late.

The words had already latched onto something vulnerable inside you, burrowing deep, spreading like cracks through glass. They weren’t meant for your ears, but that didn’t make them any less sharp, any less capable of cutting.

You knew Mack and Will’s close friends—his real friends—only ever teased him about the age difference in good fun. It was just banter, the kind that never carried weight, the kind that came with easy grins and exaggerated eye rolls. Mack would nudge Will in the ribs, throw out a “Man, you always did have a thing for older women, huh?” and Will would just shake his head, amused but unbothered. It was lighthearted. It was harmless.

But those other teammates—the ones who weren’t part of his tight-knit circle, the ones who didn’t really know him? They meant it.

There was something different in their tone, something that wasn’t just playful teasing but quiet judgment. Their words weren’t delivered with smirks and laughter. They weren’t meant as jokes. They were whispered, muttered under their breath, exchanged in passing like an unspoken agreement.

They thought it was weird.

They thought you were wrong for him.

And maybe they were right.

The thought sends a fresh wave of unease through you, a dull, sinking feeling settling in your stomach. You shift again, rolling onto your other side, trying—begging—for sleep to take over. But no matter how much you twist and turn, no matter how many times you adjust your pillow, your body refuses to relax.

Your muscles are tense, your jaw tight, your mind running in circles you can’t seem to break free from.

You press your lips together, squeezing your eyes shut, willing yourself to sleep, willing your mind to quiet.

It doesn’t work.

Because the moment your eyes close, their voices creep in again. The words replay over and over, looping like a broken record, refusing to fade.

And with every repetition, they feel less like a cruel, offhanded remark and more like the truth.

A sigh comes from beside you, soft but weighted, followed by the faint rustling of sheets as Will shifts. The warmth of his body inches closer, heat radiating through the space between you. Then, his fingers find you in the dark, skimming up your arm in a slow, unhurried path before settling on your shoulder. His touch is warm, grounding, the kind of effortless intimacy that comes with knowing someone deeply.

“You've been tossing and turning for the last 40 minutes.” His voice is thick with sleep, rough around the edges, but there’s an undeniable awareness in it. Even half-asleep, he’s tuned into you. “What’s up?”

Your body stiffens, only slightly, but it’s enough for him to notice. You force yourself to relax, to loosen your shoulders, to school your expression into something neutral. It’s second nature—the instinct to deflect, to downplay, to tuck your emotions away where they won’t be seen.

“Nothing.”

The lie comes easily, practiced and quiet. You keep your voice steady, hoping he’s too tired to push, that he’ll be content with a half-answer, too drowsy to care.

You feel him hesitate, just for a second. Then his hand moves, his thumb beginning to trace absentminded patterns over your skin—slow, rhythmic, comforting. The motion is gentle, lulling, but you know him too well to think he’s going to let this go.

“Try again.”

His voice is still soft, still carrying the remnants of sleep, but there’s something else in it now—something patient but firm. A quiet insistence.

You inhale deeply, slowly, through your nose. Hold. Then exhale just as carefully, as if controlling your breathing will somehow control the storm in your mind.

You don’t answer.

Silence settles between you, stretching into the space where words should be.

For a brief moment, you think maybe—maybe—he’ll let it go.

Maybe he’ll be too tired to keep asking. Maybe he’ll assume it’s nothing and fall back asleep. Maybe you can bury it down, deep enough that even you won’t feel it anymore.

But then he shifts closer, the warmth of him seeping into you, his presence impossible to ignore. His arm drapes over your waist, effortlessly pulling you against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest pressing into your back. Then, his lips brush against your shoulder—soft, familiar, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

Slowly, he trails upward, the heat of his mouth barely skimming your skin, a featherlight touch against the curve of your neck. It’s gentle, almost absentminded, but it sends a shiver through you anyway.

“You’re overthinking something,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep but laced with quiet certainty. He’s awake now—really awake, his focus entirely on you.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat, keeping your eyes shut, as if that might be enough to shield you from him. “I’m fine, Will,” you say softly. “Just restless.”

A beat of silence. Then—

He hums, low and unconvinced. “Liar.”

A quiet, breathy laugh escapes you, but there’s no real humor in it. It’s just a reflex, an automatic reaction to his teasing, but the weight in your chest doesn’t lighten. If anything, it settles deeper.

You shift, rolling onto your back, putting just enough space between you that his arm slides from your waist. His fingers skim over your side before they still, his touch lingering even in absence. You blink up at the ceiling, letting your gaze blur, as if the faint patterns of light filtering through the curtains might offer an answer.

Will props himself up slightly, watching you. You can feel it—the way his attention lingers, the way his presence is unwavering, waiting.

“Go to sleep,” you whisper again, quieter this time.

His response is immediate, effortless. “You first.”

His voice is steady, calm, but there’s something playful in it, like he already knows you won’t be able to.

You exhale sharply through your nose, willing your body to relax, willing your mind to cooperate. You squeeze your eyes shut again, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body beside you, the gentle weight of his fingers still resting against your skin.

