requested: yes | req: will smith x reader angst to fluff maybe reader sees a text on wills phone from a girl and thinks he’s cheating on her so she avoids and ignores him.
pair: will smith x f!reader
genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship.
warnings: swearing, jealousy, emotional confrontation, mention of alcohol, misunderstandings, (waterproof) phone in a bathtub, implied emotional vulnerabilities.
summary: when will comes home late from a night out with the guys, he brings with him the scent of perfume, alcohol, and something heavier… doubt. you try to stay cool. you smile. you fetch him water. but a text from a girl on his phone shatters the fragile trust between you. driven by jealousy and a heart aching for answers, you confront him before he can even rinse the shampoo out of his hair.
fia’s note: heyy anon! i know your request was for the reader to fully ignore him and trust me, i considered it but the more i sat with the idea, the more i kept thinking… if she really did go full silent treatment, then boom, that’s it. no fluff, no tension, no hope, just crickets and heartbreak. and while that’s totally valid and angsty, i couldn’t help myself from adding a tiny twist. i decided to keep the vibe light and throw in a bit of humor instead, just so there’s still something left lingering between them. hope you don’t mind the little change, and i truly hope you enjoy how it turned out! thanks again for the idea, it really got my brain turning!
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“Baaaabyyyy,”
Will’s voice drawled as the front door clicked shut behind him. He wasn’t slurring, not yet, but his words stretched just enough to tell you he was leaning heavy on tipsy.
You were sitting on the couch, the TV screen flickering silently in front of you. The time read 2:03 a.m.
“You’re late,”
You said without turning around, trying not to sound like you’d been watching the clock since midnight.
Will kicked his shoes off with a grunt and padded closer.
“Zach wanted to do shots. I didn’t. But he got emotional about his ex, so…”
You turned your head. He was smiling, his stupidly charming smile that could melt steel when sober but now it was softened by too many drinks and the faint red flush in his cheeks. And then you smelled it. The alcohol, yeah but also that perfume. Sweet. Overpowering. Not his. Not yours.
You swallowed hard. “You smell like a headache.”
He blinked, confused, and looked down at himself.
“Oh. Yeah. Probably got hugged by like, six people. Most of them smelled like Sephora.”
You didn’t respond. Just stood and moved past him.
“Go upstairs. Get out of those clothes. Take a shower if you want. I’ll bring you water.”
He reached for you, pulling you in briefly, and pressed a wet kiss to your lips, messy and alcohol-stained. You didn’t pull back, but your smile was paper-thin when you said,
“Go on, Smitty. I’ll be up in a minute.”
Will looked at you for a second longer, as if trying to read what you weren’t saying, but the alcohol dulled his instincts. He nodded and made his way up the stairs, humming something under his breath.
You moved to the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water and breathing through the knot in your chest.
You didn’t want to be this jealous, paranoid girlfriend. But being in love with Will Smith, NHL player, everyone favorite boy of Jose Sharkies, meant you saw things. The way women hovered around him like moths to flame. The way some just didn’t care he was taken.
But it was fine. You trusted him.
Or… you tried to.
When you came upstairs, you placed the glass on his nightstand. His phone was right there beside it. Lit up with a new message.
You didn’t mean to look.
But the screen said.
‘Had fun meeting you tonight :) wish you stayed longer’
From a name you didn’t recognize. No heart emoji. Just a smiley face. But it was enough.
Your throat went dry.
Had fun meeting you.
Meeting. YOU
You blinked at the screen. Because no old friend, friends would word it like that. No girl who knew about you, who respected your existence would even dare.
Your vision blurred as white-hot jealousy rose like bile.
The bathroom door slammed open hard enough to bounce off the stopper.
“Who the fuck is Kaylee?”
Your voice was sharp, dangerous, and already echoing in the steam-filled room.
Will jumped. Actually jumped. Shampoo still lathered in his dark curls, water running down his back, and now staring at you like he’d seen a ghost.
“I. What?”
“You think I’m fucking stupid?”
You stepped further in, your heart thudding.
“You met some girl tonight, and now she’s texting you like you gave her a fucking reason to. You think I wouldn’t find out?”
He wiped shampoo from his eyes, still trying to process.
“Babe, what are you talking about?”
You didn’t wait. You raised his phone like a goddamn gavel and launched it into the bathtub.
*Splash.*
He blinked, water dripping off his nose.
“That’s waterproof.”
“Good,” you snapped.
“Then you can read your flirty little texts while you drown.”
Will shut the water off, breathing slow through his nose like he was grounding himself. He stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it low around his waist. His hair was still sudsy, water trailing down his chest, but his voice was calm. Too calm.
“I didn’t cheat on you.”
You folded your arms tightly over your chest.
“Then explain that text.”
“She was some random girl. She was with a group we ran into. She asked for a photo. I said yeah. Then she got weird.”
“‘Wish you stayed longer’ isn’t weird. That’s flirty. That’s crossing a line.”
“She asked for my number, I said no,” Will said carefully.
“Zach was already halfway drunk, thought it was funny to play matchmaker, gave it out before I could stop him. I didn’t text her. I was gonna block her. But before she walked away, I told her something that you’d probably want to hear.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What.”
Will moved slowly, walked to his duffel bag in the corner and pulled something from the side pocket. A silver ring.
You stared at it.
“What is that?”
“It’s fake,” he said, almost sheepish.
“But I’ve been wearing it when I go out with the guys. Especially when I know they’ll end up somewhere stupid and loud and full of people who don’t care if I’m taken.”
He looked up at you then, honest and flushed, curls sticking to his forehead.
“She asked if I was single, and I showed her this.”
He slid the ring onto his finger. Left hand. Ring finger.
“Told her I was married. Told her I was going home to my wife.”
You blinked. “You… what?”
Will smiled, a little sad, a little proud.
“Yeah. You didn’t know because I never wanted to make a big deal out of it. But I’ve been calling you that in my head for months. Feels more honest than ‘girlfriend.’ You’re more than that.”
Everything inside you, the jealousy, the rage, the heartbreak tilted off its axis.
You stepped forward, heart thudding, looking at the fake ring and the way it seemed to fit too perfectly.
“You told a random girl you were married?”
He nodded. “And showed her this ugly-ass Amazon ring like it meant everything to me. Because it does. Because you do.”
You exhaled, every inch of you buzzing with disbelief and the sudden shift from fury to something close to shame.
“I’m such a dick,” you whispered.
“No,” Will said gently.
“You’re someone who’s been loving a guy in the spotlight and still trying to stay sane. That shit’s not easy.”
“I threw your phone.”
“You’re passionate.”
“I stormed in while you were literally covered in shampoo.”
“You’re dramatic. I like that about you.”
You cracked a laugh, half-choked on guilt.
“You should’ve told me about the ring.”
“I was waiting for the right time,” he said.
“And maybe for a real one.”
Your eyes snapped up. “Wait…”
Will leaned in, pressing a wet forehead to yours, voice low.
“I don’t need a headline engagement or a stadium proposal. But one day… I want the real thing. With you.”
You wrapped your arms around his damp torso, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heart was still racing.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured.
“I’m not,” he said.
“Because now you know how serious I am about you.”
You tilted your head. “You’re still shampooing your hair while saying all this.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but I sound hot doing it.”
You laughed, really laughed this time, the knot in your chest finally loosening.
Later, you’d dry him off with a towel, slide that ridiculous silver ring off his finger and kiss the skin beneath it like a promise.
You woke up to the sound of something clattering violently downstairs. For a second, your brain went to robber. Then earthquake. Then, most terrifying of all ‘Will attempting breakfast without supervision.’
You grabbed his shirt from the floor, padding out of the bedroom with sleep lines on your cheek and hair doing something wildly unflattering. As you crept down the stairs, the smell of… burning toast? eggs?… smacked you in the face.
And there he was.
Will Smith, San Jose Sharks center, casually standing in your kitchen shirtless, wearing plaid pajama pants and a black apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook (Even If He Sucks)’.
But that wasn’t the best part.
On his left hand, glinting in the morning light, was that cheap-ass fake silver ring, yea, right back on his finger like it had never left.
You squinted at him.
“Are you… seriously wearing that thing again?”
Will turned, spatula in hand, eggs in the pan questionably scrambled.
“Absolutely. You thought last night was just drunk sentiment? Nah. This is a lifestyle choice.”
You crossed your arms, hiding a grin.
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw your AirPods in the sink too.”
“I checked,” he said solemnly.
“They’re safe. I kissed them goodnight after the trauma you put us all through.”
You rolled your eyes and walked over.
“You’re not even married, Smitty.”
“Oh, I know,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“But it got me out of at least two awkward conversations at the grocery store last month. This thing’s practically magical.”
He pointed to the ring like it was forged in Middle Earth.
You leaned against the counter.
“So this is it now? You pretending to be my husband in public?”
“Please,” he scoffed. “I’ve been pretending to be your husband in private for months.”
You blinked. “Explain.”
Will smirked and gestured at the chaos around him, the overtoasted toast, the butter melting off the counter, the eggs clinging to the pan like regret.
“Tell me this isn’t husband behavior.”
You laughed, full-bellied and still tired.
“It’s gremlin behavior.”
“And yet, you love me,” he said, sliding a mostly-intact plate in front of you like it was a five-star meal.
You looked at the eggs. “These are crunchy.”
He nodded seriously. “That’s pepper. Probably.”
You stared down at the ring again and sighed.
“You know you can’t propose with that thing, right?”
Will winked. “Noted. But I am wearing it to your cousin’s wedding next month and telling everyone you trapped me.”
You covered your face with one hand and groaned.
“I hate how good you are at this.”
He leaned across the counter, ring glinting in the sunlight, voice low and playful.
request: Hii can I please request a fic with Will Smith? Maybe with a plus size / curvy reader? Like a hurt / comfort fic with lots of angst then lots of fluff? Thank you!
