will smith x reader where she needs him after an argument and he doesn’t answer and she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore?
𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭
pairing: will x reader
wc: 2k
note: i wrote this super late at night so i barely had time to edit it so please let me know if i have any typos !
it’s been five days since the argument between you and will had taken place and all you’ve gotten from his end is radio silence. it wasn’t that you didn’t try because god, you really did.
you tried so hard.
every text left on read, every call going to voicemail, completely avoiding you at the group hangouts. at first you thought that he may have needed some space, that he was angry and needed some time to cool down but then your mind starts to wonder that maybe he just didn’t care enough to come back to you.
and that thought hurt like a bitch.
because on your end, despite how mad or upset you’ve ever been with him, if he called you’d still answer his calls or text so quick.
you’ve spent most of your days in bed, not even wanting to head down for hangouts with the group anymore knowing that will would be there and completely ignore you the entire night. being in the same room while he acted as if you never existed hurt more than not seeing him at all.
class then back home, work and then back home and that was how your last few days have been looking.
it wasn’t until your friend had finally had enough of your depressive state that you finally leave your house by using her birthday as an opportunity.
all you wanted to do was stay in bed and mope around with a tub of ice cream and a romcom movie in the back to give you some comfort of a relationship when yours with will felt like it was hanging by a thread.
“i hate seeing you this way y/n, come out tonight. for me please?”
and with that you knew you had no choice. you will be leaving and staying out late tonight, no exceptions which leaves you standing in a overcrowded bar wishing you were anywhere but here.
the music was blasting, people all around you having such a good time with their people but you on the other hand feeling the most miserable you’ve ever felt.
the drink in your hand barely sipped at as your friends around you joked around about who knows what. you couldn’t bother to pay attention even if you tried because your mind was currently elsewhere. you glance down at your phone, your last text sent to will stared right back at you.
you: please just talk to me will
read eight hours ago but no response.
you could feel your throat tighten up as you blink back the tears, locking your phone.
you can’t cry; not right now especially when you’re here to celebrate your friends birthday. the group spreads around, some of your friends grabbing another drink, some on the dance floor but you stayed in the booth still working on your first drink of the night.
“hey.”
you look up from your drink, your eyes locking on the man in front of you definitely older and standing a bit too close to your liking.
“hi?”
you look back down at your phone, clearly hoping he’d get the clue and walk away but of course not. your luck always terrible in these situations and now all you wished is that you didn’t respond in the first place.
“you here with somebody?”
“yep.”
“gotta boyfriend orrr?”
your heart feels like it could collapse any moment.
“yeah.”
he laughs, shaking his head. “that’s unfortunate, where is he though?”
you stay quiet, not knowing what else to say but the heaviness in your chest now doubled up more than it was before you came to the bar.
“must not be around if you’re sitting here alone.”
you stand up, trying to excuse yourself from the situation because staying quiet and dry clearly hasn’t worked in your favour so far.
“i’m good, please leave me alone.”
“oh come on now, let’s not be so hasty.”
he follows behind; trying to catch up to you.
“i’m not interested.”
he scoffs, “you didn’t even try and get to know me.”
“i don’t want to.”
you turn to leave but before you could take another step his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist hard stopping you in your tracks.
you freeze.
“i’m just trying to talk.”
his grip tightens slightly and you hiss at the pressure around your wrist.
“let go of me, what the fuck?”
“relax.”
“i said let go!”
you yank your arm harder, managing you get out of his hold stumbling back. your breathing begins to falter and all you know in the moment is that you need to leave.
you turn around and bolt towards the doors, clutching your wrist tightly to yourself. you can hear your friends calling for you but you don’t seem to care, all you need in that moment is to get out of the club.
the second you step outside of the bar, the tears begin streaming down your face. you take a deep breath, trying to regulate your breathing but it wasn’t working and it all just hits you at once.
the fight.
the silence.
the guy grabbing you.
you just needed will, you just want your boyfriend.
with shaky hands, you pull out your phone finding wills contact and hitting the call button.
its rings a couple of times before going to voicemail.
your stomach drops as you try ringing him again.
please answer.
straight back to voicemail, you bite back a sob that ripples through your body now. hands shaking you try one last time. straight to voicemail this time.
and that unanswered call hurt the most because that means he was ignoring you. your legs begin to shake underneath you as you take a seat against the curb, wrapping your arms around yourself as you break into sobs.
then another name crosses your mind.
macklin.
you find his contact and hit call not expecting him to answer so quick.