For a fleeting moment, you think maybe—maybe—you can do it. Maybe you can push it away, bury it deep enough that it won’t reach you tonight.

But then—

“Weird, right?”

“If I was Will, I’d be aiming younger, not up.”

The words slam into you all over again, unshakable, unavoidable.

Your jaw tightens.

Will shifts beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and then you feel it—his body turning toward you, the warmth of him closing the space between you. His elbow presses into the bed as he props himself up, his presence unmistakable, his attention now fully on you.

You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s watching you. You can feel it in the way the air changes, in the quiet focus of his presence, in the way his breathing has slowed, tuned in to you completely.

“Come on, babe,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, coaxing but steady. “Talk to me.”

You hesitate.

The words are there, resting on the tip of your tongue, heavy and insistent, begging to be spoken. But you bite them back, pressing them down, trying to convince yourself that they don’t matter, that saying them out loud won’t make them real.

You swallow. “It’s nothing,” you say, too quickly, too automatically.

Will doesn’t move, doesn’t react right away, but you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s too perceptive, too attuned to you, to ever let something like that slip by.

“If it was nothing,” he says, his voice still gentle, patient, knowing, “you’d be asleep by now.”

You inhale sharply, your chest rising and falling with the weight of it, but you don’t respond. You just stare up at the ceiling, unblinking, as if it might somehow give you something to hold onto, some kind of anchor to keep you from slipping further into your thoughts.

Will waits. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand anything from you. But he’s there, and he’s not letting this go.

His fingers move, slow and deliberate, trailing lightly down your arm. The sensation is soft, grounding, a quiet reassurance that he’s here, that he’s with you, that you don’t have to hold this weight alone.

He gives you space, but not distance.

And somehow, that makes it harder to keep the words locked inside.

Finally, you crack.

The weight of it has been pressing down on you all night, refusing to let you breathe, refusing to let you sleep, and now, with Will beside you, warm and steady and waiting—you can’t keep it in anymore.

“I overheard some of your teammates talking,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Will stills beside you. His body tenses, just the slightest bit, but you feel it—how his relaxed posture shifts, how his breathing changes. It’s subtle, but it’s there. His hand, still resting lightly against your arm, stills completely.

“What’d they say?”

His voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it now, something restrained. He’s not pushing, not demanding, but you can hear it—the quiet, controlled edge that wasn’t there before.

You hesitate.

The words are right there, sitting at the back of your throat, but saying them means admitting that they got to you. That their careless, offhanded remarks sank their claws into you, that they dug in so deep you let them fester.

You swallow, forcing the lump in your throat down. Then, in a voice so small you barely recognize it as your own, you say—

“That you could do better.”

Silence.

Thick, heavy silence. The kind that stretches long enough to make your chest ache.

Then—Will moves.

Slowly, his hand slides down your arm, his fingers brushing over your skin before they tangle with yours. His grip is firm but not tight, like he’s making sure you feel him, making sure you know he’s here, solid and real and with you.

“Better how?”

His voice is steady—too steady. Measured, deliberate. He already knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it.

You stare at the ceiling, your vision blurring slightly as you try to find the words, even though you already know them, even though they’ve been repeating in your head all night.

You take a slow, careful breath before you whisper, “Younger.”

The word tastes bitter, like something you shouldn’t have said aloud.

You force yourself to keep going, even though every part of you wants to stop. “That it’s weird,” you continue, your voice barely above a breath. “That if you had options, they don’t get why you’d choose… me.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you regret them.

Saying them makes them real.

And for a brief, terrifying second, you worry—what if he agrees? What if this is the moment he realizes they’re right?

But then—

Will moves again, shifting beside you, and before you can process it, he’s sitting up fully, his back pressing against the headboard. His grip on your hand tightens slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure you don’t pull away. Just enough to make sure you don’t retreat into yourself again.

“Okay, first of all?” Will says, his tone growing exasperated as he shakes his head slightly. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your breath hitches, the words lodging themselves somewhere deep in your chest, tight and painful. You didn’t expect him to react like this. You didn’t expect him to—snap—but his response is swift and sure, and it makes your heart thud harder in your chest.

“Will—”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, what you can even say to make this better. But you’re cut off before you can find the words.

“No, listen to me,” he interrupts, his voice firm, resolute, not leaving any room for doubt. His gaze is steady, never wavering, locking with yours with an intensity that shakes you. “I’m an adult. I make my own decisions.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, reverberating in your chest. There’s something about the way he says it like he’s not just telling you, but also reminding himself. You don’t doubt his conviction. You never have. But something about hearing him say it like this—the absolute certainty in his voice—makes you exhale in a way you hadn’t been able to all night.

“And being with you?” He leans in just slightly, his voice softer now, filled with a kind of quiet intensity. “That’s not just my decision—it’s the best one I’ve ever made.”

You blink, and for a second, nothing comes out. His words hover between you, heavy and warm. You want to say something, anything, but your throat tightens, choking back whatever emotions have been swelling in you all this time.

