#WS2

[lukesskywalkerr]

playoffs being over means i can get back to what rlly matters: homo sex

[belli5]

Off Limits .ᐟ ೀWS²

╰ Synopsis Will insisted that you’d meet his teammates, but he didn’t think he’d be jealous of his teammates, but how couldn’t he though?

Tags/contains Fluff, Angst if you squint, Will Smith x fem!reader, jealousy, Will being protective, kissing(grow up pls), not proofread(yet)

➺ from Sera, to you📨. Lowkey missed writing for Smitty, so hoping to see soon more Smitty requests. In real life scenario I KNOW Smitty would not talk to his friends like that but I like to be a little delusional about how he'd be as a boyfriend.

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!

It starts with Will tapping his fingers on your thigh. Not seriously, more like like he’s working up to something, the way he does when he’s thinking hard but trying to act casual about it.

You glance over at him from your spot on the couch, tucked his arm with your legs curled up. His phone glows in his free hand, screen half covered by his thumb. You try to read it, but he tilts it away from you with a little smirk.

“Why are you hiding your phone?” You ask, voice light and teasing a bit.

He chuckles. “I’m not hiding. Just figuring something out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

Will hesitates, just long enough for you to know it’s something he’s been thinking about for a while. And then he blurts it out. “I want you to come to the team dinner tomorrow.”

You blink. “Team dinner?”

“Yeah.” He lifts his arm from your leg and leans back, a little more animated now. “It’s nothing fancy. Just the guys and a couple staff, probably at a steakhouse or something. But I want them to meet you.”

You smile, because it’s sweet, it really is but the nerves bubble up fast. “Are you sure? Like.. is that something people do?”

Will frowns, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean..” you pick a loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Isn’t that a lot? Bringing your girlfriend to something that’s usually, like, just the team?”

He pulls a face. “It’s not that serious.”

You snort. “Sounds kinda serious.”

Will leans closer, ducking his head until your noses are almost touching. “Okay. Maybe I want it to be serious. And the guys said they’ll also bring their girlfriends aswell.”

Your stomach flips, and he grins like he knows it. Because he does.

Sure, you’ve seen his teammates when you go to his games, but you’ve never met met them like that. And not to mention you’ll meet some of the other wags.

“I’ve already told them about you,” he adds casually, like it’s no big deal. “So you might as well come meet them. Save me the pain of hearing them speculate for another week.”

You narrow your eyes. “Speculate?”

He groans. “You don’t wan to know. Smitty this, Smitty that. ‘Why doesn’t he bring her around?’ It’s relentless, because I do bring you around, but they haven’t met you..”

You laugh, fully picturing Mack or Tyler egging him on in the locker room. “Okay. I’ll come.”

He lights up, practically vibrating with satisfaction, and pulls you into his lap with no warning. You yelp, hands landing on his chest as he presses a kiss to your jaw up to your lips.

“But I swear to God,” you mumble into his shoulder, “if they’re weird or mean or make you feel weird—”

“They won’t,” he says quickly. “They’ll love you.”

You can’t help but melt a little at the confidence in his voice. Maybe it won’t be so bad meeting his teammates, to you it just means he’s taking you more serious, which makes you feel good.

You spend most of the day obsessing over what to wear.

Will insists that it’s not a big deal, but you can’t help it. Meeting a whole NHL roster of guys who are basically brothers to your boyfriend? Yeah, that’s a big deal.

And you’re gonna meet the other wags, which is a lot more motivation to you, to make a good impression to fit in with them, because you plan to spend rest of your life with Will.

He’s lounging on your bed while you tear through your closet, tossing tops over your shoulder and rejecting everything out loud.

“Too casual. Too formal.” And more.

Will watches you with a lazy grin, arms folded behind his head like he has all the time in the world. “You can wear anything and you’ll still look good, babe.”

You pause. “That’s not helping.”

He shrugs. “Sorry, babe. Facts are facts.”

Eventually you settle on denim skirt and a black top you know he loves, one that hugs you in all the right places. Will throws on a simple button up and jeans, and the two of you head out.

The restaurant smells like steak and butter by the time you step through the front doors. Warm lighting bathes the space in soft golds, catching the shine of glassware and polished cutlery. There’s music playing low under the hum of conversation, and Will’s hand slides naturally into yours, fingers laced tight.

“They’re already here,” he murmurs, tugging gently as he leads you toward the back of the restaurant. “Big long table. You good?”

You nod, offering him a small smile even as your nerves tap quietly at your chest. “A little nervous.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. “They’re gonna love you. Just be your cute, sweet, hot self.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. Great combo.”

He smirks, leaning in to whisper, “You’re my whole combo.”

You barely have time to laugh before you arrive at the table and see them all and a handful of girls scattered along a long wooden table, already deep in conversation. A few drinks have clearly already been had.

“There he is!” Someone calls, and heads turn like coordinated play. And then they see you.

It’s not aggressive. Just a collective, slightly too long pause as they take you in.

Will’s hand drops to your waist, possessive in a quiet, casual way, like it belongs there. “Guys,” he says, voice steady. “This is my girlfriend.”

The way he says it makes your chest tighten. He’s so calm, so confident. No room for debate in his tone. “This is Y/n.”

You smile, lifting a small wave. “Hi.”

And then they greet you at once. You see Mack start talking, you knew Macklin was his best friend. “There’s a spot here,” he insists, tapping the back the chair beside him. “You don’t have to sit across from Will. He never shuts up.”

Will’s hand stay on your waist, firm. “She sitting next to me,” he says, not in a rude way though.

You glance at Will, he doesn’t say anything else, but his hand slides under the table to rest on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.

Introductions fly by, many names, you barely catch half of them. Their girlfriends around the table smile at you kindly, some more curious than others. One of them, lean over to ask if it’s your first team dinner. You nod.

Throughout the dinner, it becomes clear that several of the guys are trying to get your attention. Not in a weird way. Just a little much.

Mack leans forward across the table everytime you speak, like he wants to catch every word. William is quick with a comment whenever you so much as smile.

Even a few of the others throw in jokes, chime in when you laugh, or ask a question about your program, your hobbies, what brought you to San Jose.

It’s nice. But noticeable. And Will definitely notices.

His hand never leaves you. He keeps it on your leg or waist the whole time. At one point, he gently tugs your chair closer to his until your knees are brushing. When Ferraro asks what you two did on your first date, Will answers before you even open your mouth.

“She doesn’t remember the name of the place,” he says. “But I do. I planned it.”

You smirk, nudging him. “I remember! Just.. not the exact name.”

“She said I was a better date than she expected,” Will adds, eyes gleaming. “Swear.”

“She told you that? On the first date?” Mack asks from the other side of table.

Will shrugs. “She did.”

You look down at your drink to hide your blush. When you glance back up, William is looking at you, a little focused if you could say. “You play any sports?” He asks casually.

“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not anymore.”

“You look like you could’ve,” Mack adds.

“Good genes, I guess.” You say, laughing.

Will’s arm wraps around your shoulders now. “Okay, you two don’t need to run scouting reports on her.”

Some of the guys at the table laugh, but you don’t miss the subtle edge in his voice. You lean in to murmur, “baby..”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head down to brush a kiss to your temple. “She’s not a prospect.” Will mutters quietly, that only you could possibly hear him.

By dessert, things mellow out. A few of the girlfriends start asking about school, and you fall into conversation with them while the guys argue about some call from the last game. Still every now and then you catch one of the boys eyes lingering just a little closer than necessary.

Will plays it cool. Doesn’t call it out. But you feel it. In the way he keeps you close. In the glances he shoots across the table. In the way he responds to anything said to you that could even vaguely be taken as flirtatious.

And when it’s finally time to leave, and everyone’s saying their goodbyes, some of the guys hug you a little too tight, leaving Will holding your arm gently tugging meaning he wants to leave faster.

You catch the way Will tenses beside you, thanking them quickly before steering you toward the door. Once you’re outside in the cooler night air, you exhale. “That was a lot.”

“You were perfect,” Will says, unlocking the car. “They loved you.”

“You okay?” You ask as he opens the passenger door for you. “You were a little quiet toward the end.”

Will doesn’t answer until you’re both inside the car, engine humming low. “I just don’t like the way a couple of them looked at you.” He finally admits, glancing over.

“Too friendly?”

He nods. “Yeah. That.”

You smile, reaching across to rest a hand on his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks over at you, expression softening. “I know.”

You add, teasing, “You were kinda hot though. Quietly fuming.”

Will groans. “I wasn’t fuming.” He laughs, but reaches for you hand and brings it to his lips. He looks at you for a beat longer, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I hated every second Mack looked at you,” he mutters.

You grin. “You gonna bodycheck your best friend over me?”

He leans in, kissing you. “Don’t tempt me.”

[allthespoons]

okay i am also sick about the golf courses but will is so tan now so it’s a unfortunate a sacrifice that has to be made

do u know where else u can get a tan… on the fucking beach in greece!!!!!!! i hate him.

[quinnhug43]

i’d beg him in a way that would embarrass my name for generations

[peachhcs]

Have will and samy ever had a scare???

another old ask...like not really? they stay pretty safe and even when they don't use a condom, samy's on the pill and by then they're the only people they've been with so no baby scares yet!

however, to humor the idea of them having a child earlyish on..like 21-22 or so...i think it would be a cutie. they'd definitely be good parents and all of their friends would love to help raise the baby.

like just imagine samy brings the baby to a practice one day and all of will's teammates gush about how cute the baby is and the baby is basically being raised by twenty different uncles and aunts. i think it'd be so cute.

anyways, that's still kind of far off and even then i don't think samy and will would intentionally try to have a baby so young like that. they'd probably try at around 27-30? the typical time couples start trying for a kid.

[weaponizedspite]

in honour of mack's british columbian spirit taking over and making him buy a whole ass pick-up truck despite living in san jose

[ijustdontlikepeople]

Wacklins x Internet (a NHL x Internet Special Edition)

[postgamevibes]

Summary: You convinced Will to film one silly TikTok trend. Now he’s viral. Sharks Twitter has made memes. His teammates won’t let him live. And honestly? You’re loving it.

*********************************************************

You didn’t mean for it to go viral.

Truthfully.

It was just supposed to be a dumb little TikTok, a 15-second clip with your boyfriend and a trending audio that made you laugh. Something for your private account, your close friends, maybe a few likes from people who didn’t even know who Will was.

You definitely didn’t expect the Sharks official Twitter to repost it.

Or for the clip to hit 2.3 million views overnight.

Or for Will to become a meme.

