Summary: Working for the San Jose Sharks was supposed to be easy—straightforward—a hockey-fan dream come true. Will Smith made that a little difficult—his feelings are… complicated, but, then again, so are yours.
Warnings: Fluffy, angst, love triangle, NHL/hockey inaccuracies, mentions of William Eklund (I know he’s not a shark anymore but idc), Tyler Toffoli (once), and Macklin Celebrini (obviously).
WC: ~1.5k
A/N: Raaahhh I’m so sorry this took so long, lovelies! I’m so feral for Smitty, it’s insane. Need to ruin his innocence. Who said that?
At first, it had been harmless, you worked for the team as a part of the medical and equipment staff, always rushing around the arena with a roll of hockey tape hanging from your pocket and a coffee going cold somewhere nearby.
You noticed Will Smith before you officially met him—It was impossible not to, not with his broad shoulders and messy brown curls sticking out beneath his helmet. He has the kind of smile sports photographers loved. Fans adored him.
You began to notice the little things—Will carrying rookies’ bags without being asked, staying late after practices to help clean up pucks, thanking literally every arena employee after games, smiling shyly whenever fans recognized him in airports.
He remembered when you had long days and brought you coffee without asking. He carried heavy equipment cases out of instinct, staying behind after practices talking to arena staff instead of disappearing immediately like some of the other players did.
He was sweet—painfully sweet.
You kept your feelings to yourself. For months.
Which was manageable right up until training camp started again.
Because training camp brought rookies—and apparently, beautiful women.
You were carrying medical supplies down the hallway after practice when you first saw her.
Tall. Gorgeous. Effortlessly polished in that intimidating way some people naturally were. She stood near the locker room entrance laughing at something Will had said.
And Will? Will was laughing too. Not polite laughing, but real laughing—head tilted back slightly, curls still damp from practice, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Your stomach dropped so fast it almost hurt.
You immediately looked away before either of them noticed you staring, tears threatening to prick at the corners of your eyes—which was ridiculous. Will was allowed to talk to pretty women. Obviously.
You weren’t dating him. You weren’t anything.
Still, the sight lodged itself under your ribs for the rest of the day like a splinter you couldn’t quite dislodge.
“Okay,” Macklin said finally after catching you aggressively reorganizing tape rolls for the third time. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You just wrapped hockey tape tightly enough to cut circulation off.” He stated.
You sighed heavily.
Mack followed your gaze across the rink immediately—right toward Will who was currently leaning against the boards talking to the girl again.
His expression was relaxed, comfortable.
Your chest ached.
“Oh you’re down bad.” Mack teases a smile playing on his lips.
“Fuck off.” You roll your eyes, standing abruptly and walking away, not able to stomach the sight anymore. You needed to get over this stupid crush on Will Smith—I mean, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, of course he’s going to talk to pretty women.
Will noticed your attitude toward him had changed. He noticed how you stopped sitting next to him on flights, stopped greeting him in the mornings with a gleaming smile that made his knees weak, stopped chirping him from the bench during practice. Something was off.
Evan was a new rookie starting this year, he was assigned to pre-season training with a few other “young prospects” being considered.
Will hated him instantly. Not for any rational reason, obviously—but because every time Will turned around lately, Evan was near you smiling—and you smiled back.
Will first noticed it after practice while heading toward the locker room—you stood near the hallway laughing at something Evan had said, arms crossed loosely while he leaned casually against the wall beside you. Then Evan touched your arm lightly.
Will’s jaw tightened immediately.
“Uh oh,” Eky stood beside him, snapping him from the daggers he was shooting from his eyes.
“What?”
“You look like you’re about to fight a rookie.”
Will looked away sharply—that was ridiculous. He wasn’t jealous.
Evan was just friendly. You were just friendly.
Will didn’t care.
Except every time he saw the two of you together, something twisted in his chest, threatening to burn him alive.
At dinners, Evan sat beside you. At practices and warm-ups, he found excuses to talk to you.
