genre: domestic fluff, realistic family romance, slice-of-life.
warnings: mild pregnancy discomfort, very light parenting tension (resolved quickly and lovingly), zero angst.
summary: nhl forward will smith and you are raising ten-year-old twin boys, charles and theo, who both dream of going pro. will’s intensity on the ice has always been part of the package, but now that the boys are hitting the age where hockey starts to feel like work, his ‘hockey-dad mode’ is creating tiny cracks at home especially with a baby girl due any week. a quiet kitchen conversation after practice reminds everyone that love, not pressure, is what keeps a family (and a dream) alive.
fia’s note: ahh finally got to update another dad!will smith fic for you guys, i’ve genuinely missed being on here and just… yapping with everyone 😭 especially about dad!player thoughts you know, those ‘what if in another universe…’ kind of ideas that slowly turn into full-on storylines in my head at 2am, there’s just something about domestic, soft, slightly chaotic dad energy that i can’t let go of like the idea of him balancing hockey and fatherhood, being strict one minute and then the softest dad ever the next… yeah i think about that way too much. anyway!! if you ever wanna come talk, share ideas, scream about fics, or just yap in general, please don’t be shy 🫶 my anon ask box is always open and i really do love hearing from you guys it makes writing all of this feel even more special!! i missed you guys a lot, truly. thank you for sticking around and being so sweet and supportive, hope you enjoy this dad!will fic 💙
fia’s masterlist | pow-wow box
“You can’t be serious, Mom. Dad made us do bag skates again.”
Theo dropped his hockey bag on the kitchen floor with a thud, cheeks still flushed from the rink. At ten he was already the spitting image of Will. You shifted on the couch, one hand resting on the very round swell of your belly, and tried not to laugh at the sheer injustice painted across his face.
“Bag skates, huh?”
“Twice,”
Theo groaned, flopping sideways so his head landed in your lap like he was still five.
“Charles kept up, but I was dying. Dad kept yelling ‘You want the NHL? Then earn it!’ like we’re already in the draft or something.”
Charles wandered in behind him, quieter, cheeks just as red but mouth set in a determined line. He was the mirror twin same features, opposite energy. Where Theo exploded, Charles simmered. He set his own bag down more carefully and shrugged.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was so bad,” Theo muttered into your sweater.
“And Grandpa was there so Dad went full coach mode. I swear he smiled when I puked in the trash can.”
You ran your fingers through Theo’s sweaty hair, heart doing that familiar tug-of-war. Part of you wanted to defend Will, he was only trying to give them the head start he never had. The other part, the very pregnant, very tired part, ached at the thought that their favorite sport was starting to feel like a chore.
Before you could answer, the garage door rumbled open. Boots on tile, the familiar clink of keys in the bowl, and then Will’s voice, warm and a little winded, floated in.
“Boys! How we feeling after that session? Told you the second round would build character.”
Theo made a sound like a dying walrus and buried his face deeper into your side.
Will appeared in the doorway still in his Sharks hoodie, and the sight of him hit you the same way it had since the very first day you met him at a charity skate twelve years ago. Thirty now, two kids deep (three any minute), and somehow he still glowed. Fatherhood had only sharpened it, made it softer around the edges.
He clocked the scene immediately, Theo dramatically horizontal, Charles hovering like a referee waiting for a penalty call, and you trying to keep a straight face while rubbing slow circles on your belly.
“Rough one?”
Will asked, voice dropping into that gentle register he saved for home.
Theo lifted his head just enough to glare.
“You made us skate until I saw stars, Dad.”
Will’s eyebrows rose, but the smile never left. He crossed the room in three strides, dropped a kiss on your forehead, then ruffled both boys’ hair.
“Stars are good. Means you’re pushing. You said you wanted to play pro, right?”
“Yeah, but not today,” Theo mumbled.
Charles stayed quiet, but you caught the way his shoulders sagged just a fraction.
You reached up and squeezed Will’s wrist.
“Babe, can we talk after they shower and eat? I think the troops need a debrief.”
Will’s eyes met yours, the same look he gave you across the ice when he knew you were watching from the family box. He nodded once.
“Absolutely. Shower, dinner, then we’ll circle up. Sound good?”
The boys trudged upstairs, feet heavy on the steps. Will lingered, hand settling over yours on your belly. The baby girl inside gave a lazy kick right on cue.
“Hey, princess,” he whispered, leaning down so his forehead touched yours.
“Your brothers are dramatic tonight.”
“They’re ten,” you said softly.
“And their dad is kinda intense.”
He huffed a laugh, but there was a flicker of something uncertainty, maybe behind the easy charm.
“Intense is what got me here, babe.”
“I know.” You brushed a thumb across his cheek. “We’ll talk.”
Dinner was just like any others dinner, spaghetti, too much garlic bread, Charles reenacting a deke he pulled in practice while Theo stole meatballs off everyone’s plates. Will told stories from the road trip last week, hands flying like he was still on the ice. The boys laughed in all the right places, but you noticed Theo’s glances toward you, like he was waiting for backup.
