#the first time

[sunnysprite]

tft!texts

more out while I finish up a few fics!

ignore the dates bc I didn't know how to change them ☺️

will + mack + you gc

will + mack + misa + sam + toff + eky gc

[sunnysprite]

hii i have req for tft will where like he gets absolutely bodied that one game by weatherspoon (against the penguins) and she is in the stands when it happens and then takes care of him after🥰🥰🥰 ily ur writing btw!

tft master list masterlist

Pairing: tft!will smith x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

Content Warnings: cursing, mentions of bruising and dislocation, suggestive at the ending.

AN: I made up a lot about his injury and Macks but trust me it cooks! Sorry this took so long to get out :(

Synopsis: the req ^^ !!

there is a mention of this fic in it! It doesn't hinder your understanding of this story but I thought I'd mention it since I recently edited it :)

The security guard was a wall of a man, his arms crossed with a practiced, immovable stoicism that made you feel like a trespasser in your own life. He didn't even have to speak; the set of his jaw and the slight shake of his head were enough to halt your momentum.

"Hi, I need to get through," you said, already reaching for your phone to pull up your lock screen, the photo of you and Will from last summer at Cape Cod.

"Badge?" the guard asked, his voice a flat drone.

You looked up from your phone. "I don't have one. I'm sitting in the stands tonight. But I'm Will's girlfriend, I need to—"

"No badge, no entry." He didn't even glance at your phone screen. "Arena policy."

"Okay, I get that, but he just took a really bad hit and I need to make sure he's—"

"Ma'am, I understand, but I can't let you through without proper credentials." His tone was practiced, like he'd given this speech a hundred times before.

You tried to keep your voice level, reasonable. "We grew up together. He's gonna be asking for me, and I just need five minutes to—"

"That's great, but it doesn't change the policy." The guard's expression didn't shift. "Plenty of people 'know' the players. I still need to see a credential."

The lilt in his voice made you feel crazy.

"Can you at least radio down and ask someone? Just tell them Will's girlfriend is here. They know who I am."

The guard didn't even blink. "That's what they all say, sweetheart. Step back behind the line, and wait for the players to come out of the arena like the rest of the fangirls. I'm not radioing anyone during an active game situation." 

The frustration bubbled up from a place in your chest that had been dormant for years, a sudden, sharp flash of memory from eleventh grade. You could almost feel the cold air of the high school rink and hear the voice of the new assistant coach. That specific brand of bureaucratic arrogance had infuriated you then, and it was making your blood boil now.

"I am not a 'fangirl,' and I am certainly not a 'sweetheart,'" you snapped, stepping closer to the guard, your eyes narrowing. 

He shifted his weight, somehow making himself look even more immovable. "Step back behind the line, please."

"Are you serious right now?" The words came out sharper than you intended. You took a breath, trying a different approach. "Look, I'm not trying to make your job harder. I just—he's dramatic about injuries, okay? And, this is going to sound so possessive, but I'm the only person who can actually get him to calm down and listen to the medical staff. If you just let me through for… two minutes—"

"Ma'am, I've heard every story, trust me. I don't make exceptions. Not for supposed girlfriends, not for family, not for anyone without credentials."

"Oh, fuck off."

The guard's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, the heavy sound of steps reverberated through the tunnel, and relief flooded your senses.

Macklin stepped out, still clad in his full gear, his helmet making his head look twice his actual size.

You'd tell him if you weren't so agitated.

One side of his face was beginning to swell, a deep, blooming purple bruise closing his eye he'd got defending Will. Without missing a beat, Macklin looked past the guard and locked eyes with you. "She's with me," he grunted, his voice gravelly. "Come on, let's go."

You didn't wait for the guard to pivot. You slipped past him, your focus shifting instantly to Macklin as you reached up, your fingers grazing the tender, swollen skin of his cheekbone. "Shit, Mack, your eye," you murmured, your brow furrowing in genuine worry. "You really went for it, didn't you? Wish I saw the whole thing."

He gave a small, crooked smile, leaning into your touch for a brief second, the adrenaline still humming off him in waves. "Q, I'm fine, honestly. It's Will I'm worried about."

The security guard, suddenly realizing he had just spent five minutes obstructing the partner of a star player and insulting the teammate who had just cleared the way, looked frantic. He stepped forward, his voice now stripped of its stoicism and replaced with a hurried, nervous politeness. "My apologies, Mr. Celebrini. Truly. There was some confusion with the credentials..." he stammered, his eyes darting to Macklin while completely ignoring your presence.

Bitch.

Macklin didn't even glance over. He just put a heavy, padded arm around your shoulder, steering you toward the hallway. "Yup, don’t worry about it," Macklin said, though his tone suggested he didn't actually care about the apology as much as he cared about getting you to Will.