“hey y/n, what’s up?”
the second you hear his voice, you break down in sobs again.
“mack.”
“hey— hey woah. what’s going on?”
you felt like you couldn’t breathe, everything just becoming too much for you to handle.
“mack.”
“hey— i’m here. slow down for me.”
you try your best to calm yourself down, trying to get the words out as quick as you could without sobs tearing through you.
“some guy— some guy grabbed me.”
the line goes dead quiet.
“what?”
you could hear muffled movement in the back, “what do you mean grabbed you?”
“he wouldn’t leave me alone mack, he grabbed my arm and i told him to stop.”
you let out another shaky sob.
“where are you?”
“i’m outside.”
“okay— okay good. stay where you are.”
the calmness in his voice makes you want to cry more and before you could think the words came slipping out.
“i called will.”
“yeah?”
“i called him mack, i called him three times.”
your voice breaks as you continue, choking back a sob. “and he didn’t answer.”
what you didn’t know is that will is sitting with macklin, listening to every single word over the phone standing up so quickly the second he hears your sobs on the other end. that every word was hitting him like a bus.
“i needed him. i needed him and he didn’t answer.”
will felt as if he could throw up. every bit of anger he felt about the argument had completely vanished. all he knew was that you were crying and that you needed him and he didn’t fucking answer.
“where are you?” macklin asks and you give him the name of the bar you were at.
“does he hate me?”
will freezes as he hears those words.
“y/n—”
“because i don’t know why else he won’t talk to me.”
will felt like his heart has been ripped out of his chest as macklin looks at him with a look he can’t exactly read.
“he doesn’t hate you y/n, i promise.”
his voice is firm, like he’s trying to get it through to you.
wills already moving beside him unbeknownst to you, grabbing his keys but he doesn’t miss the last part of the phone call.
“mack.. i just want him.”
“i know, i know y/n. just stay where you are.”
-
you stayed sitting on the curb, not trusting your legs one bit to be standing. you wrap your arms around yourself, face buried in your knees that you barely hear your name being called.
“baby?”
your head snaps up once you hear his voice. the second you see him and how concerned he looked you can’t help but sob, getting up as quickly as you could with your shaking legs into his arms.
wills arms wrap around you without a second thought, pulling you tightly against him. “i’ve got you.”
“will.”
you can’t make out anything else, sobs taking over your body. you don’t even know what you’re crying about more. whether that will finally came or just everything finally catching up to you.
you cling to him tightly, afraid he’s going to disappear if you let go.
“i know, i know. i’m so fucking sorry.”
“i called you will.”
“i know baby.”
“you didn’t answer.”
will can physically hear his heart crack at how broken you sounded because he didn’t have an excuse. he was angry and immature when all you needed was him.
“i’m so sorry.”
you buried your face deeper in his chest and for the first time in days will lets himself hold you as tight as he possibly could.
-
the entire drive wills hand never left your leg; every few seconds he glanced over to make sure you were okay.
once you both finally get inside the apartment, you’re out of it. will follows behind you to the bedroom, grabbing one of his team issued shirts standing in front of you.
“arms up.”
you do as he says, too tired to even argue against anything. his hands slowly pull the dress off your body; wills eyes landing on the bruise that’s littered around your wrist.
“fuck.” his hands gently brush over the bruise, his heart breaking at the sight of you. the bruise on your arm making the whole thing finally sink in.
someone put their hands on you.
you needed him and he wasn’t there.
“will.”
“i was so angry about the stupid fight. so fucking petty and you needed me and i should’ve answered.”
you blink back tears, looking down at your fingers.
“i thought you didn’t love me anymore.”
will kneels in front of you leaning down to eye level, hands resting on your thighs.
“what?”
“i thought maybe you were done with me.”
“baby-”
“you wouldn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t answer. i thought you stopped loving me will.”
wills hands come up to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. his eyes teary as they lock with yours.
“don’t ever think that.”