After plates were cleared and teeth brushed, the twins climbed into their bunk beds, Charles on top because he liked the view out the window, Theo on bottom because he liked being closer to the door in case of ‘midnight snacks.’ Will read them one chapter of the hockey book they were on, doing the goofy voices that always cracked them up. By the time he closed the door, the house had settled into that rare, golden quiet that only happened after bedtime.
You were already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug of herbal tea when Will padded in, socks sliding on the tile.
He didn’t speak at first. Just wrapped his arms around you from behind, careful of your belly, and rested his chin on your shoulder. The familiar scent of his shampoo and the faint trace of rink ice clung to him.
“Alright,” he murmured against your neck.
“Lay it on me. I can tell you’ve been thinking since Theo face-planted in your lap.”
You turned in his arms so you could see his face. Up close, the tiny worry lines between his brows were new fatherhood lines, you liked to call them.
“Theo said you went pretty hard today,” you started gently.
“Bag skates twice. He puked.”
Will winced. “He told you that part.”
“He did. And Charles didn’t say much, but I saw his face. Will… they’re ten. They love hockey. They talk about playing in the NHL the same way they talk about ice cream for breakfast. But if it stops feeling like fun—”
“I know.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“I keep thinking about my own dad. He never pushed, but he also never had the chance to. I was the one who had to figure it out alone. I just… I look at them and I see so much potential. They’re fast, they’re smart, they’ve got hands. If they really want this, I want them ready. Every hockey dad I know starts the grind early. I figured ten was old enough to start building the habits.”
You reached up and smoothed the worry line with your thumb.
“I get it. I really do. And at first I thought the same thing, when they turned ten and started getting wild, a little structure felt right. But babe, there’s a difference between structure and… well, making them puke and then come home looking like someone kicked their puppy.”
Will’s shoulders dropped. He pulled you closer, one hand splayed protectively over your belly where the baby girl was doing slow somersaults.
“I don’t want them to hate it,” he said quietly.
“God, that’s the last thing I want. I just… I see the path, you know? The one that’s hard and long and full of kids who quit at fifteen because no one ever taught them how to grind. I thought if I started now, they’d thank me later.”
“They will thank you,” you said, “but maybe not for the puking part.”
A small laugh escaped him, warm against your hair.
“Fair.”
You stayed like that for a minute, the kitchen clock ticking softly, the baby doing her nightly dance between you.
“I’m not saying stop coaching them,” you continued.
“You’re incredible at it. They light up when you praise them. But maybe we ease up on the ‘every practice is a tryout’ vibe. Let them goof off sometimes. Let them remember why they fell in love with the game in the first place because it’s fun, because they get to be on the ice with their dad, because they get to come home and tell their very pregnant mom all about it.”
Will was quiet for a long beat, then nodded against you.
“I hear you. Loud and clear.”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, that same glowing, heart-stopping smile slowly returning.
“When did you get so wise?”
“Pregnancy hormones and ten years of watching you be the hottest dad on the planet,” you teased.
He grinned, the full Will Smith megawatt version that still made your stomach flip even at thirty weeks pregnant.
“Hottest, huh?”
“Objectively. The league’s official stats.”
He laughed, and kissed you, the kind of kiss that said thank you and I love you and we’ve got this all at once.
When he pulled away, his hands framed your face.
“Tomorrow I’ll take them to the rink early, just the three of us. No bag skates. We’ll do skill stuff, then I’ll let them challenge me to a shootout. Loser buys slushies. And I’ll tell them straight up that I got a little carried away. That I’m proud of them no matter what.”
“They’re gonna love that,” you whispered.
“And you,” he added, forehead to forehead again, “are gonna sit here with your feet up because my wife is growing our dream girl and she deserves a break from driving two feral hockey players everywhere.”
“Deal.”
He kissed the tip of your nose.
“I love you. More than I loved the game even on draft day.”
“I love you too. Even when you make our kids puke.”
He winced again, but this time it was playful.
“Too soon.”
You laughed, later, after Will had carried you upstairs (because “pregnant wife privileges”) and you were curled against him in bed, his hand resting on your belly, you felt the baby girl give one last strong kick.
“Think she’s gonna want to play hockey too?” Will murmured, half-asleep.
“Probably,” you whispered.
“But we’re starting her at zero bag skates until she’s at least… twelve.”
He chuckled, the vibration rumbling through his chest.
“Deal.”
In the morning the boys would wake up to a slightly less intense dad and a mom who had reminded him gently that sometimes the best way to build future pros was to let them stay kids a little longer. And Will Smith, NHL star, strict-but-learning dad, and still the most handsome man you’d ever seen held you like you were the real trophy. Just like the day you met. Just like always.
In which you and Will unintentionally traumatize your older brothers!
Part two of this au!
Warnings?; light kissing, cursing, jokes, Will being touchy feely, uhhh I can’t remember any others. Ending isn’t the best sorry😔
You loved having Will at the lake house with you, summer was your favorite time of the year and there was nothing you loved more than being back with the people you loved most and Will was now one of those people.
However Will was being weird.