His hand reaches out, and it’s gentle, but insistent. He cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, the touch tender and sure. His fingers are warm, grounding, as if trying to steady you with just a touch. You don’t pull away.

“I don’t care what they think,” he continues, his voice low, almost reverent. “They don’t know me. Not really. Not like Mack and the guys do. And they definitely don’t know us.”

You feel the truth in his words. The people who are on the outside, the ones who haven’t seen you together, who don’t understand what it’s like to be with him, what it feels like to have him with you, they don’t get it. They never will. But the thought of what they said—their dismissal of you, of him—it still lingers.

His hand moves again, his thumb sweeping over your skin in soft circles. It’s reassuring, even though there’s a weight to the moment that doesn’t go away. His presence is unshakable, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“You think I don’t hear the jokes?” Will continues, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that almost resembles a smile. “You think Mack doesn’t give me hell about it every chance he gets?” He shakes his head slowly, an affectionate but knowing smirk crossing his lips. “But you know what the difference is? He’s just messing with me.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, quiet and disbelieving, because you know this to be true. Mack’s teasing is never meant to hurt, but to play. You’ve heard it before. But the others—the ones who weren’t close to Will—they didn’t have the same warmth behind their words. Their remarks felt cold, careless, like something they couldn’t take back.

“Because he knows it doesn’t matter,” Will continues, his voice steady now, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because he knows that I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in like the promise they are. They slip past the cracks in your guard and settle deep, anchoring themselves in your heart. It’s the way he says it—like it’s the only thing that matters, like there’s nothing else to say.

“I love you,” he repeats, softer this time, quieter, like he’s reminding you of the only truth that matters. It’s like he’s speaking it directly into the space between you, as if to fill every doubt, every worry, every insecurity with his certainty.

His hand shifts from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. His forehead rests against yours, the gentle pressure grounding you as his breath mingles with yours. It’s intimate, vulnerable, and you feel the weight of everything he’s said in the quiet comfort of his embrace.

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, pushing away the doubts and the questions that had been circling endlessly in your mind. For the first time all night, everything feels like it’s in its right place. Will doesn’t care about the opinions of others. All that matters is what the two of you share, what the two of you have chosen.

“I love you,” he whispers again, his voice barely more than a breath, but it fills the space between you with a warmth that makes everything else fade into the background. His lips brush against yours, soft and lingering, like the kiss itself is a promise, a quiet reassurance that nothing has changed.

The kiss isn’t hurried or desperate. It’s gentle, almost reverent, like he’s savoring the moment, making sure you feel every ounce of his affection in the tender press of his lips. And as he pulls away just slightly, his breath warm against your skin, you can feel his love more deeply than the words alone could ever express. It’s in the way his fingers, still cradling your neck, gently tug you closer, bringing you into his embrace as if he’s never going to let go.

For a brief moment, you close your eyes and let everything fall away. The doubts. The questions. The words from earlier that had burned their way into your thoughts. All of it slips away as the rhythm of his heartbeat syncs with yours, a steady, calming reminder that you’re here, in this moment, together.

You’re not thinking about what the other people said anymore, not even about the way their words had sliced through your confidence and planted seeds of insecurity in your heart. You’re not thinking about the age difference, or whether it matters. All of that feels so distant now, almost irrelevant, because in this space, with Will, you are simply you. And he is him. And there is no question about whether this is right. It is.

His hand slides down your back, his fingers warm against your skin as he pulls you in even closer, pressing his body against yours in a way that makes your heart skip. It’s a subtle movement, but the weight of his touch, the way he’s holding you like you’re the only thing that matters, makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“I don’t need anyone else to tell me what I feel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple, his voice low and unwavering. “You’re everything to me. And that’s enough.”

And in that moment, you realize he’s right. He doesn’t need anyone’s approval. Neither of you do. His love, his choice to be with you, his certainty—it’s more than enough. It’s everything.

You open your eyes again, and when you meet his gaze, you see that same unwavering certainty reflected back at you. His eyes are soft, but there’s a depth to them that makes your heart swell. It’s as if he’s saying everything without speaking—I chose you, and I will always choose you.

Without a word, you lean in again, this time with more urgency, a quiet desperation that only comes when you realize just how much you need someone. Your lips find his again, and this time, the kiss is deeper, more consuming. It’s as if you’re both trying to prove something to each other, to make sure the other knows, without a doubt, that this love is real, and it’s yours.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as though he’s trying to erase the space between you. And for a moment, you lose yourself in the warmth of him, in the certainty of his touch, in the weight of his love.

When you finally pull away, your breath is shaky, your chest heaving slightly from the intensity of the kiss. But there’s no hesitation, no doubt, no lingering insecurity. There’s only him. There’s only the two of you.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice a little rougher now, but the sincerity is still there, still clear, still strong.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice barely more than a breath, but it’s enough.

And in that moment, you know. You know that nothing else matters. The outside world can say whatever it wants, can whisper its judgments or misunderstandings. But the only thing that matters is the two of you, here, together, in this space. His love for you, your love for him, and the life you’re building together.