— ⟡ summary | After overhearing hurtful comments you start pulls away from Will, feeling insecure. Will’s confused by your silence, not knowing what went wrong, while you struggles with your feelings and the doubts creeping in.
— ⟡ warnings | rude comment relating to ones body figure (not said but implied)
— ⟡ word count | 3.6k
— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im sorry to the person who requested this almost a month ago!! after spring break some of my teachers decided that some students don't have a life outside of school and gave us possibly twice the work we got 1st semester. also these next to months are going to be BUSY with my ap classes and ap test that are coming up!! so if anyone request something I won't be able to get to write it soon, but I will when I have time!!! also my inbox is glitching which isn't allowing me to see everyones request until a week later so it may take a while for me to see it.
The music thrums softly through the upscale restaurant, glasses clinking, conversation flowing easily between players, staff, and their plus ones. It’s supposed to be a celebration, a night out with the team, no pressure, just good food and laughter.
You’re here with Will, of course, lingering at the edge of the room while he’s caught up in conversation with a few teammates. He looks so at ease, laughing, effortlessly slotting himself into the dynamic of a team that has quickly become his second family. You’re happy for him, proud, even.
But the longer you stand there, the more out of place you feel.
You’re scrolling through your phone, interested in whatever mindless feed is in front of you, when the words drift over from somewhere nearby. Soft enough that they probably think no one is listening but loud enough to cut right through you.
"I mean, Wills is an NHL player now. You’d think he’d be with someone, y’know…"
"Yeah, like, I’m just saying, he could have anyone he wants. And he’s with her?"
A laugh. One of them laughs.
Your fingers tighten around your phone.
You don’t recognize the voices. That almost makes it worse faceless, nameless strangers who don’t know you, don’t know Will, don’t know anything about your relationship. And yet, their words still sting.
You force yourself to breathe, staring down at the screen like you didn’t just hear every syllable. It doesn’t matter. Who cares what they think? But the words cling to you, wrapping around your ribs, constricting until your chest feels tight.
You knew people might think this way. You’re not the type of girl they expect an NHL player to be with. You don’t fit into that glossy, effortless mold the one that looks good in Instagram posts and fits neatly into the public eye.
But Will doesn’t care about things like that. Right?
You chance a glance across the room. He’s still laughing with his teammates, unaware, completely unbothered. He hasn’t looked for you in a while. Hasn’t checked in.
The thought slithers in before you can stop it. Has he ever thought the same thing?
The noise of the restaurant suddenly feels overwhelming, pressing in on you from all sides. You need air.
Your hands shake as you fire off a quick text to Will. “Hey, not feeling great. Heading home. Love you.”
You don’t wait for a response. You slip out quietly, out of sight before anyone can stop you.
The night air is sharp against your skin as you step out of the restaurant, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that will keep the words from sinking in any deeper. You walk quickly, head down, weaving through the crowded streets, desperate to get away.
You don’t even realize how fast you're walking until you reach your car, hands fumbling with the keys. Your breath stutters as you slide into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you. Silence. Blessed, suffocating silence.
And then it all crashes down.
Your fingers dig into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you try to keep yourself together. But the words keep playing in your head, over and over, like a song you can't turn off. He could have anyone he wants. And he’s with her?
You swallow hard. It’s stupid to be this upset. It’s so stupid. They don’t know you. They don’t know him.
But still.
Your mind drifts back to every little moment that suddenly feels like proof that they’re right. Hasn’t it been months since Will posted a picture of you? At the start of the season, he’d proudly introduced you to everyone, arms slung around you, never caring who was watching. But lately, it’s different. He never hides you, but he doesn’t show you off either. He talks about hockey, the team, his new life in the NHL, but when it comes to you it’s quieter.
Your stomach churns as you unlock your phone. No text back yet. You check your notifications again, just to be sure. Nothing.
He’s busy. You tell yourself that, over and over. He’s with the team. He’ll probably see your message soon and call.
Except, part of you wonders if he even noticed you were gone.
The drive home is a blur. You don’t remember changing lanes, don’t remember stopping at red lights. It’s all muscle memory, your body moving on autopilot while your mind replays the night in excruciating detail.
Every moment twists inside you like a knife. The way those voices had laughed, casual and cruel. The way you’d felt smaller, invisible, like you didn’t belong there. The way Will hadn’t noticed you leaving.
You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
Stop it. Stop overthinking. He loves you. You know that.
But doubt lingers, coiled in your chest, making it hard to breathe.
By the time you pull into your driveway your hands are trembling. You cut the engine staring blankly at the dashboard, willing yourself to get out. For a long moment you just sit there, the quiet pressing in on you the weight of the night sinking deeper into your bones.
Your phone buzzes.
Your heart jumps as you glance at the screen. A message from Will.
“Hey, you okay? Just saw your text. Sorry I didn’t notice earlier.”
You swallow, something thick and heavy settling in your throat.
Sorry I didn’t notice earlier.
It shouldn’t hurt. He’s busy. He’s out with the team. Of course, he didn’t notice right away.
But all it does is confirm the awful thought you haven’t been able to shake.
He hadn’t noticed.
Not when you left the restaurant. Not when you didn’t send a follow up text. Not when you weren’t by his side for the rest of the night.
And if he didn’t notice that, how long before he stops noticing you?
Your fingers hover over the keyboard hesitating. The urge to just type yeah I’m fine is strong. To pretend everything is normal. To bury this feeling before it can spill over into something you can’t take back.
But you can’t bring yourself to do it.
Instead you lock your phone and step out of the car heading inside without another word.
You toss your keys onto the counter, take off your shoes and sink onto the couch pulling a throw blanket over yourself even though you’re not cold. You should shower, should change, should do something to shake this feeling off.
But instead you curl in on yourself staring at the darkened screen of your phone willing to sleep.
The blanket wrapped around you offers little comfort. It's not warm enough but not heavy enough, not enough but it’s all you have. The quiet hum of the refrigerator fills the silence but it only makes the emptiness louder.
You roll onto your side pulling your knees to your chest as you stare blankly at the arm of the couch. You still haven’t answered Will’s message. He’s texted again.
“Wanna call me? I just got home. I can come over if you’re not feeling good.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
The worst part is, you want him to come over. You want him to hold you, want his voice to drown out the thoughts that have been running wild since the restaurant. But something inside you pulls back, whispering don’t let him see you like this.
Because if you tell him how much those words hurt, the way he didn’t notice you leave, the growing silence between you, what if he agrees with them? What if he says the one thing you're barely holding together against?
What if he doesn't even realize something’s wrong?
So you leave his texts on read.
And you lie there your fingers trembling over your screen wondering if it would be better to lie and say you’re sick. Or tired. Or just need space.
Instead, you say nothing.
The minutes pass slowly. Your phone buzzes once more before finally falling quiet, the screen dim.
It feels like giving up. Like choosing the silence. But it also feels like protection. Like if you just keep it all inside, you can manage the pain on your own without letting him confirm your worst fear. that maybe he is ashamed. That maybe, deep down he’s been slowly letting go without saying it out loud.
You bury your face into the pillow and let the tears slip out silently, each one hot against your cheek, each one dragging a new weight down with it.
You’ve never felt so small.
You must fall asleep at some point, but it doesn’t feel like rest.
When your eyes flutter open it’s still dark outside the sky outside the window a murky shade of gray. You’re still curled on the couch, blanket twisted around you, head aching and throat tight. The room is freezing now but you can’t bring yourself to move.
You blink up at the ceiling for a while, heart heavy in your chest like a stone that refuses to settle.
Your phone lies face down on the floor beside you. Part of you hopes there’s a good morning text from Will waiting for something gentle, something normal, something to tell you you’re overthinking all of this.
But when you flip it over and see the screen the hope fizzles.
“Hope you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
No call. No follow up. No joke to make you smile.
You want to scream at yourself for being disappointed. He did text. He’s checking in. It’s kind. It’s more than what most people would do. So why does it still feel like not enough?
You stare at the messages, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You even type out a few things
Sorry, just tired.
Delete.
It’s nothing
Delete.
I’m fine.
Delete.
Can’t talk right now.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
you toss the phone aside and push yourself upright. Your limbs feel heavy as you shuffle to the kitchen, half heartedly starting the coffee maker even though you know you won’t drink it.
You catch your reflection in the microwave door, eyes puffy, hair a mess, mouth drawn tight and quickly look away.
All morning, the world moves around you like you’re watching it through thick glass. You answer texts from friends with one word replies. You scroll through social media numbly, skipping past every glimpse of Will’s life photos from the restaurant, comments tagging his name, short clips of the team laughing over drinks. He looks happy. Carefree.
You didn’t even cross his mind, did you?
The ache sharpens again.
And when your phone rings around noon his name flashing across the screen you freeze. Your stomach flips, and your fingers twitch with the instinct to answer.
But instead, you watch it ring out.
You’re not ready. Not when you don’t know what you’ll say. Not when the pain still feels too raw to hide.
Because if he hears your voice, if he asks you what’s wrong, you're afraid everything you’ve been trying to swallow will come spilling out in a mess you can't clean up.
So you do what you’ve been doing best lately.
You stay quiet.
And Will just keeps texting you.
The pings on your phone are the only signs that the world outside your apartment hasn’t stopped spinning. You read every message the second it comes in your breath catching every time his name lights up the screen. But you never reply. You don’t even type anything this time.
You can’t.
Not when everything feels so tangled. Not when you’re still trying to figure out if this ache in your chest that's been building and building.
Your mind replays the night at the restaurant in a loop every look, every word, every laugh that didn’t quite reach your ears. The conversation you overheard keeps echoing in the quiet spaces of your home, loud in the places where it hurts the most.