But we’ll get to that.

It started on a slow Tuesday, the kind of day where Will was in sweats, lying upside down on the couch with his legs over the back cushions and a protein bar balanced precariously on his chest.

He’d had a morning skate, then an afternoon nap that bled into a mid-afternoon zone-out session. You were stretched out on the rug, scrolling TikTok with a mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

“Babe?” you said.

Will hummed without looking away from the ceiling.

“Do you love me?”

That got his attention. His head popped up like a gopher. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “…yes?”

You grinned. “Perfect. I need you to help me film something.”

“Nope.” He immediately flopped back down. “Not happening. I know that voice.”

“Will.”

“Last time you said that, I ended up dancing to Beyoncé in my boxers.”

“And it was iconic.”

“It was character assassination.”

“Come on. It’s just a trend. You barely have to do anything.”

He groaned but tilted his head to look at you again. “What’s the trend?”

You held up your phone. The video played: one partner is recording while the other one walks into the room, unsuspecting, and the person behind the camera hits them with a cheesy pick-up line or embarrassing confession. The hook? Their reaction.

Will watched three of them. Laughed at one. Gave a slow side-eye during another.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But if I end up a GIF, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“You already are a GIF,” you teased. “The Sharks fanbase is unhinged.”

Will raised a brow. “And you’re making it worse.”

“Damn right.”

You waited until he was in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself while making his post-nap smoothie. He was in his go-to gray joggers and a Sharks hoodie, hair a mess, but you didn’t think he’d ever looked more dateable in his life.

You propped your phone against the salt shaker.

Started recording.

Walked up behind him, trying to keep a straight face.

“Hey Will,” you said sweetly.

He didn’t even turn around. “Yeah?”

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple.”

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

Will slowly turned his head toward the camera, blinked twice, and deadpanned, “I regret everything.”

You couldn’t stop laughing.

He reached for your phone, but you snatched it away before he could stop the recording. “Nope! It’s perfect. That face? Oscar-worthy.”

“I will end you.”

“You love me.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be TikTok famous.”

Famous, no.

But viral?

Absolutely.

You posted it an hour later with the caption: he’s gonna kill me for this later 🍍 #finapple #nhlboyfriend #hockeysoftie

You didn’t even tag his name.

But the internet has ways.

By the time you woke up the next morning, the video had exploded.

Sharks Twitter had reposted it.

Will’s deadpan expression was a meme.

Someone had edited him in a Hawaiian shirt holding a pineapple smoothie with the text: “San Jose’s finest fruit.”

And your phone?

Blowing up.

You rolled over in bed and opened your notifications.

“Oh no.”

Will was still asleep, one arm thrown over your waist, mouth slightly open. Completely unaware that the internet had crowned him the NHL’s newest reluctant heartthrob.

You snorted and scrolled through the top comments:

“why is this the most boyfriend behavior i’ve ever seen”

“the way he didn’t even blink. iconic.”

“petition to start calling him fineapple smith”

“sharks players dating people with tiktok accounts should be ILLEGAL. my heart.”

You nudged Will gently. “Babe. Wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

“Nope. You’re famous.”

His eyes cracked open. “What?”

You flipped the phone around.

He blinked at the video. Then the comments. Then the tweet from the Sharks’ official account.

Then he groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “This is my villain origin story.”

By the time Will got to practice, it was already too late.

The boys knew.

They all knew.

“Yo Fineapple,” Bordy chirped the second Will walked into the locker room. “Where’s your tropical smoothie?”

Will glared. “I will drop you in warmups.”

“Oh my god,” Eklund laughed. “Are you blushing?”

“You’re dead to me.”

Zetterlund poked his head around the corner, holding up his phone. “You really said ‘I regret everything.’ Bro, that delivery was Emmy level.”

Will walked straight to his stall, sat down, and sighed so dramatically you could hear it over the music.

Someone changed the locker room playlist to “Escape (The Piña Colada Song).”

He didn’t talk to you for twenty minutes after practice.

You were waiting outside, leaned against your car, sipping your coffee with a smug little smile.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, squinting into the sunlight.

“I think you’re trending on Twitter. Sharks fans are obsessed. They’re calling me ‘pineapple girl’ in the replies.”

He opened the passenger door and slid in. “I hate everything.”

“You love me.”

“I like you less today.”

“You’re grinning.”

He tried to stop, but a little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Shut up.”

That night, you sat on the couch with Will’s head in your lap as the Sharks game recap played in the background.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scrolling through the comment section of the video for the hundredth time.

“Someone just posted fanart,” you said, showing him.

Will squinted. “Why do I have sunglasses and a lei?”

“Because you’re Fineapple Smith now. It’s canon.”

He groaned but didn’t move. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Never.”

He tilted his head, looking up at you. “Fine. Then I get to post the next one.”

Your hand paused in his hair. “Wait. Really?”

“You started this. I’m finishing it.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Two days later, Will posted a video with the caption: revenge is sweet 🍍

The audio was from some dramatic soap opera moment, and the video was him walking into frame shirtless with a pineapple in one hand and your bathrobe over his shoulders.

He winked at the camera.

It got 5 million views.

You were toast.

But at least you were his toast.

And if being TikTok’s favorite hockey couple meant living in a world where people made fruit puns about your boyfriend on the daily?

Well, you figured there were worse kinds of trouble to be in.

[ekybrini]

you're the right one | Will Smith

Request: Hi! I have a request if you are up to writing it. Can I please request a Will Smith fic where he and reader are out on a date, and people keep coming up to ask for pictures and autographs, and she happily takes pictures if asked, but for the most part the fans ignore her or make snide remarks. And she starts feeling bad because she feels that she can’t keep up with his world and doesn’t belong with him. And so Will invites her over and he makes her dinner and gets her flowers, does everything. And he basically praises her and thanks her for staying with him and supporting him through his rookie year.

— ⟡ summary | After a rough night out leaves y/n feeling out of place, Will comforts her with flowers, dinner, and gentle reminders that she means everything to him.

— ⟡ warnings | None (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 2.3k

— ⟡ gabs note | hiiii !!!! I finally finished this after like almost a month of it being in my drafts lol. Who knew the last two months of school were actually going to be a living hell. THANKFULLY I graduate in exactly a month so I'll be able to start being more active on here which means more post!! if anyone would like to request something don't hesitate !! I won't get to them right away but I will end up writing it sometimes when I have time.

You tell yourself it didn't bother you at first.

The stares. The whispers. Or how your name gets left out of every “Can I get a picture with you, will?” request.

That is just part of dating him. 

You try to focus on the warmth in his eyes. The way his knee brushes against yours under the table. The way he said “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” when he picked you up tonight after the two long roadies.

And he meant that.

The first fan comes by after your appetizers hit the table. Young guy, maybe in high school, nervous, polite, asking to sign a sharks jersey. Will grins, he takes a picture and signs the jersey. He is sweet about it, he always is. You simile and even offer to take the picture. You’ve gotten used to this by now. You’ve known what it meant to be with him since the beginning of your relationship. 

You just didn’t expect the stream of fans to keep coming. 

Another one stops mid conversation. Then another. And another. You take a couple more pictures. Will never says no. He apologies each time with a sheepish smile and squeezes your hand each time, but you can feel the distance building up with every polite interruption. 

Your food arrives. You push it around your plate, your appetite fading like the candle in front of you guys. 

And of course it happens again.

You're mid laugh at something Will said, something genuinely funny, something that made you forget about how you two can’t seem to have a private moment when a group of girls passes by your table. They slow down pretending to glance at their menu, but their eyes are on Will.

“He’s even cuter in person,” one whispers.

Another snorts softly. “No kidding. And he’s with her?”

“He could definitely do better if he tried.” The girl replied back. 

Will stiffens next to you like he heard it too.

But you don’t wait to see if he’ll say something. You excuse yourself with a bright smile and make your way to the bathroom before your voice cracks.

You stare at yourself in the mirror feeling your chest get tight, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles ache.

You knew it could be like this. You’ve seen the comments online, the subtle glances, the disbelief in people’s faces when they realize you're together. You always thought you could handle it. You thought if you loved him enough, if he loved you enough it wouldn’t matter.

But tonight, it feels like you’re trying to breathe underwater.

You fix your makeup, though it doesn’t fix anything. You smooth down your dress, though it still doesn’t feel like it fits right. You stare at yourself until the flush in your cheeks fades enough to pass as normal, then go back out there and pretend you weren’t just unraveling in a public restroom.

Will’s sitting up straighter when you return. There’s a shared dessert waiting at your seat, your favorite, a small cookie pie with vanilla ice cream on top. 

His smile is small, searching. “Thought we could end the night on a sweet note.”

You sit down feeling your heart twisting.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He watches you for a moment longer than usual. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie. You’ve had a long day, but it's not the reason for you shutting down. 

He doesn’t push. He never does when you shut down like this. Instead, he forks a bite of cookie and offers it to you across the table.

You take it.

You make it through dessert. You make it through the ride home. He tells you he’ll text you when he makes it home. kisses your temple like he always does, lingering just long enough for you to feel guilty for pulling away.

You go inside and lean against the door, blinking against the burn behind your eyes.

Will hasn’t done anything wrong. That’s the hardest part.

He’s just being himself, kind, open, unaware of every careless comment, every ignored glance, every fan who acts like you’re invisible. He doesn’t know how small you felt tonight. How you keep wondering if people see you and think he settled.

You crawl into bed fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind looping that one cruel comment over and over again.

And he’s with her? 

You close your eyes and try not to cry.

The next morning you wake to the soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand. It will.  It’s still dark out, the sky a dull gray that matches the fog in your chest.

“Good morning, pretty girl. Hope you slept okay.”

Your chest tightens. You stare at the message for a while then type back slowly.

“Morning. Slept alright. Hope practice isn’t too rough today.”

You press send before you can second guess yourself. It’s casual. Normal. Exactly the kind of message he’s used to from you. But it feels like a lie, even if the words are technically true.

You’re not ignoring him. You just can’t bring yourself to say what’s really on your mind.

The way the girl at the restaurant looked you up and down like you were some sort of joke. The way you felt more like a shadow than someone’s date. The way Will didn’t seem to notice.

You know it’s not fair to hold that against him. He wasn’t the one who made you feel small, but he also didn’t notice that you were shrinking.

Later, you respond to another one of his texts, something simple about what you’re watching on TV, what you’re having for lunch. You even throw in a little joke. You’re trying. You really are.

And Will is sweet like always.

