omg i miss high school / BC era will rn :(( wishing for some cuddles with my short haired boy
(i miss that era SO MUCH)
tft master list masterlist
bro I miss it too
wc: 385
"If you keep kicking me in your sleep, I’m gonna get up and leave," Will murmured, his voice thick with a yawn.
The radiator in the corner of the room was clicking, a rhythmic, metallic sound that usually signaled the start of a drafty winter in the dorms. It was the kind of noise that blended into the background of a thousand other college sounds—the distant slam of a heavy fire door, the muffled bass of a speaker three floors down, the smell of burnt popcorn drifting through the vents. This room was a cramped box of cinderblocks and peeling beige paint, cluttered with half-empty bags of pretzels and a stack of textbooks that neither of you had opened since the midterms. It was a space designed for temporary transit, a place where people lived just enough to get somewhere else.
You shifted, your shoulder brushing against his, and felt the rough texture of the navy blue duvet. The air in the room was cool, but the space between you was an oven. You were tangled together in a way that defied the narrow dimensions of a twin-XL mattress, limbs overlapping like a puzzle that had been solved years ago. There was no urgency to move, no reason to check the clock or the notifications buzzing on the nightstand.
"Please don't. I love you."
"My sweet girl," Will whispered, the sound vibrating against your temple. He shifted, his arm tightening around your waist to pull you flush against him, and then he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the crown of your head. The touch was light, almost tentative, but it carried the weight of twelve years of shared secrets and midnight drives. "I love you too."
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You stayed suspended in that hazy borderland between wakefulness and dreams, where the world outside the dorm room ceased to exist. The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was full of the quiet history of your friendship—the awkward middle school phases, the long summers spent biking until your legs burned, the way he always knew exactly when you were lying about being okay. You felt the steady, slow thrum of his heartbeat against your shoulder, a rhythmic anchor that made the rest of the campus feel miles away.
i just saw this TikTok and it reminded me of tft!will so much!! i don’t wanna share it because im scared it will show my account, but the first slide was like this couple’s elementary school photos, and said i liked him in 4th grade and he liked me in 9th. the second photo is them together saying ‘11th grade for the win’, like that is soooo will and reader! this whole thing is probably annoying since i didn’t add the post, but if you know how to add a tiktok without showing my account i will indeed share it!
omg you're SO RIGHT!!!!!!
here's what I pictured + some comments!! (pretend this doesn't say its posted to private okay I'd rather die than edit that)
tft master list masterlist
comments
grace_smith literally took forever
—youruser we really played the long game
willsmith i have a huzz 🔥🫶😎🆒
—yourusername tf
—thomas_pierce he's so sexy
yourfriend1 fortnite duo for life
—yourusername twin ✌️
requesting a fluffy tft au (i can’t help myself 🫣) in which we see scenes of will and bird cuddling. i absolutely loved the format of the tft blurbs of will and bird’s forehead presses so thinking of something similar? maybe a scene in which they’re in will’s dorm together at bc, or after one of them has a bad day and needs the other’s touch to feel better, or even their very first time being cozied up, platonically or romantically. i feel like mack would totally interrupt their cuddling sessions lololol :) have fun with this one!!
tft master list masterlist
Pairing: tft!will smith x fem!reader
wc: 2.0k
Content Warnings: nothing I don't think!
AN: hey...
Synopsis: the req ^^ !!
4 1/2 years old ༊*·˚
after a practice...
"The blue one is faster because it has a stripe," Will announced, holding the plastic car aloft like a trophy. You were currently preoccupied with putting your blade covers on, but you still looked up at Will and nodded in agreement.
Around you, the lobby was a hum of adult noise. Your parents and Will’s parents were standing in a tight cluster near the vending machines, their voices blending into a low, rhythmic drone. They were talking about "carpools" which you thought was weird because cars could NOT go in a pool. They were too big.
"Hold still," Will commanded, though his voice was soft. He reached over and grabbed the cover you’d botched, sliding it onto your skate with ease. Before you could even say thank you, he scooped up both the skates and shoved them into your gear bag.
You frowned, looking at the crumpled heap. With a slow, deliberate focus, you reached over and fished the skates and the covers out one by one. You but everything the way it should be before tucking everything away again.