That’s all that matters.

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jaketism · 7 months ago

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san jose sharks fanart 🦈

#hockey #sjs #leo.txt #my art #well. not really. but kind of #peanuts #macklin celebrini #hockey art #idk what else to tag this

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crazy4eky · 2 months ago

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Lover

⋆˚࿔ warnings: nothing really but use of (Y/N)

⋆˚࿔ pairing: will smith x celebrini!reader

⋆˚࿔ wc: 1.8k

a/n: this is my first ever fic! so if it sucks don’t be surprised bc im not the best writer but hopefully it’s decent!! not proofread

—————

You had a huge crush on Will Smith. No, not one of those stupid 1 week crushes. This was a serious crush and you had it bad. Everything you did reminded you of him, no matter the setting. Whether you were at the beach tanning or sitting at home reading. You always pictured him right there with you. Not even doing anything just being there. Being yours.

One slight problem was that you were his best friend's older sister. You were 21 and Will was 20 but that didn’t stop the feelings, if anything it made them stronger. You knew Will had a reputation for going after older women. He was never shy to admit that. Macklin basically outed him to the world about it at one point.

But with you Will was different. He got extremely nervous and stuttered. You never expected a hotshot NHL player to quite literally fumble over his words when you were around but it’s not like you were complaining. Hell, anyone would kill to be in your position.

He always made sure to tell you how pretty you looked every time he saw you. Whether you had makeup or not. He just thought you were absolutely gorgeous 24/7.

Since you lived with Macklin you saw Will a lot. Will was always over at yours and Macklin’s apartment. If he wasn’t, the two would be at the Marleau residence, where Will temporarily lived. There had been talks of Will moving in when the next season started since there was a spare room in our apartment that was completely empty.

When leaving for away games he’d always make sure to say bye since he knew he wouldn’t talk to you till they got back. He’d always felt like he would’ve been overstepping if he asked to facetime when he was gone. So instead when leaving he settled with kissing the top of your head every time before saying goodbye.

He’d also buy you flowers regularly and when you’d ask why he’d say he ‘just felt like it’ and would shrug it off. He tried to replace them every time he noticed they were starting to die. And every Saturday without fail he’d bring you Starbucks and breakfast in the morning before going to practice. Will was an absolute godsend to you and you never wanted him to leave. Today was a random Tuesday and you were awake early as always and there was a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in.” You said sitting up on the bed and setting your phone down on the nightstand. When the door opened there was Will standing proudly with new flowers in his hands. God was he adorable.

“I got more because those ones were dying. These are my favorite flowers.” Will said proudly holding up the lilies. He had a big goofy grin on his face as he held them up. It was different from his usual shy smiles and nervous demeanor but in a way you liked it. “If you don’t like them I can definitely take them back though.”

“No, no!” You said quickly, almost too quickly. “They’re beautiful Will. Thank you.” You climbed out of bed and grabbed them from him, your fingers brushing against his slightly. You saw a faint blush appear on his face as soon as it happened.

You hugged him lightly, not wanting to crush the pretty flowers he was so proud of. When you pulled back you looked up at him and really took him in for a second. His bright blonde hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it a bunch, his pretty blue eyes were soft and shy while looking down at you. You saw him glance down at your lips for a second before snapping back up to your eyes. He leaned in closer so your lips were nearly touching. Just as he opened his mouth to say something he was immediately silenced when Macklin walked into the room.

“Hey (Y/N)-” Macklin spoke loudly as he entered the room but quickly shut up when he saw how close you two were standing. Your chest’s pressed together, Will’s arm still snaked around your waist lightly, your face’s centimeters away from one another. Immediately the two of you pulled back from each other when you noticed the position you were in. “Woah sorry. I can come back if you need me to.”

“No you’re fine,” Your face felt like it was on fire and unfortunately it was extremely obvious. Just like your little brother, you had splotchy red cheeks when you blushed and they were bright red. Will’s cheeks weren’t any better though. His blush went straight to his ears, something you had always teased him for in the past. “We were just uh- talking. I was thanking him for the flowers. What’s up? You need something?” You said casually, as if seconds ago you and Will weren’t having an intimate moment.

“I was gonna ask if you’ve seen my hoodie,” He asked awkwardly, knowing he’d walked in on something he definitely wasn’t supposed to. “The grey one I wore last week? I can’t find it anywhere. I literally searched the whole house.”

“Oh,” You walked to your closet and pulled a hoodie out “This one?” You held it up for him to see.

“Seriously? You stole my hoodie?” Macklin said unimpressed “Is it clean at least?” He spit out sassily.

“Geez yes it is. Now take it and go shower.” You said in the same tone as him. It earned an eye roll from him before he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

You finally turned back to Will who was still frozen in place with wide eyes. You tried saying something—but frankly you didn’t know what to say. You wanted to bring the almost kiss but didn’t wanna make it more awkward than it already was. When you finally went to speak, he beat you to it.

“I should go.”