“Can’t believe you’re watching that without me. Rude.” Will send the message after telling him you’re watching glee.

“You were the one who fell asleep halfway through the last episode. I’m taking initiative.”

He replies with a string of laughing emojis and a gif that makes you smile, just a little.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. At least that's what you’re telling yourself.

Because every time your phone lights up with his name you feel that familiar twist in your stomach. Like there’s something caught in your throat, something heavy sitting on your chest. Like you’re pretending everything is normal when inside you’re spinning.

You want to tell him. But you don’t want him to think it’s stupid about you being upset over a comment. You know it shouldn’t have hurt you the way it did. 

So you keep replying. Keep smiling through texts. Keep laughing at the right moments. Because silence would make him worry and you don’t want him to worry.

“Come over tonight?”

Your thumb hovers over the screen. You hesitate not because you don’t want to see him, but because you’re scared he’ll see right through you. 

Still, you reply.

“Sure. What time?”

His response is nearly instant.

“Whenever you want. I’ll cook. Something fancy and probably half burnt, but made with love”

That makes your lips twitch, just a little.

By the time you knock on his door, your stomach is in knots. You try to smooth out your expression when he answers, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp, the smell of garlic and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

Will leans in and presses a kiss to your temple before pulling you inside. “Hey, you,” he says. “I missed you.”

You nod, setting your bag down. You don’t trust your voice to work yet.

“I went all out,” he says as he leads you to the kitchen. “Like, full Pinterest boyfriend levels. There are candles. I obviously couldn't get wine but if you wanted the full experience i got grape juice if not i got sodas. And I even tried to fold the napkins into those little triangle things. Don’t look too closely.”

Sure enough there’s a small dinner spread waiting on the table. It’s simple pasta, salad, garlic bread slightly burnt around the edges but it’s warm, thoughtful, and made by him. 

And sitting right in the middle of the table is a small bouquet of flowers. Tulips with a mix of wildflowers, your favorite.

You blink. “Will”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “I know you’ve had a weird couple of days. Thought maybe this would help.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat tightens too fast.

He misreads the silence, smile dimming a little. “I didn’t mean to overdo it. I just I guess I wanted you to know I don’t take you for granted. Not ever.”

Your breath stutters. The lump in your throat threatens to spill over.

You reach for a flower stem with trembling fingers. “They’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He nods, watching you carefully. “So are you.”

Will pulls out your chair and sits beside you instead of across, his thigh pressed lightly to yours.

“I don’t know what’s been bothering you,” he says, voice softer now. “But whatever it is, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

You want to tell him everything. The whispers. The way you felt like you didn’t belong. The way his world sometimes feels too loud, too polished, too far from yours.

But for now, you lean your head on his shoulder and he lets you stay quiet.

After a while of silence you pick at your pasta more than you eat it, but the warmth of the food and the soft music Will put on in the background helps ease the ache that’s been sitting in your chest. Will doesn’t push. He just chats about his last practice, about how one of the guys slipped during warmups, how the locker room smelled like actual death because Macklin left a protein shake in his bag over the weekend. You smile weakly at the stories, letting them wrap around you like a blanket.

But eventually, the words stop. He glances over at you, eyes searching and says gently, “You’ve been quiet lately. I mean, more than usual.”

You stare down at your plate. Your fork scrapes against ceramic, and your voice is barely audible when you say, “Yeah. Im sorry”

Will doesn't rush you. He just waits.

Eventually, you set your fork down and take a breath, fingers curling into your lap.

"It was at the restaurant," you say, voice barely more than a whisper.

Will looks up, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just waits.

"Our date," you add, still not looking at him. “When those fans kept coming over.”

His expression softens, and you can tell he thinks you’re about to say you were overwhelmed by the attention, maybe annoyed. But that’s not it.

“Some of their remarks are incredibly hurtful sometimes. I overheard someone ask if I was your assistance when I was walking to the bathroom. And then there were ones whose whispers were just too loud.”

You pause, swallowing hard.

“They said you could do better and I know,” you add quickly, “I know people say stupid things all the time. I know it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you still felt like shit,” he finishes for you, voice low.

You nod. “I smiled through it. I laughed. Took the photos. And then I went home and felt like maybe they were right.”

“I wish you had told me,” he murmurs. “I wish I’d noticed.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night. You looked happy.”

“I was happy. Because I was with you.”

His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles. “Listen to me. I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I thought about what they were saying. I don’t care what some strangers at a restaurant think. You think I could survive this year, this pressure, this schedule, this whole new world without you?”

“You’re the best part of all of it,” he says. “You’re the one who keeps me grounded. Who reminds me who I am. That night, I was proud to have you next to me. I just hate that anyone made you feel like you weren’t enough. Because you are. You’re more than enough.”

Your throat tightens as you finally look at him.

“And I made you your favorite dessert,” he adds, almost sheepish. “It’s in the kitchen. I was gonna wait, but”

You laugh wetly, tears spilling as you cover your face with your hands. “You’re such a sap.”

“I know.” He grins, brushing your hands away gently. “But only for you.”

And when he kisses your lips, soft and unhurried, you let yourself believe it that maybe you do belong here with him after all. 

Later that night, you’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, the soft hum of a movie playing in the background. You’re not really watching it, not with Will sitting beside you, one arm around your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your arm in slow, calming strokes.

Will shifts slightly, glancing down at you. “You okay?”

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I will be.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. And if anyone ever makes you feel like that again, I’ll personally throw their soup across the restaurant.”

You laugh softly, the sound catching in your throat. “Please don’t start a food fight because of me.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

The warmth in his voice melts something in your chest, and for the first time in a few days, the ache feels like it’s fading.

You trace gentle shapes on the inside of his hoodie sleeve. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t ask what for. He just pulls you closer, holds you tighter. And as your eyes begin to drift shut the rhythm of his heartbeat steady in your ear all you can feel is safe and loved.

The world may never stop whispering, but tonight wrapped in Will’s arms you makes you feel as if you don't have anything to worry about.

[missmaymay13]

worst kept secret - w.smith

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

w.smith x thornton daughter! oc | 8.5k

summary: When San Jose Sharks rookie Will Smith secretly starts dating Riley Thornton—daughter of Sharks legend Joe Thornton and housemate of teammate Macklin Celebrini—he thinks they’ve pulled off the ultimate stealth romance. With whispered rendezvous, late-night escapes, and a suspiciously dented bush, Will and Riley manage to keep their relationship under wraps from everyone… except, well, everyone.

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The restaurant was dimly lit and tucked away off a quiet street in downtown San Jose, the kind of place where the lighting was low, the tables were close together, and the world outside felt like it didn't exist. Will reached across the small table, his fingers brushing against Riley's. "You know," he said with a crooked grin, "I still can't believe you picked this place. You're like, weirdly good at Yelp."

Riley smiled, her eyes glowing in the candlelight. "It's not that hard, Will. I just read reviews and don’t get distracted by places with giant burgers in the photos."

"But those are the best photos," he said, laughing softly. His fingers laced with hers under the table. "Six months of this and you still keep surprising me."

She tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Best thing," he said, his voice low. "By far."

They’d slipped into this bubble so effortlessly—soft smiles, shared bites of pasta, occasional brushes of knees beneath the table. No one in the restaurant knew who they were. No one cared. They didn’t have to watch their backs, or check if anyone was filming. It was rare.

Riley reached into her purse and pulled out a small, crumpled Polaroid. She passed it to him with a grin. "Remember this?"

Will looked down and chuckled. It was a blurry shot of the two of them from their first official date—him mid-blink, her laughing too hard to keep her eyes open. "You said this was too ugly to keep."

"It grew on me. Like you."

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair, absolutely enamored. "You're gonna kill me one day."

They were halfway through dessert—splitting tiramisu, his fork always trying to steal from her side—when Riley suddenly froze. Her hand brushed against his wrist in warning. "Don’t look now, but... is that Eky and Fabes at the bar?"

Will’s smile dropped. "What? No way."

He tilted his head slightly, casual-like, and there they were—William Eklund and Fabian Zetterlund, both in jeans and button downs, standing at the bar like they owned the place.

"What do we do?" Riley hissed, pulling her hand back like it had been caught on fire.

"Shit, shit, okay... act normal. No—wait, don’t act normal. They know what normal looks like." Will scrubbed a hand down his face. "Do we have a back door?"

Riley peeked around, heart hammering in her chest. "Kitchen entrance. There—see the hallway by the washrooms?"

He nodded quickly. "Let’s pay and move. Fast."

They did their best to settle the bill without drawing attention, Riley ducking her head, Will sliding the cash across like he was in a spy movie. Then they stood, trying to move naturally, not too fast, not too slow, weaving toward the washrooms like they were just going for a stroll.

The kitchen door swung open. A server stepped out. Will grabbed Riley’s hand and pulled her with him, slipping through just as it started to close. They burst into the steamy, bright chaos of the kitchen.

"Sorry! Just—emergency," Will muttered to a startled line cook, who blinked but said nothing.

Out the back door. Into the alley. Cool air hit their faces like a splash of water. Riley laughed as they ran, hand in hand, past the dumpsters and out to the parking lot.

They didn’t stop until they reached Will’s car, slightly out of breath, grinning like idiots.

"Okay," Riley said, hands on her hips. "That might have been the most stressful dessert I’ve ever had."

"That was so close," Will gasped, laughing. "You think they saw us?"

"No. I think we got lucky."

They stood there, caught in that in-between moment—adrenaline still buzzing, the quiet hum of the night settling around them. Will looked at her, really looked at her, and something in his chest cracked wide open.

"I love you," he said suddenly, the words tumbling out with a kind of reckless honesty, like they'd been pacing behind his teeth for hours, maybe days. He hadn't planned to say it, not tonight, not like this, but in the hush of the parking lot, with her cheeks flushed from laughter and her eyes still wide from their shared escape, it felt impossible not to. It was as if the adrenaline cracked him open and the truth came spilling out, raw and real and totally unfiltered.

Riley blinked. Her lips parted. The world went still.

Then a soft smile crept across her face, eyes glimmering with warmth and surprise. "You do?"

He nodded, heart thudding in his chest. "Yeah. I—I didn’t mean to say it like that, I just… I do. I love you."

Riley stepped closer, her boots crunching softly against the pavement, and lifted her hand to his cheek. Her thumb brushed lightly over his skin, and her eyes didn’t leave his for even a second.

"I love you too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but brimming with certainty. She watched his face as she said it, the way his eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and relief, and it made her heart squeeze.

"I’ve been wanting to say it for a while," she added, her lips curling into a shy smile. "But I didn’t want to freak you out."