Will didn't mind the correction; he was already distracted by the dangling pompoms on your hat. He leaned in close, his breath smelling faintly of the orange slices the coach gave out at the end of the session. The two of you stayed there for a while, him with his chin on your shoulder, you leaning against the cubby wall while the sliding, the falling, the fighting to hold your stick had finally caught up to you. Your legs felt like they were made of warm lead, and the linoleum beneath you felt less like a floor and more like a giant, cold pillow.
You leaned your head against his, feeling the rough plastic of his skating jacket. Above you, the adults' voices began to fade, turning into a distant, buzzing sound like a swarm of bees. The world was becoming very small, consisting only of the smell of damp equipment and the breathing of the boy beside you.
Slowly, your eyelids grew heavy, feeling as though someone had tied tiny, invisible weights to your lashes. You didn't want to move, and Will didn't seem to want to move either. You let your head tilt sideways, resting against the cool floor, while Will’s crooked helmet finally slipped off his head and clattered softly beside him. By the time your mother reached down to wake you, the two of you were fast asleep, curled up like two small pebbles in a vast, white sea.
12 years old ༊*·˚
after you have a long, painful day with your family...
You spent the afternoon trapped in your living room with three older cousins who treat your age like a flaw. They spent four hours explaining the "realities" of the professional world, subtly reminding you that you’re still in the phase of life where you don't have "real responsibilities," and making sure you knew exactly how much more efficient their morning routines were than yours. What they forgot is that you were 12 and they were 19. By the time you managed to excuse yourself, your head felt heavy and your skin felt tight, as if you'd been wearing a costume that didn't quite fit.
You didn't knock when you got to Will's; just pushed open the door. The house was quiet, smelling faintly of the cinnamon tea his mom loved. You kicked off your shoes by the door with two thuds and walked straight into the living room.
Will was sprawled on the couch, halfway through Iron Man and wearing a faded t-shirt that had seen better days. He didn't even have time to shift his position before you hit him. You didn't say a word, just collapsed forward, flopping directly into his arms with the grace of a felled tree. Your face hit the crook of his shoulder, and you let out a long, shuddering exhale that seemed to empty your entire chest.
He froze, his hands overing awkwardly at your sides, and looked down at you with a confused, skewed expression. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hovering between amusement and genuine bewilderment. Despite the question, he didn't push you away. Instead, he shifted his weight, sliding the crossword onto the coffee table and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you firmly against him.
You didn’t answer him, mostly because any attempt at speech would have likely devolved into a muffled groan against his collarbone. Instead, you just tightened your grip on his shirt, anchoring yourself to the one person who didn't expect you to be anything but who you were.
15 years old ༊*·˚
after a roadie...
You leaned your head against the cool plastic of the seat ahead of you, counting the specks of dirt on the tips of your shoes. The interior of the coach had the scent of damp equipment bags and the lingering saltiness of cheap gas station snacks. Across the aisle, Carter and Jaxson were arguing about a missed power-play goal from the second period of the final game of your roadie, their voices blending into the steady hum of the tires on the pavement.
"You're definitely overthinking the angle," Jaxson muttered, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten bag of pretzels. "The goalie was wide open."
"The angle was fine, the pass was late," Carter shot back.
You shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but the bus seat was narrow and your legs were still cramping from the final period. You looked over at Will. He was staring out the window, his jaw tight, eyes closed as he leaned his head against the headrest. He looked as wiped as you felt, his broad shoulders filling out his oversized team hoodie.
"If the pass had been a millisecond earlier, we'd be celebrating a shutout right now," Carter groaned.
You didn't really care about the power-play anymore. Your body felt like it had been put through a centrifuge, and the steady vibration of the bus was finally starting to lull you into a haze. Without thinking, you shifted closer to Will, sliding your shoulder against his.
"If the pass had been a millisecond earlier, we'd be celebrating a shutout right now," Carter groaned, his voice reaching a pitch that usually preceded a full-blown locker room meltdown.