Since the day you two had arrived at the house Will had barely touched you beyond a light brush of his hand on your lower back, his hand locked in yours when you guys went out for dinner, or the quick kiss he placed on your head every night.
And needless to say you missed your boyfriend’s touch especially when he’d spent his better half of the past two weeks shirtless.
You two were sitting at the table eating breakfast with your brothers when the idea struck you.
Everyone looked up as you slid your chair back, “I’m gonna head up and get ready to tan. You boys have fun golfing if I don’t see you before you leave.” You smiled leaning down to kiss Wills head.
“You’re not coming?” Your eldest brother raised a brow.
“Nah, I’ve had enough golf for this week and my tan lines are uneven. You guys have fun.” You smiled before moving towards the kitchen.
You were placing your bowl in the dishwasher when Will entered.
“You sure you don’t wanna come?” He asked.
You had to bite your lip to hide the amusement tugging at your lips, “I’m sure bubs, go have fun with the guys.” You turned towards the blonde giving him a soft smile.
He nodded in understanding sliding his own bowl into the dishwasher, “I’ll be up in a minute to get ready myself.”
You gave him a soft okay pushing the dishwasher closed, placing a peck on his chin before heading off towards your bedroom.
A few minutes later Will was pushing your bedroom door open pausing slightly at the sight of you in his favorite bathing suit.
He shut the door with a light cough shaking his mind of the dirty thoughts and adjusting his shorts. He had to remind himself that your brothers were downstairs or in their own rooms that weren’t far from yours at all.
You smiled at him as he rounded your bed towards the dresser to grab golf shorts and shirt, and just as the man wasn’t expecting it you pushed with all your might and jumped onto his back.
Will’s laugh broke through the room as your arms locked around his neck, his large hands instinctually catching your legs so you didn’t fall.
“What are you doing?!?” He laughed.
“I’m not letting go until you agree to give me a proper kiss.” You sassed tightening your legs grip around his middle.
“What?!? We just kissed downstairs!”
You huffed out a dramatic sigh, “yeah on the chin! I want you to kiss my lips will. Not my head, my cheek, my chin, or my forehead. I want you to hold the back of my neck or even my ass like you always do and kiss me until I can’t breathe.”
Will felt guilty at your words, he had been neglecting you slightly and it wasn’t fair. He felt awkward kissing or touching you like he usually did knowing your family was lurking around any corner or even in the room but you still deserved some sort of loving.
“Okay, okay. If you let go I’ll kiss you all you want.” He agreed.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He confirmed with a small giggle.
You unlocked your arms as he dropped your legs, Will didn’t waste a second before he was turning around to face you.
He shook his head as your pleading stare, his hands dropped to your waist pulling you in close as he dipped down to lock his lips with yours.
The seconds your lips connected Will realized how much he missed this especially when you hummed into his mouth, your manicured nails threading into his curls tugging the strands just enough to make a groan escape him.
His tongue pushed into your mouth effortlessly moving against yours as you both fought for control but you didn’t make it easy for the blonde to take over.
You were kissing him back just as eager, the pent up need to feel him against you like this finally being able to break free.
It’s when his large hands finally drop to your ass that your bedroom door flies open, the loud sound of exaggerated gagging fills the room.
“Oh ew! What the fuck.” You hear Luke groan.
Will jumps back like he got burned his hands flying to his sides as if he wasn’t just grabbing a hefty handful of your ass with both hands.
You roll your eyes and turn around with an annoyed huff, “can you please learn how to fucking knock?”
“We didn’t think you two would be fucking!” Jack argues.
“We weren’t having sex Jack we were kissing.”
He grimaces, “that’s just as bad.”
Quinn smacks the back of both of their heads as he passes by, “let’s go you two assholes. Let them have some alone time.”
“You’re okay with this?!?” Luke points a thumb at you two his eyebrows raised in question.
Quinn puts his hands on his hips giving your brother a look, “they’re 20 years old and in a relationship. should we bring up the summer we caught you and that girl in the basement your junior year?”
You laugh at the memory, Quinn covered your eyes the second he unfroze from shock, jacks laugh bellowing out behind you two as the girl scrambled to get off of Luke.
The defenseman went red at Quinn’s words, his hand reached for your door handle as the other pushed Jack out of the way.
“Use protection! We’ll make sure we grab lunch at the course. Love you.” He waved slamming your door shut.
You and Will stood there for a second still processing what the hell just happened.
Will waited until he heard three car doors shut and your phone ping with a notification that your brothers had left the house before he tackled you on to the bed.
“Will!” You laughed as the blonde trapped you below him.
“Now it’s my turn to hold you hostage.” He gave you a toothy smile.
“I’m not complaining.” You shrugged tugging his lips back to yours by his chain.
And as the blondes lips worked their way down your body, teeth nipping at your breasts that were spilling over your strapless top, you couldn’t help but think that maybe this may have been your best idea yet.