He laughed softly, leaning into her touch. "You could never freak me out."

Riley’s fingers slid back into his hair as she pressed her forehead to his. "You’re stuck with me now, Smith."

"Good," he whispered. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."

He kissed her then, gentle and full, like the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world blur into soft lights and distant sounds. It was the kind of kiss that spoke every word he hadn’t said yet, that carried the weight of six months of stolen moments, whispered jokes, and every time he’d had to pretend she wasn’t his in public. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, anchoring herself to him as if afraid this moment might vanish. His hands slid up from her waist to her back, pulling her closer, until there wasn’t a breath of space left between them. The kiss deepened—still tender, but charged with all the emotion they usually had to hide. It was slow, reverent, like they were both trying to memorize the way this felt, just in case they never got a moment like this again.

Behind them, a car door slammed. They broke apart instantly, heads whipping toward the noise. A couple exited the restaurant, laughing, not even looking their way.

"Close call number two," Riley whispered.

Will grinned, forehead pressed to hers. "Worth every second."

They kissed again, softer this time, and in that small pocket of the parking lot, hidden from everyone, it felt like the world had stopped just for them.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Will pulled up a few blocks from the Thornton house, headlights off, engine humming low, the street bathed in the warm amber glow of old-fashioned streetlights. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the cool breeze, and for a few extra seconds, neither of them moved. The night was too perfect, too quiet, too suspended in the afterglow of everything that had just happened.

Riley reached for her bag in the back seat, fingers brushing over the strap, but paused when Will gently touched her wrist. His hand lingered there, warm and familiar.

"Text me when you're in," he said, voice low and sincere, like he wanted to memorize every second of these last moments with her.

Riley smiled, leaning across the console so their foreheads touched. "I will. And if I get caught—"

He smirked. "You won’t. You’re too good."

"But if I do, at least it was after the best night ever," she whispered.

Will’s thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. "Still worth it."

She kissed him again—slow and lingering, a quiet promise—and then opened the door. The slam of it was too loud in the sleepy neighborhood. She ducked her head instinctively, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and waved as he eased away from the curb.

Before she could even tuck her phone into her pocket, it buzzed—FaceTime. Will.

She answered with a smirk. "You’re obsessed."

His face appeared on screen, grinning. "Just making sure you get to the door safe. Go on, I wanna watch."

"You are so dramatic," she muttered, but angled the camera to show her feet as she walked. "This is such boyfriend behavior."

"Good thing I’m your boyfriend, then."

She bit back a smile. The closer she got to the house, the more the butterflies stirred in her stomach. She turned the camera to her face when she reached the steps. "Happy now?"

Will grinned. "Very. Sleep tight, Ry."

"You too, Will."

She hung up but didn’t put the phone away. Not yet. The night felt like magic, and she wanted to hold onto every spark of it for as long as she could.

The second she stepped inside, the living room lights were on. Her dad was parked on the couch, headset on, controller in hand. Macklin was beside him, just as focused. Fortnite flashed across the big screen.

Joe paused the game the second he noticed her, his eyes narrowing with a sharpness that made Riley instinctively straighten up. His controller dropped onto the couch cushion beside him with a soft thud, and he pulled the headset down around his neck like a man about to conduct an interrogation.

"Hey," he said, but it wasn’t casual. It was the kind of 'hey' that carried weight, like a loaded question. "Where’ve you been?"

His posture shifted—arms resting heavily on his knees, shoulders squared, the full dad stare in effect. Riley knew that look. It was the same one he used when Macklin snuck into the pantry at midnight or when the boys forgot to rinse their gear after practice. Protective. Sharp. Borderline terrifying.

He glanced at the clock, then back at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "It’s almost midnight. You didn’t answer my last text."

"I was out with Grace," she said quickly, voice light, trying not to sound too defensive.

He arched a brow, not letting up. "Where exactly?"

"Mini golf. That new glow-in-the-dark place near the boardwalk. We’ve been planning it all week."

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her. Searched her face. Not angry—just locked in full dad-mode. The kind where he didn’t need to raise his voice to make her squirm.

"You drive yourselves? Who else was there?"

Riley swallowed. "Just us. Grace drove."

He tilted his head slightly. "You usually let me know when you’re going out that far. What if something had happened?"

"Nothing happened," she said gently. "I’m fine."

"I know. I’m your dad, Riley. That’s kinda the point."

Macklin, still oblivious, chimed in with perfect timing. "Oh! I think Will went there tonight too. Said he had a date. Did you see him there?"

Joe’s head snapped toward Macklin, then back to Riley.

"No," she said quickly, clutching her bag tighter. "We must’ve just missed him."

Joe’s eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a line. Something about the way he looked at her made her wonder if she’d slipped up somehow.

Macklin groaned. "Dang. I was hoping you’d get a look at the mystery girl. He’s been so secretive about it."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. "Yeah, that kid’s hiding something," he said, voice laced with amusement, but edged with something else—interest, suspicion maybe. He leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, like he was mentally running through the possible girls Will might be seeing. "Secretive little bastard. You’d think after all the hours he spends at the house, I’d get some intel." He smirked, then glanced sideways at Riley. "You ever notice him acting weird lately? I mean, weirder than usual?"

"Nope!" Riley forced a yawn. "Well, I’m exhausted. Night, boys."

"Night," they both mumbled, already back in the game.

She bolted up the stairs, praying her poker face had held up. But the second she opened her bedroom door, she jumped.

Her mom was sitting on her bed.

"Mom—"

"Hi, sweetie." Her mom’s voice was soft, but there was a sharpness in her eyes Riley knew all too well—the quiet kind of knowing that only mothers seemed to have. She patted the spot beside her on the bed, her posture calm, composed, almost too casual. "Sit," she said, but it wasn’t really a request. It was the same tone she used when Riley was five and tried to hide a broken vase behind the couch. That tone that said: I already know the truth, but I’m giving you one last shot to come clean.

Riley obeyed. Her heart raced.

"You were with Grace?"

"Yep. Mini golf. Then ice cream. Home now."

Her mom studied her. "Uh-huh."

Riley gave her best innocent smile. "She already texted you, didn’t she?"

"She did."

Riley exhaled. Nailed it.

But her mom kept looking at her, a knowing expression softening her features. The kind that said, 'You think you're being subtle, but I've been watching you since the day you were born.' Her eyes flicked down to Riley’s fingers still curled around her phone, then back up to her face, lingering just long enough to make Riley feel like a lie was scrawled across her forehead. She didn’t press, though—didn’t need to. Her silence was its own kind of interrogation, gentle but suffocating, wrapped in love and quiet judgment.

"You’re a little too good at that story," she said gently.

Riley opened her mouth to protest, but her mom just kissed her forehead.

"I won’t ask again. But be careful, okay?"

Riley nodded slowly. "Okay."

Her mom gave her a small smile. "Goodnight, baby."

"Night, Mom."

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Riley exhaled fully for the first time all night.

She grabbed her phone and texted Will one word: "Safe."

A second later: "Also, we’re SO bad at this."

He replied instantly: "Speak for yourself. I’m flawless."

She laughed into her pillow, heart full.

And somehow, even with the close calls, the hiding, the lies—it all still felt worth it.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Saturday morning hit like a slap to the face.

The rink was humming with the usual buzz—music low, sticks tapping on the rubber flooring, the hiss of skate sharpeners and the occasional burst of laughter from the showers. But Will felt like he was walking a tightrope the moment he stepped into the locker room. He had barely made it to his stall and started unlacing his shoes when Macklin’s voice rang out.

"Yo, Smitty," Mack said from across the room, spinning a puck on his palm. "How was that glow-in-the-dark mini golf place? You said you were taking that girl last night."

Will froze for half a second. His fingers stuttered over his shoelaces before he forced a lazy grin and leaned back. "Oh—uh, yeah. It was... fine."

"Just fine?" Macklin raised an eyebrow. "That place is sick."

"Yeah, well, the date kind of sucked," Will said, trying to keep his tone casual. "She wasn’t really who I thought she was. We didn’t vibe. So I bailed early."

That answer seemed to satisfy Mack, who shrugged and went back to flipping his puck. But before Will could let out a breath of relief, Eklund and Zetterlund came strolling in, mid-conversation.

"I swear I saw his car last night," Eky was saying. "At that restaurant on Third—what’s it called, the Italian one? Real dark lighting, kind of bougie."

"Oh yeah," Fabes added. "That’s where I saw it too. You weren’t at mini golf, man."

Will blinked, caught like a deer in headlights. "No, yeah—I mean, I was. I just... went to get food after. Alone. That restaurant’s got good takeout."

"You got takeout?" Eky asked, suspicious. "You parked?"

Will nodded too quickly. "Yeah. It was late. I didn’t want to eat at home."

Fabian squinted. "You were there for like an hour."

Will’s palms started to sweat. "I was hungry."

The chirping started almost immediately—good-natured, but relentless. Macklin howled with laughter while Eklund clapped his hands like a game show buzzer had just gone off.

"So let me get this straight—you had a bad date, left early, then took yourself to a romantic candlelit restaurant for some alone time?" Eky asked.

"Inspiring," Fabes added. "Real commitment to the solo vibes."

Will rubbed his face. "You guys suck."

Just as the chaos was starting to calm, his phone buzzed in his open duffel bag. He reached for it instinctively and unlocked the screen.

At the top of the screen, glowing in bold letters, was a message from Lover 💫💛.

Will nearly fumbled the phone straight onto the floor.

"OHHHHHH," Macklin sang, his head whipping around. "Who’s Lover💫💛?"

Will scrambled to lock his screen. "Nobody. Just a friend."

"A friend who texts you at nine a.m. with heart emojis?" Eky grinned, voice sing-songy.

Macklin leaned forward like a bloodhound. "Wait—if your date was that bad, how come Lover💫💛 is texting you right now? You sure you bailed early?"

Will opened his mouth and closed it again.

And just then—like fate really had it out for him—Patrick Marleau walked into the room with a coffee in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder.

"Oh yeah," he said offhandedly, clearly having caught the tail end of the conversation. "Smitty came in late last night. I think it was past one."

Silence fell over the room like a dropped puck.

Will stared at Marleau, who didn’t even blink as he walked past to grab some tape.

Eklund turned slowly toward him. "Late, huh? I thought the date was a bust?"

"I thought you went home," Zetterlund added.

Macklin was staring like he was trying to read Will’s mind. "Wait. Did you—did you go out again? With someone else?"

Will was desperate. He felt like he was being cornered by a pack of wolves.

