#situationship!will smith

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 10. (typing...)

notes: k whatever this is so nothingburger

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 6. >>

notes: reader never calls will babe, or baby, or any pet name for that matter its always just will or another variation of his name. #noticing 👀

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 5. >>

notes: computa programmed me to make more will smith texts. also reader, a known macklin celebrini hater and macklin, a known reader hater and oh.. oh is that..? is the plot moving?? oh my where is that plot going.... 👀

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 8. >>

notes: hi guys.. can you hear me or see me... can you hear and see me

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 9. >>

notes: i did not realize how many of these i made until i uploaded it. enjoy 😛 also did you guys like the edging yes or no

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 3. >>

notes: ohh will its all over my screen will what are you going to dooooo

[geonuks]

will smith never meant to cause you any sorrow. situationship!will smith x reader

the library is too quiet for this. 

you planned to waste the rest of your life away in pages of qualitative analyses and assays of test solutions, hoping to whatever being above is kind enough to let it drown out the thoughts racing through your mind. but it's quiet. it's still too quiet.

it's interrupted by the sight of your favorite chocolates, neatly piled up with a ribbon wrapped around them. you should be happy—and you were—for a second, until your eyes shift up to see a familiar face. one you've connected to late nights and early coffees, classic christmas movies and dumb inside jokes, sunburnt skin and golden curls. it's him. will.

you're not sure what to say. your head juggles through cursing him out or fully ignoring him. you do none of those things and instead, what comes out of your mouth shocks yourself. 

"what are you doing here?"

will is puzzled. he thought you'd be more livid. he'd ignored you for days and he pops up in front of you with 'i know im guilty, have pity on me' chocolates, and all he gets is a question asking why he's there? he's beyond bewildered.

he tries to return with the same amount of nonchalance. "i was in town," he shrugs like it's nothing. "thought i'd come see you." his mouth lifts to an awkward smile, like his body knows whatever he just did was wrong. 

"wow," there's a cut to your voice, sharp and dripping with sarcasm. "so now you remember i exist?"

"c'mon.." he says, voice just above a whisper and cracking at the end of his words.

you don't respond. instead, you stand up and return the book you were half-reading, pretending to find another equally dull book, eyes flitting through the rows of printed hardback spines, not registering any of the titles. 

"seriously?" he presses, stepping in your way to the next row of books. "this is how you're gonna be?" 

"i'm not doing this." stepping to the side, you let out a sigh. determined to talk to you, he works his way around and stops in the middle of your path. your vision is immediately covered with his chest, and you look up to see his beady, determined eyes, brows slightly drawn together like he's pleading.

"c'mon..." he almost whines out.

"drop it, will." 

"no."

your eyes shut for a second and your jaw clenches. you really don't have it in you right now. "seriously?" it's your turn now. "you're trying to do this, here?"

"yeah," he returns your attitude. "what am i supposed to do? you keep walking away."

"yeah," you say it the same way he does. "that's what people usually do when they don't want to talk." you turn your back to him, eyes rolling as you pick up the first book you see.

"or when they don't have anything to say," he murmurs to himself, and you stop mid-step. that almost does it to you. the very few strands holding your patience are growing frailer by the second, and by every word that comes out of him.

you turn to him slowly and your growing intolerance shows on your face. "i have things to say, i just don't feel like saying it to someone who doesn't listen."

"i listen." he takes a step forward. you take one back.

you scoff, "do you?"

"i do."

"then why does it feel like i'm talking to a fucking wall half the time?"

will lets a disbelieving breath out his mouth and his hand comes up to rub his face. "because you wait hours to reply to me and then act like nothing fucking happened."

you scoff, shoulder bumping on the next shelf as you take another step back. "oh i'm sorry i don't sit around and wait for your messages mr. hockey star. some of us actually have important things to do." your hands come up to mockingly motion at him.

he releases a similar scoff, tongue poking at his cheek. "oh and i don't?"

“i didn’t– you know i don’t mean it that way.” you let out an exasperated sigh. you’re too tired to talk back, or even think properly. the situation you’re in, will, the pending reports, papers, ignored messages, and lonely nights. it’s all too much. so, you try to leave… again. and you’re blocked… again.

you look up to find his eyes. this time, they’re glazed over. his nose burns in that way before tears start to form but he sniffles and blinks them away. you know you’ve gone too far, and you know he’s hurt, but he chooses to stay anyway.

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” his voice begins to tighten. the sand in his hourglass is running low.