Even if your brothers got traumatized in the process.
warnings: mild language, hockey violence (fight), mentions of past relationship, protective behavior.
summary: during a heated game against a rival team, an opposing player runs his mouth about you, will’s girlfriend, while you’re sitting in the stands. will, normally calm and collected, sees red. what follows is a penalty, a postgame ejection, and a media frenzy. but behind it all is a deep, fiercely protective love. and even if it costs him a suspension, will would do it all over again for you.
fia’s notes: not a single will smith fic on my blog? truly unbelievable and absolutely unforgivable. so here i am, ready to right my wrongs. i’m so sorry, my will baby. it’s your time to shine now.
You didn’t expect to become a headline.
You were just there to support your boyfriend, front row, scarf in team colors, cheeks flushed from cold arena air and nerves. The San Jose Sharks were playing one of their most physical rivals tonight, and your boyfriend, Will Smith, #2, was centering the top line.
You knew the risks. Trash talk. Scrums. Elbows that just missed the mark. But you never expected you would be the reason Will dropped his gloves.
Not until it was too late.
The game was tense from the first puck drop.
Will’s face-off opponent, a smirking winger from Calgary, had bumped into him twice before the first whistle even blew. ‘Typical,’ you muttered, leaning over the glass as Will bent low in position, his eyes locked in focus.
But the moment that changed everything came in the second period.
It was a line change.
You saw it. Will was skating toward center ice when the opposing player, number 88, angled in too closely, bumping shoulders. You barely noticed it… until you saw Will’s posture stiffen. He turned his head.
Paused. Said something under his breath.
Then all hell broke loose.
Will shoved him. The other guy shoved back.
And then, gloves dropped.
You stood up instinctively, heart in your throat as Will gripped the collar of the guy’s jersey and landed a clean, brutal punch right to the jaw. He didn’t stop there, another hit, then another, until the refs had to yank him away, his chest heaving, mouthguard halfway out of his lips.
The arena erupted. A fight that came out of nowhere.
Except… it hadn’t come out of nowhere.
Because just before it happened, you saw it. Number 88 skated past your glass, eyes flicking up toward you in your seat and you saw his mouth move. Just a few words. Not even audible. But his smirk was unmistakable.
And Will had seen it too.
Ten minutes later, you found yourself pacing outside the Sharks’ locker room.
“He get kicked?”
You asked one of the Sharks’ media reps, trying to sound calm. Your voice cracked instead.
“He got tossed, yeah,” the rep said.
“Coach is dealing with it. He’ll be out soon.”
You nodded, hugging your arms tighter around yourself. Your phone buzzed, Twitter already ablaze with videos of the fight. Headlines forming.
‘Will Smith drops gloves in mid-ice melee. Sharks center ejected for retaliation’
‘What did #88 say? Fans speculate on mystery chirp that triggered brawl’
Your lips pressed together as you glanced at the slow-motion replay.
Will’s jaw had been locked. That wasn’t just frustration. That was personal.
And the second the locker room door creaked open, and you saw Will standing there, damp hair falling over his forehead, bruised knuckles clutched in an ice pack—
You knew it.
“Will.”
He looked up at you.
A thousand emotions flickered in his eyes, there’s anger, protectiveness, and… relief. He walked toward you, silent for a second before speaking low.
“He said your name.”
You didn’t even have to ask.
“What did he say?”
Will clenched his jaw. His voice was tight.
“He said he used to know you. Said it was ‘cute’ how I played house with someone who’d already moved on from him once.”
Your breath caught.
You knew who that was. You hadn’t seen your ex in years, but you remembered the smugness. The possessiveness. He’d never played professionally when you were together, but apparently he’d found his way into the league, onto a rival team, no less.
And he’d had the audacity to say that during a game.
“I saw the look on your face,” Will added, quieter now.
“I saw you go pale. I knew it wasn’t just trash talk.”
You swallowed, stepping closer.
“You didn’t have to fight him for me.”
Will’s eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I did.”
You ended up in the parking garage together, sitting in his car in silence for several long minutes. Will’s hand rested on your knee, thumb rubbing small circles through your jeans. His knuckles were red, swollen, a little blood crusted along the edge of his ring finger.
He’d gotten in a full-blown fight. For you.
“You’re going to get fined, aren’t you?” you finally said, voice soft.
“Probably suspended, too,” he admitted.
“Coach’s gonna be pissed. PR’s already calling it ‘emotional overreaction.’”
He looked at you sideways.
“I don’t regret it.”
Your heart ached at the raw truth in his voice.
“Will…”
He turned toward you fully.
“He disrespected you. Said something that no one should say, especially not about you. He thought he could get in my head. Make you a target. And I wasn’t about to let that slide.”
You reached over, brushing your fingers along his jaw, where a faint red scrape marked where the guy had landed a single hit.
“You’re not supposed to be a fighter.”
“Don’t care,” he muttered.
“He crossed a line. You don’t bring people’s girlfriends into it. He was smirking like he won something.”
You smiled faintly.
“Well, now he’s eating through a straw, so…”
Will laughed, short and breathy, and leaned his head back against the headrest.
“I knew the moment he looked at you. I’ve seen that look before. I just… snapped.”
You hesitated before speaking.
“I didn’t know he was on that team.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Will reached for your hand this time, lacing his fingers with yours.
“He’s not in your life. I am. And I don’t care what it costs me, I’m not letting anyone disrespect the person I love.”