"Yeah," he blurted. "Yeah, okay. After the first one flopped, I hit up someone else."

The boys erupted.

"PLAYER!" Fabian shouted, laughing.

"Damn, Smitty! The San Jose ladies aren’t safe!" Eklund whooped.

Macklin leaned back, his eyes wide. "Okay, now you have to tell us who it is. What’s her deal? Is she cute? Are you seeing her again?"

Will could feel his soul leaving his body. He gave a weak laugh. "Nah, I don’t think it’s going anywhere. Just... spur of the moment."

"Cold," Fabian said. "Ice cold."

They were still teasing him when the coach called them out onto the ice, but Will barely heard it. His brain was a mess. All he could think about was how badly this entire situation was spiraling.

And he still had to find a way to tell Riley.

Three days later, he did. Or rather—Riley found out before he could confess.

He was sitting in his car after practice, sipping a smoothie and scrolling through his phone when a text popped up.

Lover💫💛: should i be worried about my competition? 👀😏

Will stared at the message, groaned out loud, and dropped his head against the steering wheel.

Another text came through.

Lover💫💛: i hear there’s a mystery second girl 😱

Lover💫💛: should i be flattered or insulted that i didn’t make the story? 😂

Will quickly tapped out a reply.

Will: okay in my defense i panicked

Will: they cornered me and marleau BROKE THE CODE

Lover💫💛: lol i thought you were flawless?

Will: 😒 betrayal from within

Lover💫💛: don’t worry. you’re safe... for now. but if you EVER try to “spur of the moment” another girl, i will personally tell my dad everything

Will winced. He knew she would, too.

Will: you’re evil

Lover💫💛: and you love it 😇

He leaned back in his seat, a grin tugging at his lips despite the embarrassment still bubbling under his skin. Somehow, even in chaos, she made everything better.

But seriously—he had to work on his lying game. Or better yet, find a way to make it so they didn’t have to lie at all.

Someday.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

To say the plan was airtight would be a stretch, but Will and Riley had been playing this game long enough to know the drill.

Step one: lie convincingly. Riley told her family she was spending the night at Grace’s. It wasn’t even a big stretch; she’d stayed there before, and Grace had already been prepped to cover.

Step two: clear the house. Her parents and siblings—Alya and River—were off at the new movie everyone had been hyping for weeks, complete with dinner reservations after. Macklin, who was usually the wildcard, had texted earlier to say he had a date and wouldn’t be back until late. That was a win.

Step three: park Will’s car three blocks over, behind a long hedge on a side street where no one would look twice.

And step four: finally, finally relax.

They were curled up on Riley’s bed in her room—second floor, blinds drawn, lights low, the TV casting soft glows across the walls. Riley’s head rested on Will’s chest, his arm around her shoulders, thumb gently brushing her upper arm. They were on season three of New Girl, and while Riley adored the show, she could hardly believe that Will had been the one to suggest it.

“You’re seriously obsessed,” she teased, glancing up at him during a commercial break.

Will gave her a look that was part sheepish, part proud. “It’s elite television. Schmidt is a cultural icon. I don’t make the rules.”

Riley snorted. “You said you’d never seen it before we started.”

“I lied. I watched, like, four seasons in secret freshman year. Don’t tell anyone.”

She laughed, burying her face in his sweatshirt. “Your secret’s safe with me, Smitty.”

But before Will could come back with a sarcastic quip, the sound of the front door clicking shut echoed faintly from downstairs.

They both froze.

Will’s hand paused mid-circle on her arm. Riley sat up slowly.

“Did you—?”

“I definitely—”

“Someone’s home.”

Will was already moving, bolting upright and scrambling off the bed like a man in a spy movie. Riley followed, peeking out the window just in time to hear footsteps in the hallway.

Then: “Hey Ry!”

Macklin’s voice.

Crap.

“Wanna watch a movie or something? I’m bored and my date didn’t go well. Just another clout chaser. Oh—by the way, did you see that car down the street? Looks exactly like Will’s. Kinda sus, right? Oh and speaking of Will, did you know he loves to watch New Girl? Have you seen it? Should we try it tonight??”

Will, in the corner, was flailing silently. His mouth was open in horror, arms gesturing wildly in a panicked charade that screamed make him go away.

Riley’s eyes were wild as she pointed at the door. Macklin’s footsteps were getting closer.

Will mouthed, “DO SOMETHING!”

Riley threw her hands up and made a split-second decision.

As the doorknob began to turn, she shrieked: “MACK NO! I’M CHANGING—NAKED! I’M, UHH, CHANGING SO I’M NAKED. GIMME A SEC!”

The footsteps stopped. A beat of silence.

“Okay, sheesh,” Macklin said, unbothered. “I’ll be in the guest house. Gonna set up the show.”

They heard him shuffle away.

Will collapsed onto the floor, face buried in the carpet. “I’m gonna die. This is how I die. Heart attack at nineteen. Cause of death: panic.”

“We need to get you out,” Riley whispered, already scanning the room.

“I parked three blocks away, Riley. We’re upstairs. This house has like thirty windows. It’s a fortress of doom.”

They started whisper-arguing, huddled by her bedroom door, trying to figure out the logistics of sneaking Will out without Macklin noticing. Every creaky floorboard felt like a landmine.

Step by painful step, they crept down the staircase, Riley leading the way, Will behind her trying not to breathe too loudly. The house was mostly dark, save for the soft glow of a hallway lamp near the front. The stairs creaked ominously with every shift of weight, and both of them paused more than once, holding their breath at the slightest sound.

Halfway down, Riley whispered over her shoulder, “You’re walking like you weigh five hundred pounds.”

“I’m literally trying not to die,” Will hissed back.

They made it to the bottom without detection, dodging into the hallway beside the front door. Will wiped his palms on his jeans, adrenaline rushing like he was sneaking out of some high-security vault instead of a suburban house. He reached for the door—

Then the flash of headlights spilled across the foyer.

Riley’s breath caught. “Oh no. My dad.”

“What?!”

“I thought they were going to dinner after the movie!”

Panic overtook reason. Riley shoved Will toward the front door with surprising force.

“What are you—” he started.

“Just GO!” she hissed.

The door flung open and she practically launched him out onto the front steps. The sound of a car door slammed from outside.

Riley shoved him out the front door and directly into the massive hedge beside the porch.

There was a rustle, a yelp, and a very clear, “Son of a—Riley!”

“Shh!” she hissed. “Hide better!”

The front doorknob turned again and she slammed it shut behind her, bolting to the back of the house like a cartoon character. She sprinted across the yard and slipped into the guest house just in time to hear the front door open.

Inside the bush, Will sat hunched, tangled in twigs and half-covered in leaves. His hoodie had a stick poking out of the hood. A spider crawled up his sleeve. His entire body was buzzing with nerves, but all he could do was sit still.

He watched the Thornton family walk past the front foyer, chatting casually. Joe, Alya, and River. The coast was almost clear—

Until he looked up.

In the second-story foyer window, two faces were pressed against the glass.

River.

And Tabea.

Riley’s mom. Very observant. Very amused.

Tabea smiled, wide and smug, then gave a small wave. Her hand rotated into a ‘shoo, shoo’ motion. River, bless his soul, looked confused but entertained.

Will mouthed please no and Tabea just winked.

Humiliated, Will gave a tight, sheepish wave, rubbed the back of his neck, and started jogging toward his car.

When he finally reached it, he dove in like a man escaping war. His phone buzzed in the console.

From Lover💫💛: sorry for the bush shove 😂

From Lover💫💛:: also u screamed. not very stealthy of u

From Lover💫💛: but also you’re welcome. i saved your life

From Tabea: caught! lol. don’t worry i won’t tell 🤭

From Macklin: bro i’m watching new girl rn with Ry

From Macklin: SCHMIDT IS ELITE

Will leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned.

This was getting out of hand.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Riley had known this moment was coming.

The morning after the bush incident, she tiptoed into the kitchen like someone sneaking into a crime scene. The house was quiet save for the hum of the coffee machine and the low murmur of the morning news on the TV. She’d barely made it three steps inside before she saw her mom—Tabea—at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, reading glasses perched on her nose, the picture of calm but with that trademark glint of knowing in her eyes.

"Morning," Tabea said, without looking up.

Riley hesitated. "...Morning."

She tried to sneak past her like she was still twelve and hiding bad report cards in her backpack, but the moment she reached for the fridge, her mom spoke again.

"So," Tabea began, voice too casual, eyes still on her tablet. "How’s Will?"

Riley froze mid-step, one hand on the fridge handle, a flush of heat rushing up her neck.

"W-What?"

Her mom looked up then, eyes warm and full of mischief. "You know, Will. Will Smith. Hockey star. Hidden in my hydrangeas last night like a raccoon. That Will."

Riley groaned, slumping against the fridge door. "Oh my god. You saw that?"

"I saw the top of his head rustling like a cartoon. And so did River, by the way. You’re lucky your dad’s terrible with peripheral vision."

Riley buried her face in her hands. "This is so bad. I was gonna tell you, I swear. I just didn’t know how."

Tabea chuckled and got up to pour another cup of coffee. She handed one to Riley, nudging her gently toward the bar stools. "Relax, kiddo. I’m not mad. Honestly, I’m mostly impressed."

Riley blinked. "You are?"

Her mom nodded, sitting across from her. "Will’s a good guy. Polite, driven, respectful. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way you smile when you look at him. So... I approve."

Riley let out a long, relieved breath, slumping forward onto the counter. "I really thought you were going to ground me or something."

"Oh no, I’m saving the punishment for the part where you shoved him into a bush."

Riley winced. "Desperate times."

Tabea smirked. "You could’ve at least warned him first. I had to keep River from reenacting the whole thing with his ROBLOX this morning."

They both laughed. The tension that had been building in Riley’s chest for days melted a little, replaced by something warmer. The kind of warmth that came from knowing you weren’t alone in something complicated.

But then her mom leaned in, dropping her voice like she was revealing state secrets.

"Now, about your brother."

Riley groaned. "River saw too, didn’t he?"

"Saw and enjoyed the show. And you know that boy can’t keep a secret to save his life, especially around Macklin. He worships that kid. One casual conversation and we’re all doomed."

Riley covered her face again. "I’m so doomed."

"Not necessarily," Tabea said, sipping her coffee with all the calm of a woman who had already played this game and won. "You just need to bribe him."

"Bribe an eleven-year-old?"

"Bribe him well."

Riley stared at her mom for a beat. Then she sighed. "I’ll figure something out."