You felt your heart drop when you heard his words. You thought maybe you’d heard him wrong so you cracked out a small “What?” But he didn’t answer. He just left. You stood there in complete silence—not knowing if you should chase after him or let him walk away. You didn’t have enough time to even process the decision because you could hear the front door slam shut. It’s like time had stopped when you heard it. Had that really happened or was this a bad dream and you’d wake up hearing Macklin and Will’s giggles from the living room.

Unfortunately that was not the case. Slowly you made your way to your bed, sitting down shakily. You pulled your knees to your chest and absolutely lost it. Tears spilling over and sobs wracking from your chest. You were thankful Macklin was in the shower because if he wasn’t he would be able to hear your sobs.

—————

It’s been a week since that day and Will is completely avoiding you. You hated it so much. You missed his small gestures, his hugs, his voice, his smile, him.

He wouldn’t come to your apartment anymore if you were home. Will insisted on going to his house when Macklin wanted to hang out. Macklin never questioned it because he could sense the tension between the two of you but neither one of you had told him what happened.

Eventually you were sick of it. Had he thought you wouldn’t have kissed him back if he’d tried? Was he embarrassed it got interrupted? You had to find out. You drove to the Marleau household determined to understand why he’d run away completely from you without any explanation. You needed closure because without it, you were a mess. When you got there you greeted everyone before making your way to the backyard and to the guest house. You didn’t wanna just barge in so you knocked. It felt like forever until the door opened but when it did Will’s eyes went wide the second he saw you.

“We need to talk Will,” You were looking up at him desperately. “Please. I won’t be long, I just need to say some things.”

All he did was nod, not trusting himself enough to speak. He moved out of the way so you could step in, closing the door behind you. He refused to look in your direction, instead choosing to look at anything but you. Apparently the ceiling fan was extremely interesting right now. You were starting to get a little annoyed with his behavior.

“What is your problem?” You blurted out.

He immediately froze, his eyes finally snapping to yours. “W-what?” His voice cracked.

“Don’t act dumb Will.” You scoffed, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been completely avoiding me since-” You paused, choosing your words carefully “Since we almost kissed Will.”

His eyes immediately turned sad at your words “I-” He stopped, not knowing what exactly to say. He looked away from you again and that pissed you off even more.

You grabbed his chin. Roughly but not enough to hurt him. You turned his head to look directly down at you. He could see the desperation in your eyes. Anyone could if they saw you right now. But you didn’t care. You needed to get him to see how much this meant to you.

“You can’t keep avoiding this conversation. We can’t pretend that didn't happen.” You hesitated your next words but continued. “I can’t pretend I don’t love you Will!”

It took him a second to process your words completely but when he did his lips parted into an ‘o’ shape. You started thinking you maybe read the situation wrong but before you could get any more words in his lips were on yours. You didn’t fully realize what was happening for a few seconds before fully reciprocating the kiss. One hand went into his hair, the other cupping his cheek.

All of the pent up feelings and desires were put into the kiss. Finally getting the sense of closure you both needed. You felt his tongue slide across your bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. To which you immediately opened your mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in.

After a minute you two pulled away from each other, foreheads resting on each other’s. That’s when you heard faint music playing. You pulled back and looked at the speaker then back to Will.

“You like Taylor Swift?” You giggled, hearing the familiar song ‘Lover’ that you’d listened to a million times while daydreaming of Will.

He finally cracked a smile after what felt like a lifetime. “Started listening to her because of you. I’d always hear her playing from your room when I was hanging out with Macklin. She’s growing on me.”

“Huh. Never thought you noticed that.” You said with a dumb smile on your face.

“I notice everything about you.” His words sent immediate butterflies to your stomach.

That night the dumb, love struck smile never left your face. Yet you didn’t care. You had Will after all this time. You finally got your lover boy.

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glacialrelict · 2 months ago

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its always will smith hockey is a puppy... will smith hockey is a donkey... WRONG! this bitch is a fish

#tell me im wrong #macklin celebrini your chirps are average #will smith hockey #mine #sjs

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lukesvangelista · 7 months ago

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𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧ʷˢ²

in which will's arm becomes your canvas in the moments you need it most.

warnings; anxiety, bullying (pre-school), BRIEF mention of parents fighting, but other than that, pure fluff. if you can think of others, please don't hesitate to let me know!

You had met Will Smith in pre-school. On the first day that you had stepped inside the classroom, you had been captivated by his blond hair and blue eyes. His hair had been neatly cut, safely tucked behind his ears, while his eyes matched perfectly with his charming smile. Even at four years old, he had you wrapped around his finger.

You didn't get the chance to talk to him, however, until the winter of that school year. You had always been the anxious type, finding it hard to reach out and speak to your classmates. So, you didn't. Ultimately, that led to a group of boys catching you on the slide, alone, during recess one day. It was a typical Massachusetts day for that time of year - a white blanket of snow enveloped the state, and the ice on the ground was as smooth as glass. But in that moment, none of that had mattered. A brown-haired boy in the group had approached first, asking the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.

"Why don't you talk?"