Your breath caught.
He’d never said that out loud before.
You stared at him. “You love me?”
Will looked back at you, eyebrows drawn together slightly like he was almost surprised you had to ask.
“Of course I do.”
It came out without hesitation, without fluff or fanfare. Like it had been true for a long time, and tonight just cracked the seal.
“I’d do it again,” he added.
“Drop gloves. Take the hit. Hell, sit a game out. If it meant protecting you? Easy choice.”
You leaned across the console and kissed him.
It wasn’t just gratitude, it was love. Pure, intense, bursting-out-of-your-chest love.
When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.
“You’re going to be the talk of Sportsnet tomorrow.”
He smirked.
“Good. Maybe they’ll leave out the part where I nearly fell over my own skate trying to get to him.”
You snorted. “I’ll edit the footage myself.”
Will squeezed your hand again.
“Can I come over after this? Just want to be with you tonight.”
You nodded. “Of course.”
The headlines did blow up.
‘Smith Ejected After Fight Over Girlfriend’s Name Drop.’
or
‘Sharks Center Stands Up for Love: ‘I Don’t Regret It’’
or
‘Protective King or Overreacting Rookie? NHL Debates Will Smith’s Fight’
But none of it mattered. Not to you.
Because that night, when he showed up at your apartment with his overnight bag and an awkward smile, you welcomed him in with warm hands and a warmer heart.
You iced his hand.
You made him tea.
You curled up beside him on the couch and watched the replay, this time from the safety of your blankets, his arm around your waist.
And when he whispered again, “I love you,” like it was second nature, you whispered it back. Loving him wasn’t always going to be easy, but it was going to be worth every penalty minute.
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!
join fia’s taglist. | pow-wow box.
“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.
Comforts and Kisses | Will Smith & Macklin Celebrini
summary: when the sharks lose another game there is only one person Macklin and Will want to see, you.
request: yes/no
warnings: throuple, minor to minimal swearing
word count: 1.09k
authors note: hello loves! this is our first attempt at a throuple that had nothing to do with a threesome and I have to say that I actually really enjoyed this little piece, so if you saw my post I am tempted to turn this into a drabble series so let me know if it is something you guys want because it would be driven by what you guys want to see. this is apart of the one shot wonder event which still has space for requests if you are interested!
The boys were feeling rough after the loss.
You already knew they were coming straight to yours after the game after you couldn’t make it, needing to get course work done. They always felt like they didn’t do as well when you weren’t in the crowd. Nevertheless, they understood that your studies took priority “baby?” Macklin called out as he opened the door to your apartment “living room!” You got up, not entirely sure where your boys wanted to go. Sometimes they’d arrive, desperate for a shower, sometimes it was dinner, and other times it was just wanting to hold you.
Their footsteps were heavy against your floorboards “shouldn’t have left your door unlocked.” Will clicked his tongue, seeing you in one of his hoodies “didn’t know if you guys had your keys.” You explained that Macklin was notorious for forgetting his key at yours.
But whatever potential argument was about to start, was cut off when you saw how the younger boy’s cheeks were tear-stained “sweet boy.” You sighed, opening your arms for Macklin to walk straight into them.
He instantly melted into your touch “we played like shit today.” His words made you frown when your fingers ran through his hair “you tried.” You shook your head “you both did.” Will didn’t often need to be comforted by you but that didn’t mean that he didn’t like to be acknowledged.
Your way with words often made Macklin feel better “yeah maybe you should tell your dad about that.” Your dad was the coach of the team so Will sometimes took his anger out on you “yeah I’ll make sure to bring it up during family dinner and I’ll even tell him that I’m fucking two of his players.” You scoffed, hating how the blonde would let his feelings about your dad choose how he reacted to you sometimes.
Will felt his lips push into a thin line “please don’t fight.” Macklin pleaded, running his fingers along you the waistband of your shoulders “not tonight.” His words were soft while he kissed your collarbone.
You both felt bad looking at the younger boy “you’re right.” You ran your fingers along his cheek before pulled him into a kiss. Macklin felt your tongue run along his lower lip before you pulled away.
His cheeks were red, making you smile “I am sorry.” You apologised to Will, watching him rake his fingers through his hair “me too.” He motioned to you to come closer to him.
Will couldn’t help but sigh “it has been a rough week.” The boys had lost three games on the bounce so they were looking forward to a few days off “how can I help you?” Will loved how caring you always were and he made that known as he kissed your forehead.
A smile formed in Macklin’s face seeing you two okay again “I honestly just want to forget about the last few days.” Will’s confession came as you pressed a peck against his lips, assuming that he meant sex “you wanna pick a movie for us Mack?” The offer made his teammate’s eyes light up.
Will squeezed your hand “maybe later for that, Mack has been talking about a cuddle all day.” Your cheeks turned red feeling the older boy kiss your earlobe as he whispered his words to you.
Macklin sat on the couch with the remote in his hand as he stared at the screen “don’t go sitting anywhere that isn’t right here baby.” He patted the side of the couch next to him as it was your usual spot “you coming with us?” It was a two-seater couch but they often found themselves sat resting against you as you’d play with their hair.