—

Cornering River took strategy. He was slippery and fast, always bouncing from one obsession to another—video games, hockey, Macklin Celebrini. She caught him one afternoon post-practice, lounging on the couch in his Sharks hoodie and eating cereal while watching old Macklin highlights on YouTube.

"Hey Riv," she said, sliding in next to him with a smile she hoped looked friendly and not desperate.

"Hi," he said through a mouthful of Cheerios, eyes never leaving the screen.

She eyed him. "So. About the other night."

He paused mid-spoon.

"What about it?"

"You saw something."

River blinked innocently. "I saw lots of things."

Riley narrowed her eyes. "Bush. Boy. You know what I’m talking about."

He grinned slowly, the picture of smugness. "You mean when you shoved Will Smith into Mom’s hydrangeas?"

She slapped a hand over his mouth and looked around wildly. "Lower your voice!"

He pulled her hand off with a look of offense. "Relax. It’s just me."

"Exactly. And you’re the liability. So I need you not to tell anyone. Especially Dad. Or Macklin. Especially Macklin."

River gave a dramatic sigh and leaned back like a mob boss considering a deal. "Fine. I won’t say anything."

Riley’s shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank—"

"Under one condition."

She froze. "What?"

"You have to drive me to hockey. And whenever I want to go out."

She gaped at him. "Go out? You’re eleven. Where would you even go?"

"Not my problem," he said cheerfully. "Also—I want snacks on the way. Real ones. Not apple slices."

"I don’t drive!"

River shrugged. "You have a boyfriend who does. Figure it out."

Which is how, two days later, Will found himself in the driver’s seat of his brand new Ford Bronco with Riley in the passenger seat and River in the back, smug as ever, acting like he was royalty with state secrets locked behind his mischievous grin.

“Thanks for this,” Riley mumbled as Will pulled out of the driveway.

Will gave her a long-suffering look. “I am being blackmailed by a middle schooler.”

“Technically, we are.”

River leaned forward. “Can we get slushies after?”

“No,” they both said in unison.

And from that day forward, anytime Riley tried to skip out on a River-dropoff, he’d just send her a knowing look—the kind of look that said I know things. And every time, she’d shut up and climb into the car without protest. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Why does Riley always get so quiet around River?” Alya asked once.

“She’s probably scared of his Fortnite kill count,” Macklin joked.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It was a random Tuesday when it all started to unravel again.

Riley had stopped by the Sharks facility to drop something off for her dad—just a spare charger and a sweatshirt. She was walking through the hall when Mario Ferraro caught sight of her.

“Hey, Riley,” he said. “Your dad’s not in his office, but he’s around. Oh—hey, isn’t that Smitty’s sweater?”

Riley froze. She looked down.

It was a black hoodie. Very oversized. Subtle logo near the wrist. The number 2 printed faintly on the sleeve.

Crap.

“Oh,” she stammered. “No. It’s Macklin’s.”

Mario raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Thought he was wearing his black one today.”

“I mean—he has multiple. I think. Anyway—I gotta go!”

She speed-walked out of the hallway like it was on fire. Mario watched her go, eyebrows furrowed.

“...But there’s a number 2 on the hood,” he said to himself.

From that moment, the veterans on the team started watching more closely.

First it was the way Will smiled every time his phone buzzed. Like, grinned—soft and sweet in a way most of them had never seen. Then it was how he always had a smoothie on game days—one that conveniently matched the one Riley had in her hand when she stopped by. Not from the café near the rink either. From a place across the city. That took coordination.

There were bracelets—subtle, barely visible, but clearly matching. Hers had a tiny silver "W." His had a tiny letter “R.”

Then there were the glances. Not subtle ones. Full-on longing, heart-eyes, across-the-room movie magic nonsense. Like they forgot other people had eyes.

By the time the Sharks’ annual charity gala rolled around, most of the older guys already had their suspicions.

Will arrived in a deep maroon suit that looked like it belonged on the red carpet. Sleek, sharp, clearly not chosen last minute. Five minutes later, Riley walked in wearing a maroon dress—long, form-fitting, elegant as hell, the kind of dress that made people stop talking mid-sentence.

They didn’t arrive together. Didn’t touch once all night. They mingled like professionals, always in separate circles, but never out of each other’s line of sight.

But the veterans didn’t miss the matching colors. Or the way Will’s eyes followed her every time she walked past. Or the way she accidentally let a hand brush his arm when she slipped behind him to greet someone. Or how his smile lingered just a beat too long.

No one said anything. Not yet.

But the vets shared a knowing look. The kind that said: we see you. And now, it was just a matter of time.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

For a guy with killer instincts on the ice, Macklin Celebrini was alarmingly oblivious off it.

Will and Riley’s relationship had been going on for months now—hidden in plain sight, wrapped up in a string of inside jokes, soft glances, and near-catastrophic slip-ups. And while the veterans were beginning to connect the dots and River had them under playful blackmail, Macklin remained… blissfully unaware.

And that wasn’t for lack of opportunity.

It started on a quiet Thursday. The team had a rare off day, and Macklin, ever the extrovert, found himself bored and wandering. He decided to swing by the Marleau house, figuring Will would be around to kill time with him. Patrick opened the front door with a warm smile, still in his Sharks hoodie and holding a cup of coffee.

“Hey, kid. You looking for Will?”

Macklin nodded. “Yeah, just bored. Thought I’d come hang out. He around?”

Patrick shook his head, casual as ever. “Nah, he didn’t tell you? He’s out. Said he was going to see that new Marvel movie—something about Captain America or whatever. Seemed pumped.”

“Oh,” Macklin said, brows lifting. “Nice. I asked Riley if she wanted to do something earlier too, but she said she already had plans to go see that same movie.”

Patrick blinked, then shrugged. “Must be popular.”

“Guess so,” Macklin said, scratching the back of his neck. “Weird coincidence.”

And that was it. That was all he thought of it. Not that Will and Riley were together. Not that they were probably sitting side-by-side in the back row sharing popcorn and whispering their favorite lines. No, to Macklin, it was just a fluke in timing and taste.

Then there was the ring incident.

A week later, the two of them had carpooled to the arena for morning skate. Will was driving, music playing low, windows cracked to let in the cool air. Macklin had tossed his gear in the back and hopped in without a second thought.

They were halfway through traffic when Macklin reached down to adjust his seat and noticed something glinting in the cup holder.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up a small gold ring with a delicate pearl in the center.

Will swerved slightly.

“Whoa,” Macklin laughed. “Dude, relax. Is this Riley’s?”

Will’s mouth opened and shut. Then opened again. “Uh—yeah. Kind of. She, uh, she dropped it at a team thing. I think. I told her I’d get it back to her, but I keep forgetting.”

Macklin frowned, rolling the ring between his fingers. “We haven’t had a team thing in, like, two weeks.”

Will nodded far too quickly. “Yeah, no—I mean, it was more of a small one. Not everyone was invited. Kinda like a mini-meeting. Media stuff. You know how it is.”

Macklin looked confused but shrugged. “Weird. She wears this thing everywhere.”

Will let out a nervous laugh. “She’ll get it back. Promise.”

Macklin didn’t question it again. Just handed the ring back and cranked up the volume on the music like the whole conversation never happened. Will spent the rest of the drive silently cursing every decision that led to this moment.

But the worst—the absolute worst—slip-up happened two weeks after that.

It was a chill Friday night, and Eklund, Zetterlund, and Macklin were out grabbing food at a little bar-restaurant combo downtown. Will had been invited, obviously, but he’d sent a last-minute text: Rain check. Something came up.

Typical.

They were just settling into their booth when they caught sight of a figure bolting past the restaurant’s wide glass windows—a blur of motion, tall and fast and laughing under his breath.

“Was that—” Eklund leaned forward.

“Will?” Zetterlund finished.

The figure paused just long enough at the edge of the frame, hoodie half-zipped, signature gait unmistakable. And beside him, a girl with long, bright blonde hair, wrapped in a long coat and moving just as quickly.

Macklin squinted. “Looks like him. Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

Zetterlund and Eklund shared a look.

“Could’ve sworn that was his hoodie,” Eky said.

Fabes nodded. “And isn’t that Riley’s hair color?”

“She said she was busy tonight with Grace,” Macklin added helpfully, sipping his Sprite. “Probably wasn’t her.”

The other two just looked at each other.

“Yeah,” Zetterlund said slowly. “Probably not.”

The next morning, Riley showed up at the practice facility. Hair in a loose braid, sweatshirt tied around her waist, sipping from the exact smoothie shop she and Will had made their thing. She stopped by her dad’s office like usual, waved at the media crew, and paused to say hi to the players.

Eklund and Zetterlund were in the locker room when she passed.

Zetterlund turned to Eklund. “That was her.”

“Definitely.”

“She was with Will.”

“Yup.”

“Think Macklin’s figured it out yet?”

Eklund looked over at Macklin, who was humming a random tune while trying to juggle two tape rolls and a stick.

“Not even close.”

They shared a long, amused silence.

“Should we tell him?” Fabes asked.

Eky shook his head. “Nah. Let him figure it out.”

And so the chaos continued. Riley and Will, dancing the thin line between secrecy and exposure. Macklin, somehow always inches away from the truth, but never quite stepping over the line.

If anything, it had become a game.

A very stressful, heart-palpitating, constantly-about-to-get-caught game.

But it was kind of fun. Kind of thrilling. And at the very least—it gave Will and Riley stories they’d laugh about later. Assuming Macklin never figured it out first.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Will really thought he was slick.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when he pulled up to the Thornton house. He double-checked the text Macklin had sent earlier—something about being with family out of town for the weekend. Perfect. No risk of Macklin chaos. The plan? Play it casual. Say he dropped by to hang out. Kill time in the basement with Riley like they always did when Mack was around. Same story, different day.

He parked across the street like he usually did, tucked a little too close to the neighbor’s curb. It had become a routine by now: park out of view, sneak in, spend the afternoon curled up with Riley watching some Netflix series they’d sworn they wouldn’t binge without the other.

He knocked once before letting himself in, greeted only by the faint sounds of a hockey game playing in the living room. Joe was there, lounging on the couch in sweats, phone in one hand, remote in the other.

Will stepped inside, trying to keep his voice even. “Hey, Joe. Just came to see if Mack was around. Thought we’d hang out.”

Joe didn’t even look up. “Mack’s out of town. With his mom for the weekend.”

“Oh. Right. Uh—yeah, sh-shoot. Maybe I’ll just hang out with Riley for a bit. Maybe go watch that new movie in the basement.”