“will—”
“i was angry, and i acted like an idiot but i never stopped loving you. not for one second, i don’t even think im capable enough to ever do that.”
your lips wobble, “really?”
he lets out a watery laugh, “i’m so in love with you y/n and i’m so sorry that i ever made you doubt that.”
the tears you’ve been holding back finally start streaming down your cheeks and this time for a whole different reason. tears of relief after five days of thinking you lost your boyfriend.
will wraps his arms around you, pulling you down into his lap placing kisses against your forehead. “i’m so sorry.”
“i’m sorry too will.”
he shakes his head, pulling you back from his chest locking his eyes with yours.
“hey no, don’t apologize for any of this.”
“but i—”
“no.”
his hands come up to caress your face, resting his forehead against yours as he lets out a shaky breath.
“i love you, i love you so fucking much okay?”
you nod but will shakes his head.
“no baby- i need you to use your words. i love you, do you understand that?”
“yeah, i love you too will.”
he leans closer, his lips pressing against yours. you melt into the kiss immediately, hands coming around his neck to pull him closer to you. he pulls back a bit, resting his forehead against yours.
“never am i ever giving you a chance to have to call macklin because of me again.”
Will Smith publicly loved many things in life; home alone, hockey, “people watching”. But off screen, he loved more. It wasn’t like he was planning on keeping his family a secret, he just had no reason to expose his children to the limelight—not that you cared. Plus, it’s not like the fans didn’t know of your existence. For years you were a blurry face in the background, a head leaned on his sister’s shoulder in her tiktoks, the woman everyone assumed was one of his cousins because you “had the same last name.” But then a fan invaded your privacy, and suddenly the whole world realized they never really knew Will Smith.
pairing dad!will smith x fem!reader Mrs Smith masterlist
could you write a smut for will smith where him and reader go raw for the first time and will literally cant control himself at the new feeling
thanksss
heaven and back
tft master list masterlist
Pairing: tft!will smith x fem!reader
wc: 3.6k
Content Warnings: oh boy... where to begin. NSFW, unprotected sex, explicit smut (mf), roughness, marking, possessive will(?), creampie, you're a whiny girl who cries a little when your boyfriend fucks you.
AN: MEOW MEOW MEOW
Synopsis: you and will fuck raw for the first time! yay!
part one part two
The front door to his apartment slammed behind you with a sound that should’ve woken the neighbours. Will’s mouth was on yours before the lock clicked, his hands fumbling with the knot of your bikini top as you backed toward the stairs.
The hallway wall hit your shoulder blades hard enough to knock a gasp loose, but Will swallowed it with his mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip as his fingers tugged at the knot of your bikini top. The fabric gave way with a wet snap, saltwater dripping between your breasts as he palmed one, his thumb brushing over your nipple with a roughness that made your knees buckle. You fumbled with the button of his trunks, laughing against his mouth when it refused to budge. "Fuck—" Will groaned, breaking away just long enough to shove the fabric down his hips himself, kicking it off somewhere near the staircase.
The banister dug into your back as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel him—hard and hot against your stomach—as he carried you up the stairs, his grip slipping once when your wet skin slid against his. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, nearly tripping over the last step, but you were already pulling him down the hall, your fingers tangled in his hair as you backed into your bedroom door. It creaked open under your weight, and suddenly you were falling, the mattress hitting the back of your thighs as Will followed you down, his body covering yours with a weight that stole your breath.
His mouth trailed down your neck, sucking at the salt still drying on your skin, and you arched into him, your hands scrabbling at his shoulders.
"Off," he demanded, tugging at the knot of your bottoms.
The thought flickered through your hazy mind—how lucky you were that the apartment was empty, that no one would hear the way the bedframe groaned as Will shifted his weight, his hips pressing yours into the mattress. (you really didn’t want a repeat of last time when Mack had to listen to you go at it like rabbits and then help you two fix Will’s bed.) His fingers fumbled with the drawer of his nightstand, knocking against the lamp, and you could hear the crinkle of foil before he even pulled the condom out. You reached for his wrist before he could tear the wrapper open. "Don't," you breathed, your voice already wrecked, and Will froze, his pupils blown wide. "Will, please. I need you now."