Will nodded, sending you a smile when he sat down before he pulled you into his lap “fast and furious baby?” You asked watching Macklin press play “you okay with that?” He never wanted to disappoint you so he was constantly double-checking.
You softly smiled tapping your chest “c’mere.” Macklin didn’t need to be told twice as he rested his head on your shoulder “thank you.” He kissed your neck, not entirely sure how else to please you in that moment.
Will mimicked his teammates actions as he too begun to nip at your neck “fuck.” You caught your lower lip between your teeth as you arched your back against the couch “you good?” Will reached, watching Macklin lean up to your lips.
The younger boy teased you, letting his lips dance over yours “thought I was meant to be making you both feel better?” You breathed wanting to pull Macklin closer to you.
And the younger boy wasn’t going to stop you from that as his lips grazed yours “you being here makes us feel better sweet girl.” Will cooed seeing how his words made you smile “shush it’s getting to a good part!” Macklin grumbled, shooting the both of you a glare before he rested his head back on your shoulder.
The boy brought your hand into his hair, emphasising what he wanted from you “bossy.” Will mouthed making you smile as you kissed the younger boys head. The blonde ran his fingers over your thigh, he knew he should have been watching the movie but still feeling a little irritated, he loved how you looked in his hoodie.
His eyes staring at you made your thighs press together “such a pretty girl.” The blonde boy mumbled resting his head on your other shoulder, opting to behave for the night as his hand sat on your stomach. Softly, he pushed your hoodie up to reveal your skin. He knew your stomach was sensitive and he played into that when he looked up at you.
Macklin was just watching the movie, occasionally turning his head to kiss you “stop it.” You warned Will after he had been the one to turn you down earlier “I just wanna feel what my hoodie has got to feel all day.” Will whispered into your ear with a smirk.
His calloused fingers were rough against your soft skin “don’t remember telling you to take it.” It had been in his own closet, so you took it when you were over having out with them “looks so much better on me, though, don’t it?” You winked blowing him a kiss before Macklin sucked at his teeth.
The brunette reached up to grab your jaw with two of his fingers “watch it doll.” He ordered wanting you both to shut up because at least then you focus on playing with his hair.
Can you write sth for Will Smith where him and y/n are good friends. Maybe they met through Mack or sth so she’s in the same friend group.
And during a gathering with their friends someone drunkenly blurts out that Will‘s got a thing for y/n and he’s super embarrassed and she’s baffled cause she didn’t think he’d ever even consider her cause he‘s Will and she’s just…herself.
When he gets up to get a drink or sth she follows and he’s a bit defensive until he clocks on to her also being down bad for him and it’s all soft and cute 🥺
Thanks love!! 🫶🏼
Most Likely To | Will Smith
main masterlist
so sorry for the wait. tried my best putting everything you requested!
requests: open | word count: 1567
Macklin Celebrini’s apartment was the definition of chaos on a Friday night. Music played from a speaker, empty pizza boxes cluttered on the coffee table, and the whole Sharks team and their significant others were scattered across the place. Someone had brought a deck of cards, but abandoned it five minutes in favour of arguing about who was the worst cook on the team.
Valarie Hayes sat cross-legged on the couch, a throw blanket tangled around her legs, laughing so hard her eyes crinkled. Mack was trying to convince everyone that pineapple belongs on pizza, and she was having way too much fun proving him wrong.
“Pineapple on pizza is so good tho!” Mack protested, voice breaking with laughter.
“No, it’s not!” Valarie said, gasping between laughs.
“You have no taste!” Mack shot back, and everyone howled.
Across the room, Will Smith leaned against the counter, a red Solo cup in hand, watching the scene with a grin that wouldn’t go away. There was something about the way Valarie laughed, uninhibited, genuine—that made the entire room feel softer.
He didn’t notice he was staring until Tyler Toffoli nudged him with an elbow.
“Careful, kid,” Tyler murmured, smirking. “You’re gonna burn a hole through her.”
Will blinked, heat creeping up his neck. “What?”
“Nothing.” Tyler hid his grin behind his drink.
Will rolled his eyes but turned away to watch Mack and Valarie’s banter. He didn’t know how it had happened, really. One day, she was just Mack’s friend—the funny, sweet girl from Vancouver who somehow fit seamlessly into their group and the next, she was his friend too. The one who stayed after games to hang out, who sent him dumb memes at two in the morning, who always seemed to know when he needed someone to talk to.
And somewhere in all that, she’d gone from “Mack’s friend” to “the person he couldn’t stop thinking about.”
Hours passed. The laughter softened into easy chatter; people sprawled across furniture, relaxed and comfortable. Someone suggested playing a game, and that game was Most Likely To.
Mack grinned with a bit of mischief in his eyes. “Alright, who’s most likely to forget their wallet?”
“Will,” Tyler and Valarie said in unison.
Will groaned. “You guys never let that go.”
“You owe me twenty bucks because you forgot your wallet when we went out for lunch!” Mack shot back.
Valarie leaned over to nudge Will with her foot. “You even forgot it at the rink last week.”