As you walked, the tension in your chest began to shift from anger to a tight lump in your throat. You knew Will and knew the way he tended to downplay the pain until the moment he actually collapsed. The air in the corridor felt sterile, smelling of ice-melt and athletic tape, as Macklin slowed his pace, glancing at you with a softened expression. "He's okay," Macklin promised quietly. "Just being a dramatic pain in the ass. First thing he said when he got to the bench was a complaint about his jersey being ripped."

You laughed, the sound echoing off the cinderblock walls.

"Seriously, though," Mack said, pausing in front of the medical office. "He's pissed. Not just about the jersey, either."

You reached up and planted a quick, grateful kiss on Macklin’s bruised cheek, making him wince and chuckle at the same time. "Thanks Mack. Go get some ice on that face. You look terrible." He gave you a playful shove toward the room, his heavy equipment clanking as he stepped aside, leaving you to face the door alone.

His jersey was indeed torn at the shoulder, hanging in a sad, frayed strip on the table next to him, and he was holding his arm at an awkward angle against his ribs.

"Finally," Will said, his voice sharp with irritation. "I was starting to think you'd decided to just stay up there and watch the fuck up I caused."

The team doctor glanced up from her clipboard and gave you a look that was equal parts relief and exhaustion. "Finally indeed," she muttered. "Maybe you can get him to actually sit still for thirty seconds and stop complaining about everything."

"I'm not complaining about everything," Will shot back immediately.

"Will—" the doctor started.

"No, seriously, look at this!" He gestured emphatically at his torn jersey with his good arm, wincing as the movement jostled his shoulder. "This was brand new. I wore it for the first time tonight. First time. And now it's completely destroyed because Wotherspoon decided to be a complete asshole for no reason."

You crossed the room, dropping your bag on a nearby chair, trying not to smile at how genuinely upset he was. "What's the actual damage?" you asked the doctor.

"Well, according to him, his entire career is over and he'll never play again," the doctor said dryly, moving toward Will. "But realistically, we're looking at some significant bruising and a possible minor strain. The bruising is for him to see and figure out, though. I need to finish the examination to know for sure about mobility, but he keeps—"

"Your hands are freezing," Will interrupted, flinching away. "And you keep pressing directly on the part that hurts, which seems counterproductive."

"That's her job, Will," you said, coming to stand beside the doctor whose patience clearly wearing thin. "She needs to assess the injury."

"Yeah, well, maybe she can assess it more gently," Will muttered. He looked at you, his expression shifting to something more plaintive. "She's been poking at me for ten minutes. Ten minutes of just—" He made an aggressive jabbing motion with his good hand. "—pressing on bruises."

With a hum, the doctor turned back to her desk and flipped through some papers, giving you the opportunity to stand directly in front of him. You smoothed your hands down the fabric of his compression shirt until they reached his knees where you rested them. "Will. Look at me."

He did, immediately, though his jaw was still tight with frustration. But there was something softer underneath it now. It was the same look he'd given you a thousand times over sixteen years, the one that said he was genuinely glad you were there, even if he was going to make a production out of everything.

"Hi," he said, quieter but still edged with irritation.

"Hi," you replied. "Take a breath."

"I'm breathing fine."

"Mhm."

His mouth twitched despite himself. "It was a really nice jersey."

"I know it was."

"And it's completely ruined now. Like, I can't even wear it anymore. The whole shoulder is just—" He gestured at the frayed fabric again. "—gone. Ripped to shreds. And like, how did it even happen?"

"I can see that," you said, keeping your voice gentle but firm. "But right now I need you to focus on letting the doctor do her job so we can figure out how badly you're actually hurt."

"I already told her how badly I'm hurt," Will said, his frustration bubbling back up. "My entire right side feels like it got hit by a truck. Because it basically did. Wotherspoon is like six-three and two hundred pounds and he came at me full speed when I didn't even have the puck anymore." His voice was rising now, the words coming faster. "I didn't have the puck, and he still hit me directly into the boards. Like, completely unnecessary. Completely dirty."

"I saw," you said, squeezing his knees. "I was watching."

"Of course you were watching, you're always watching, I love you," he continued, barely pausing to notice the smile grace your face at his words. "So you saw how bullshit that was. The ref didn't even call anything. Not even a minor penalty. Nothing. Wotherspoon just gets to skate away like he didn't just board me for no reason, and I'm sitting here with a destroyed jersey and a shoulder that feels like it's been ripped out of the socket—"

"Is it actually out of the socket?" you interrupted, glancing at the doctor with genuine concern.

"No," the doctor said firmly. "It's not dislocated. But I can't confirm anything else until he lets me finish the examination."