It’s not his fault. You know that. He didn’t say those things. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t join in. But he also didn’t notice you slip away. He didn’t chase after you.
And that's the part you can’t ignore.
So you leave his texts unopened now. Not out of anger, but out of fear. Because answering means feeling, and feeling means you’ll have to say something. And once you say it, it’s real.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the floor watching clips of the recent sharks game. Time slips by in moments that blur together quiet tears, unanswered texts, the sound of your own heartbeat thudding painfully in your chest. The apartment is cold. Or maybe you just feel cold. It’s hard to tell.
Your phone buzzes again.
You don’t check it. You can’t. You already know who it is. And you already know you don’t have the strength to lie.
You wish you could say something. Anything. But how do you even explain it? That some careless strangers at a dinner lit a match you’ve been holding too close to your chest for years? That their words didn’t start the fire, but they sure as hell helped it spread?
You hated how easily it got to you.
Hated how quickly you’d turned inward.
Hated even more that Will had no idea.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been laughing with his teammates, being his usual goofy self. He hadn’t even heard it. But the silence that followed? The way he didn’t notice you leave? It stuck to your ribs like shame.
You hear a knock.
You freeze. For a second, you think you imagined it. Then another one comes, louder this time, familiar even in rhythm. Your heart stutters.
Will.
Panic floods your body before you can stand. You’re still in the oversized t shirt you threw on this morning, hair a mess, eyes probably red and puffy. You didn’t think he’d come. You thought he’d give up.
Part of you wanted him to.
But most of you didn’t. Most of you just didn’t know how to let him in without unraveling.
Another knock. Then his voice, soft through the door:
“y/n? It’s me. Can you open the door?”
Your hands tremble as you unlock it, the click louder than you expected. When the door swings open, he’s standing there with that boyish face that always makes you feel safe. But now his brow is furrowed, his eyes scanning you in quiet concern.
“Hey,” he says gently.
You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. Your throat feels tight. He steps forward, slow, like he doesn’t want to startle you. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was getting scared.”
You look down. “You shouldn’t have come.”
His expression softens hurt flickering across his face. “You haven’t answered me in two days. You missed the game. You’ve never…” He pauses, exhaling hard. “I didn’t know what was going on. You just disappeared on me.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, eyes burning. “I just couldn't.”
“Couldn’t what?”
You shake your head trying to keep it together. But the pressure in your chest tightens and suddenly it’s all too much. You press your lips together trying not to cry but your eyes betray you. Tears slip out before you can wipe them away.
Will steps inside and shuts the door behind him without a word. Then he’s there in front of you, hands on your arms, not trying to fix anything, just being there.
“Talk to me,” he says softly. “Please.”
You close your eyes. You don’t want to do this. But you also don’t want to keep hurting alone. So you let yourself whisper the words you’ve been choking on since that night.
“I heard them,” you murmur, voice barely audible. “At the restaurant. A couple girls...they were talking about me. About how someone like you shouldn’t be with someone like me.”
Will blinks. “What?”
You laugh bitterly through the tears. “They said you could have anyone you want. And they couldn’t believe you were with me. And I know it’s stupid, I know it shouldn’t matter, but it felt like they were just saying out loud the thing I’ve been afraid of since we got together.”
He stares at you like he’s trying to understand a language he’s never heard before. Like none of this makes sense to him because it doesn’t.
You keep going, because now that the words are out they won’t stop.
“You haven’t posted about me in months. You barely introduce me as your girlfriend to your teammates. You act like I’m just there sometimes. And maybe you don’t mean to. But it’s hard not to wonder if you’re ashamed of me.”
Will’s mouth opens but no words come out. His hands tighten around your arm and for a moment all he does is breathe slowly and heavy like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.
Then finally he whispers, “I had no idea you felt like that.”
You drop your gaze but he gently tilts your chin up so you have to look at him.
“I'm not ashamed of you. I love you. And I hate that you even had to wonder.”
Your bottom lip quivers. “Then why don’t you show it?”
He pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders so tightly it knocks the air from your lungs but in the best way. His hand cradles the back of your head, voice muffled against your hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think I needed to prove anything. I thought you knew. But if I made you feel less than ever, that's on me.”
You bury your face into his chest, letting the tears fall freely now.
You don’t know how long you stay wrapped in his arms.
Long enough for your breathing to even out. Long enough for the sobs to stop wracking your chest. Long enough that your t-shirt is probably damp from tears and your fingers are curled tightly into the fabric of his suit like you’re afraid he might slip away if you let go.
But he doesn’t move. Not even a little.
He just keeps holding you. His thumb gently strokes back and forth along your shoulder. Every once in a while he presses the softest kiss to your hair. Nothing rushed. No expectation. Just quiet love in every little movement.
When you finally pull back a little your face is hot and your nose is stuffy. “Sorry,” you whisper.
His brow furrows. “For what?”
“For all of this. For shutting you out. For crying all over you. For ruining your suit.”
Will doesn’t even blink. “You didn’t ruin anything.” Then, quieter, “And don’t ever apologize for feeling something.”
He brushes a thumb gently beneath your eye, wiping away the last of your tears. “I’m sorry you had to hear what was said. You should’ve told me I would’ve dropped everything if I knew. I wouldn’t have let you leave that night without me.”
You nod slowly. “I know. I just didn’t want it to be real. I kept thinking I’d wake up i'd forget about it. But it just got worse. I kept replaying everything in my head. What they said, the way they said it, how no one stopped them-”
“They’re assholes,” Will cuts in, a sudden spark of frustration in his voice. “I wish I’d heard them. I wish-” He stops himself, jaw clenched. “No one talks about you like that. Not while I’m in the room.”
You stare down at your hands. “I don’t think it would’ve mattered. They weren’t saying it to me. They were just saying it. Like it was obvious. Like I wasn’t good enough for you and everyone was just too polite to say it out loud.”
Will exhales sharply and then does something you don’t expect.
He stands up and offers his hand. “Come with me.”
You blink up at him. “What?”
“Come sit with me on the couch.”
You take his hand because it’s instinct now falling into his touch letting him guide you. He pulls you gently toward the couch, sits down, and tugs you into his side like he needs you close.
You curl into him, resting your head on his chest. His arm wraps around your back, fingers tracing soothing circles along your spine.
“I love you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I love everything about you. And I’m sorry I haven’t shown that enough. I thought you knew. But if you didn’t, if I ever made you feel like a secret or something I’m hiding then I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
You feel the words settle deep in your chest, warm and grounding.
“I guess I just didn’t want to be a reason you got made fun of,” you whisper.
Will sits up slightly, just enough to look at you fully. “You are never a reason for anything bad. And if anyone can’t handle the fact that I’m with the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, that’s their problem.”
You swallow hard, emotions tugging at your throat again but this time, the tears feel different. Softer. Safer.
He smiles gently. “I’m posting you everywhere, by the way. I’m making you my lockscreen. You’re gonna be so sick of me.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” His voice is firm, but tender. “You’re mine. And I’m proud of that. I want people to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You press your forehead into his collarbone, heart beating a little steadier than before. “Can you spend the night?”
Will kisses the top of your head, his voice low and certain. “always”
summary: When San Jose Sharks rookie Will Smith secretly starts dating Riley Thornton—daughter of Sharks legend Joe Thornton and housemate of teammate Macklin Celebrini—he thinks they’ve pulled off the ultimate stealth romance. With whispered rendezvous, late-night escapes, and a suspiciously dented bush, Will and Riley manage to keep their relationship under wraps from everyone… except, well, everyone.
masterlist
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The restaurant was dimly lit and tucked away off a quiet street in downtown San Jose, the kind of place where the lighting was low, the tables were close together, and the world outside felt like it didn't exist. Will reached across the small table, his fingers brushing against Riley's. "You know," he said with a crooked grin, "I still can't believe you picked this place. You're like, weirdly good at Yelp."
Riley smiled, her eyes glowing in the candlelight. "It's not that hard, Will. I just read reviews and don’t get distracted by places with giant burgers in the photos."
"But those are the best photos," he said, laughing softly. His fingers laced with hers under the table. "Six months of this and you still keep surprising me."
She tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Best thing," he said, his voice low. "By far."
They’d slipped into this bubble so effortlessly—soft smiles, shared bites of pasta, occasional brushes of knees beneath the table. No one in the restaurant knew who they were. No one cared. They didn’t have to watch their backs, or check if anyone was filming. It was rare.
Riley reached into her purse and pulled out a small, crumpled Polaroid. She passed it to him with a grin. "Remember this?"
Will looked down and chuckled. It was a blurry shot of the two of them from their first official date—him mid-blink, her laughing too hard to keep her eyes open. "You said this was too ugly to keep."
"It grew on me. Like you."
He shook his head, leaning back in his chair, absolutely enamored. "You're gonna kill me one day."
They were halfway through dessert—splitting tiramisu, his fork always trying to steal from her side—when Riley suddenly froze. Her hand brushed against his wrist in warning. "Don’t look now, but... is that Eky and Fabes at the bar?"
Will’s smile dropped. "What? No way."
He tilted his head slightly, casual-like, and there they were—William Eklund and Fabian Zetterlund, both in jeans and button downs, standing at the bar like they owned the place.
"What do we do?" Riley hissed, pulling her hand back like it had been caught on fire.
"Shit, shit, okay... act normal. No—wait, don’t act normal. They know what normal looks like." Will scrubbed a hand down his face. "Do we have a back door?"
Riley peeked around, heart hammering in her chest. "Kitchen entrance. There—see the hallway by the washrooms?"
He nodded quickly. "Let’s pay and move. Fast."
They did their best to settle the bill without drawing attention, Riley ducking her head, Will sliding the cash across like he was in a spy movie. Then they stood, trying to move naturally, not too fast, not too slow, weaving toward the washrooms like they were just going for a stroll.