"But—"
"You know I'm on the pill, Will, please just fuck me. Please."
The moment Will’s tip skimmed your slit, dragging through the wetness there, you swore your vision whited out. His touch was deliberate, teasing—the bastard knew exactly what he was doing, circling your entrance with the tip of his cock but never pushing in, just letting the heat of him hover there while you whimpered into the crook of his elbow. "Will," you gasped, your hips bucking uselessly against his restraint, "stop being such a fucking—ah—"
His laugh was dark, uneven, as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds again, smearing your slick between you. "Such a what?" he murmured, his breath hot against your jaw. "Say it."
You could feel him grinning against your skin, the cocky bastard, and you dug your nails into his shoulders hard enough to make him hiss. "Tease," you spat, but it came out half-moaned, your voice cracking as he finally, finally pressed the tip inside—just enough to stretch you, just enough to make your back arch off the mattress.
Will groaned, his forehead dropping to your collarbone as he inched deeper, his hips rolling in slow, torturous circles. Every drag of him sent sparks up your spine, your thighs trembling around his waist as he bottomed out with a curse. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice ragged, "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—"
Will groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as he rocked deeper, the drag of him so slow it bordered on cruel. "You feel—" he started, but the words dissolved into a hissed curse as you clenched around him, your nails biting into his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, keep doing that and I'm not gonna last."
You laughed, breathless and unsteady, but it caught in your throat when Will pulled out almost entirely, the head of his cock just barely inside you before he pushed back in with a sharp thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. "Asshole," you gasped, but your hips arched up to meet him anyway, your body betraying you with every ragged breath.
Will grinned down at you, his hair damp with sweat and saltwater, his eyes dark with something hungrier than you'd ever seen. "You love it," he murmured, dragging his cock through your folds again just to hear you whimper. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your thighs shaking, and you nearly sobbed when he slid back into you—this time with no hesitation, no teasing, just one smooth stroke that buried him to the hilt.
The sound you made was obscene, half-moan, half-scream, and Will's hips stuttered like he hadn't expected it either. He choked out a moan, his grip on your hips tightening as he set a brutal pace, each thrust punching a broken noise from your throat. The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his movements, the rhythm so relentless you could barely catch your breath between gasps.
And then it was gone.
"Will," you whined, your voice cracking on the single syllable, and his smirk was downright sinful as he traced your entrance again, the tip of his cock catching on your folds just enough to make you sob. "God, you're dripping," he murmured, his voice thick with awe, and the way he said it—like he was discovering something sacred—sent heat crawling up your neck.
His thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles, and you nearly screamed, as he pushed back in, your nails raking down his back hard enough to leave raised red lines in their wake. Will hissed but didn’t pull away, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm that had you seeing stars.
The sound ripped from your throat before you could stop it—a guttural, desperate moan that didn’t even sound like you, raw and unfiltered in a way that made Will’s hips stutter mid-thrust. His breath hitched, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he stared down at you, eyes wide like he’d just discovered something earth-shattering. “Jesus Christ,” he choked out, his voice wrecked, and you barely had time to process the awe in his tone before he was moving again, deeper this time, his cock dragging against some spot inside you that made your vision blur.
You were close—so close you could taste it, the heat coiling tight in your belly—but the second Will’s rhythm faltered, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck, you slapped a hand against his chest. “Wait—wait—” The word came out slurred, your fingers twisting in his sweat-damp hair as you pushed him back just enough to roll your hips beneath him. Will groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening as you flipped him onto his back in one clumsy, drunken motion, the mattress creaking in protest beneath you.
The moment you straddled him, sinking down onto his cock with a gasp, his hands flew to your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head dropping back against the pillows as you rocked against him, slow at first, then faster, your nails scraping down his chest just to watch his abs clench under your touch. His throat was flushed pink, sweat glistening in the hollow of his collarbone, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to drag your teeth over the sensitive skin there, sucking until his groan vibrated against your lips.
Will’s thumb found your clit again without hesitation, his touch rough and uncoordinated in the best way, and you nearly sobbed at the contact, your thighs trembling around him. His words dissolved into a groan as you clenched around him, your hips rolling in desperate little circles that had his fingers twitching against your skin. The pressure built like a storm, every nerve in your body alight, and when Will’s breath hitched, his grip on your hips turning bruising, you knew he was close.