"See?" Will said, looking at you like this proved his point. "She doesn't even know yet. I could have a separated shoulder. I could have torn something. But apparently I'm just being dramatic."

"You are being dramatic," you said, though your voice was warm. "But you're also hurt, and you have a right to be upset about what happened."

"Thank you," Will said emphatically. "Finally, someone who gets it."

"However," you continued, "you need to let her do her job. Which means sitting still and not flinching every time she touches you."

"I'm not flinching."

"Will."

"My entire side is bruised!" he protested. "When someone presses on a bruise, the natural human response is to flinch, Y/N, you know that! That's not me being difficult, that's just biology!"

"Biology wasn't your strong suit in school," you pointed out, and despite everything, he almost smiled.

"It wasn't yours either," he countered.

"Which is why we're both going to trust the actual doctor," you said. You turned to look at her. "What do you need him to do?"

"I need him to let me finish the range-of-motion tests without commentary," she said, moving back toward Will with the cold pack and a determined expression. "And then we'll get some imaging done later in the week to rule out anything serious."

He looked at you for a long moment, his jaw working like he wanted to argue more. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly—though he winced at the movement.

"Fine," he muttered. "But for the record, I'm still mad about the jersey. And about Wotherspoon. And about the fact that no one called a penalty on that hit."

"Noted," you said, stepping slightly to the side so the doctor could access his shoulder. "You can tell me all about it while she examines you. But you have to sit still."

You caught the doctor's eye and she gave you a look that clearly said I don't trust this. You bit back a smile and reached out to take Will's good hand, lacing your fingers through his.

---------

Will sat on the edge of the hotel bed, scrolling through what you assumed were messages from the team group chat. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heating unit and the occasional buzz of his phone.

"Macklin says his eye looks like a plum," he said, holding up the screen to show you. "He sent a picture. It's actually impressive."

"I saw it in person, remember?" You moved to stand in front of him, your hands gentle as you took the phone and set it on the nightstand. "Arms up. Carefully."

He obeyed, lifting his arms slowly, and you caught the way his breath hitched, that sharp intake he was trying to hide. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, and you worked carefully, so carefully, to ease the fabric up over his torso.

When his skin came into view, you felt your stomach drop. The bruising bloomed across his ribs in deep purples and blues that looked almost black in the center. The edges were already turning that sickly yellow-green, and you could see where the impact had left its mark.

"Oh my god," you breathed, and your hands were shaking slightly as they hovered over the bruise. You couldn't touch it, couldn't bring yourself to press against something that looked so painful. "Will, this is—this is really bad."

"Hey." His voice was soft. "It's okay. It looks worse than it is."

But you were already shaking your head, your eyes tracing the extent of the damage. "This is worse than I thought. So much worse." Your voice cracked slightly on the last word, and you bit your lip, trying to pull yourself together.

"Baby." Will's good hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. "Look at me."

You did, and you knew your expression was giving everything away. You'd never been good at hiding your feelings, especially not from him.

"Your face is doing that thing."

"What thing?" you managed, though your eyes kept darting back to the bruise.

His thumb traced along your cheekbone. "It's actually really sweet. You get this little crease right here—" He touched the space between your eyebrows. "—and your eyes get all big and worried."

You protested, but your voice was too thick to be convincing.

"Okay," he said gently, clearly not believing you. "But I'm okay. I promise."

You took a shaky breath and nodded, then carefully helped him ease the compression shirt over his head. He winced as the fabric pulled across his shoulder, and you felt your heart clench.

"You need a shower," you said, your voice steadier now that you had something practical to focus on. "A warm shower. It'll help with the stiffness and the pain."

"Yeah, probably," he agreed, but he was still watching you with that soft expression, like he found your worry endearing rather than annoying.

"Come on." You offered him your hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He took your hand and let you help him stand, moving slowly. As you guided him toward the bathroom, he said quietly, "You should come with me."

"Don't start," you said, your voice gaining a playful edge as you caught the specific, hopeful glint in his eyes. "After everything you've been through tonight, I am absolutely not having sex with you. Your body needs to heal, not… I don't know... perform?"

Will let out a mock groan, leaning his weight against the bathroom doorframe. "You're making it sound like a job, Y/N. It's my favourite thing to do. You’ve spent the last four hours being the only thing keeping me sane, and you look so incredible when you're in whatever mood this is. It's very distracting." He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice a low, suggestive hum. "I just want to show you exactly how much I appreciate you."

You tried to maintain a stern expression, but the corners of your mouth were betraying you. Even with a shoulder that felt like it had been through a meat grinder, he was still attempting to seduce you with a lazy, lopsided grin that had worked on you since the ninth grade.

"You are unbelievable," you sighed, though you didn't pull away. "You can barely lift your arm, Will. Get in the shower."