The kitchen door swung open. A server stepped out. Will grabbed Riley’s hand and pulled her with him, slipping through just as it started to close. They burst into the steamy, bright chaos of the kitchen.
"Sorry! Just—emergency," Will muttered to a startled line cook, who blinked but said nothing.
Out the back door. Into the alley. Cool air hit their faces like a splash of water. Riley laughed as they ran, hand in hand, past the dumpsters and out to the parking lot.
They didn’t stop until they reached Will’s car, slightly out of breath, grinning like idiots.
"Okay," Riley said, hands on her hips. "That might have been the most stressful dessert I’ve ever had."
"That was so close," Will gasped, laughing. "You think they saw us?"
"No. I think we got lucky."
They stood there, caught in that in-between moment—adrenaline still buzzing, the quiet hum of the night settling around them. Will looked at her, really looked at her, and something in his chest cracked wide open.
"I love you," he said suddenly, the words tumbling out with a kind of reckless honesty, like they'd been pacing behind his teeth for hours, maybe days. He hadn't planned to say it, not tonight, not like this, but in the hush of the parking lot, with her cheeks flushed from laughter and her eyes still wide from their shared escape, it felt impossible not to. It was as if the adrenaline cracked him open and the truth came spilling out, raw and real and totally unfiltered.
Riley blinked. Her lips parted. The world went still.
Then a soft smile crept across her face, eyes glimmering with warmth and surprise. "You do?"
He nodded, heart thudding in his chest. "Yeah. I—I didn’t mean to say it like that, I just… I do. I love you."
Riley stepped closer, her boots crunching softly against the pavement, and lifted her hand to his cheek. Her thumb brushed lightly over his skin, and her eyes didn’t leave his for even a second.
"I love you too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but brimming with certainty. She watched his face as she said it, the way his eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and relief, and it made her heart squeeze.
"I’ve been wanting to say it for a while," she added, her lips curling into a shy smile. "But I didn’t want to freak you out."
He laughed softly, leaning into her touch. "You could never freak me out."
Riley’s fingers slid back into his hair as she pressed her forehead to his. "You’re stuck with me now, Smith."
"Good," he whispered. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."
He kissed her then, gentle and full, like the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world blur into soft lights and distant sounds. It was the kind of kiss that spoke every word he hadn’t said yet, that carried the weight of six months of stolen moments, whispered jokes, and every time he’d had to pretend she wasn’t his in public. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, anchoring herself to him as if afraid this moment might vanish. His hands slid up from her waist to her back, pulling her closer, until there wasn’t a breath of space left between them. The kiss deepened—still tender, but charged with all the emotion they usually had to hide. It was slow, reverent, like they were both trying to memorize the way this felt, just in case they never got a moment like this again.
Behind them, a car door slammed. They broke apart instantly, heads whipping toward the noise. A couple exited the restaurant, laughing, not even looking their way.
"Close call number two," Riley whispered.
Will grinned, forehead pressed to hers. "Worth every second."
They kissed again, softer this time, and in that small pocket of the parking lot, hidden from everyone, it felt like the world had stopped just for them.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Will pulled up a few blocks from the Thornton house, headlights off, engine humming low, the street bathed in the warm amber glow of old-fashioned streetlights. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the cool breeze, and for a few extra seconds, neither of them moved. The night was too perfect, too quiet, too suspended in the afterglow of everything that had just happened.
Riley reached for her bag in the back seat, fingers brushing over the strap, but paused when Will gently touched her wrist. His hand lingered there, warm and familiar.
"Text me when you're in," he said, voice low and sincere, like he wanted to memorize every second of these last moments with her.
Riley smiled, leaning across the console so their foreheads touched. "I will. And if I get caught—"
He smirked. "You won’t. You’re too good."
"But if I do, at least it was after the best night ever," she whispered.
Will’s thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. "Still worth it."
She kissed him again—slow and lingering, a quiet promise—and then opened the door. The slam of it was too loud in the sleepy neighborhood. She ducked her head instinctively, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and waved as he eased away from the curb.
Before she could even tuck her phone into her pocket, it buzzed—FaceTime. Will.
She answered with a smirk. "You’re obsessed."
His face appeared on screen, grinning. "Just making sure you get to the door safe. Go on, I wanna watch."
"You are so dramatic," she muttered, but angled the camera to show her feet as she walked. "This is such boyfriend behavior."
"Good thing I’m your boyfriend, then."
She bit back a smile. The closer she got to the house, the more the butterflies stirred in her stomach. She turned the camera to her face when she reached the steps. "Happy now?"
Will grinned. "Very. Sleep tight, Ry."
"You too, Will."
She hung up but didn’t put the phone away. Not yet. The night felt like magic, and she wanted to hold onto every spark of it for as long as she could.
The second she stepped inside, the living room lights were on. Her dad was parked on the couch, headset on, controller in hand. Macklin was beside him, just as focused. Fortnite flashed across the big screen.
Joe paused the game the second he noticed her, his eyes narrowing with a sharpness that made Riley instinctively straighten up. His controller dropped onto the couch cushion beside him with a soft thud, and he pulled the headset down around his neck like a man about to conduct an interrogation.
"Hey," he said, but it wasn’t casual. It was the kind of 'hey' that carried weight, like a loaded question. "Where’ve you been?"
His posture shifted—arms resting heavily on his knees, shoulders squared, the full dad stare in effect. Riley knew that look. It was the same one he used when Macklin snuck into the pantry at midnight or when the boys forgot to rinse their gear after practice. Protective. Sharp. Borderline terrifying.
He glanced at the clock, then back at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "It’s almost midnight. You didn’t answer my last text."
"I was out with Grace," she said quickly, voice light, trying not to sound too defensive.
He arched a brow, not letting up. "Where exactly?"
"Mini golf. That new glow-in-the-dark place near the boardwalk. We’ve been planning it all week."
He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her. Searched her face. Not angry—just locked in full dad-mode. The kind where he didn’t need to raise his voice to make her squirm.
"You drive yourselves? Who else was there?"
Riley swallowed. "Just us. Grace drove."
He tilted his head slightly. "You usually let me know when you’re going out that far. What if something had happened?"
"Nothing happened," she said gently. "I’m fine."
"I know. I’m your dad, Riley. That’s kinda the point."
Macklin, still oblivious, chimed in with perfect timing. "Oh! I think Will went there tonight too. Said he had a date. Did you see him there?"
Joe’s head snapped toward Macklin, then back to Riley.
"No," she said quickly, clutching her bag tighter. "We must’ve just missed him."
Joe’s eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a line. Something about the way he looked at her made her wonder if she’d slipped up somehow.
Macklin groaned. "Dang. I was hoping you’d get a look at the mystery girl. He’s been so secretive about it."
Joe chuckled, shaking his head, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. "Yeah, that kid’s hiding something," he said, voice laced with amusement, but edged with something else—interest, suspicion maybe. He leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, like he was mentally running through the possible girls Will might be seeing. "Secretive little bastard. You’d think after all the hours he spends at the house, I’d get some intel." He smirked, then glanced sideways at Riley. "You ever notice him acting weird lately? I mean, weirder than usual?"
"Nope!" Riley forced a yawn. "Well, I’m exhausted. Night, boys."
"Night," they both mumbled, already back in the game.
She bolted up the stairs, praying her poker face had held up. But the second she opened her bedroom door, she jumped.
Her mom was sitting on her bed.
"Mom—"
"Hi, sweetie." Her mom’s voice was soft, but there was a sharpness in her eyes Riley knew all too well—the quiet kind of knowing that only mothers seemed to have. She patted the spot beside her on the bed, her posture calm, composed, almost too casual. "Sit," she said, but it wasn’t really a request. It was the same tone she used when Riley was five and tried to hide a broken vase behind the couch. That tone that said: I already know the truth, but I’m giving you one last shot to come clean.
Riley obeyed. Her heart raced.
"You were with Grace?"
"Yep. Mini golf. Then ice cream. Home now."
Her mom studied her. "Uh-huh."
Riley gave her best innocent smile. "She already texted you, didn’t she?"
"She did."
Riley exhaled. Nailed it.
But her mom kept looking at her, a knowing expression softening her features. The kind that said, 'You think you're being subtle, but I've been watching you since the day you were born.' Her eyes flicked down to Riley’s fingers still curled around her phone, then back up to her face, lingering just long enough to make Riley feel like a lie was scrawled across her forehead. She didn’t press, though—didn’t need to. Her silence was its own kind of interrogation, gentle but suffocating, wrapped in love and quiet judgment.
"You’re a little too good at that story," she said gently.
Riley opened her mouth to protest, but her mom just kissed her forehead.
"I won’t ask again. But be careful, okay?"
Riley nodded slowly. "Okay."
Her mom gave her a small smile. "Goodnight, baby."
"Night, Mom."
Once the door clicked shut behind her, Riley exhaled fully for the first time all night.
She grabbed her phone and texted Will one word: "Safe."
A second later: "Also, we’re SO bad at this."
He replied instantly: "Speak for yourself. I’m flawless."
She laughed into her pillow, heart full.
And somehow, even with the close calls, the hiding, the lies—it all still felt worth it.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Saturday morning hit like a slap to the face.
The rink was humming with the usual buzz—music low, sticks tapping on the rubber flooring, the hiss of skate sharpeners and the occasional burst of laughter from the showers. But Will felt like he was walking a tightrope the moment he stepped into the locker room. He had barely made it to his stall and started unlacing his shoes when Macklin’s voice rang out.
"Yo, Smitty," Mack said from across the room, spinning a puck on his palm. "How was that glow-in-the-dark mini golf place? You said you were taking that girl last night."
Will froze for half a second. His fingers stuttered over his shoelaces before he forced a lazy grin and leaned back. "Oh—uh, yeah. It was... fine."