Those words stung. It wasn't like you didn't want to. It just felt like your mouth was zipped shut and someone had thrown out the key to unlock it every time you tried to speak.

So, naturally, you didn't answer.

A few moments later, another boy stepped forward, "Aww, is the little baby too afraid to speak?"

You took a deep breath, trying to gather yourself, but it was clear that you weren't going to get out of this one easily. Despite your observation, you carefully hopped off of the slide you were perched on and turned your back to the boys as you attempted to walk away. You had only made it a few steps when you felt a hard shove from behind - one that made you fall face first onto the ground. Your face burrowed itself into the thick layer of snow that had blanketed the ground, the cold powder stinging your face. You tried to burrow into the safety of your heavy winter coat, but not even that worked.

You could hear the muffled laughs of the boys behind you, one shouting, "Mute freak!" and the other shouting, "Scaredy-cat!" Suddenly, however, a third voice had joined the conversation. The voice was both recognizable and unrecognizable to you, both comforting yet oddly familiar. That was enough for you to gather the strength to look up from the ground.

"Leave her alone!"

It was Will.

His neatly-trimmed blond hair had grown shaggy over time, the wisps of it curling at the nape of his neck. A white winter hat was covering the rest, but you could almost see the way it was curled at the top of his head. A flame of anger was dancing in his usually icy blue eyes, and his smile was no longer charming, only frustrated.

He shoved the two boys back, but not hard enough for them to fall to the ground. That didn’t matter, however. Will had the upper hand - he had a few inches on both of the boys, which meant that in their eyes, he towered over them. Without any other words being spoken, the two boys ran off in fear, occasionally looking back only to find Will glaring at them as he carefully walked over to you.

As he approached you, he offered a compassionate smile, one that would’ve made you feel better if your face wasn’t going numb from the snow. He grabbed your hands and helped you sit up, his gloved hands immediately going to gently brush the snow off of your face.

You flinched in surprise, but the soft material felt comforting against your rosy cheeks. He glanced at you as if to ask if it was okay for him to continue, and you nodded softly. Once he was done, he wiped his snow-covered gloves on the material of his puffy coat - no doubt one his mom made him wear - and offered a gentle hand to help you up off of the ground.

“I’m William, but I go by Will,” he smiled, his hand lingering in yours until he knew for sure that you were safely off of the ground. When he let go, your hands immediately went to fumble with the hem of your hoodie in both anxiety and relief.

You weren’t sure what, but something washed over you, and timidly yet undoubtedly, you raised your voice.

“I’m Y/N.”

And that was the first time you talked to one of your classmates. That classmate just happened to be Will Smith.

As the year went on, you and Will grew inseparable. He continued to be the only classmate you talked to, but he didn't seem to mind. Everyone around you wondered why Will received your special treatment, but the truth of the matter was that he was the only one who made you feel safe. He never judged you for your anxiety, but instead welcomed it because even at four years old, he knew it was apart of you.

Later in spring, you were having a particularly bad day when Will handed you a pack of markers. He had recently turned five, a milestone you were still waiting on, and he received the package of colored ink as one of his gifts. He opened the table's cubby to reveal some coloring books, but as he placed them down, he felt your hand grab his wrist.

Without a word, you had taken the cap off of a light blue marker and began drawing a flower on his skin. Will hesitated for a moment, but when he took sight of your face, he could see the way your eyes visibly drained of worry as you traced the ink. So, naturally, he continued to let you do it.

Little did you know that that tradition would last for fourteen years.

Even at 19, the tradition of drawing on Will’s skin had become second nature, something neither of you ever questioned anymore. He constantly had markings on his skin from you, but he didn’t mind. It was a quiet way for you to find your balance in waves of emotions and for him to remind you that you were never alone.

It had been a long day for you. You had come over after a family dinner that had left your nerves frayed, your usual quietness amplified to the point that Will could tell something was wrong the second you walked in. Now, hours later, you sat on his bed, your legs cocooned into your chest as if that would provide you with any sense of comfort. Your mind was racing with more bad thoughts than good. The faint glow of “Ratatouille” illuminated the room through the screen of Will’s laptop, but neither of you seemed too interested.

Will glanced at you, catching the way your knees were pulled up to your chest, your fingers picking at the hem of your sweatshirt like they had the first time he met you. Without a word, he reached over to his desk, opened his top drawer, and grabbed the same pack of markers that had been sitting there since you were kids — the ones he had received for his 5th birthday — and held them out to you.

You glanced up at him slowly, your eyes meeting his blue ones. The flames of worry dancing in them almost matched the yellow marker you had grabbed from him. Will leaned back against his headboard, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence but not the calm.

With the marker in your hand, you forced arm down until his wrist was stretched out in your lap. You were focused, your brow furrowed in that familiar way as you worked on filling the empty space of his skin with tiny, intricate designs.

You didn’t look up, the marker stilling for only a second before continuing its careful strokes. “Just thinking,” you murmured, the words barely audible over the scratch of ink against his skin. Will sighed softly, gently grabbing your chin with his free hand to get you to look at him.