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The Sharks had their first preseason game tonight—you were there early getting the locker room set up with equipment for the boys. Will walked into the arena and saw Evan handing you coffee. You smiled at him so brightly that Will immediately turned around and walked back outside again, feeling himself getting worked up at the sight of you both together.
That evening, the crowd was roaring, our team was up 3-2 and things were looking great. You watch Will skating effortlessly down the ice, his brows furrowed in concentration.
He passes the puck to Eky when the opposing player in front of him high sticks Will right in the face. He immediately goes down, the crowd goes silent and the opposing player is sent to the penalty box.
You wanted to rush out onto the ice to him, you wanted to make sure he’s okay, you wanted—
Your thoughts were cut off as Will is brought into the locker room—blood dripping from his brow.
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“Hold still.” You grumble.
“I am holding still.”
“You flinched.”
“That’s because that stuff burns!”
You rolled your eyes while dabbing antiseptic against the cut above Will’s eyebrow.
Off-season practice had barely started and he’d already gotten clipped by a stick during a practice game. Typical.
Will sat on the locker room bench pouting slightly while you worked to clean the blood dripping from his brow. Leaning off your chair in front of him, you toss the used cotton balls and gauze into the trash.
“You’re being dramatic,” you informed him.
“You’re like stabbing me!”
“I’m literally using a cotton pad!” You say rolling your eyes.
“It’s aggressive.” He huffs.
“You’re just being a baby.”
You finish cleaning him up by placing a bandage on his wound, gently pressing the adhesive down with your thumb.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad was it?” You ask, giggling at him, earning you a scowl from Will.
You tried very hard not to think about how pretty he looked with sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and flushed cheeks—the blotches of pink making your stomach flip.
You begin to get nervous—getting lost in his eyes. He reaches his hand up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear—his cold fingertips making you shiver.
The space between you getting smaller and smaller—you can feel his hot breath against your face, your noses brush for a moment before you hear the loud buzz of the end of the second period. You both jump back, startled by the ear-piercing sound.
“I—uh—thanks… for taking care of me,” he says over the sound of the team marching back to the locker room. His eyes glimmer under the bright lights overhead.
Evan notices you standing off to the side, approaching you, he removes his helmet, shaking his head and whipping it back.
“Hey, my favourite team member,” he smiles, eyeing you up and down. “Thanks for fixing Smitty there—we definitely need him during the final period.”
You nod, almost not really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth—still trying to process what the hell just happened between you and Will.
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Part two (IN THE WORKS!)
Masterlist
If you have a request, or if you just wanna share a horny thought, send me an ask!
2 out of three wear hats. 2 out of three wear sunglasses. (Luke is the middle of their venn diagram of glasses and hats). But all three are smiling with their top buttons undone🙂↕️
What do we think Quinny’s fav position would be?………….
Oh anon, I don’t think our Quinny can choose…
I think Q would love seeing you on your knees between his legs—your hair pulled back in a makeshift ponytail, guiding your head up and down his length. He’d tell you what a good girl you’re being for him, crying and drooling all over his cock—making a mess. Such a pretty little mess.
But on the other hand, he’d also love having his head between your thighs, the feeling of your fingers laced in his hair, tugging on the roots as your pussy gushes for him. He’d know exactly what to do to have you grinding yourself up to his tongue, begging him for more. His fingers curling up to have your thighs shaking around his head.
It wouldn’t end there for him, he’d just have to fuck your quivering cunt until you’re cumming all over him. He’d start by fucking you missionary—he loves watching the pleasure in your face as you’re clenching around him, clawing at his back, leaving marks for his teammates to see in the locker room. His chain would be dangling just above you, his eyes never leaving your face, telling you how well you’re taking his cock, how good your pussy feels, how you’re made for him.
He’d love the sight of you from behind too though—every smack of your ass against his thighs making him fuck into you even harder. He’d have his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face into the pillows, muffling your cries of pleasure. Pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm with every snap of his hips, every slap to your ass, reminding you that you’re his sweet girl.