“and that fixes everything because…?” 

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “because… my schedule,” his voice gets quiet, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re in the library—and that you were half a step away from him—you wouldn’t have heard the last two words he uttered.

you tilt your head. “what about your schedule?”

“you should know how it is,” he says, a little blunt now. “you should.” he repeats it, riling himself up. 

he’s taking steps towards you, and you respond by taking the same steps back.

“do you not follow anything? god, you’re so self-absorbed you didn’t even know i wasn’t in san jose half the time you were texting me.”

that lands wrong and you go still.

“…okay,” you say slowly.

“okay?” will repeats, disbelief is entangling itself in his voice. “that’s all you have to say? okay?” his outrage manifests itself in the way his fists ball and his body grows restless. you defensively step back and a shrug makes its way out of your tense body. it’s sharp and exudes this avoidant energy that ticks him off.

he lets out a dry, humorless laugh and he rubs the side of his mouth the way he usually does when he’s thoroughly irritated and is trying to hold himself back from answering with anything too harsh.

“you do this all the time.”

your brows come together. “do what?”

“this,” he says, vaguely gesturing to you and stepping closer, voice still hushed but grating against your eardrums. 

“you get upset, and then you shut down like i’m supposed to know what you’re thinking. you barely say anything and then somehow–” a bitter laugh cuts through. “–somehow, i’m still expected to know exactly what i did wrong.”

your chest tightens and you have to look away, jaw tensing.

he notices but keeps going. “you keep everything to yourself until shit hits the fan, and then suddenly i’m the bad guy because i couldn’t magically figure it out before you said anything.”

“that’s rich coming from you.” you mutter under your breath and you don’t realize he’s heard you until he acknowledges it.

“whats that?”

“i said that’s fucking rich coming from you,” you hiss, abandoning the book in your hands to the shelf with more force than necessary. “because you want everything, will. you want constant updates, replies, calls. i can’t instantly be free whenever you are. my life can’t be put on hold just because you texted.”

he blinks, almost offended. “i don’t want everything.”

you laugh under your breath, already backing away. “right.”

he immediately follows. “no. don’t fucking say that. don’t act like i’m asking for something insane.”

you take another step back, trying to end this, but he keeps pace like he’s refusing to let the conversation die

“you do, will,” you mutter. “you always want more than what i can give.”

that makes him stop for half a second. he turns quiet—he feels quiet. voice devoid of any anger he says, “i don’t want everything.”

another step toward you and your back hits the shelf. the impact is soft, but what he says stops you—and your breath, honestly.

his voice drops. “i just want something.”

for a second—just for a second—neither of you says anything because now he’s right there. in front of you, closer than he’s been this whole time, and he floods all your senses. 

he’s close enough that you smell his clean smelling perfume, see the faint freckles that adore his cheekbones, hear him let out a small exhale as he swallows, you can almost taste his lips on yours before he left, and you can feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, rough like he’s been talking too fast and too much.

your own breath stutters the same way, somewhat. it’s out of sync. and yet, it fits. it somehow fits because it’s will smith and you. 

both of you had this awful habit of playing cat and mouse—playing games none of you could finish.

your chest rises as his falls. then the opposite. then, for one brief second both of you inhale at the same time and it’s enough that you feel it. the burn of his body against yours. It's electric and all the more addicting.

you swallow, forcing your gaze to be anywhere but his face, except it’s impossible when he’s this close and the only thing your body could register is him. so, despite your strong desire not to, you look, and you have to crane your neck just to hold his gaze.

and he’s already looking at you. 

and you can’t quite read his face but his eyes flick—quick and almost involuntary—down to your lips, then back up. 

fuck, what is he trying to do?

your hands fists, and it’s hard enough that your nails dig into your palms, though you’re not even aware of it anymore. instead, you notice the way his eyes still hold this pleading look, and his breathing hasn’t steadied. 

neither has yours.

for a second, you both forget what you were even fighting about. or maybe you just choose to. because this—whatever this is—is easier than admitting either of your faults. both your prides reaching the heaven’s gates themselves is more probable than fixing your problems.

notes: hello. it's me crewmate. i am da good guy on da spaceship.

[geonuks]

will smith as your not boyfriend (but not friend either) texting you. << part 7. >>

notes: this feels so fucking unfunny im so sorry 😭 im thinking of switching this out to a word fic and then occasionally switching to texts whenever it fits idk. think i might focus on other works.. if thats ok ..........