Will didn't even open his eyes. Instead, he shifted his weight, sliding his body away from the vibrating window and squaring his shoulders to create a wider, more stable surface. He didn't say a word, but the movement was deliberate, a silent invitation that shifted the center of gravity between you. As you let your head drop, you didn't land on a shoulder; you landed squarely against the steady, rhythmic thrum of his chest. The fabric of his hoodie was soft and smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old ice, and for a moment, the chaotic noise of the bus seemed to fade into a distant hum.
Almost instinctively, Will reached up, his arm looping around the nape of your neck to pull you closer, tucking you into the crook of his side. His hand rested heavily and warmly against your collarbone, anchoring you there. You felt him exhale a long, slow breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek in a slow, hypnotic cadence.
"He’s totally playing the flank too wide!" Jaxson exclaimed, his voice cutting through the cabin like a siren. "He’s practically in the neutral zone when he should be crashing the crease!"
The argument escalated into a cacophony of overlapping shouts, the team's collective frustration over the loss fueling a (loud) debate. Carter was now standing up in the aisle, gesturing wildly toward the ceiling as if the coach were listening from some higher plane.
"Will! Back me up here!" Carter yelled, barely looking. "Tell him the pass was late! Will? Yo, Will!"
There was no response, only the slow, steady rise and fall of Will’s chest beneath your head. He had drifted off the moment you settled in, his breathing deep and rhythmic, completely oblivious to the sports-induced meltdown happening three feet away.
"Oh, for the love of— Ben's wet fucking dream is happening right now, look, Ben—"
"Jaxson stop saying I wanna fuck Y/N." Ben leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of you tucked securely into Will's side.
The bus erupted in a chorus of "Oohs" and whistles.
You felt a flush of heat creep up your neck, but before you could even think of shifting away, Will’s hand tightened slightly on your collarbone. Without opening his eyes, Will slowly raised his middle finger toward Ben.
19 years old ༊*·˚
before a game...
You shifted your weight, trying to find the cool spot on the pillow, and felt Will’s arm tighten around you. He was warm—almost too warm, actually—and smelled faintly of the hotel’s industrial soap and the gym bag sitting open on the carpet. You were in that hazy, drifting state where the line between a dream and waking up is blurred, your breathing syncing up with his. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the morning light of the city, leaving the room in a soft, amber dimness.
Will let out a soft, contented hum, his chin resting on the top of your head. He had a game today, and the pressure of it was usually a heavy weight, but right now, he seemed completely untethered. He shifted slightly, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, his movements sluggish and heavy with sleep. For a moment, the world existed only within the perimeter of the white linens and the sound of your shared heartbeats.
The silence was shattered by the sharp, electronic beep.
The door didn't just open; it recoiled against the wall with a violent thwack that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. You both bolted upright, the sudden influx of hallway light slicing through the amber dimness like a blade. Standing there, beaming with an expression of absolute victory, was Macklin. He was barely out of breath, holding a fresh plastic key card aloft like a trophy, his eyes dancing with the kind of chaotic energy that usually preceded a very expensive mistake.
"Surprise! The front desk girl is a total pushover if you just look sad enough," Macklin announced, his voice booming far too loud for the hour. He stepped into the room, tossing his gym bag toward the armchair. He didn't even look at the bed as he started explaining how he’d managed to convince the staff he’d lost his card in a taxi three blocks away.
Will groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he sank back into the pillows, though he didn't let go of you. He squinted at Macklin, his voice thick and gravelly. "Mack, we're busy, go away."
"Busy? With what?" Macklin scoffed, already halfway across the room to pack up Will's stuff.
Will didn’t bother opening his eyes. Instead, he reached out with a blind, instinctive sweep of his arm and snagged the plush decorative pillow from the headboard. With a sudden burst of effort that nearly knocked the wind out of him, Will launched the pillow directly at Macklin’s face. It caught him square in the jaw, the impact making a muffled whump and knocking Mack backward half a step. He lunged toward the bed, grabbed the edge of the heavy duvet and, with one violent, sweeping motion, ripped the blankets off both of you.
hey queen!!! i absolutely love your will smith universe and was wondering if it was cool with you if i did something similar (like a friends to lovers universe with wsh)? i’ve been trying to write a full fic and genuinely do not have the dedication and love the idea of doing it in smaller parts, but i don’t want to seem like im ripping you off😗
hi!! this is so sweet and I genuinely appreciate you asking!! as long as the little details of mine are kept as mine, totally use me for inspo!!! I don't own the trope so I would absolutely LOVE to see what you come up with 🫶
fs tag me or send a dm when you post your first thing!