“About what?”

You hesitated, your hand pausing again. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, you looked like you might change the subject. But then you sighed and went back to drawing, your voice low, “Dreams, I guess. The future. If my parents stop fighting. If I’ll ever feel… well, less like this.”

Will didn’t need to ask what this meant. He’d been your best friend long enough to know—this was the restlessness, the anxiety, the weight you carried in moments like these. Hell, it was the weight you carried all the time. He watched as you traced another flower on his wrist, your hand steady despite the storm you clearly felt inside.

His heart broke, but he didn’t falter.

“You will,” he said simply, the steadiness in his voice making you chuckle slightly.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, “You make it sound easy.”

Will smiled softly, the compassion he’d always held for you radiating through him, “It’s not. But you’ll get there,” he said, leaning forward just enough so that your knees touched. “And until then, you can keep putting your dreams on me.” He tilted his head, gesturing toward the growing garden of flowers and stars you were creating.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound warming the room. It was the first time Will had heard you laugh all day, “Dreams?“

Will shook his head, his grin small but sincere, “These are the outlines of what’s in your head, Y/N/N — your dreams, your worries, all of it. You’ve been doing it since we were five years old.”

You laughed, your eyes meeting his again, “But what makes you think they’re my dreams?”

“They constantly change,” he explained, a wisp of his blond curls falling in front of his eyes. He looked exactly like the four year old you had met on the playground that winter day. “When we were six, you drew rocket ships because all you wanted was to be an astronaut. And when we were 11, I constantly had drawings of cats and dogs on my wrists because you wanted to be a veterinarian. And last year, you drew the Boston College logo over and over again because you wanted me to be happy at B.C.”

“And what about my worries?”

“They remain more steady, but I don’t mind carrying them for awhile,” he whispered softly, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Your marker stilled, and for a moment, you just looked at him, your chest feeling a little lighter in a way only Will could manage. Then, with a soft smile, you added one last detail to the sunflower you’d been working on—a tiny heart at the center.

“You’re so corny,” you said, placing his arm back in his lap.

Will smirked, lifting it to admire your work, “And you’re the one who just drew a heart. Who’s corny now?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out. You tucked your legs under you, leaning back against the headboard beside him. He might’ve been corny, but he meant more to you than you could ever know,“You’ll always be my favorite sketchbook, you know.”

Will nudged your shoulder lightly, the marker still in his other hand, “And you’ll always be a flower on my skin.”

Neither of you said anything else after that, the room settling into a comfortable silence. But the outlines of your dreams stayed etched on Will’s arm, just like they always would.

a/n; this might be one of my favorite works that i’ve ever written. i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i did!

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simplyhughes · 9 months ago

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LMAOO TREVOR AND WILL 😭😭 IM CRYING LOOK AT WILLS FACE THE SMILING

#simplyhughes #simplyhughes talks #will smith #will smith nhl #will smith hockey #sjs #trevor zegras #anaheim ducks

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alltimecharlo · 1 month ago

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will and mack face off at the beanpot (feb 2024)

#they didn’t know how much they’d mean to each other yet!!!!! 🥹🥲#generational find #willmack #macklin celebrini #san jose sharks #will smith hockey #mackwill #wacklin #sj sharks #sjs #sharks #sharks hockey #boston college #boston university #beanpot

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peachhcs · 7 months ago

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plz write a cute celebrini x fem reader 🙏🙏 ur writing is beyond amazing

oooh i've never written specifically for mack before so hopefully this isn't bad 😅

after mack’s face injury, his gf is quick to look after him once the game is done

masterlist

she waited impatiently near the doors of the locker room awaiting her boyfriend's arrival. y/n's mind couldn't stop replaying the horror on her features and everyone else's when they saw the blood trickle down macklin's face after a nasty high stick hit. she knew he was okay because he was right back on the ice once the bleeding stopped, but the image wouldn't shake the girl's brain.

lingering after the game felt so long this time around and y/n wondered if it was just because she was anxious about seeing her boyfriend and properly checking up on him. she swiped through twitter and instagram continuously while video replays of the rookie's hit filled her feeds. she just shut her phone off all together for now, not being able to watch the play anymore.

finally, the players began trickling out. y/n's head popped up, searching for the eyes of macklin in the crowd. she spotted him with will near the middle of the pack and he immediately found her gaze. will sensed that they probably wanted to talk, so he split off from the boy once they got closer, giving a small nod to y/n as he passed.

"hey," macklin began, but was caught off guard when y/n jumped into his arms.

"let me see it," she grabbed ahold of his chin, turning his face to the side to examine the new scar.

"it's really not that bad now. they cleared it up really good," the brunette tried reassuring his girlfriend knowing she probably had a hundred thoughts running through her.

"you scared the shit out of me when i saw all that blood. it looked a lot worse," y/n stepped back, arms crossing over her chest.

macklin frowned at the sudden distance between them, "i'm sorry, baby. i promise i'm fine. see?" he gave his best grin hoping to further prove how he was doing.