Instead of acknowledging your command, he continued. "And speaking of incredible… Mack told me about the security guard. He said you basically tore that guy a new one. God, Y/N, the idea of you standing your ground like that… it's doing things to me." He gave a small, wicked chuckle, his gaze dropping for a second before returning to your eyes.

You rolled your eyes, though the heat in your cheeks gave away the effect of his words. "I guess he heard more than I thought he did."

-------

The bathroom mirror was fogged over, a humid haze that blurred the edges of the room until you wiped a small circle clear with your palm to check your reflection for any lasting makeup. Your face was scrubbed clean, the adrenaline of the night finally receding to leave a lingering, heavy tiredness in your bones. When you stepped back into the bedroom, the air was cooler, smelling of hotel soap and the faint, medicinal scent of the ointment the doctor had prescribed.

Will was sprawled across the bed, looking far more comfortable in a pair of grey oversized sweats than he did in his uniform. He looked softer now, the harsh lighting of the arena replaced by the warm, amber glow of the bedside lamps, though the bruising on his ribs had deepened into a vivid, angry violet. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion, his head propped up by his good shoulder as he tracked your every movement.

"Alright pretty boy," you said, walking toward him with the small plastic cup of pills and a glass of water. You stopped beside the bed, your voice shifting into that authoritative tone that usually only came out when he was ignoring a curfew or forgetting to hydrate. "Open."

Without a second of hesitation, Will tilted his head back and opened his mouth, his eyes locking onto yours.

You popped the pills into his mouth and tilted the water glass, watching him swallow. He looked at you, his gaze drifting down your body before snapping back to your face.

"If you don't squirm too much I can eat you out."

You felt a sudden, sharp spike of heat bloom across your chest, and for a second, the idea of him, despite the bruises and the fatigue, was almost enough to make you forget your own rules. He looked desperate, his pupils blown wide, his hand reaching out to weakly hook around your thigh to pull you closer to the edge of the mattress.

You leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his forehead, then another to the tip of his nose. "I appreciate the offer, truly," you murmured, your lips grazing his skin. "And believe me, the feeling is mutual. But—"

Will let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a whimper, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh. "I'll be careful. I promise. I'll kneel on the floor and— and you can sit on the edge of the bed. Please let me."

"No," you said, your voice firm despite the way your heart was drumming against your ribs. "You can't even stand up straight, Will. If you tried to kneel on that floor, you’d probably just slide right under the bed and I'd have to call the hotel staff to fish you out."

Will’s face collapsed into a mask of theatrical tragedy. He let out a long, shuddering sigh that ended in a sharp whine. "You're the worst," he groaned, staring up at the ceiling with a look of utter betrayal. "You're literally the cruelest person I've ever known."

"I know," you replied, a smile playing on your lips. You leaned over and gave him a gentle push back into the pillows, effectively pinning him to the mattress.

You stepped out of the line of fire and walked toward your side of the bed, the mattress dipping as you climbed in beside him. As you leaned over him, your hair falling in a curtain around your faces, you captured his lips in a kiss. It wasn't the frantic, hungry kind he had been angling for all night, but something nonetheless. Will’s eyes closed as his hand came to cup the back of your head, his entire body seeming to deflate as he finally stopped fighting the exhaustion and let the weight of the day catch up to him.

Reaching over to the bedside lamp, you clicked the switch, plunging the room into a soft darkness. You shifted, tucking your legs between his and resting your head in the crook of his neck, molding yourself to his side with a careful precision.

"Tell you what," you murmured into the warmth of his skin, your voice barely a whisper. "Maybe I'll let you in the morning. Once the big boy painkillers have worn off and you can actually move without sounding like a rusty gate."

He didn't move, but you could practically hear the mental image of him rolling his eyes in the dark.

[sunnysprite]

for TFT you should write a fic were will surprises yn at highschool graduation because he played for the usndtp and they graduate early and go to college so he wouldn’t have graduated with her !! so super fluffy at the start… then later when he’s “congratulating” her he discovers her praise kinkkkkkk!!

all good if you don’t want to write it, THANKSSSSS!!!

tft master list masterlist

Pairing: tft!will smith x fem!reader

wc: 5.2k your girl is BACK

Content Warnings: b*n, NSFW, explicit smut (mf), marking, will discovers your praise kink, oral (fem!recieving), protected sex

AN: holy yap I guess. take a shot every time I say hum omfg

Synopsis: the req ^^ !!

You had spent the last hour in a blur of polyester gowns and the droning voice of the principal calling names. Now, you were finally out in the lobby, caught in the thick of the post-ceremony chaos. The air was humid with the breath of five hundred people and the frantic energy of teenagers who felt, for the first time, completely unbound.

