my future | will smith
Pairing: will smith x fiancé!reader
Prompt: Will knows he shouldn’t be doing it, he knows you’re technically his fiancé, not his wife. But he can’t help it as he keeps letting ‘my wife’ slip out when talking about you
requested
It all starts with takeout. You, Will, and Mack are sprawled around the living room after a long day, a game humming on the TV more for background noise than anything else. Mack is half paying attention from the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling on his phone as Will is stretched out beside you, one arm behind your shoulders.
Nobody wants to cook, it was a given by the groans each time one of you mentioned going to the grocery store. Which means, Will is ordering food. He has the restaurant on speaker for a second as he pulls up the menu, then switches it off and sits forward, one hand holding the phone to his ear while the other taps lightly against your leg.
“Yeah, can I do the chicken parm,” he says easily, glancing at Mack as he points to himself, silently telling Will the same for him. “Can I make that two, actually?” Will says, nodding a bit as his eyes flick down to your finger which is pointing at what you want on your menu. “And my wife will have the vodka rigatoni.”
The side of the room you and Mack are sitting on goes dead silent, your head snapping toward him. Next to you, Mack’s eyes go comically wide at the exact same moment yours do. He looks at you, and you look at him. Then, both of you slowly turn back toward Will.
Your fiancé, meanwhile, is just nodding into the phone like he has not just dropped a bomb in the middle of ordering Italian.
“Yeah,” he says to the person on the other end, completely calm. “And can you add an order of garlic knots too?”
Mack is staring at him like he has just witnessed something medically concerning, and you are pretty sure you are too. And as Will ends the call, setting his phone on the coffee table, he leans back again, not saying a word to either of you.
“Uh, what was that?” Mack asks, and the question causes Will to blink in confusion.
“What was what?”
“You just said ‘my wife’ like it was nothing.” Mack says, sitting up a little straighter now.
“Okay?” Will says, glancing between the two of you, looking genuinely confused by this being a topic.
“Okay?” Mack repeats. “That’s your response? Okay?”
You can feel heat climbing into your face, because there is something about the total lack of care that gets you. There’s no teasing tone, no pause, no look to see your reaction first. He just said it like he didn’t even notice.
“You can’t just say that,” you say, your voice feeling small, wobbly almost.
“Why not?” Will asks, his mouth twitches as he takes in the shocked expressions.
“Because I’m not your wife.”
“Engaged is close.”
“No, it is not, that’s skipping arguably a very important part.” Mack disagrees, making a noise like he can’t believe his best friend doesn’t see the problem.
“You did want the rigatoni, right?” Will questions, and that completely derails you for a minute.
“Well… yes.” You start, your face feeling so hot you could probably cook an egg on it. “But Will, that’s not the point.”
“It’s what you wanted, I don’t see the big deal here.” He says, kicking his feet back up on the coffee table as he watches a bit of the game on the tv.
“You’re impossible.” Mack aims at his best friend, dropping his head back against the couch with a groan.
You are still staring at Will, still in shock, in awe. Still red in the face and honestly starting to sweat a bit. He catches it, finally giving you one of those lazy smiles that has the power to make you smile even on your worst days.
“What?” He questions, and he would never admit it, but seeing you like this is half of the fun.
“You said it so casually.”
“Because it felt casual.” He says, his arm finding its way behind you again.
“Can you get all of this mushy stuff out of the way before my dinner gets here? If you guys flirt in front of my chicken I’m going to chuck it at your head.” Mack says to Will, scoffing slightly as he looks back down to his phone. You could only guess he’s lighting the Sharks group chat up with what just happened.
You try to ignore the way your chest has gone all soft and weird over two words, but it does not work. And the thing that is almost as shocking as being called his wife, is that he’s not flustered or backtracking, hell, he doesn’t even seem interested in defending himself.
—
The second time it happens, Grace is in town. She comes down for the weekend, and by Saturday afternoon the three of you are out shopping, carrying too many bags and stopping every few blocks because Grace sees something else she wants to drag you toward. It is fun and loud and easy, full of teasing, slightly too much caffeine, and Will pretending he is not just there to carry things.
Eventually, you duck into a grocery store because Grace wants snacks for later, and Will insists on grabbing stuff for dinner. So you are standing in front of a shelf full of pasta sauces, comparing jars while Grace debates noodles a few feet away. Will grabs a jar of sauce, slipping it into the cart and starting to walk.
“No, not that one.” You say, grabbing it out of the cart and putting it back on the shelf.
“What’s wrong with that one?” He asks, turning his gaze to you as your eyes scan the shelves.
“You always pick that one.”
“And?”
“And it’s too chunky, it freaks me out.” you say, reaching past him to take a different jar off the shelf. “This one is better.” Will looks at the jar in your hand for maybe half a second, debating whether or not he wants to tease you about the smoothness of pasta sauce, but he chooses against it. He just nods, and swaps them without argument.
“You’re right. Happy wife, happy life.”
Grace stills, you freeze with your hand still hovering between the shelves, and Will just continues on like nothing happened.
“Excuse me?” she says, way too loudly, all thoughts of noodles leaving her head. “No,” she says, already laughing. “I must have heard that wrong.”
“What did I say?” Will asks, his wide grin telling both you and his sister that he knew exactly what he said.
“You called her your wife, in the pasta aisle.” She dead pans, shock and surprise so evident on her face and in her voice.
Will just stares at his sister like she is the one being weird. “And?” He says with a shrug, leaning against the cart.