The sound that tore from your throat was raw—something between a gasp and a sob, pitched higher than you’d ever heard yourself before. Will’s hips jerked beneath you like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in your skin. “Fuck,” he choked out, his voice shattered, and you could feel the way his cock twitched inside you, pulsing with every ragged breath he took. “’M gonna cum.”
You didn’t recognize yourself—the way your body moved, the noises you made, the sheer need that had you grinding down on him like you were trying to fuse your bones together. Will’s hands slid up your sides, rough and desperate, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before settling on your hips again, guiding you into a rhythm that had your vision spotting at the edges.
The words left your lips before you could stop them—raw, ragged, barely recognizable as your own voice. "Inside, please—Will, I want—" Your plea dissolved into a moan as his hips snapped up into yours, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that made your thighs tremble. You could feel him twitching, pulsing, his breath coming in uneven gasps against your neck.
Will groaned, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "You—you're sure?" His voice was wrecked, strained with the effort of holding back, and you nodded frantically, your nails scraping down his chest. "Yes, yes—Will,please— inside, inside, inside!"
Will didn’t need to be told twice. His hips jerked up once, twice—then he buried himself deep with a groan that sounded ripped from his chest, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your waist as he came. You could feel it—the hot pulse of him inside you, the way his cock twitched with every throb, the sharp exhale that ghosted over your collarbone like a prayer.
The sensation hit you like a lightning strike—sharp, sudden, inescapable—as Will pulsed inside you, his release triggering your own with brutal efficiency. Your body clenched around him in erratic waves, your nails digging crescents into his chest as pleasure ripped through you with a force that left you gasping, shaking, your thighs quivering against his hips. The orgasm tore through you until you collapsed against his chest with a sob, your forehead pressing into the sweat-slick hollow of his throat.
Will’s hands slid up your back, slow and reverent, his fingertips tracing the ridges of your spine like he was memorizing them. His breath was still ragged against your temple, his chest rising and falling beneath you in uneven hitches. “Holy shit,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, and you could feel the way his laugh vibrated through you, warm and disbelieving.
╰ Synopsis You and Macklin were bestfriends at BU, hating on Will with a passion. But him following you and texting you, quickly changed your mind.
tags/contains Will Smith x fem!reader. Fluff, angst, enemies to lovers (kind of), Macklin Celebrini x platonic!reader, takes place at BU/BC, secret relationship, mutual pining, jealousy, kissing, mentions of underage drinking, 2.7k words, requested.
➺ from Sera, to you📨. This felt a bit rushed, so sorry. But plss need some feedback!!
masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it!
Being friends with Macklin at Boston University meant that you absolutely hated Boston College. Not the school itself, necessarily, the campus was fine, and the parties were decent but more specifically, you hated their hockey team. And more than anyone on that team, you hated Will Smith.
You couldn’t even remember the exact reason the hatred had started. Whatever it was, Macklin remembered and told you, and that was enough for you. He was one of your closest friends so obviously you were on his side.
Anytime there was an upcoming game where BU was playing against BC, you two sat in your dorm room and complained about him. “He’s just a pretty boy..” Macklin grumbled, scrolling through his phone with a scowl. “He literally thinks he can just flash that stupid smile and the refs will hand him the game.”
“Right? God forbid he actually works for it instead of relying on those baby blues and flowy hair.” You agreed. You didn’t even notice you knew that information about Will, but Macklin didn’t think much of it so neither did you.
Macklin laughed. “Exactly. I don’t know, he just thinks he’s God’s gift to the sport..”
So when the notification lit up your phone _willsmith2 started following you. you nearly dropped it.
You were in the dining hall between classes, when the little heart icon appeared. Why the hell was he following you?
You didn’t follow him back right away. You even considered showing Macklin the notification just to laugh about it, but something stopped you. Instead, you closed instagram and went about your day like it hadn’t happened.
That resolve lasted until you were back in your dorm room, lights dimmed, your roommate already asleep. It was a little after 11pm when boredom and curiosity finally won. Your thumb hovered over the button for a long second before you clicked Follow Back. The blue button turned gray instantly.