"well, if i see wilson, i'm gonna punch him myself," y/n huffed, looking around like she would catch the older player lingering somewhere.

macklin laughed, tugging y/n into his side and kissing the side of her head, "you're so cute when you're upset. i promise i'm fine though. i mean you saw me play afterwards."

"yeah you fucking power played. i guess that was your redemption," the two exchanged a laugh and macklin enjoyed finally pulling a smile from her.

"can i come back to your place tonight?" the boy wondered as they moved themselves closer to the exit.

"i thought that was a given already," y/n chuckled.

macklin went to tell will they were leaving before rushing out of the SAP center so he wouldn't have to do any press. most days he didn't mind, but tonight the boy was itching to get out of there and spend some much needed time with his girl. they hadn't seen each other since last weekend—school and hockey keeping them way too busy.

"just so you know, i am gonna baby you the whole night," y/n informed once they were securely in her car.

"mm, i can't wait. a face mask is just calling my name," the hockey player leaned back in the passenger seat, hand falling to the girl's lap as she pulled out of the parking lot.

luckily, there was no early morning practice tomorrow, so macklin was gonna use that to his full advantage and spend the night in y/n's dorm. the couple rode in comfortable silence into santa clara university, a convenient 7 minutes away from the arena so y/n never missed a home game.

she parked her car again and the couple hurried into her building. the few students wandering around the lobby caught sight of macklin's suit he put back on, a few of them recognizing him from as a sharks player and as y/n's boyfriend because he was over so much.

they lucked out with y/n's roommate hanging out with her own boyfriend tonight, so they had the whole dorm to themselves. macklin immediately thew his backpack onto the ground and shoved his suit jacket from his shoulders.

"gonna shower. i didn't really before we left. you're welcome to join me if you want," the brunette winked at the girl who flushed.

"wow, so classy of you. i did already shower this morning, so i'll have to pass this time," y/n laughed.

"damn, i thought you'd say yes. you sure you don't wanna shower again?" he winked again. y/n groaned, pushing her boyfriend to the bathroom.

"i'll be out here with your face mask."

the rookie accepted his lonely shower fate and disappeared into the bathroom. y/n took the opportunity to tidy up the room and get all the things she needed for their face masks.

20 minutes later, macklin came back out of the bathroom freshly showered and in more comfortable clothes. y/n hung up his suit jacket on the door of her closet, instructing him to do the same with the rest of the outfit so it wouldn't wrinkle.

the boy climbed into her bed a second later, positioning himself against her pillows, "i'm readyy," he sang.

"i've never known you to be so excited for a face mask," y/n grinned.

"it really makes my skin smooth, so i like it," the boy explained.

y/n handed mack her headband so his hair wouldn't be in his face or in the mask. he didn't hesitate to slip it over his head and expose his forehead. the girl giggled at the sight.

"are you laughing at my big forehead?" the boy raised his eyebrow, hands finding places on y/n's hips as she straddled his waist.

"maybe," she hummed, leaning forward to begin rubbing the cream on his skin.

mack admired her focused expression while just really taking the time to take in every part of her as she applied the mask. this was his favorite part of face masks because he could stare at her without shame and she hardly noticed because she was too focused on the mask.

"have i told you how beautiful you are?" the brunette wondered softly. he watched the way y/n's cheeks heated up into a deep blush.

"you have," she muttered.

"well, i'm gonna say it again. you're really beautiful," mack grinned.

"you're sappy tonight," y/n flushed.

"what? can i not say how beautiful my girlfriend is?"

"no, you can. thank you," she finished spreading the mask, leaning back to admire her work.

"how's it look?"

"great. i'lll let you know when five minutes are up," the girl set a timer on her phone and then mack grabbed the mask cream from her hands before she could set it back on the dresser.

she looked at her boyfriend quizzically.

"can i do yours?" he wondered with a soft expression.

y/n blushed again, "just don't get it in my hair."

"promise, i won't," macklin agreed and y/n let him have at it.

his touch was gentle as his fingers began rubbing around her skin. his lip poked out from his lips as he focused on doing it right. y/n loved how much he wanted to do it correctly for her sake and his expression really was just to die for.

"okay, did it," macklin leaned back to admire his work the same way y/n did. she loved the proud little smile on his lips, pulling her camera up to examine how well he did.

"wow, looks great, mack. your best one yet," y/n agreed.

"what can i say? practice makes perfect," the boy hummed, placing everything back onto her dresser.

"so how's your lip doing now?" y/n wondered as mack's hands wandered across the expanse of her hips and waist.

"i can't even feel it anymore, so good. i told you i'm fine," he eyed her.

"i know, just let me be a worry wart."

the sharks player smiled at her words knowing how much she liked to worry about things, especially the things that didn't need to be worried about. he reached up to quickly peck her lips, tryng to avoid getting face mask on one another.

"i love you," the brunette said.

y/n's smile grew, the whole i love you still new to them but heartwarming to hear, "i love you, too," she kissed him again and now they didn't care about getting face mask on one another.

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