"Just fine?" Macklin raised an eyebrow. "That place is sick."
"Yeah, well, the date kind of sucked," Will said, trying to keep his tone casual. "She wasn’t really who I thought she was. We didn’t vibe. So I bailed early."
That answer seemed to satisfy Mack, who shrugged and went back to flipping his puck. But before Will could let out a breath of relief, Eklund and Zetterlund came strolling in, mid-conversation.
"I swear I saw his car last night," Eky was saying. "At that restaurant on Third—what’s it called, the Italian one? Real dark lighting, kind of bougie."
"Oh yeah," Fabes added. "That’s where I saw it too. You weren’t at mini golf, man."
Will blinked, caught like a deer in headlights. "No, yeah—I mean, I was. I just... went to get food after. Alone. That restaurant’s got good takeout."
Will nodded too quickly. "Yeah. It was late. I didn’t want to eat at home."
Fabian squinted. "You were there for like an hour."
Will’s palms started to sweat. "I was hungry."
The chirping started almost immediately—good-natured, but relentless. Macklin howled with laughter while Eklund clapped his hands like a game show buzzer had just gone off.
"So let me get this straight—you had a bad date, left early, then took yourself to a romantic candlelit restaurant for some alone time?" Eky asked.
"Inspiring," Fabes added. "Real commitment to the solo vibes."
Will rubbed his face. "You guys suck."
Just as the chaos was starting to calm, his phone buzzed in his open duffel bag. He reached for it instinctively and unlocked the screen.
At the top of the screen, glowing in bold letters, was a message from Lover 💫💛.
Will nearly fumbled the phone straight onto the floor.
"OHHHHHH," Macklin sang, his head whipping around. "Who’s Lover💫💛?"
Will scrambled to lock his screen. "Nobody. Just a friend."
"A friend who texts you at nine a.m. with heart emojis?" Eky grinned, voice sing-songy.
Macklin leaned forward like a bloodhound. "Wait—if your date was that bad, how come Lover💫💛 is texting you right now? You sure you bailed early?"
Will opened his mouth and closed it again.
And just then—like fate really had it out for him—Patrick Marleau walked into the room with a coffee in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder.
"Oh yeah," he said offhandedly, clearly having caught the tail end of the conversation. "Smitty came in late last night. I think it was past one."
Silence fell over the room like a dropped puck.
Will stared at Marleau, who didn’t even blink as he walked past to grab some tape.
Eklund turned slowly toward him. "Late, huh? I thought the date was a bust?"
"I thought you went home," Zetterlund added.
Macklin was staring like he was trying to read Will’s mind. "Wait. Did you—did you go out again? With someone else?"
Will was desperate. He felt like he was being cornered by a pack of wolves.
"Yeah," he blurted. "Yeah, okay. After the first one flopped, I hit up someone else."
The boys erupted.
"PLAYER!" Fabian shouted, laughing.
"Damn, Smitty! The San Jose ladies aren’t safe!" Eklund whooped.
Macklin leaned back, his eyes wide. "Okay, now you have to tell us who it is. What’s her deal? Is she cute? Are you seeing her again?"
Will could feel his soul leaving his body. He gave a weak laugh. "Nah, I don’t think it’s going anywhere. Just... spur of the moment."
"Cold," Fabian said. "Ice cold."
They were still teasing him when the coach called them out onto the ice, but Will barely heard it. His brain was a mess. All he could think about was how badly this entire situation was spiraling.
And he still had to find a way to tell Riley.
Three days later, he did. Or rather—Riley found out before he could confess.
He was sitting in his car after practice, sipping a smoothie and scrolling through his phone when a text popped up.
Lover💫💛: should i be worried about my competition? 👀😏
Will stared at the message, groaned out loud, and dropped his head against the steering wheel.
Another text came through.
Lover💫💛: i hear there’s a mystery second girl 😱
Lover💫💛: should i be flattered or insulted that i didn’t make the story? 😂
Will quickly tapped out a reply.
Will: okay in my defense i panicked
Will: they cornered me and marleau BROKE THE CODE
Lover💫💛: lol i thought you were flawless?
Will: 😒 betrayal from within
Lover💫💛: don’t worry. you’re safe... for now. but if you EVER try to “spur of the moment” another girl, i will personally tell my dad everything
Will winced. He knew she would, too.
Will: you’re evil
Lover💫💛: and you love it 😇
He leaned back in his seat, a grin tugging at his lips despite the embarrassment still bubbling under his skin. Somehow, even in chaos, she made everything better.
But seriously—he had to work on his lying game. Or better yet, find a way to make it so they didn’t have to lie at all.
Someday.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
To say the plan was airtight would be a stretch, but Will and Riley had been playing this game long enough to know the drill.
Step one: lie convincingly. Riley told her family she was spending the night at Grace’s. It wasn’t even a big stretch; she’d stayed there before, and Grace had already been prepped to cover.
Step two: clear the house. Her parents and siblings—Alya and River—were off at the new movie everyone had been hyping for weeks, complete with dinner reservations after. Macklin, who was usually the wildcard, had texted earlier to say he had a date and wouldn’t be back until late. That was a win.
Step three: park Will’s car three blocks over, behind a long hedge on a side street where no one would look twice.
And step four: finally, finally relax.
They were curled up on Riley’s bed in her room—second floor, blinds drawn, lights low, the TV casting soft glows across the walls. Riley’s head rested on Will’s chest, his arm around her shoulders, thumb gently brushing her upper arm. They were on season three of New Girl, and while Riley adored the show, she could hardly believe that Will had been the one to suggest it.
“You’re seriously obsessed,” she teased, glancing up at him during a commercial break.
Will gave her a look that was part sheepish, part proud. “It’s elite television. Schmidt is a cultural icon. I don’t make the rules.”
Riley snorted. “You said you’d never seen it before we started.”
“I lied. I watched, like, four seasons in secret freshman year. Don’t tell anyone.”
She laughed, burying her face in his sweatshirt. “Your secret’s safe with me, Smitty.”
But before Will could come back with a sarcastic quip, the sound of the front door clicking shut echoed faintly from downstairs.
They both froze.
Will’s hand paused mid-circle on her arm. Riley sat up slowly.
“Did you—?”
“I definitely—”
“Someone’s home.”
Will was already moving, bolting upright and scrambling off the bed like a man in a spy movie. Riley followed, peeking out the window just in time to hear footsteps in the hallway.
Then: “Hey Ry!”
Macklin’s voice.
Crap.
“Wanna watch a movie or something? I’m bored and my date didn’t go well. Just another clout chaser. Oh—by the way, did you see that car down the street? Looks exactly like Will’s. Kinda sus, right? Oh and speaking of Will, did you know he loves to watch New Girl? Have you seen it? Should we try it tonight??”
Will, in the corner, was flailing silently. His mouth was open in horror, arms gesturing wildly in a panicked charade that screamed make him go away.
Riley’s eyes were wild as she pointed at the door. Macklin’s footsteps were getting closer.
Will mouthed, “DO SOMETHING!”
Riley threw her hands up and made a split-second decision.
As the doorknob began to turn, she shrieked: “MACK NO! I’M CHANGING—NAKED! I’M, UHH, CHANGING SO I’M NAKED. GIMME A SEC!”
The footsteps stopped. A beat of silence.
“Okay, sheesh,” Macklin said, unbothered. “I’ll be in the guest house. Gonna set up the show.”
They heard him shuffle away.
Will collapsed onto the floor, face buried in the carpet. “I’m gonna die. This is how I die. Heart attack at nineteen. Cause of death: panic.”
“We need to get you out,” Riley whispered, already scanning the room.
“I parked three blocks away, Riley. We’re upstairs. This house has like thirty windows. It’s a fortress of doom.”
They started whisper-arguing, huddled by her bedroom door, trying to figure out the logistics of sneaking Will out without Macklin noticing. Every creaky floorboard felt like a landmine.
Step by painful step, they crept down the staircase, Riley leading the way, Will behind her trying not to breathe too loudly. The house was mostly dark, save for the soft glow of a hallway lamp near the front. The stairs creaked ominously with every shift of weight, and both of them paused more than once, holding their breath at the slightest sound.
Halfway down, Riley whispered over her shoulder, “You’re walking like you weigh five hundred pounds.”
“I’m literally trying not to die,” Will hissed back.
They made it to the bottom without detection, dodging into the hallway beside the front door. Will wiped his palms on his jeans, adrenaline rushing like he was sneaking out of some high-security vault instead of a suburban house. He reached for the door—
Then the flash of headlights spilled across the foyer.
Riley’s breath caught. “Oh no. My dad.”
“What?!”
“I thought they were going to dinner after the movie!”
Panic overtook reason. Riley shoved Will toward the front door with surprising force.
“What are you—” he started.
“Just GO!” she hissed.
The door flung open and she practically launched him out onto the front steps. The sound of a car door slammed from outside.
Riley shoved him out the front door and directly into the massive hedge beside the porch.
There was a rustle, a yelp, and a very clear, “Son of a—Riley!”
“Shh!” she hissed. “Hide better!”
The front doorknob turned again and she slammed it shut behind her, bolting to the back of the house like a cartoon character. She sprinted across the yard and slipped into the guest house just in time to hear the front door open.
Inside the bush, Will sat hunched, tangled in twigs and half-covered in leaves. His hoodie had a stick poking out of the hood. A spider crawled up his sleeve. His entire body was buzzing with nerves, but all he could do was sit still.
He watched the Thornton family walk past the front foyer, chatting casually. Joe, Alya, and River. The coast was almost clear—
Until he looked up.
In the second-story foyer window, two faces were pressed against the glass.
River.
And Tabea.
Riley’s mom. Very observant. Very amused.