Not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a new message.
Will Hey👀
You stared at the message, this was a terrible idea. If Macklin ever found out you two were even following each other after all the shit talking.. you didn’t want to think about it.
Before you could overthink it more, your fingers moved on their own.
You Hi?
Will Are you this petty without Macklin around too?
Your eyebrows shot up. The audacity.
You How do you know I’m not with Macklin right now?
Will It’s 11pm
You And?
A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly pressed your lips together, glancing at your sleeping roommate.
Will And Macklin doesn’t strike me as the type to let his attack dog stay up late texting me
You I’m not his attack dog but ok
Will Isn’t that why you don’t like me?
You bit your lip, equal parts annoyed and.. entertained? You knew you were wrong, but why did you like this..?
You I never said I didn’t like you
Will Is that right?
By the time you finally put your phone down, it was almost 1am. A heavy wave of guilt settled in your chest. You should tell Macklin. You knew you should. But what would you even say? “Hey, so Will followed me and now we’re texting, but don’t worry, I still hate him.. mostly”?
The next time Macklin tried bringing up Will, you forced a smirk and said something that wouldn’t give anything away, but now the words just tasted a little sour. You didn’t know if you could just go on talking about Will, when you have been in his dms for the past couple of days. So you changed the subject quickly.
Will knew one thing you didn’t like: when he brought up Macklin.
After two weeks of texting that had somehow become the highlight of your days, he finally worked up the courage. The message came through while you were halfway through a lecture: Want to get dinner this weekend?
You’d stared at your phone before typing back a simple Yes.
He was more surprised than he let on. Part of him had been convinced you’d say no because of Macklin. You didn’t tell many people. Just one of your close girlfriends, who immediately raised an eyebrow and said, “Macklin isn’t going to like that.” You rolled your eyes and shrugged it off. One day he’d have to accept it, whether it was Will or anyone else.
Will picked a nice restaurant well outside the usual BU-BC radius for obvious reasons. He insisted on paying for everything despite your protests. He was funny, quick witted, and genuinely curious about your life outside of university. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have fun.
His baby blues really were distracting up close, and his smile was charming too. You wouldn’t be surprised if hockey didn’t work out and he became a model instead.
After dinner, he drove you to the beach to watch the sunset. You two sat on his jacket spread across the sand, the waves gently rolling in. You told him about your major, the classes you were taking, and how much you’d learned so far. “Me and Macklin are studying the same thing.” You said, hugging your knees. “I’m scared if he gets drafted he’ll leave and I’ll be stuck here alone.”
Will was quiet for a moment, staring out at the pink sky. He couldn’t lie, he was starting to really like you so hearing you say this wasn’t nice. He realised how close you two were and what if you liked Macklin? “You can always visit him if he gets drafted.” he offered.
“Yeah, I hope so.” You glanced over at him. “I honestly don’t even understand why you two don’t like each other. You’re so much alike. You’d probably be great friends.”
Will’s jaw tightened slightly. Is that why you’re hanging out with me? he thought. Because I remind you of him?
He shrugged. “Are you two dating?”
You burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. You held your stomach, trying to calm down as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Will raised an eyebrow. “Alright, it’s not that funny..” he muttered, but his lips were twitching.
You finally caught your breath, still giggling. “Macklin and I? He’s like a brother to me. You think I’d be here right now if we were dating?”
“You’re right.” he conceded, a small smile breaking through. “Does he know you’re with me right now?”
Your smile faded. “Why do you keep asking about Macklin? I’m not going to hang out with you if you keep bringing him up.”
Will smirked, leaning back on his hands in the sand. “Is there a next time?”
You looked at him, the sunset casting a warm glow across his face. You nodded. “Thought you’d want there to be a next time?”
The next hangout escalated faster than you expected. You found yourself in Will’s dorm room at his campus, straddling his lap as the two of you made out like you couldn’t get enough of each other.
His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer against his body. The kiss was heated and a little desperate.
When he finally dropped you off near your BU dorm later that night, the car idled at the curb. You leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the lips, smiling softly.
Back in your room, you quickly texted Macklin: Hey, I’m finally back. You can come over now
A few minutes later he strolled in, flopping down on your bed like he owned the place. “Where were you?” he asked, scrolling through his own phone.