Joe nodded once, barely reacting. “Sure.”

Will turned toward the stairs, internally patting himself on the back for a smooth entry—when Joe’s voice rang out again.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, still staring at his phone, “I got a text from the neighbor. Said if you’re gonna park across from his house every night to drop Riley off, maybe don’t keep driving over his curb.”

Will froze mid-step.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—uh—”

“I mean,” Joe continued casually, “I don’t know why you keep parking there, kiddo. We have a driveway. Pretty sure it would save you the trouble of Ry having to walk down the street late at night.”

Will blinked. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. It was like his brain had short-circuited and all he could do was stand there, staring at Joe with full-on deer-in-headlights panic.

Still, Joe didn’t look up.

“Oh, and,” he added, almost offhandedly, “Tabea says you’re helping her fix the dent you left in the front bush.”

Will’s heart fell into his stomach, ice flooding his veins like he’d just missed an empty-net shot in overtime. He stared at Joe, frozen, every nerve in his body screaming. “You… you know?”

Joe finally glanced up. His smirk was infuriatingly calm. “Will. You and Riley are the worst liars I’ve ever met.”

Will gaped. “But—we’ve been so careful.”

Joe snorted. “Careful? You sneak in like it’s Mission Impossible, leave hoodies in our daughter's room, park in the same exact spot every night, and whisper to each other like the walls aren’t made of drywall.”

Will sank onto the nearest armchair, rubbing his face. “Oh my god.”

Joe chuckled, setting his phone down. “Look, I’m not mad. You’re a good kid. I’ve seen the way you treat her. You two think you’re fooling the world, but you’ve been fooling exactly one person. And that’s Macklin. Which, I mean—God love the kid, but let’s be honest…”

Will groaned. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“You’re just young,” Joe said, leaning back. “But not an idiot. You’ve been respectful, you’ve been kind, and as far as I can tell, you make her happy. That’s what matters.”

Will looked up, still shell-shocked. “So… you’re okay with it?”

Joe shrugged. “You’re not sneaking around anymore. That’s the only thing I care about. If you’re gonna be around this house, we do it the right way. None of this back-door, bush-diving, parking-sneaky nonsense.”

Just then, Riley came down the stairs with a bounce in her step, clearly unaware of the conversation she was walking into.

“Hey, Dad. Hey, Will. Ready to—” She stopped when she saw the expression on Will’s face. “What happened?”

Joe stood up, stretching his arms. “Ry, why don’t you help your mom set the table? Your boyfriend will be joining us for a proper dinner where we talk about the new rules in the house with you two.”

Riley’s face drained of color. “You what?”

Joe was already heading toward the kitchen. “Come on, Ry. Chop chop.”

She turned to Will, wide-eyed. “What did you do?”

He held up his hands. “I didn’t do anything. He knew. He knew all along.”

They stared at each other in stunned silence, the weight of Joe’s words still settling like bricks on their shoulders. Will looked like he’d been hit by a puck to the chest, and Riley’s jaw was practically on the floor. Then, from the kitchen, Joe’s voice floated back in—bright, amused, and far too cheerful for the emotional damage he’d just caused.

“And Will, no more parking like a lunatic, alright? The neighbor’s this close to leaving a note.”

From the kitchen came the clatter of plates and a soft burst of laughter. Tabea’s voice rang out: “You owe me a new hydrangea bush, Smith!”

Will slumped deeper into the couch. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

Riley nodded slowly. “So much for thinking we were subtle.”

And as they shuffled toward the kitchen for what was now officially the most awkward dinner of their lives, they were met with two smug parents and the smell of garlic bread.

“You know,” Tabea said as she handed Riley a stack of plates, “we were going to let it slide a little longer. But you two just made it too entertaining.”

Joe raised his glass with a smirk. "To the world’s worst secret relationship. Honestly, we didn’t even need to see you look at each other anytime Will was around." He chuckled, setting his drink down. "Patty actually tipped us off a while ago. Said he kept noticing Will coming in late—like really late—and every time, it lined up with when Riley was gone with "Grace". Then there was Ry moping around the house during road trips, then suddenly perking up the second you were home again. Tabea and I figured it out way back and decided to just sit back and enjoy the show. Honestly? It’s been hilarious."

Will groaned into his hands.

Riley looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.

And yet—somewhere between the teasing, the garlic bread, and the new house rules (which included, notably, no more hiding in bushes), it didn’t feel all that terrible.

It felt… kind of nice.

Because now, they weren’t sneaking. They weren’t hiding.

They were just Will and Riley.

And finally, everyone knew. Well—except for Macklin. But that was a problem for another day.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It was a sunny, chill kind of afternoon—exactly the type that screamed off-day energy. The Marleaus were hosting one of their classic post-road-trip lunches. Nothing fancy. Just family, a grill on the deck, a few dogs sprinting through the backyard, and a healthy dose of hockey players lounging on patio chairs like exhausted golden retrievers.

The Thorntons were there too, all four of them. Joe had brought wine, Tabea brought a massive pasta salad, and Riley… well, Riley brought Will. Though technically, Will had come from upstairs—he was still living with the Marleaus as part of his billet arrangement, which made this whole inter-family hangout even more chaotic in retrospect. Because after Joe’s legendary reveal, the sneaking had officially ended. Everyone knew they were together. And since then, the couple had settled into a casual comfort that radiated through every room they walked into.

Everyone knew.

Well.

Almost everyone.

Because somehow—somehow—Macklin Celebrini still hadn’t figured it out.

They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. Riley and Will were curled up together on the Marleaus’ living room couch, his arm slung over her shoulder, her feet tucked beneath her. They were talking to Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner, who had dropped by while the Leafs were in town to visit the veterans and their families.

Auston greeted the Thorntons warmly, hugging Riley like she was a younger cousin. Mitch followed suit, ruffling River’s hair and grinning.

“So, Jumbo,” Mitch said as he plopped down across from Joe, already grinning, “I gotta know. How were you so chill when you found out Smitty was dating Riley behind your back?”

There was a pause.

A brief, flickering silence.

And then Macklin, who had been mid-bite of his sandwich, laughed.

“What?” he snorted. “What do you mean? Will and Ri—”

He stopped.

The laughter died in his throat.

He looked around the room.

At Will, who had the decency to freeze mid-sip of his drink.

At Riley, who looked down at her lap, trying to suppress a smile.

At the rest of the room, which was suspiciously quiet.

Macklin’s eyes darted from face to face.

Joe.

Tabea.

Patrick.

Auston.

Mitch.

Everyone was looking at him with the exact same expression: mild amusement and a you just now figured this out? glint in their eyes.

He turned slowly, finally letting his gaze fall on Riley and Will.

Riley had leaned into Will’s side, her hand resting on his knee. They weren’t even trying to be subtle.

“What…” Macklin started slowly. “WHAT?!”

His voice cracked with genuine disbelief. “No. No. You’re kidding. This is a bit, right? This is one of those inside joke things I’m just not in on. Will and Riley?”

Will gave him a small wave.

“Hi.”

Riley smiled apologetically. “Hey, Mack.”

“No. No way. I live with you, Riley. And Will, you’re my best friend. There’s no way you could’ve been together this whole time without me noticing. I would have known! I’ve walked into the kitchen and seen you two sitting on the same side of the table—I just thought you were bad at spacing! You guys always claimed you were just watching TV and, like, sharing smoothies. But we all share smoothies! Or at least—I thought we did! Was I the third wheel in my own house?!”

Auston choked on his drink.

Mitch doubled over laughing.

“Dude,” Patty wheezed from the other side of the room. “Come on.”

“You mean to tell me,” Macklin said, pointing between them, “that this has been happening under my nose for MONTHS?! And all those girls Will was supposedly going on dates with? The ones he said never worked out because they were ‘too loud’ or ‘didn’t vibe’? THAT WASN’T REAL? And the contact in your phone labeled ‘Lover’ that we all joked about??”

Will coughed. “Yeah… that’s always been Riley.”

Macklin looked like he was short-circuiting. “I made fun of you for weeks about that contact name and you didn’t say anything??”

Will shrugged helplessly. “I thought you were kidding. And technically, you weren’t wrong.”

Joe leaned over, clapping Macklin on the back. “It’s okay, kiddo. I told Will I approved as long as he promised to stop hiding in our bush.”

Macklin’s jaw dropped. “The bush?? You mean—that bush?”

Tabea nodded sagely. “It was a tragic loss. Hydrangeas never recovered.”

“I—HOW DID I MISS THIS?” Macklin yelled, standing now, arms flailing as he began pacing the room. “You were literally in our house all the time. I thought you just liked dinner a lot! I thought you liked hanging out with me a lot!”

Riley was giggling now, hiding behind Will’s shoulder.

Will was bright red.

Joe was openly enjoying this far too much.

“And the smoothies! The matching bracelets! The way Will would blow us off during off days!”

“Honestly, I thought you had figured it out like, ten different times,” Fabes said from the armchair.

“Same,” Eky added. “But then you just… didn’t.”

“I’m so dumb.” Macklin groaned, dropping back onto the couch and putting his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this. You were RIGHT THERE. ALL THE TIME.”

Tabea passed him a lemonade. “You’re not dumb, Mack. Just… sweetly oblivious.”

Will leaned forward. “You okay, buddy?”

Macklin peeked through his fingers. “No. I need a second to grieve the trust I thought we had.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Riley said, still laughing.

“I’m allowed! I feel betrayed! You guys made me sit through so many awkward movie nights and I thought it was just the vibes being weird. You were probably playing footsie under the blanket!”

They absolutely were.

Joe raised his drink. “To Macklin. The last to know. But still very much loved.”

Everyone clinked their glasses, grinning.

And Macklin, despite himself, smiled too.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But like… just tell me next time, okay? I can keep a secret. I swear.”

Will and Riley exchanged a look.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“Okay,” Macklin muttered. “Fair.”

[allthespoons]

not only has the council fully talked ourselves out of tension, will’s bonerposting from a golf course. enough. ENOUGH. i can’t do this anymore.

[toasttt11]

gold

summary: best way to start a new year ? a new years kiss.

request: “Can I kiss you?" "You know you don't have to ask me anymore, right?"

will smith x reader

Will’s thumb was mindlessly rubbing softly circles on her shoulder as she was leaning into his side from where they were sitting next to each other on one of the couches in the Toffoli house.

Macklin was sitting across from the couple, who have both grown to be two of his closest friends over the past few months. Macklin has became their permanent third wheel and no matter how much Will complains they both love having Macklin around so much.