What about for the tft au reader has always done will’s tie and at the draft they show her doing his tie🤭 watching the 2023 nhl draft and would like to see more fics of the draft!
STAWPPPPPP!!!!!!
wc: 336
"I think I'm shrinking," Will muttered, tugging at the stiff fabric of his shirt. "Or the suit is growing. Either way, I can't breathe."
You laughed, stepping toward him and reaching for the silk tie around his neck. You stepped into his space, your fingers brushing against his chest as you began to loop the fabric.
"You're not shrinking, Will. Someone else just did your tie instead," you said, focusing on the precise angle of the Windsor knot. You could feel his heartbeat through his ribs, fast and erratic. He looked down at you, his expression softening, the tension in his shoulders finally giving way to a small, genuine smile.
"What would I do without you?" he asked softly.
"Probably walk out there with a shit knot," you teased, giving the tie one final, firm tug to center it.
He let out a long breath, the kind that seemed to deflate his entire frame, and leaned his forehead against yours. For a second, the chaos of the draft, the scouts, the flashing bulbs, the new weight of a professional career, felt miles away.
"I'm so proud of you," you whispered, though he was already beaming. You leaned in and pressed a quick, firm kiss to his cheek. You were acutely aware of the small camera hovering a few feet away, the production crew capturing 'candid' moments for the team's social media feed.
Will caught your hand, squeezing your fingers gently. He leaned down, his voice dropping low enough the microphone probably wouldn't catch. "I wouldn't be standing here, not in this suit, not with this confidence, if it weren't for you," he murmured. "I love you."
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he straightened his shoulders. The boy who had been humming with nerves in the hallway vanished, replaced by the focused athlete the San Jo-freaking-sé Sharks had gambled on. He gave you one last wink, turned on his heel, and stepped out of the building and into the blinding glare of the cameras.
tft request :) will and bird are in high school / maybe late middle school and are at will's house on cape cod, when they are about to go on the boat for a day in the water. bird gets her period earlier that day and has never been faced with tampons until today, except colleen and grace are out of the house for the day leaving just her and will. maybe he buys them for her and reads the instructions to her outside of the bathroom door (which has her all flustered), or if she needs further help he goes in and helps her? i feel like as girls a lot of us have had that first tampon experience and having a friend / other female figure help us, but would love to see how gentle he is with her body even though they're young and it's not in a sexual context. lmk your thoughts :))
bleed
Pairing: tft!will smith x fem!reader
wc: 2.6k
Content Warnings: cursing, periods (not a warning but wtvr), romantic tension??????????????
AN: this req is tft if I ever did see it!
Synopsis: out on a little vacation with Will, you get a surprise! But it's not the fun one and it's two weeks early. Oh and you have to use a tampon for this first time.
"Do you think we really need to?" Will asked, leaning over the railing of the dock.
He was wearing an oversized shirt that caught the salt breeze, looking exactly like someone who belonged on a Cape Cod morning. The boat, a little craft his father had spent three summers tinkering with, bobbed rhythmically against the weathered pilings. It was a quiet morning, the only sound was the chirping of the early morning birds. You had spent the last hour helping him check the fuel lines and organize the cooler, so you had had your fill of his silly questions
"What, bring life jackets?" you replied, leaning back against a sun-warmed post.
Will nodded.
"Yes, idiot. What if you fall in?"
"I wouldn't do that." He gave you a playful shove, sending you stumbling back toward the house, and you laughed, the sound echoing against the quiet of the morning. You both headed inside to change, the house feeling strangely cavernous without the usual chaos of Colleen and Grace.
"Yeah, and I'd never eat a donut. I'll be ready in 5."
------
The cotton of your sleep shorts suddenly felt scratchy as you stared at the small, dark bloom of red in your underwear.
Shit.