"We graduated!" Sarah screamed for what had to be the hundredth time.

You laughed as she grabbed both your hands, bouncing excitedly. "I know!"

"I just… I'm so proud of you and—" she sniffed, "I love you so much."

Your eyes began to water again, the adrenaline of the last few hours finally crashing into a wave of pure relief. You pulled Sarah into a tight hug, the synthetic fabric of your gowns rustling together like giant pieces of plastic. "I love you too."

Sarah's expression shifted from joy to a sudden, sharp alertness when she pulled back froom the embrace. She didn’t move, but she stiffened in your arms, her eyes locking onto something behind you.

You followed her gaze and felt the warmth of the graduation high vanish instantly. Standing a few feet away was Ben, looking smug in a gown that seemed too large for his frame.

"I wondered why all the birds stopped singing."

"Is that a joke, Y/N? Are you finally funny?" The smugness on Ben’s face was a familiar trigger; it had been a year since the incident, and the sight of him still made your chest puff with rage. But as you stepped back, you realized he wasn't alone.

"Ignore him," Jaxson said, stepping forward to pull you into a crushing hug, effectively shielding you from Ben’s orbit. "He's salty you got awards."

You laughed, the tension breaking as you leaned into the group. Carter joined in, ruffling your hair with a grin. "You look like a blueberry," he joked. For a moment, the air felt light again. You stood there in a messy, laughing circle, the noise of the crowd swirling around you like a tide.

"Have you met Miller?" Jaxson asked as another boy stepped out from the crowd. He was broad-shouldered and wearing a grin that felt genuinely earnest, lacking the sharp edge Ben usually carried.

You blinked, the name clicking into place. Miller had been the one the coach brought in to fill your spot on the varsity hockey roster the moment you’d hung up your skates for good. For two years, he had been a ghost in the periphery of your life. You had expected a certain level of rivalry or perhaps a cold shoulder, but as he reached out to shake your hand, his grip was firm and his eyes were kind.

"I always heard you were a beast on the ice," Leo said, his voice warm. "Coach still talks about your bird turns. Showed us a video on the first day."

"No way! He still has that? I was 5!"

The conversation drifted into the comfortable, rambling territory of shared history. You and Miller ended up talking about the same old drills, the same grueling early morning practices, and the specific, freezing scent of the rink at 5:00 AM. For a few minutes, the noise of the lobby faded into a hum, and you forgot about the fact that you were being sent out to face the adult world.

Jaxson’s expression shifted, his eyes darting past your shoulder toward the glass double doors of the lobby. He didn't say a word; he just gave a sharp, knowing nod to Carter. Carter froze, his grin widening into something ecstatic, his gaze locking onto a figure standing just outside the fray. You looked from one to the other, a prickle of confusion dancing up your spine. The air between them felt charged, like a secret they were both keeping from you, and the sudden silence of your two best friends was louder than the shouting crowd.

"Guys… what's going on?" you asked, your voice trailing off as you realized they weren't looking at you anymore. "Why are you making those faces?"

You turned around.

The world didn't just slow down; it stopped. Standing there, leaning against a pillar with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration on his face, was Will.

The shock hit you like a physical weight, knocking the breath from your lungs. You were frozen, your feet rooted to the polished tile of the lobby, your brain struggling to reconcile the image of him with the reality of his presence. Then, the dam broke. A sob escaped your throat, jagged and loud, and you didn't even realize you were crying until the heat of the tears hit your cheeks.

He was wearing the charcoal suit he took you to prom in, the one you had spent hours photographing against the garden hedges, but the fabric clung to him differently now. His shoulders had broadened, filling out the jacket with a new, solid maturity, and he seemed to have stretched an inch or two taller since you last stood face-to-face. But his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners and held a depth of unwavering warmth, were unmistakably his. It was Will. It was actually Will.

Ben shifted his weight, looking around the lobby with a frown, clearly annoyed that the spotlight had shifted from your annoyance of him to the guy who, in his eyes, had "replaced him". But the rest of the lobby was already reacting. A few girls nearby whispered frantically, pointing, while a group of juniors stared with wide-eyed recognition. Will was kind of a big deal now, the gold standard, the one who had been plucked from their orbit to play for the USNDTP. He had become someone they talked about in the halls, a name mentioned in the same breath as professional prospects.

"Oh my god, seriously?" Jaxson groaned, though his voice was thick with amusement. He leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at you, your face streaked with tears and your expression completely vacant. "Y/N, you're making a scene."

Carter let out a loud, theatrical sigh, shaking his head. "Get a room!"

You didn't care that people were pausing their conversations to watch the spectacle, or that Ben was scoffing audibly behind you. The noise of the lobby, the shouting, the laughter, the frantic energy of five hundred teenagers, collapsed into a distant hum. The only thing that felt real was the sight of him stepping away from the pillar, his gait confident and steady, closing the distance between you with a smile that felt like coming home.