Tabea smiled, wide and smug, then gave a small wave. Her hand rotated into a ‘shoo, shoo’ motion. River, bless his soul, looked confused but entertained.
Will mouthed please no and Tabea just winked.
Humiliated, Will gave a tight, sheepish wave, rubbed the back of his neck, and started jogging toward his car.
When he finally reached it, he dove in like a man escaping war. His phone buzzed in the console.
From Lover💫💛: sorry for the bush shove 😂
From Lover💫💛:: also u screamed. not very stealthy of u
From Lover💫💛: but also you’re welcome. i saved your life
From Tabea: caught! lol. don’t worry i won’t tell 🤭
From Macklin: bro i’m watching new girl rn with Ry
From Macklin: SCHMIDT IS ELITE
Will leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned.
This was getting out of hand.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Riley had known this moment was coming.
The morning after the bush incident, she tiptoed into the kitchen like someone sneaking into a crime scene. The house was quiet save for the hum of the coffee machine and the low murmur of the morning news on the TV. She’d barely made it three steps inside before she saw her mom—Tabea—at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, reading glasses perched on her nose, the picture of calm but with that trademark glint of knowing in her eyes.
"Morning," Tabea said, without looking up.
Riley hesitated. "...Morning."
She tried to sneak past her like she was still twelve and hiding bad report cards in her backpack, but the moment she reached for the fridge, her mom spoke again.
"So," Tabea began, voice too casual, eyes still on her tablet. "How’s Will?"
Riley froze mid-step, one hand on the fridge handle, a flush of heat rushing up her neck.
"W-What?"
Her mom looked up then, eyes warm and full of mischief. "You know, Will. Will Smith. Hockey star. Hidden in my hydrangeas last night like a raccoon. That Will."
Riley groaned, slumping against the fridge door. "Oh my god. You saw that?"
"I saw the top of his head rustling like a cartoon. And so did River, by the way. You’re lucky your dad’s terrible with peripheral vision."
Riley buried her face in her hands. "This is so bad. I was gonna tell you, I swear. I just didn’t know how."
Tabea chuckled and got up to pour another cup of coffee. She handed one to Riley, nudging her gently toward the bar stools. "Relax, kiddo. I’m not mad. Honestly, I’m mostly impressed."
Riley blinked. "You are?"
Her mom nodded, sitting across from her. "Will’s a good guy. Polite, driven, respectful. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way you smile when you look at him. So... I approve."
Riley let out a long, relieved breath, slumping forward onto the counter. "I really thought you were going to ground me or something."
"Oh no, I’m saving the punishment for the part where you shoved him into a bush."
Riley winced. "Desperate times."
Tabea smirked. "You could’ve at least warned him first. I had to keep River from reenacting the whole thing with his ROBLOX this morning."
They both laughed. The tension that had been building in Riley’s chest for days melted a little, replaced by something warmer. The kind of warmth that came from knowing you weren’t alone in something complicated.
But then her mom leaned in, dropping her voice like she was revealing state secrets.
"Now, about your brother."
Riley groaned. "River saw too, didn’t he?"
"Saw and enjoyed the show. And you know that boy can’t keep a secret to save his life, especially around Macklin. He worships that kid. One casual conversation and we’re all doomed."
Riley covered her face again. "I’m so doomed."
"Not necessarily," Tabea said, sipping her coffee with all the calm of a woman who had already played this game and won. "You just need to bribe him."
"Bribe an eleven-year-old?"
"Bribe him well."
Riley stared at her mom for a beat. Then she sighed. "I’ll figure something out."
—
Cornering River took strategy. He was slippery and fast, always bouncing from one obsession to another—video games, hockey, Macklin Celebrini. She caught him one afternoon post-practice, lounging on the couch in his Sharks hoodie and eating cereal while watching old Macklin highlights on YouTube.
"Hey Riv," she said, sliding in next to him with a smile she hoped looked friendly and not desperate.
"Hi," he said through a mouthful of Cheerios, eyes never leaving the screen.
She eyed him. "So. About the other night."
He paused mid-spoon.
"What about it?"
"You saw something."
River blinked innocently. "I saw lots of things."
Riley narrowed her eyes. "Bush. Boy. You know what I’m talking about."
He grinned slowly, the picture of smugness. "You mean when you shoved Will Smith into Mom’s hydrangeas?"
She slapped a hand over his mouth and looked around wildly. "Lower your voice!"
He pulled her hand off with a look of offense. "Relax. It’s just me."
"Exactly. And you’re the liability. So I need you not to tell anyone. Especially Dad. Or Macklin. Especially Macklin."
River gave a dramatic sigh and leaned back like a mob boss considering a deal. "Fine. I won’t say anything."
Riley’s shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank—"
"Under one condition."
She froze. "What?"
"You have to drive me to hockey. And whenever I want to go out."
She gaped at him. "Go out? You’re eleven. Where would you even go?"
"Not my problem," he said cheerfully. "Also—I want snacks on the way. Real ones. Not apple slices."
"I don’t drive!"
River shrugged. "You have a boyfriend who does. Figure it out."
Which is how, two days later, Will found himself in the driver’s seat of his brand new Ford Bronco with Riley in the passenger seat and River in the back, smug as ever, acting like he was royalty with state secrets locked behind his mischievous grin.
“Thanks for this,” Riley mumbled as Will pulled out of the driveway.
Will gave her a long-suffering look. “I am being blackmailed by a middle schooler.”
“Technically, we are.”
River leaned forward. “Can we get slushies after?”
“No,” they both said in unison.
And from that day forward, anytime Riley tried to skip out on a River-dropoff, he’d just send her a knowing look—the kind of look that said I know things. And every time, she’d shut up and climb into the car without protest. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“Why does Riley always get so quiet around River?” Alya asked once.
“She’s probably scared of his Fortnite kill count,” Macklin joked.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
It was a random Tuesday when it all started to unravel again.
Riley had stopped by the Sharks facility to drop something off for her dad—just a spare charger and a sweatshirt. She was walking through the hall when Mario Ferraro caught sight of her.
“Hey, Riley,” he said. “Your dad’s not in his office, but he’s around. Oh—hey, isn’t that Smitty’s sweater?”
Riley froze. She looked down.
It was a black hoodie. Very oversized. Subtle logo near the wrist. The number 2 printed faintly on the sleeve.
Crap.
“Oh,” she stammered. “No. It’s Macklin’s.”
Mario raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Thought he was wearing his black one today.”
“I mean—he has multiple. I think. Anyway—I gotta go!”
She speed-walked out of the hallway like it was on fire. Mario watched her go, eyebrows furrowed.
“...But there’s a number 2 on the hood,” he said to himself.
From that moment, the veterans on the team started watching more closely.
First it was the way Will smiled every time his phone buzzed. Like, grinned—soft and sweet in a way most of them had never seen. Then it was how he always had a smoothie on game days—one that conveniently matched the one Riley had in her hand when she stopped by. Not from the café near the rink either. From a place across the city. That took coordination.
There were bracelets—subtle, barely visible, but clearly matching. Hers had a tiny silver "W." His had a tiny letter “R.”
Then there were the glances. Not subtle ones. Full-on longing, heart-eyes, across-the-room movie magic nonsense. Like they forgot other people had eyes.
By the time the Sharks’ annual charity gala rolled around, most of the older guys already had their suspicions.
Will arrived in a deep maroon suit that looked like it belonged on the red carpet. Sleek, sharp, clearly not chosen last minute. Five minutes later, Riley walked in wearing a maroon dress—long, form-fitting, elegant as hell, the kind of dress that made people stop talking mid-sentence.
They didn’t arrive together. Didn’t touch once all night. They mingled like professionals, always in separate circles, but never out of each other’s line of sight.
But the veterans didn’t miss the matching colors. Or the way Will’s eyes followed her every time she walked past. Or the way she accidentally let a hand brush his arm when she slipped behind him to greet someone. Or how his smile lingered just a beat too long.
No one said anything. Not yet.
But the vets shared a knowing look. The kind that said: we see you. And now, it was just a matter of time.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
For a guy with killer instincts on the ice, Macklin Celebrini was alarmingly oblivious off it.
Will and Riley’s relationship had been going on for months now—hidden in plain sight, wrapped up in a string of inside jokes, soft glances, and near-catastrophic slip-ups. And while the veterans were beginning to connect the dots and River had them under playful blackmail, Macklin remained… blissfully unaware.
And that wasn’t for lack of opportunity.
It started on a quiet Thursday. The team had a rare off day, and Macklin, ever the extrovert, found himself bored and wandering. He decided to swing by the Marleau house, figuring Will would be around to kill time with him. Patrick opened the front door with a warm smile, still in his Sharks hoodie and holding a cup of coffee.
“Hey, kid. You looking for Will?”
Macklin nodded. “Yeah, just bored. Thought I’d come hang out. He around?”
Patrick shook his head, casual as ever. “Nah, he didn’t tell you? He’s out. Said he was going to see that new Marvel movie—something about Captain America or whatever. Seemed pumped.”
“Oh,” Macklin said, brows lifting. “Nice. I asked Riley if she wanted to do something earlier too, but she said she already had plans to go see that same movie.”
Patrick blinked, then shrugged. “Must be popular.”
“Guess so,” Macklin said, scratching the back of his neck. “Weird coincidence.”
And that was it. That was all he thought of it. Not that Will and Riley were together. Not that they were probably sitting side-by-side in the back row sharing popcorn and whispering their favorite lines. No, to Macklin, it was just a fluke in timing and taste.
Then there was the ring incident.
A week later, the two of them had carpooled to the arena for morning skate. Will was driving, music playing low, windows cracked to let in the cool air. Macklin had tossed his gear in the back and hopped in without a second thought.