Shitshitshitshit.
"Will!" Your voice broke, the sound pitching high and desperate, echoing off the tiled walls of the guest bathroom. You scrambled to pull your sleep shorts back up, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but the panic had already set in. It felt like a sudden landslide in your chest, a rush of heat and helplessness that blurred your vision. You weren't prepared for this. Not today, not here, and certainly not while you were supposed to be the co-captain of a small boat.
Three cautious knocks rattled the door frame before the handle turned. Will stepped inside, his presence filling the small space. He stopped mid-stride, his eyes sweeping over you—the bright fabric of your bikini top and the rumpled sleep shorts you’d barely managed to pull back up. For a second, he just stood there, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, a flicker of something unsaid passing through his gaze before he looked up and saw the sheer panic etched into your features. "Hey," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "What happened? Are you okay?"
You tried to speak, but the words came out as a jagged whisper. "My period."
His expression shifted into one of immediate, focused concern. "Okay. Deep breaths. It's fine," he said, his voice steadying as he stepped back to give you some air. "I'll go get your pads or whatever. Suitcase?"
"Will. I'm two weeks early."
"I know."
It was silent while you stared at each other.
"So I don't have anything."
"Shit. Umm… I'll be… right back." He disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood. You heard him rummaging through the linen closet, then a muffled clatter of plastic and cardboard.
"Okay," he said, jogging back the door. "Grace only has tampons." You looked at the sleek, clinical packaging and felt a fresh wave of panic. You shook your head, your face flushing a deep, hot crimson. The realization that you were sixteen and completely clueless about the mechanics of your own body when it came to tampons felt like a crisis of epic proportions. "Will I don't… I mean… how… I can't—"
"I know, Birdie, I know. But it's going to be okay. We'll do this together."
You huffed. "Yeah? You gonna shove some cotton up your asshole?"
Realizing what you said and how you said it, you slumped against the cool tile wall, covering your face with your palms as the first sob threatened to break through. "I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice muffled by your hands. "I'm sorry, that was mean."
Will stepped closer, the distance between you vanishing until he was kneeling on the bathmat, bringing himself down to your level. The sudden shift in height made the room feel smaller, safer, as if he were creating a protective bubble around you to shut out the panic. "Hey, look at me," he murmured, his voice soft and grounding. "You're okay. We’re just in a bit of a scramble, that's all."
You looked at him, your vision swimming, and saw the genuine calm in his eyes. He wasn't judging you or acting grossed out; he was just Will. "Just try," he suggested gently. "And if it doesn't work, or if it's too much, I'll just call an Uber. I'll go to the pharmacy and get you pads, yeah? "
A shaky breath escaped you, and you nodded, reaching out to take the box from his hand. As you did, a stray tear escaped and tracked a hot path down your cheek. Without hesitating, Will reached up, his thumb brushing the salt from your skin with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. It was a lingering touch, one that felt more than a simple gesture of friendship, before he slowly stood back up. "I'm right outside," he promised, stepping back and pulling the door shut with a soft click.
"Will?" Your voice was barely a thread, sounding smaller than it had in years. The silence of the house felt oppressive, and the sudden void of the closed door made the room feel like a cage. "Can you… can you please just come back in? I'm scared."
The door opened enough to allow him to check your expression before he fully committed. Will didn't hesitate or make a joke about the awkwardness of the request. He had seen you with a nosebleed that wouldn't stop after falling off a bike; he'd held your hair back when you caught a stomach bug at a sleepover when you were ten.
He didn't look at your waist or the state of your clothes. Instead, he stepped close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his chest, and he reached up to smooth a stray, damp lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, his touch light and electric against your skin.
"Thank you."
He nodded as he backed toward the bathtub, movements slow and deliberate as he perched on the edge of the porcelain tub. He shifted so his gaze was fixed firmly on the floral wallpaper across the room, giving you a sanctuary of privacy despite his proximity.
The seat was cold against your skin as you lowered yourself onto the toilet, the chill of the tile seeping through your heels. You paused, your fingers trembling as you slid your sleep shorts and underwear down to your ankles. You felt exposed, not just physically, but in a way that felt raw and terrifyingly new. You looked down at the small cylinder in your hand, then back at Will, and you wondered how you had survived the last sixteen years without a manual for this.