“I was hanging out with a friend,” you said casually, turning to your desk and pulling out your notebook.
“Can you pleaseeee get me some snacks? I’m starving.” Macklin changed the subject.
You groaned dramatically. “Mack, you’re so annoying-”
“Okay fine, I’ll get it..” he cut in, starting to stand.
“It’s fine, I’ll get it.” you said quickly, waving him off. You left the room, leaving your phone on the bed where you’d been sitting.
At first, Macklin didn’t think anything of it. But when your phone buzzed once, then again shortly after, curiosity got the better of him. He glanced at the door, then picked it up. The screen lit up with two new messages from “Will”
Will: the hangout was so nice this time
Will: maybe next time you should come over again
Macklin’s eyebrows furrowed. Will? No. There was no way. This couldn’t be the Will he was thinking of, right? Were you seriously hanging out with THE Will? As in Will Smith? The same guy you both had spent months complaining about? And right after being with him, you came back and acted like nothing happened?
He stared at the messages, mind racing with questions. How long had this been going on? Did you actually like him? After all you said, you were in his dorm?
The sound of your footsteps coming back down the hall snapped him out of it. Macklin quickly locked your phone and set it back exactly where it was, trying to keep his face neutral even as betrayal and confusion churned in his chest.
You and Macklin did your project together, you were halfway through outlining the next section when Macklin suddenly spoke. “Someone also texted you while you were getting snacks.” He said, pointing at your phone.
“Oh, thanks.” You picked it up and unlocked it. Will’s messages glowed on the screen, a smile tugged at your lips. You closed the app and set the phone face down, figuring you’d just answer later.
“You aren’t going to answer?” Macklin asked, his tone deceptively casual. “I think it was important.”
“Nah, I’ll just answer later.” You replied lightly. “It can wait.”
Macklin let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Is that why you were hanging out with Will?”
Your stomach dropped. You cursed yourself internally, he knew. You forced your expression to stay neutral. “Yeah, but I’ll just answer later.”
“It’s not the Will I’m thinking of, right?”
You shrugged, pretending to focus on the project. “Nah.”
“But it’s the only Will we both know.” He pressed.
“Well, I can know other Wills without you knowing..” you shot back, tapping randomly on your keyboard. “There are plenty of people named Will in the world.”
“Yeah, right.” Macklin’s annoyance was clear now. He closed his laptop with more force than necessary.
“Macklin, what is your problem?” you asked, frustration creeping into your tone.
“You know what my problem is.” He snapped, standing up from your bed.
You crossed your arms. “I really don’t.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the betrayal in his eyes hurt more than you expected. “Maybe we should finish this another day..” he muttered, already grabbing his stuff.
You wanted to stop him to explain everything, because he deserved to know the truth. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t that simple, that Will wasn’t the villain you both had painted him as. But the words stuck in your throat. Macklin gave you one last disappointed look before heading toward the door, leaving you alone.
Two days went by without you and Macklin talking. You understood where he was coming from but you also wanted him to understand that it wasn’t that simple. You wanted him to see the side of Will you’d gotten to know.
You’d talked to Will about it the night before. “How would you feel if I just told Macklin about us?” you asked. You didn’t want to lose your best friend, but you also didn’t want to lose whatever this was with Will.
“I’m not gonna lie, I’m not thrilled. But if it’s that important to you, then do it. Just, make sure he doesn’t kill me, yeah?”
On saturday afternoon, Macklin finally texted you: I’m sorry I overreacted. And I’m sorry I thought you were lying.
You replied quickly: It’s fine but I think we need to talk.
You met up at the small park near campus, sitting on a bench under the trees. The air felt thick with awkwardness as you started. “First off, I’m sorry I didn’t explain everything that night when I should’ve.”
Macklin nodded. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have just assumed it was Will Smith you were talking to. And you’re right, there are plenty of Wills in the world.”
You cut him off gently. “No.. you were right. It is the Will you’re thinking of. But I need you to-”
“What?” Macklin’s eyes widened.
“Macklin, it’s not a big deal. You two are-”
“It’s a big deal to me.” he interrupted. “Does that matter to you? No!”