They were halfway through traffic when Macklin reached down to adjust his seat and noticed something glinting in the cup holder.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding up a small gold ring with a delicate pearl in the center.
Will swerved slightly.
“Whoa,” Macklin laughed. “Dude, relax. Is this Riley’s?”
Will’s mouth opened and shut. Then opened again. “Uh—yeah. Kind of. She, uh, she dropped it at a team thing. I think. I told her I’d get it back to her, but I keep forgetting.”
Macklin frowned, rolling the ring between his fingers. “We haven’t had a team thing in, like, two weeks.”
Will nodded far too quickly. “Yeah, no—I mean, it was more of a small one. Not everyone was invited. Kinda like a mini-meeting. Media stuff. You know how it is.”
Macklin looked confused but shrugged. “Weird. She wears this thing everywhere.”
Will let out a nervous laugh. “She’ll get it back. Promise.”
Macklin didn’t question it again. Just handed the ring back and cranked up the volume on the music like the whole conversation never happened. Will spent the rest of the drive silently cursing every decision that led to this moment.
But the worst—the absolute worst—slip-up happened two weeks after that.
It was a chill Friday night, and Eklund, Zetterlund, and Macklin were out grabbing food at a little bar-restaurant combo downtown. Will had been invited, obviously, but he’d sent a last-minute text: Rain check. Something came up.
Typical.
They were just settling into their booth when they caught sight of a figure bolting past the restaurant’s wide glass windows—a blur of motion, tall and fast and laughing under his breath.
“Was that—” Eklund leaned forward.
“Will?” Zetterlund finished.
The figure paused just long enough at the edge of the frame, hoodie half-zipped, signature gait unmistakable. And beside him, a girl with long, bright blonde hair, wrapped in a long coat and moving just as quickly.
Macklin squinted. “Looks like him. Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
Zetterlund and Eklund shared a look.
“Could’ve sworn that was his hoodie,” Eky said.
Fabes nodded. “And isn’t that Riley’s hair color?”
“She said she was busy tonight with Grace,” Macklin added helpfully, sipping his Sprite. “Probably wasn’t her.”
The other two just looked at each other.
“Yeah,” Zetterlund said slowly. “Probably not.”
The next morning, Riley showed up at the practice facility. Hair in a loose braid, sweatshirt tied around her waist, sipping from the exact smoothie shop she and Will had made their thing. She stopped by her dad’s office like usual, waved at the media crew, and paused to say hi to the players.
Eklund and Zetterlund were in the locker room when she passed.
Zetterlund turned to Eklund. “That was her.”
“Definitely.”
“She was with Will.”
“Yup.”
“Think Macklin’s figured it out yet?”
Eklund looked over at Macklin, who was humming a random tune while trying to juggle two tape rolls and a stick.
“Not even close.”
They shared a long, amused silence.
“Should we tell him?” Fabes asked.
Eky shook his head. “Nah. Let him figure it out.”
And so the chaos continued. Riley and Will, dancing the thin line between secrecy and exposure. Macklin, somehow always inches away from the truth, but never quite stepping over the line.
If anything, it had become a game.
A very stressful, heart-palpitating, constantly-about-to-get-caught game.
But it was kind of fun. Kind of thrilling. And at the very least—it gave Will and Riley stories they’d laugh about later. Assuming Macklin never figured it out first.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Will really thought he was slick.
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when he pulled up to the Thornton house. He double-checked the text Macklin had sent earlier—something about being with family out of town for the weekend. Perfect. No risk of Macklin chaos. The plan? Play it casual. Say he dropped by to hang out. Kill time in the basement with Riley like they always did when Mack was around. Same story, different day.
He parked across the street like he usually did, tucked a little too close to the neighbor’s curb. It had become a routine by now: park out of view, sneak in, spend the afternoon curled up with Riley watching some Netflix series they’d sworn they wouldn’t binge without the other.
He knocked once before letting himself in, greeted only by the faint sounds of a hockey game playing in the living room. Joe was there, lounging on the couch in sweats, phone in one hand, remote in the other.
Will stepped inside, trying to keep his voice even. “Hey, Joe. Just came to see if Mack was around. Thought we’d hang out.”
Joe didn’t even look up. “Mack’s out of town. With his mom for the weekend.”
“Oh. Right. Uh—yeah, sh-shoot. Maybe I’ll just hang out with Riley for a bit. Maybe go watch that new movie in the basement.”
Joe nodded once, barely reacting. “Sure.”
Will turned toward the stairs, internally patting himself on the back for a smooth entry—when Joe’s voice rang out again.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, still staring at his phone, “I got a text from the neighbor. Said if you’re gonna park across from his house every night to drop Riley off, maybe don’t keep driving over his curb.”
Will froze mid-step.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—uh—”
“I mean,” Joe continued casually, “I don’t know why you keep parking there, kiddo. We have a driveway. Pretty sure it would save you the trouble of Ry having to walk down the street late at night.”
Will blinked. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. It was like his brain had short-circuited and all he could do was stand there, staring at Joe with full-on deer-in-headlights panic.
Still, Joe didn’t look up.
“Oh, and,” he added, almost offhandedly, “Tabea says you’re helping her fix the dent you left in the front bush.”
Will’s heart fell into his stomach, ice flooding his veins like he’d just missed an empty-net shot in overtime. He stared at Joe, frozen, every nerve in his body screaming. “You… you know?”
Joe finally glanced up. His smirk was infuriatingly calm. “Will. You and Riley are the worst liars I’ve ever met.”
Will gaped. “But—we’ve been so careful.”
Joe snorted. “Careful? You sneak in like it’s Mission Impossible, leave hoodies in our daughter's room, park in the same exact spot every night, and whisper to each other like the walls aren’t made of drywall.”
Will sank onto the nearest armchair, rubbing his face. “Oh my god.”
Joe chuckled, setting his phone down. “Look, I’m not mad. You’re a good kid. I’ve seen the way you treat her. You two think you’re fooling the world, but you’ve been fooling exactly one person. And that’s Macklin. Which, I mean—God love the kid, but let’s be honest…”
Will groaned. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“You’re just young,” Joe said, leaning back. “But not an idiot. You’ve been respectful, you’ve been kind, and as far as I can tell, you make her happy. That’s what matters.”
Will looked up, still shell-shocked. “So… you’re okay with it?”
Joe shrugged. “You’re not sneaking around anymore. That’s the only thing I care about. If you’re gonna be around this house, we do it the right way. None of this back-door, bush-diving, parking-sneaky nonsense.”
Just then, Riley came down the stairs with a bounce in her step, clearly unaware of the conversation she was walking into.
“Hey, Dad. Hey, Will. Ready to—” She stopped when she saw the expression on Will’s face. “What happened?”
Joe stood up, stretching his arms. “Ry, why don’t you help your mom set the table? Your boyfriend will be joining us for a proper dinner where we talk about the new rules in the house with you two.”
Riley’s face drained of color. “You what?”
Joe was already heading toward the kitchen. “Come on, Ry. Chop chop.”
She turned to Will, wide-eyed. “What did you do?”
He held up his hands. “I didn’t do anything. He knew. He knew all along.”
They stared at each other in stunned silence, the weight of Joe’s words still settling like bricks on their shoulders. Will looked like he’d been hit by a puck to the chest, and Riley’s jaw was practically on the floor. Then, from the kitchen, Joe’s voice floated back in—bright, amused, and far too cheerful for the emotional damage he’d just caused.
“And Will, no more parking like a lunatic, alright? The neighbor’s this close to leaving a note.”
From the kitchen came the clatter of plates and a soft burst of laughter. Tabea’s voice rang out: “You owe me a new hydrangea bush, Smith!”
Will slumped deeper into the couch. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”
Riley nodded slowly. “So much for thinking we were subtle.”
And as they shuffled toward the kitchen for what was now officially the most awkward dinner of their lives, they were met with two smug parents and the smell of garlic bread.
“You know,” Tabea said as she handed Riley a stack of plates, “we were going to let it slide a little longer. But you two just made it too entertaining.”
Joe raised his glass with a smirk. "To the world’s worst secret relationship. Honestly, we didn’t even need to see you look at each other anytime Will was around." He chuckled, setting his drink down. "Patty actually tipped us off a while ago. Said he kept noticing Will coming in late—like really late—and every time, it lined up with when Riley was gone with "Grace". Then there was Ry moping around the house during road trips, then suddenly perking up the second you were home again. Tabea and I figured it out way back and decided to just sit back and enjoy the show. Honestly? It’s been hilarious."
Will groaned into his hands.
Riley looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
And yet—somewhere between the teasing, the garlic bread, and the new house rules (which included, notably, no more hiding in bushes), it didn’t feel all that terrible.
It felt… kind of nice.
Because now, they weren’t sneaking. They weren’t hiding.
They were just Will and Riley.
And finally, everyone knew. Well—except for Macklin. But that was a problem for another day.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
It was a sunny, chill kind of afternoon—exactly the type that screamed off-day energy. The Marleaus were hosting one of their classic post-road-trip lunches. Nothing fancy. Just family, a grill on the deck, a few dogs sprinting through the backyard, and a healthy dose of hockey players lounging on patio chairs like exhausted golden retrievers.
The Thorntons were there too, all four of them. Joe had brought wine, Tabea brought a massive pasta salad, and Riley… well, Riley brought Will. Though technically, Will had come from upstairs—he was still living with the Marleaus as part of his billet arrangement, which made this whole inter-family hangout even more chaotic in retrospect. Because after Joe’s legendary reveal, the sneaking had officially ended. Everyone knew they were together. And since then, the couple had settled into a casual comfort that radiated through every room they walked into.
Everyone knew.
Well.
Almost everyone.
Because somehow—somehow—Macklin Celebrini still hadn’t figured it out.