He smiled at her, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to tell them that.”
Her grin widened. “Oh, I definitely was.”
“Okay, okay,” Mack said, laughing as he leaned back. “Most likely to be secretly in love with one of their friends.”
The group oohed and laughed, a few people pointing at random targets.
“That’s a setup,” Tyler said immediately.
“Yeah, pass,” Will muttered, already bracing for it.
But Mack pointed straight at him. “Smitty.”
Will froze. “What?”
“You,” Mack said, dragging the words out dramatically. “You’ve got a thing for V. Don’t even try to deny it.”
The laughter was instant, loud, teasing, and merciless.
Will’s face went hot. “You’re drunk and insane,” he tried to say, forcing a laugh. “You’ve had, what, four beers?”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong!” Mack crowed, raising his glass.
Valarie froze. Her pulse skipped, her stomach twisting into something unsure. Him? Will Smith, her friend, the guy who could have any other girl, liked her?
She blinked, staring at Will. His jaw tightened; he was blushing, but the way his eyes darted away from hers when they made eye contact made something in her chest twist.
The teasing went on around them, but neither of them laughed this time.
Will mumbled something about getting another drink and disappeared into the kitchen.
The room kept buzzing around her, but all Valarie could hear was the echo of Mack’s voice.
You’ve got a thing for V.
The noise dulled as he left the room. The kitchen light was dimmer, the air cooler. Will leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face, the fridge light spilling across the floor. His heart was still thudding too fast.
“Nice going, Mack,” he muttered, running a hand through his curls.
He wasn’t angry, exactly—just mortified. That wasn’t how he’d wanted her to find out. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted her to find out.
He stared at the sink, trying to steady his breathing, when a familiar voice spoke behind him.
“Hey.”
Valarie’s tone was soft, hesitant.
He turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, bathed in the faint gold light from the hall. Her hair had fallen out of its clip, and she looked uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if she should be there.
“You okay?” she asked gently, slowly walking towards him. “You kind of bolted.”
“Yeah, I just needed a second.” He tried to keep his tone easy, but his ears still felt warm.
She leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something soft and citrusy. “You know he was just teasing, right?” she said. “He usually acts like an idiot when he drinks.”
Will huffed a laugh, eyes flicking to the floor as he fidgeted with his fingers. “Yeah, I know.”
“But,” she added gently, “you looked… really embarrassed.”
He hesitated. The truth sat heavy in his chest, pressing at his ribs. He’d spent months dodging how he felt, laughing it off, telling himself she’d never think of him that way. But now, with her looking at him like that, patient and curious, it was hard to pretend.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly how I planned for that to come out.”
She blinked. “So it’s true?”
Will looked up at the girl as her green eyes widened, a flicker of something soft in them.
He laughed nervously. “Guess Mack’s not that drunk.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the fridge filled the silence. Valarie’s heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it.
“You like me?” she asked quietly, disbelief threading her voice.
Will swallowed, gaze steady. “Yeah. It’s kind of hard not to.”
The words hung between them — fragile, real.
Her breath caught. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “That’s… crazy,” she whispered. “Because I thought I was the only one who—”
She stopped in hopes Will didn’t hear her, but it was too late.
Will’s eyes softened. “You what?”
Her cheeks flushed as she lightly shook her head. “Nothing.”
He took a small step closer, voice low. “Val.”
She bit her lip, then sighed, looking up at him, finally giving in. “Fine. Maybe I like you a little too.”
He smiled, slow, warm, a little disbelieving. “A little?”
“Okay, maybe more than a little.”
Something eased in his chest, replaced by something lighter. He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “You could’ve told me, you know.”
She laughed, nerves melting into something lighter. “Well, now I know for next time.” Val teased.
That made him laugh too, a quiet, genuine sound that sent warmth rushing through her. Before his hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering just long enough to make her shiver.
The kitchen lights all of a sudden felt too bright, the space too small, as her heart raced.
“Val,” he said softly, voice rough around the edges.
She looked up at him, heart in her throat. “Yeah?”
He didn’t answer, just leaned in.
The kiss started gentle, almost hesitant, like neither of them wanted to break the moment. Then she rose onto her toes, her hands finding the front of his hoodie, and it deepened, still soft, but sure, the kind of kiss that felt inevitable after all the almost moments they’d shared.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were smiling, cheeks flushed, a little dazed.
They lingered there a while, hands still linked. The tension that had always hovered between them had shifted into something new, something easier.
Valarie grinned up at him. “You know, if I’d known all it took was Mack getting drunk, I might’ve encouraged it sooner.”
He chuckled, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. “You’re evil.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Can’t believe I like you.”
“Can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”
He leaned in again, stealing another quick kiss that made her giggle against his mouth. “Happy now?”
“Very,” she said softly.
They stood like that for another moment—close, warm, smiling like fools, before Mack’s voice carried from the living room.
“Yo Smitty, where are you? Did you run away from embarrassment?”
Will groaned quietly. “And there it is.”
Valarie laughed, squeezing his hand. “Come on, let's go before he comes looking.”