“Can we maybe lower our voices?” You ask as you feel your face getting hotter by the second, not wanting to make a scene in a grocery store.
“Does he do this all the time?” Grace asks, pointing between the two of you delighted.
“Sometimes.” You supply.
“Sometimes?”
“More than sometimes.” You mutter.
Grace makes the most dramatic noise in the world and grabs your arm. “And you let him?”
Will answers again before you can. “She doesn’t stop me.”
“That is not the same thing,” You say, trying to defend yourself.
“Why don’t you stop him?” Grace asks the question as she narrows her eyes.
You open your mouth, but then close it, no words coming out. You never thought in the pasta aisle you would be having this conversation, but here you are. The siblings wait for you to respond, Grace still floored, and Will still leaning against the cart, waiting for whatever bullshit excuse he knows you’re going to try and supply. He knows how it affects you, he sees it on your face every time the words ‘accidentally’ slip from his lips. But you come up short, no explanation will cover your tracks, because the truth is embarrassingly obvious, and Grace sees it.
“Oh my god,” she says, everything falling into place in her mind. “You like it.”
“No, I don’t.” You hesitate as the lie leaves your mouth.
“You do,” she says immediately. “That was way too slow.”
Will is smiling now, small and smug and fond in equal measure.
“Don’t.” You say, pointing your manicured finger at him.
“I didn’t say anything.” He says, holding his hands up in defense.
Grace starts laughing so hard she has to grab onto the cart for support. “I cannot believe this.” But she is still laughing as you move on to the next aisle, and every time she catches your eye after that she starts grinning all over again.
—
The worst part is that it gets under your skin for the rest of the day. Not in a bad way, but in the kind of way where your skin feels flushed everytime you think of it.
Happy wife, happy life.
By the time the teasing stops, dinner is ate, and the sun has long since set, Grace is in the guest room, and the apartment has gone quiet. You are both in bed, the room dark except for the small lamp on Will’s nightstand. He is lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, while you curl on your side facing him, one hand resting on his chest.
For a little while neither of you say anything, but you break first.
“You really don’t care, do you?”
“About what?” Will asks, glancing down at you.
“You know what.” You say, propping yourself up a bit so you can see his face clearly. His hair is messy against the pillow, and it takes everything in you not to run your fingers through it and forget about it all.
“Ah, you must mean the pasta sauce.” Will says, and he can’t keep the cheeky look off his face as you gasp.
“I’m not talking about the sauce, William.”
“Woah, full name?” He gapes for a second, but then he cocks his head, looking into your eyes. “You mean calling you my wife?”
You press your lips together, already a little embarrassed that you are bringing it up at all. “Yes.”
“Why would I care?” He asks, looking like he almost doesn’t understand why everyone is so shocked by this.
“Because-“ You start, but you honestly aren’t too sure what to say. He looks at you for a second, expression softening into something quieter. There is still the amusement there, but underneath it is that steadiness he always gives you when he is being real.
“Because?” He asks, waiting for you to continue, but you don’t. You just look down, at a complete loss for words. “No baby, I don’t care that I’m saying it because you’re gonna be my wife,” he says simply. “I know you’re not yet,” he confesses as his fingers slide up and down your back. “I just don’t feel weird about it.”
“You don’t think people will think it’s strange?” You ask him, your heart speeding up, and your eyes making their way back to his.
He lets out a short laugh. “People do think it’s strange. Mack looked like he was about to pass out the other night.” That pulls a laugh from you. “And Grace almost yelled in the grocery store.”
“She did yell in the store.” You correct, your pointer finger tracing small shapes on his bare chest as you smile. But then your voice softens again. “Still. It doesn’t… I don’t know.. embarrass you?”
“Why would I be embarrassed?” Will ask, his brows drawing together like the question itself does not make sense. You don’t know how to answer that, and maybe he can tell that because he answers for you. “I love you,” he says, his fingers going to your chin so your eyes would meet his. “I’m going to marry you. You’re the person I think about when I think about home and my future and all of it. So why would I be ashamed of calling you what you’re going to be?”
You stare at him, at a complete loss for words. And Will just smiles softly, the teasing gone from him. His hand comes up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his eyes searching your face in the dim light. “Does it freak you out?” And the level of sincerity in his voice hits you like a blow to the chest.
“No,” you say softly. “It doesn’t freak me out, it’s just,” you look down at his chest for a second, fingertips smoothing over his peck. “You say it so easily.”
“Because it is easy.”
You laugh a little, but it comes out shaky around the edges. “You know that makes it worse, right?”
“Worse?”
“In a good way,” you mumble and Will’s face changes, it is subtle, but you see it. He cocks his head, almost like he wants to hear you say it again. You make a small sound and hide your face against his chest. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You say with a whine, as he laughs softly, one hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you there.
“So you do like it.” He jokes, but then yelps as you pinch his side, shoving you softly as you both laugh. “I hope you know it’s not some joke,” he says quietly. “I’m not saying it to mess with you.” His fingers move, tracing slowly along your back. “Sometimes it just comes out.”
The room feels very still all of a sudden, and you glare at him weakly as he just grins and leans up enough to kiss you, soft and slow. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead against yours.
“I can stop,” he murmurs. “If you want me to.”
That gets your attention, and because it is late, or because your heart too full of love to lie, you whisper, “I don’t want you to stop.” Will goes still for half a second before he smiles, and it is soft and bright at the same time.
“No?” He questions, and you shake your head. His arms tightening around you, drawing you fully against him until there is no space left between you. “Good,” he says. “Because I have no intentions of stopping.”