When he finally reached you, the air seemed to ignite. He didn't say a word at first; he just reached out and cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. "Hi," he whispered, his voice a low, resonant vibration that you felt in your chest.

"You're here," you choked out, the words barely a whisper. "How are you here? You're supposed to be… you're supposed to be gone!"

"I know," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of mint. "But there was no way in hell I was letting you walk across the stage without me being here to see it. I had to be here."

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his suit as if he might evaporate if you let go. The world around you was still a blur of noise but as Will stepped back just enough to look at you, the chaos felt insignificant. He looked at you with a pride so fierce it made your heart ache, a silent acknowledgement that while he had been chasing a professional dream with the National Team, he had never stopped thinking about this specific day.

Will shifted his gaze toward Jaxson and Carter, a playful, knowing glint in his eyes. "Do you guys mind if I steal her for a bit?" he asked, his arm sliding naturally around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

"Steal her?" Jaxson barked with a laugh, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Take her! Please!"

You leaned into Will, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your gown.

------

Dinner had been a dizzying blur of clinking glasses, laughter that echoed too loudly against the restaurant walls, and the comforting weight of Will’s hand never leaving your thigh. Now, back home, the roar of the 'party' had simply migrated to the patio. Through the thin walls, you could hear the rhythmic clink of ice in glasses and the low, humming drone of your mother and Will’s parents debating the merits of the summer heat.

The door was shut, locking out the world and the lingering scent of graduation lilies. You weren't thinking about the diploma sitting on your desk or the terrifying openness of what came next. All that mattered was the friction of cotton against the duvet and the sudden, electric heat of Will’s body pressing you back into the mattress.

His hands were everywhere mapping the curve of your waist, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until there wasn't a single molecule of air between you. You let out a soft, shaky breath that was swallowed by his lips, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down as if you were afraid he might suddenly dissolve back into a memory.

The friction of the sheets felt like static electricity against your skin, a frantic humming that matched the pace of your heart. Will pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked at you with a gaze that was almost predatory in its hunger, yet softened by a tenderness that made you feel like the only person in the world. He didn’t want to rush this; he wanted to savor every single inch of you, to reclaim the territory that the distance had tried to steal.

"I've missed this so much," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. He shifted his weight, his hands sliding down from your waist to the hem of your clothes, pausing there. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with a mixture of desperation and a sudden, fierce desire to be the one providing the pleasure. "Can I? I just… I want to take care of you. I want to taste you."

You couldn't even find the words to answer, only a sharp, affirmative nod and a soft whimper that escaped your throat. As he moved, the sudden cool air of the room hit your skin, only to be instantly replaced by the searing warmth of his breath. When his tongue first made contact, a jolt of electricity shot straight to your core, making your hips jerk instinctively. He let out a muffled groan against you, a sound of pure, selfish satisfaction. He had been dreaming of this for months—the specific, intoxicating scent of you, the taste that had haunted his thoughts through every grueling practice and lonely hotel room.

"You're so wet for me," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your thighs, a praise that felt more intimate than any kiss. "God, you're absolutely soaking."

The sheer honesty of his voice, the way he sounded so completely undone by you, caused a sudden, violent contraction in your muscles. You clenched around nothing, a phantom pressure that left you gasping for air, your fingers digging into the duvet.

Now, you masturbated as much as the next girl, but it just wasn't the same by yourself as it was with him.

The moment his tongue made a deliberate, rhythmic sweep, your entire world narrowed down to a single, white-hot point of sensation. You were already balanced on a knife's edge, the anticipation of the last few months having pushed you to a breaking point long before he’d even touched you. The first few strokes were a revelation, a precision that only someone who knew you completely could manage. You let out a strangled gasp, your hips arching off the mattress in an instinctive search for more, your breath hitching in a way that sounded almost like a sob.

Will didn't slow down. He seemed to thrive on the sound of your undoing, his movements becoming more insistent, more focused. For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were the frantic friction of the sheets and the wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt. Every time you thought you had reached the peak, he shifted the angle, teasing the edge of your pleasure and dragging you back just enough to make the eventual fall more violent. You were trembling, your thighs shaking against his shoulders, your head tossing from side to side as you fought to keep your voice from alerting the parents.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble that vibrated through your skin. "Just let go for me, baby. You're doing so good. Just give it to me."

The simple, grounded warmth of his voice was like a key turning in a lock, shattering the last bit of your restraint. You came with a sudden, jarring intensity, a wave of pleasure so immense that you forgot how to breathe. You called his name, a broken, desperate sound, as you clung to the duvet, your muscles freezing in a series of contractions that seemed to last an eternity.