They walked back toward the noise, fingers intertwined. The chatter picked up immediately, Tyler raising an eyebrow, Mack grinning widely when he noticed their joined hands.
He pointed, grinning. “I knew it! I hope you know I’m taking full credit for your guys' relationship.”
Tyler groaned. “Oh, here we go.”
Will just shook his head, cheeks red. Valarie laughed, wrapping her arm around his, leaning against him, putting her head on his shoulder.
And for once, Will didn’t mind being the center of attention. Not when her hand was still warm in his.
...In which Will Smith Hockey, head over skates for her, loses his nerve when it comes to saying three words that might have given him everything he dreamed of...
"Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place…The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue...”
Will Smith could probably remember every time he'd ever done something stupid. Whether that meant there weren't many or he was a haunted hyperthymestic, Will didn't know. But chief among them was when he invited her to his pond.
It stood nestled among the trees, a short walk from his home. The water sat relatively still, glistening shyly in the moonlight. The occasional ripple from slow-blowing wind barely broke the surface tension. It whistled quietly around Will—as if it knew that nothing could break the tension within him.
He’d long dreamt of sitting next to someone during moments like these. The quiet, sacred moments where all he could do was think. He’d dreamt of it so long, he’d begun to believe it was all in vain. It wasn’t that no one was ever good enough, or pretty enough, or smart enough—there were plenty of girls who fit those criteria—but he never saw himself with any of them. He’d begun to figure that, one day, he’d have to settle. Settle for someone who was just good enough.
Until he met her.
The moment they locked gazes in theater class, he saw the rest of his life flash before his eyes. He saw himself waving at a gurgling baby Will from the opposite side of the glass. Of buying a house with her, learning mortgages and taxes and budgeting like he was some sort of Dave Ramsey aficionado. And eventually turning that house into a home with a Hobby Lobby bought painting here and there, a corny welcome mat, that big dog to protect his people when he was away, and a baby or two.
And then, when he heard her speak, he swore there was a symphony of color that erupted before those wide baby blue eyes. And when she choked with emotion during her monologue, eyes slightly glassy, he felt an unignorable urge to wrap her in his arms and promise everything was going to be okay. Only then to move Heaven and earth to make good on that promise.
She was perfect. Sure, sometimes they disagreed, but it wasn’t about that. It was about the way that she stayed when he was an idiot and accepted his apology. And he did the same when it was her fault…because she wasn’t like those other girls who refused to ever be wrong. She could laugh at herself while still holding herself to a high standard. She wasn’t perfect, but, oh yes, she was.
The smartest thing Will had ever done was take the chance to get to know her and learn her coffee order and where she’d be between classes on Tuesday/Thursday as opposed to Monday/Wednesday/Friday. Of how terribly shy she was when it came to anything remotely athletic, and how well her intellect matched and challenged his.
His mother had demanded to meet her. After endless 9 pm phone calls where his parents dozed off as he droned on about her perfect smile and the way she wore her hair that day (compared to how she wore it on Monday), they had a burning desire to meet the girl who had bewitched their cool-headed son.
So when she told him she wasn’t going home for the long weekend, he offered her the guest bedroom. It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing…but she agreed. And when he saw her interact with his family, he knew she was perfect. She ate his mother’s cooking like it was her last meal, praises falling from pink, perfectly kissable lips. She answered his father’s every question about her goals and aspirations in life with such patience. She and Grace were giggling like they’d known each other for years the minute they met.
But when he was finally able to steal her away and sat with her on the bank of the pond, the water lapping welcomingly at her feet, he found his mouth was too dry to speak. He chewed slowly on the mint gum nuzzled between razor-sharp canines, and was suddenly convinced he should have gone with an actual mint if he wanted to kiss her. But then again, a mere mint didn’t provide all the benefits — the confidence — that his trusty piece of Extra did.
As he sat, getting caught within the pros and cons of the little details, he missed an opportunity to lightly knock his shoulder against hers and get a little closer—her sweet scent wafting beneath his nose like it knew he breathed it like a drug. Or to lean back against his hands, like she was doing, and ghost his fingers against hers. Or to let her catch him admiring the way her hair shimmered in the silvery moonlight, or how the flush of her cheeks matched those pink (still perfectly kissable) lips she used to shoot dazzling smiles at him.
He was consumed with the devilish thought that he’d mess everything up if he did. She was too perfect to be anything more than a fantasy. Despite wanting every part of her, to hold her heart like it was made of glass, he couldn’t risk rushing something meant for another moment.
He thought everything they’d grown into was fickle, like a house of cards. And even the freshest, mintiest breath that spoke Shakesperian words of adoration could knock their relationship flat. Somewhere deep within him, he knew he wasn’t just dreaming anymore, but all the stuff in between his heart and brain screamed at him not to be a fool. This was something he couldn’t stand to lose over three little words, no matter how true. It wasn’t just what they had; it was her. He couldn’t lose her.
So, he sat quietly back—his hand next to hers—and reveled in an unbroken moment. Because, no matter how deeply it cut his heart, he refused “…to go and spoil it by saying something stupid like, 'I love you.'"