"Read them to me," you whispered, your voice sounding fragile even to your own ears.
Will didn't even blink. He just reached out blindly, his hand searching the air toward the counter without him shifting his gaze from the wallpaper. His fingertips brushed the plastic with a clumsy fumble, knocking a bottle of lotion over in the process, and you let out a sudden, wet laugh that bubbled up from your chest. "You're so bad at this," you murmured, reaching over to slide the box into his palm.
"Shut up," he said softly, his voice vibrating in the small room. He finally looked down at the packaging, his brow furrowing as he scanned the fine print. "Alright, so open it up first…"
----
The first attempt was clumsy, a frantic misalignment that left you huffing in frustration, your face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the humidity of the Cape. You felt a surge of sudden, irrational anger at your own body, a sob catching in your throat. "I'm gonna cut this fucking thing out, Will. I swear."
"No you're not, Bird. Try again."
"I can't," you huffed, the frustration peaking. Your hands were shaking so hard the plastic wrapper rattled. "It's not—it's just not working. Why is it so hard?"
Will didn't move his gaze, but his voice dropped into that low, steady frequency he used whenever you were stressed. "You're just tense. Just take a breath for me. A big one. Right now."
You closed your eyes and inhaled, the air smelling of the salt breeze drifting through the open window and the faint, clean scent of the soap Will always used. You let the air out in a long, shaky shudder, feeling the tension in your shoulders dip just an inch. When you opened your eyes, Will had shifted slightly. He was still looking away, but he had reached out, his hand resting flat on the porcelain of the tub, just inches from your knee. He wasn't touching you, but the proximity felt nice, like it was keeping you from a complete meltdown.
You squeezed your eyes shut again, focusing on the rhythm of your own breathing and the steady, silent presence of the boy beside you. With a tentative, shaky precision, you tried one more time. There was a momentary, sharp pinch, a foreign, invasive pressure that made you gasp, but then, suddenly, it slid home. The resistance vanished, replaced by a strange, muted sensation of completion.
You froze, holding your breath, waiting for some catastrophic failure, but there was only silence. You had actually done it. A surge of triumph, absurd and electric, crashed over you, momentarily eclipsing the lingering sting. "I did it!" you whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush of giddy relief. You felt a sudden, manic urge to cheer, your face splitting into a wide grin as you looked up down at Will.
Will finally turned his head. He didn't look down, but his eyes met yours, and the expression there was one of pure, unfiltered pride, as if you had just successfully navigated a treacherous reef in a storm. "Told you," he murmured, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
------
Five hours later, the tampon, while a triumph of bravery and Will's patience, had turned out to be a mistake. It felt like a foreign object causing a riot in your pelvis, and the resulting cramps had eventually reduced you to a shivering heap. Will hadn't even let you argue. He had simply called an Uber and taken you both to the pharmacy.
The living room was a sanctuary of chilled air and dim light, the AC humming lowly, fighting off the oppressive Cape Cod humidity. You were curled into a tight ball on the sofa, your head resting on Will’s shoulder and your legs tucked under a heavy fleece blanket. The heating pad was a searing, welcome weight against your abdomen, radiating a steady warmth that finally silenced the drumming ache. Will had spent the last hour without a word, simply existing as a quiet, solid presence beside you, his arm draped loosely around your shoulders and his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your forearm. The world had shrunk down to the sound of your shared breathing and the occasional soft click of the ceiling fan overhead.
You had drifted in and out of a hazy sleep, feeling the steady thrum of Will's heart against your temple. He had shifted once or twice to make sure you were comfortable, his movements careful, as if you were made of something fragile.
The front door creaked open, letting in a sudden burst of bright afternoon sunlight and the distant, muffled sound of seagulls. The laughter of Colleen and Grace filled the entryway, breaking the heavy silence of the house. They paused in the doorway, their skin glowing with salt and sunscreen, bags of seashells clinking in their hands. They stopped dead in their tracks, seeing the two of you tangled together on the couch, the heating pad plugged into the wall and the AC blowing your hair into messy, wind-swept tangles.