Her head dropped as she laughed, her shoulders shaking with laughter at Macklin’s comment. Will scoffed out at a laugh his eyes staying on his girlfriend as she laughed.

“Come on it was funny Smitty!” Macklin complained seeing Will only laugh a little bit.

She laughed even more at Macklin’s pouty face and Will’s smirk.

“You’re not funny Mack.” Will just smirked teasing Macklin.

She fondly rolled her eyes at Will’s teasing, “Mack is very funny.”

Her words made Will shoot her a betrayed look and she just smiled.

Macklin laughed smugly giving a beaming smile at her, “And this is why you’re my favorite.”

Will shrugged softly because fair, she’s his favorite too.

Will glanced at his watch and stood up after seeing it was almost the New Year and he would like to kiss his girlfriend in private.

Will held out his hand for her and helped her stand up off the couch.

“You’re leaving me alone.” Macklin dramatically pouted at his friends.

“Celly i don’t think you want to watch me kiss my girlfriend.” Will raised an eyebrow at the younger boy.

“Eh yeah no i’m good.” Macklin shook his head, that’s like thinking about his sister kissing someone.

“And this is why you need a girlfriend Mack.” Will patted Macklin’s shoulder softly as they walked by him. Macklin just groaned at his words.

Will intertwined their hands as he pulled her softly through the house and past his teammates and towards the small side patio Tyler and Cat have, that Will knew no one would go on to see their fireworks.

Will wrapped his arms around her waist once they got outside as her arms came around his neck, her fingers gently tangling in his blonde curls.

They both heard the countdown started and looked at each other softly.

"Can I kiss you?" She whispered softly giving him a mischievous grin.

Will shook his head softly laughing softly at her teasing, “You know you don't have to ask me that anymore." They have been dating for years now and she always teases him by asking that.

“That’s no fun.” She playfully pouted giggling softly.

Will shook his head fondly and his hand slide up to cup her face gently and kissed her as the fireworks started going off.

Will hummed softly as they slowly pulled away and she gently tugged on his curls, his forehead rested on her forehead, “Happy New Years baby.”

“Happy New Years.” She softly whispered back smiling at her favorite person before glancing up in awe seeing the gold fireworks covering the sky.

Will just looked at her in awe as the gold fireworks made her entire face glow and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Will smiled to himself that he gets another year with her and this is his favorite way to start a new year, getting to kiss her.

[pucking-rowdy]

morning bj with will? 😁

i'm assuming this is will smith hockey (i think he's the only will i write for)

smut below the cut (minors dni)

unedited

will was a mess. blonde curls pushed up wildly on one side, cheeks flushed from sleep, jaw sharp in that way that always made you want to run your fingers across it. his lips were parted, soft and pink, the faintest mark of a bruise still visible on his shoulder from the game, or maybe from last night. hard to tell.

his chest was bare, rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. one arm tucked under the pillow, the other sprawled toward your side of the bed. the sheets crumbled around his bare hips.

you stayed still, memorizing each detail along his sleeping form. the barely-there freckles that decorated his cheeks. the perfect slope of his nose, his long eyelashes that fluttered against his cheeks as he dreamt.

your eyes drifted lower, admiring the marks that littered his neck and collarbone. the bruises and scratches serving as a faint remnant of the night before. he looked magical, unreal as the light danced along his sleeping form, casting him in a soft, morning glow.

carefully, you pushed the blankets lower. his boxers clung to his hips enticingly, almost begging you to do something about the morning tent.

you're slow as you move, settling comfortably between his thighs. he welcomed you, subconsciously spreading his legs to accommodate your form. he barely stirs as you mouth at the bulge in his boxers, letting out a sleepy exhale. you breathe him in, your mouth watering at the feel of his clothed bulge against your lips.

slowly, you slip your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. you free his warm cock from the constraint of the cotton material, wrapping your hand around the length of him to give him a few slow strokes. he twitches in your palm.

he's not awake, not yet.

you slide your tongue along the underside of his cock, humming softly at the taste of him. he lets out a sleepy whine, finally coming to as you take him into your mouth.

"oh god," he groans, hands tangling in your hair. "you're really starting somethin' before breakfast?"

his voice is full of sleep, hoarse and deep. you feel a familiar throb between your thighs as he glances down at you with half-open eyes.

you pull off with a giggle. "you looked too good for me to just admire the view this morning. had to do something about it."

you take him back in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. the salty taste of precum and sweat floods your senses. will's stomach clenches, his hands tightening in your hair. a sound comes from the back of his throat, a mix of a groan and whimper.

"god, i love you."

you hollow your cheeks, swallowing him down. his body shudders, every muscle coiled tight and ready to snap. you glance up at him. his brows are furrowed tight above his closed eyes; bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

his cock twitches against your tongue. his hips buck up, filling your mouth with him. he chokes out a moan as you hum around his length. you let him fill your mouth and your senses as he chases the knot that's coiling in his tummy. his noises get whinier, his pitch increasing as he twitches.

"fuck, baby- baby, i'm-" he whines, and you don't stop, swallowing around him as he spills warm, thick spurts down your throat. his fingers tighten in your hair. his hips stutter, head falling back against the pillows as he releases.

his chest heaves, fingers loosening their grip on you as he comes down from the high.

"holy shit," he pants, letting his eyes flutter shut as he catches his breath. "well, good morning."

[777bae]

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.

[belli5]

⌗ . ᵎᵎ ⸝⸝ My champion .ᐟ ೀ W.S²

Will celebrates the USA win surrounded by his family and girlfriend, his smile wide and eyes shining as the moment finally hits him.

˚₊· ᥫ᭡ Will Smith x fem!reader ➜ fluff, use of alcohol(??) Note: my first Smitty fic lool. masterlist

The stadium had never felt louder. The final buzzer rang, and just like that—USA were champions.

You couldn’t even hear your own cheering. The crowd erupted as helmets flew through the air. You stayed standing, hands clutching the railing, eyes locked on the blur of white jerseys colliding at the glass.

Will was in the middle of it all—helmet off, cheeks flushed, hugging teammates and yelling something you couldn’t hear. His face was pure disbelief and joy, eyes blinking as he smiled through it all. It was beautiful. Deserved. And somehow surreal.

You watched him sing the anthem with both arms around his teammates. He wasn’t looking in the stands yet. He was too deep in the moment, and you didn’t blame him. He had fought for this. So had they all.

Still, your heart ached just a little. You wanted to hug him so bad.

You stood beside Colleen, Will’s mom, who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue, while his dad Bill had one strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other holding Grace as she practically bounced in place.

You didn’t get to see him again until nearly an hour later.

Security cleared the crowd out slowly from arena, the boys had gone from ice to the media pit, then straight into the locker room, where chaos erupted again.

You weren’t allowed back there. Neither were the families. So you waited. You paced the halls with Colleen and Grace, clutching your phone like it would buzz with news of when he’d come out.

You couldn’t stop refreshing social media. Everytime a new photo popped up, you scanned the crowd to see if you could catch a glimpse of Will in the background. Even though Will posted two pictures of himself with the gold medal between his teeth.

But nothing could compare to seeing him walk out the tunnel in real time.

His USA jersey was still on, it was slightly wet, his cheeks still flushed from the celebration. The gold medal gleamed around his neck, and you could tell how happy he was, he came out by spraying champagne.

He stopped for half a second when he saw you.

And then he was moving.

He didn’t care that the fans were still around, or that he was still wet, or that the cameras were probably still snapping photos nearby. He just walked fast right toward you.

You met him halfway.

“Will,” you whispered, suddenly breathless, tears already stinging your eyes as he reached you.

“Y/n—”

He pulled you into him like he couldn’t breathe without you, arms tight around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder, grounding himself. You felt his entire body exhale.

“I couldn’t find you out there,” he murmured, voice rough.

“I know,” you whispered, arms wrapped around his neck. “It’s okay. I saw you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hand cupping your cheek, eyes shining. And then he kissed you—slow, sweet, full of all the adrenaline and love and relief in the world.

You laughed against his lips, pulling back just slightly. “Do you like what I’m wearing, though?”

He grinned, eyes dropping to where the oversized #43 stretched across your back.

“You wear this every game.” He tugged on the hem. “But damn right you do look good.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushed.

Then Will reached for the medal around his neck and gently lifted it over his head, the ribbon still damp, and draped it around yours instead.

“Will—no, come on—”

“Shh,” he said, pressing his finger against your lips to shush you.

You hands clutched the cool weight of the medal where it now sat, your heart swelling. “This is yours.”

“And you’re mine,” he said without hesitation. “So it stays with you for now.”

You kissed him again before you could even think.

The post-game celebration moved from the stadium to a nearby private event space that Team USA had booked in advance—a cozy, low-lit spot just a few blocks from the arena, already buzzing with music and laughter.

There were long tables set up with food, and drinks. Players, parents, and girlfriends gathered around in clusters, still riding the high of the win.

You walked in beside Will, your hand in his. His other hand clutched a water bottle, and every few steps someone stopped to fist bump him or clap him on the back.

“There’s so many people,” you murmured as you glanced around the packed room.

The two of you found your way to the corner where his family was sitting. Colleen was deep in conversation with another players mom, and Grace was already halfway through a slice of cake she’d somehow found before anyone else.

Will’s dad waved you both over, pulling Will into a proud hug, then doing the same to you, even though he’d seen you earlier. “We’re proud of you, son,” he said.

Will nodded, visibly touched. “Thanks, Dad. Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

You hung back a moment, letting them have that father-son moment, until Grace suddenly appeared at you side with two plates of cake. “Here. You earned it too,” she said with a knowing smirk.

You smiled. “Is this because you love me or because you want to see me get icing on my face?”

She shrugged. “Both?”

Will came over and threw his arms around your waist, stealing a forkful of your cake. “Hey!” You protested, laughing.

Will pulled you down next to him, the buzz of the celebration humming around you like background music to your little moment.

You leaned in to kiss his cheek, then whispered, “I’m really proud of you.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him the whole world.

Later in the evening, someone shouted, “Group photo!” And all the players groaned, but still made their way to the back of the room, dragging along their girlfriends and families. Will grabbed your hand and tugged you with him, grinning like a little kid.

You stood between him and Grace in the photo—Will’s arm firmly around your shoulder as you all posed for the camera.

“That’s the one.” The team photographer said.

“Speaking of,” Will said, already pulling out his phone. He snapped a quick selfie of you both, your head resting against his shoulder, both of you beaming and posted it right there on the spot.

[crazy4eky]

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.