They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. Riley and Will were curled up together on the Marleaus’ living room couch, his arm slung over her shoulder, her feet tucked beneath her. They were talking to Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner, who had dropped by while the Leafs were in town to visit the veterans and their families.
Auston greeted the Thorntons warmly, hugging Riley like she was a younger cousin. Mitch followed suit, ruffling River’s hair and grinning.
“So, Jumbo,” Mitch said as he plopped down across from Joe, already grinning, “I gotta know. How were you so chill when you found out Smitty was dating Riley behind your back?”
There was a pause.
A brief, flickering silence.
And then Macklin, who had been mid-bite of his sandwich, laughed.
“What?” he snorted. “What do you mean? Will and Ri—”
He stopped.
The laughter died in his throat.
He looked around the room.
At Will, who had the decency to freeze mid-sip of his drink.
At Riley, who looked down at her lap, trying to suppress a smile.
At the rest of the room, which was suspiciously quiet.
Macklin’s eyes darted from face to face.
Joe.
Tabea.
Patrick.
Auston.
Mitch.
Everyone was looking at him with the exact same expression: mild amusement and a you just now figured this out? glint in their eyes.
He turned slowly, finally letting his gaze fall on Riley and Will.
Riley had leaned into Will’s side, her hand resting on his knee. They weren’t even trying to be subtle.
“What…” Macklin started slowly. “WHAT?!”
His voice cracked with genuine disbelief. “No. No. You’re kidding. This is a bit, right? This is one of those inside joke things I’m just not in on. Will and Riley?”
Will gave him a small wave.
“Hi.”
Riley smiled apologetically. “Hey, Mack.”
“No. No way. I live with you, Riley. And Will, you’re my best friend. There’s no way you could’ve been together this whole time without me noticing. I would have known! I’ve walked into the kitchen and seen you two sitting on the same side of the table—I just thought you were bad at spacing! You guys always claimed you were just watching TV and, like, sharing smoothies. But we all share smoothies! Or at least—I thought we did! Was I the third wheel in my own house?!”
Auston choked on his drink.
Mitch doubled over laughing.
“Dude,” Patty wheezed from the other side of the room. “Come on.”
“You mean to tell me,” Macklin said, pointing between them, “that this has been happening under my nose for MONTHS?! And all those girls Will was supposedly going on dates with? The ones he said never worked out because they were ‘too loud’ or ‘didn’t vibe’? THAT WASN’T REAL? And the contact in your phone labeled ‘Lover’ that we all joked about??”
Will coughed. “Yeah… that’s always been Riley.”
Macklin looked like he was short-circuiting. “I made fun of you for weeks about that contact name and you didn’t say anything??”
Will shrugged helplessly. “I thought you were kidding. And technically, you weren’t wrong.”
Joe leaned over, clapping Macklin on the back. “It’s okay, kiddo. I told Will I approved as long as he promised to stop hiding in our bush.”
Macklin’s jaw dropped. “The bush?? You mean—that bush?”
Tabea nodded sagely. “It was a tragic loss. Hydrangeas never recovered.”
“I—HOW DID I MISS THIS?” Macklin yelled, standing now, arms flailing as he began pacing the room. “You were literally in our house all the time. I thought you just liked dinner a lot! I thought you liked hanging out with me a lot!”
Riley was giggling now, hiding behind Will’s shoulder.
Will was bright red.
Joe was openly enjoying this far too much.
“And the smoothies! The matching bracelets! The way Will would blow us off during off days!”
“Honestly, I thought you had figured it out like, ten different times,” Fabes said from the armchair.
“Same,” Eky added. “But then you just… didn’t.”
“I’m so dumb.” Macklin groaned, dropping back onto the couch and putting his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this. You were RIGHT THERE. ALL THE TIME.”
Tabea passed him a lemonade. “You’re not dumb, Mack. Just… sweetly oblivious.”
Will leaned forward. “You okay, buddy?”
Macklin peeked through his fingers. “No. I need a second to grieve the trust I thought we had.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Riley said, still laughing.
“I’m allowed! I feel betrayed! You guys made me sit through so many awkward movie nights and I thought it was just the vibes being weird. You were probably playing footsie under the blanket!”
They absolutely were.
Joe raised his drink. “To Macklin. The last to know. But still very much loved.”
Everyone clinked their glasses, grinning.
And Macklin, despite himself, smiled too.
“Okay,” he said finally. “But like… just tell me next time, okay? I can keep a secret. I swear.”
thoughts on the idea of macklin and will actually being more than friends?
their whole bromance is funny asf and wholesome, and they are clearly very two close friends who are ride or dies for one another. but with all do respect if people are genuinely believing they have romantic/sexual feelings for each other... like they are actually closeted or something... i think it's very icky, since some people tend to speculate and push narratives too much on some of these guys sexuality.
I was wondering if you could write something for samy and will based on this article: https://www.nhl.com/canadiens/news/my-man-mireille-boutin-on-michael-pezzetta?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=post&utm_campaign=CHCcontent&utm_content=EN-0514-MyMan
Basically the nhl team’s media people asking the players’ significant other questions about them. Thanks so much :))
my girl: will smith on samy hughes
hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)
nhl elite prospects interviews will about samy & their relationship!
1k words
this was suppperr cute to write. i swear will’s a yapper when it comes to talking about samy. i switched it from the article so it was will talking about samy, hope u don’t mind, but i loved this request!!
au masterlist
"we've been best friends since we were kids. everything just makes more sense when i'm around her."
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN — samy hughes is known for her tough offense on the soccer field.
but off the field, she's the "best person i've ever known," according to her boyfriend, will smith, a boston college forward.
while in san jose for a development camp, the nhl elite prospects were able to catch up with smith to ask him how he's been doing, including how his new relationship's been treating him.
TELL US ABOUT YOUR DYNAMIC GROWING UP.
it's funny because we never hung out by ourselves a lot when we were kids. i was pretty attached to her older brothers [quinn, jack, and luke] and she was attached to my sister [grace smith], so we never really hung out that much until we were older. although, we always got along. when we did hang out we enjoyed talking to one another and poking fun as if we were siblings. we really didn't get closer until i moved up to plymouth for the usntdp.
WHAT CHANGED YOUR RELATIONSHIP FROM FAMILIAL TO ROMANTIC?
at least for me, as i got older, my feelings started changing towards her. i started seeing her as an annoying sister less and less and the more we hung out when i was in michigan, the more attached i grew i guess. we started just..doing stupid stuff together and i just really liked hanging out with her. all the times where i thought the things we did together was just a sibling dynamic, i slowly realized it was a lot more than that.
WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO ON YOUR FIRST DATE?
i took her out to dinner in ann arbor and then we walked around for a bit before sitting on a bench and just talking for hours. it was definitely weird at first, but we eased into one another and it was fun getting to know her on a different level than what i've always known her as.
WHAT ATTRACTED YOU MOST TO HER?
her personality for sure. she's super outgoing, always knows what she wants, very independent, super caring. we're very similar in many aspects, hence why we're best friends. she looks up to her brothers a lot which i admire because i also look up to them. i also enjoy her extensive knowledge of hockey because of her family, so it's easy talking about the game with her. she's just always been someone i go to when i need a shoulder to lean on and it's just so easy with her, you know? i love getting to call her so we can talk about our days together.
OF COURSE, HOCKEY'S IN SAMY'S ROOTS. DO YOU GET HER ON THE ICE WITH YOU EVER?
oh yeah, 100%. whenever we're back at michigan or in boston, we're on the ice. she's the one dragging me outside sometimes so we can play 1v1 or something. she's always had that love for hockey even if she doesn't play competitively anymore. i also love seeing her out there because it's what bonded us when we were kids, so it's nice still getting to go out and do it with her. somehow she still beats me too. she doesn't play for 4 months and then we're back on the ice together she scores 3 goals before i can even get the puck in my possession. the guys chirp at me whenever that happens if they're around.
HOW OFTEN DO YOU WATCH HER SOCCER GAMES?
every single one of them are on my computer. it doesn't matter what i'm doing. as soon as the live stream starts, i'm booting it up to watch. the guys love watching her play, so i always get to turn it on the tv and then we scream at the stream for two hours together.
SPEAKING OF THE GUYS, WE HEARD SHE HAS A GREAT RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR LINEMATES AS WELL.
leno and perreault absolutely adore her which i think is really sweet. i was a little worried when i first introduced all of them back when we moved to mich, but the three of them grew close really quickly. sometimes i think they're more excited to see her than i am and that's saying a lot.
WE HEARD HUGHES IS A GREAT COOK. HAS SHE COOKED ANYTHING FOR YOU?
when we're at the lake house she loves cooking all of us breakfast. she makes a great omelette and french toast, like, the best i've ever had. we all go crazy for her breakfast in the mornings.
DO YOU GUYS EVER TRAIN TOGETHER DURING THE SUMMER LIKE RUNNING OR WORKING OUT?
i'm not a huge runner, but sometimes i will run with her when she goes out, or i'd bike along side her. our training schedules are pretty different, but when we're in the offseason we'd occasionally hit the gym together or do some casual workouts that won't kill us. she knows what the hockey training is like so it's no stranger to her when she does follow my lead. soccer, on the other hand, is a lot more sprints and footwork which is sometimes helpful for me.
CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT SOME OF SAMY'S BEST QUALITIES?
shes a huge team player. she's always looking out for those girls on her soccer team, helping them run drills, being someone to talk to—i really admire her for that. she's got a real big heart too. her love is so contagious. she's dependable, trustworthy, kind, beautiful—the list could go on coming from me.
ANY LAST WORDS YOU WANT US TO ADD?
i love her, haha. our parents knew way before us that we would end up together before we even knew. we've been best friends since we were kids. everything just makes more sense when i'm around her. this is probably corny, but i wanna spend the rest of my life with her. she's my rock.