Colleen’s expression softened into a knowing, maternal smile, her eyes darting from your sleeping face to the protective way Will was shielding you with his body. She didn't say a word, merely placing a finger to her lips to signal Grace to stay quiet. Grace, however, didn't seem interested in the silence. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms."So," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. "How much longer do you think it'll take for him to actually ask her out?"
for the tft series, could you do a smut where both will and reader are so desperate that they cant wait to get undressed and just get off from dry humping? sorry if i worded that badly 😭 love ur writing btw!!
relax and cool down
Pairing: tft!will smith x fem!reader
wc: 1.6k
Content Warnings: dry humping!
AN: a little different than the req, but here you go!
Synopsis: after a rough day, you just want to ride your boyfriend's thigh. Is that too much to ask?
You leaned against the doorframe of the living room, your bag sliding off your shoulder and hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. The drive back from the arena had been a blur of traffic and the lingering smell of ice shavings and locker room tape. Your head was thumping with a dull, rhythmic ache as you rubbed at your temples.
"Hey, Q. How was work?"
"Rough," you replied, your voice sounding like it had been dragged through a gravel pit. Though you were happy to see Mack, he just wasn't cutting it right now. You gave him a tired, affectionate pat on the top of his head, the way you would a golden retriever, and kept moving. He let out a small, offended huff, but you were already halfway to the stairs.
The ascent felt like climbing a mountain, each step amplifying the silence of the house and stripping away the noise of the arena. By the time you reached the landing, the tension in your shoulders had shifted from a sharp edge to a dull throb. You pushed open the bedroom door, the light inside dimmed to a soft, amber glow that made the rest of the world feel miles away.
Will was sprawled across the bed, his long limbs tangling with the sheets as he scrolled through his phone.
"Take off your shirt," you said. You stood there, feet planted, staring down at him.
Will paused, his thumb hovering over the screen of his phone. He blinked up at you, a small, confused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked like he was trying to calculate if you were joking or if you’d simply suffered a complete mental break during the press conference. "My shirt?" he echoed, his voice tilting upward.
You didn't smile back. You just kept your gaze locked on his, your expression flat and demanding. The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, mirroring the way the tension from the day was finally beginning to uncoil from your spine. You didn't need to explain the chaos of the media wing or the way the Sharks' front office had spent the afternoon circling like sharks. "Take it off, Will," you repeated, your voice dropping an octave, leaving no room for negotiation.
He tossed his phone onto the nightstand and sat up, the fabric of his cotton tee sliding over his head in one fluid motion. He tossed the shirt toward the laundry hamper with a casual flick of his wrist, leaving him bare-chested and blinking up at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and readiness.
You didn't say a word as you crawled onto the mattress, your movements slow and deliberate. You settled yourself on top of him, your knees framing his hips as you leaned forward. You didn't go for a kiss immediately; instead, you just rested your palm flat against the center of his chest. You could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart beneath your hand, a grounding rhythm that began to pull the static of the workday out of your brain. The warmth of his skin acted like a magnet, drawing the stress from your fingertips.
"What's going on?" he whispered, his voice low and raspy. He started to shift, his hands coming up to settle on your waist, his thumbs grazing the hem of your blouse. "Did something happen at the rink?"
You didn't answer his question, choosing instead to let your hands wander. Your fingertips traced the strong line of his neck, feeling the slight vibration of his throat as he swallowed. You slid your hand upward, cupping his jaw and tilting his face slightly toward yours. Looking at him now, the hard edges of your day finally began to dissolve. Your eyes softened, searching his, and you slowly ran your thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to see the slight glint of his teeth.
Will went still beneath you, his breathing hitching as he leaned into your touch. He knew this look. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you a fraction of an inch closer, as if he could feel the desperate need for grounding that you hadn't yet put into words.
A soft, involuntary whine escaped your throat as Will shifted beneath you, adjusting his weight to better accommodate the press of your body against his. The movement was subtle, a slight tilt of his hips that sent a jolt of electricity straight through your core, reminding you that despite the exhaustion, your body was wide awake and craving him.