As the waves slowly subsided, Will didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, kissing the inside of your thighs, his breath warm and steady. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hooded, a smug but tender smile playing on his lips.

You lay there for a heartbeat, your chest heaving, the aftershocks of the orgasm still humming through your nerves. But as the haze cleared, a different kind of hunger rushed back in, sharper and more demanding than before. You reached down, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him upward until he was hovering over you. Your voice was a ragged whisper, stripped of everything but need. "Will… please. I need you. I need you inside me right now."

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours. He had noticed the way your breath hitched when he praised you, the way you practically melted into the mattress whenever he told you how good you were. He saw the desperation in your eyes, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "You're so impatient tonight," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "But since my smart girl got so many awards today, I think she deserves a reward. I won't tease, promise."

The promise sent a fresh jolt of heat through you. He moved with a sudden, decisive efficiency, his hands gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head in one fluid motion. You didn't stay idle, of course. How could you? Your hands were already frantic, diving beneath the waistband of his grey sweatpants, fumbling with the drawstring. You were both grateful for the brief window of time you'd taken to change after dinner, the formal wear would have been an pain in the ass to take off in the urgency that was currently consuming you both.

As you managed to hook your fingers into the elastic of his sweats and tug them downward, your hand brushed against something unexpected. There was no barrier of cotton or synthetic fabric, just the searing, immediate heat of his skin. You froze for a split second, your eyes widening as you realized he hadn't bothered with underwear when he changed.

A small, broken moan escaped you at the touch, a sound of pure desperation that felt like it had been building since the moment you first saw him in the lobby. The heat radiating off his skin and the unfiltered reality of his body was too much. Tears welled in your eyes from a need so acute it felt like a physical ache in your chest. You were completely undone, stripped of every defense, orbiting around the gravity of him.

Will sensed the fragility of your state, and his movements became a blur of focused intent. He kicked off his sweatpants in one fluid motion, tossing them blindly toward the corner of the room. Then, his eyes never leaving yours, he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the lean, powerful build of an athlete who had spent the last few months pushing his body to the absolute limit. He looked like a sculpture come to life, all hard lines and warm skin, but the expression on his face was nothing but tenderness.

He shifted, sliding his arm beneath your back to reach the clasp of your bra. You felt the sudden, sharp release of the tension as the fabric gave way, and for a moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of lightness. He didn't immediately move to the next step; instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. It wasn't a kiss of passion or hunger, but one of profound, unwavering love—a quiet promise that he had come back for you, and that he wasn't going anywhere.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart hammering against your ribs as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into the hollow of your shoulder. For a few seconds, the urgency paused, replaced by a heavy, golden silence where the only thing that mattered was the sound of your synchronized breathing. You could feel the slight tremor in his muscles, the way he was fighting his own restraint just to make sure you felt cherished before the storm hit.

The silence was broken by a sudden, sharp spark of contact. Will’s hand drifted upward, his calloused fingers finding your nipple with a precision that felt intentional, almost cruel in its accuracy. He circled the sensitive tip, teasing it into a hard point against his palm. The sensation was a lightning bolt that traveled straight to your core, forcing a ragged gasp from your lungs. You arched off the bed, your spine curving like a bow, and your arms slid from his neck as your hands flew outward, clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip.

The sudden vacancy of your arms gave him the space he wanted. With a sound of approval, he shifted his weight, his mouth finding your other nipple in one fluid motion. The contrast was overwhelming: the firm pressure of his hand on one side and the wet, searing heat of his mouth on the other. He sucked gently, a slow and steady pull that sent a fresh wave of electricity crashing through you, leaving your head lolling back against the pillow and your eyes fluttering shut.

"Aww, look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed rasp that made your toes curl. "My beautiful, needy girl."

Will’s promise that he wouldn’t make you wait wasn’t a promise of immediate release, though, it was simply a promise that you cumming again was guaranteed. He paused, reaching for his wallet on the nightstand. The soft, metallic crinkle of the foil packet echoed in the quiet room, a sound that felt like a starting pistol. As he rolled the latex on, he didn’t immediately dive back in. Instead, he braced himself on his elbows, hovering just millimeters above you, his heat radiating like a furnace.

He began to move, but not the way you wanted. With agonizing slowness, he took the head of his cock and dragged it in a long, light line from your ass up to your entrance, never actually dipping inside. You let out a choked sound, your hips instinctively tilting upward to meet him, but he shifted at the last second, tracing a circle around your opening that barely grazed the sensitive edges.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he whispered, his voice a dark, velvet caress against your ear. He did it again, the tip of him slick and warm, teasing the very edge of your center. "So flushed. So open for me. You're doing so good, baby."