Will raised a brow, a knowing, playful smile tugging at his lips as he registered the sound. He didn’t say anything; he didn't have to. Instead, he slid his (large) hands upward, the warmth of his palms grazing your stomach before sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt. He gripped the small of your back and pulled you downward, bridging the final gap between you with a firm, decisive tug.
You collapsed into him, your lips meeting his in a kiss that tasted of relief and long-overdue longing. He tasted like the mint tea he’d had after practice, and the kiss deepened instantly, his tongue tracing the line of your lip as he pulled a soft moan from your chest. You tangled your fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to merge into the steady, solid heat of him.
The friction of your clothes felt like a barrier you were no longer willing to tolerate. You shifted your weight, pressing your pelvis firmly against his and beginning a slow, rhythmic grind that made your breath hitch. The sensation was an immediate anchor, pulling the remaining fragments of your workday and crushing them into nothingness. You weren't a media coordinator or a point of contact anymore; you were just a body reacting to another body, craving the friction and the heat.
Will’s hands shifted from the small of your back to your hips, his fingers digging in with a firm, possessive grip that anchored you to him. He took over the movement entirely, sliding his hips in a slow, sweeping counter-motion that met your grind with a precision that made your head swim. You felt the tension leave your muscles in a sudden, rushing wave, your spine turning to liquid as you stopped trying to do the work and simply let him move you.
You let out a ragged breath against his neck, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you surrendered to the sensation. Every time he arched upward, he hit a spot that sent a shiver racing up your spine, forcing a small, shaky gasp from your lips. You closed your eyes, focusing entirely on the way his large palms guided your weight.
The pace shifted, the slow-burn friction accelerating into something frantic and desperate. Your muscles had been wound tight for ten hours, and the sudden release of that tension felt like a dam breaking. The heavy pressure of him beneath you, the rhythmic slide of fabric on fabric, and the heat radiating through your clothes converged into a single, focused point of intensity. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, as the first sparks of a climax began to flicker at the base of your spine.
You tried to slow it down, to savor the friction, but the exhaustion from the day had left you with no reserves, no patience for a slow build. The pleasure hit you with a sudden, violent velocity, crashing over you like a tidal wave. A sharp, broken sound escaped your throat as your vision blurred and your muscles clamped tight around nothing. The orgasm ripped through you in jagged, electric pulses, leaving you breathless and shaking, your entire world narrowing down to the feeling of Will’s heart hammering against your chest.
As the peaks subsided into a warm, humming glow, you collapsed forward, your forehead resting against the crook of his neck. You were completely spent, your lungs burning as you tried to reclaim your breath.
Will’s hands remained on your hips, his touch softening into a slow, soothing caress. He didn't move to push you off or try to escalate the moment further; he simply held you there, letting you sink into the mattress. He pressed a lingering, tender kiss to the side of your head, his lips warm against your skin. "Better?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your ribs.
You couldn't even find the words to answer, so you simply nodded, pressing your face deeper into his shoulder. The media crises, the shouting matches in the lobby, and the endless emails felt like they belonged to a different person in a different lifetime. In the dim amber light of the bedroom, wrapped in the scent of his skin and the lingering heat of the moment, you finally felt like you had come home.
"Bad day?"
"The worst," you admitted, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shoulder. You shifted slightly, settling your weight more comfortably against him as the adrenaline faded, leaving behind a heavy, pleasant languor.
Will didn't press for details. He knew the cycle of the season and the particular brand of chaos that came with the Sharks' current slump. Instead, he began to move his large hand in slow, rhythmic circles across the expanse of your back. He found the exact knot between your shoulder blades, applying a steady, intuitive pressure that made you let out a long, shuddering sigh.
You tilted your head back, looking up at him with a sleepy, half-lidded gaze. "Why can't I just be a trophy wife? You could just carry me around to galas and I could spend my days getting massages and picking out curtains."
Will let out a short, genuine laugh, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. "You'll be my wife soon enough, Bird, trust me."
And as you glance down at the small promise ring that had been there for 5 years, you kew he was telling the truth.
I’ve been working on this kindy smau for too fucking long and I miss will. none of you knew this was happening, but the smau is on hold so I can focus on will cause I’m SICK.