The praise, combined with the maddeningly light contact, sent your patience plummeting. In a desperate bid to bridge the gap, you arched your back and tried to force yourself down onto him, grinding your hips in a frantic attempt to pull him inside.

A low, rumbling laugh vibrated through his chest, the sound filled with an affectionate sort of amusement. "Trying to do the work for me, are we?" he teased, his eyes glinting with a playful spark. He shifted his weight, pinning your wrists gently to the mattress to stop your squirming, though he didn't stop the teasing. He dipped the tip of himself inside just a fraction of an inch, then pulled back, leaving you gasping and empty. "Such a smart girl, always trying to find the most efficient way to get what she wants. I like how you get when I say how good you are."

"Will," you gasped, the word barely a sound, more of a plea. "Will, please, just—"

He didn’t need another word. His cock caught just along the edge of your opening as he gave one sharp, decisive thrust, burying himself deep inside you with a heavy, sliding friction that knocked the air clean out of your lungs. The first press of his length into your core stung. As wet as you were, as prepared as you were for him, it had been so long. He stretched your walls little by little, taking his time as your body adjusted to him. Then, inch by inch, he sunk within your walls that clung to him tightly.

His cock bottomed out, sunk fully within you, bare hips pressed to bare hips as you both let out shaky breaths. Your nails dug into the hair at the nape of his neck while his hands trailed up your ribcage, squeezing every moment or so as choked out moans fell from his lips.

“Oh fuck, Bird–so tight for me, baby–you're so good to me.”

His name was the only thing you could manage to choke out between your moans as he dragged himself back to the tip, before burying himself again to the hilt. Your moans, your cries and the way your hands threaded into his hair only spurred him on more, Will’s hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

His lips found yours amidst every snap of his hips, every drag of his cock against your walls. Every moan that slipped through your lips was drowned out by him, by the feverish movements of his lips against yours. They trailed away, back to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva connecting you together as he bit another love bite into the side of your neck. It didn’t matter to you how this would look to others, how scandalous you might look in the light of day. All that mattered was Will Smith.

As the heat in the room reached a boiling point, the pleasure began to shift, becoming a crushing, suffocating weight. Every stroke felt more electric, every press of his chest against yours more desperate. Your head tossed back on the pillow, your nails clawing at his back as you felt the familiar, jagged tension start to build at the base of your spine.

"Will… oh god, Will, I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum!" you sobbed, your voice breaking.

He didn't let the momentum drop. In one fluid motion, his hand slid down beneath your hips, his fingers finding the drenched heat of your center. Just as the first wave of the peak began to crash, he pressed his thumb firmly against your clit, thumbing the swollen nub with relentless pressure. The addition of that direct friction sent your entire body rigid, your spine arching off the mattress as a jagged, silent scream was caught in your throat, your muscles clamping around him in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses.

But Will didn't stop. He knew you were in that hypersensitive state where the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and he leaned into it. He kept fucking you, his hips snapping into yours with a heavy, wet sound, driving you deeper into the mattress with every thrust.

You forced your eyes open, meeting a gaze that was dark with a hunger that mirrored your own. He saw the way your pupils had blown wide, the way your lips were parted in a silent plea, and it seemed to drive him even harder. With a guttural sound, Will buried himself as deep as he could go and held it there, his muscles locking as he finally let go. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he poured himself into you, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you both breathless and trembling.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the synchronized, ragged gasps of two people trying to remember how to breathe. The air felt thick and humid, the silence of the house returning to swallow them whole. Will remained draped over you, his weight a comforting anchor, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his breath warm and smelling of the salt and sweat of their shared effort.

Will shifted his weight, the slow, reluctant slide of him leaving your body feeling like a sudden loss of warmth. He didn't move far, however; he collapsed onto his side, pulling you flush against him so that your skin remained glued together, damp and shimmering in the low light of the room. He let out a long, contented sigh that vibrated through your shoulder, his arm draping heavily across your waist to keep you anchored.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his tone shifting into that specific, knowing cadence. "You were so incredible. Just… perfect. Every single part of you is just so good for me."

You felt a familiar, electric shiver race down your spine—one that had nothing to do with the physical act and everything to do with the way he was looking at you. You tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but you couldn't stop the small, shy smile from forming. He felt the tremor in your frame and let out a soft, triumphant chuckle.

"I saw that," he laughed softly, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle on your hip.

[puccinibellini]

I wonder what ever happened to that guy anyway

[sunnysprite]

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.

[sunnysprite]

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 ✌️

ben2005 unfollowing rn

cartersorren why is this on my feed

jaxsonadams shit will looks good

load more comments...

[sunnysprite]

hiii sunny!!! 😚

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.

"Mack! I could've been naked!"