“It does matter.” you said quickly. “But he’s literally not the person you think he is. And you two might even get drafted to the same team one day, so you should warm up to each other. I just want you to get to know him first and then make your own judgment.”
Macklin stared at you. “How do you even know where we both might get drafted?”
“I’m not stupid..” you replied. “And he told me that.”
“Whatever.” Macklin rubbed his face, clearly frustrated. “Are you two dating?”
“No, we’re not dating.” you said honestly. “At least not yet.”
He didn’t want to accept that his best friend was talking to Will of all people. But looking at you now, he could tell you actually liked him. And as much as it annoyed him, he knew he couldn’t talk you out of it. Once your mind was made up, it was made up.
He let out a long sigh. “This is weird as hell.”
“I know.” You said softly. “But can you at least try? For me?”
About two weeks later, someone from BC was throwing a party and a few people from BU were invited too. Will had asked if you wanted to go, and you saw it as the perfect opportunity to finally introduce him to Macklin properly. You’d texted Macklin the address and told him you’d meet him there.
When you arrived, you met up with Will near the entrance. You felt a little shy as he introduced you to a couple of his teammates. They were friendly, handing you a drink before you and Will found a spot on the couch to talk.
Macklin texted that he’d be there in a few minutes. You quickly sent him a picture of where you were sitting. Will smiled at you, reaching over to gently push a strand of hair off your shoulder, his fingers lingering for a second.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise. You looked up to see Macklin standing right in front of you. You stood up quickly, and Will followed.“Macklin, this is Will,” you said, gesturing between them. “Will, this is Macklin.”
They shook hands. It was stiff and awkward at first, both of them clearly sizing each other up. But after a few minutes of small talk, the conversation started to flow more naturally. To your relief, they actually seemed to be getting along.
When Will excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving you and Macklin alone, you turned to him excitedly. “So? What do you think?”
Macklin shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “I mean.. he’s fine, I guess.”
“See? I told you!” You grinned, unable to hide your excitement. “You’ll spend more days together and you’ll be like best friends!”
“Okay, hold on,” Macklin said, raising an eyebrow. “Who said I’ll be hanging out with him?”
You laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Come on, you know what I mean. It wasn’t that bad, right?”
Like Will had mentioned, he and Macklin ended up getting drafted to the same team. It was bittersweet. They both moved away for the new chapter in their careers while you stayed behind at BU, finishing your degree. You and Will officially became girlfriend and boyfriend, and Macklin was actually happy for the two of you. And you also visited them whenever you could.
It had only been a couple of months when they bit started sending you pictures together, whether it was after practice, in their shared apartment or just an silly picture of them hanging out. And you were really grateful they got along like you’d hoped they would.
You quickly typed out a group text to both of them answering to the picture: I’m jealous rn of you both.
Will replied almost immediately with a laughing emoji, while Macklin typed back an get used to it.
FRIDAY NIGHT finds you in the laundry room, shoving a week’s worth of clothes into a washing machine while half the campus gets ready for another party. you always do your laundry when there’s a party, because while everyone else is busy drinking, the laundry room is empty.
peaceful, predictable, no waiting around for 5000 years.
you toss a detergent pod into the drum and slam the door. your basket sits at the side while you take a seat on top of the spinning machine, untangling your earphones while the door opens. you don’t look up.
“huh,” they speak, “was starting to think you’d transferred.”
you freeze.
god, please no.
you look up.
will’s standing in the doorway with an overflowing laundry basket in his hands, looking almost surprised by your existence. the second your eyes meet, he grins.
you tuck a bit of your hair behind your ear, lowering your hands as you try to fight the blush. “i . . what? what are you talking about?” you play dumb, forcing a laugh.
ok, so what if you’ve subconsciously been going out of your way to avoid will after you kissed him? only by a little bit - it’s not like you’re taking massive repercussions just to avoid him.
did you cross the soaking, soggy, muddy grass in the middle of campus and ruin your sneakers because he was walking in your direction? maybe, but you were running late for practice anyway.
did you completely by coincidence, start switching up seats from your usual spot just for a change? yeah, ‘cause it seemed . . fun to do?
did you duck underneath the cheerleading table during the student involvement fair because you spotted his baseball cap weaving through the crowd? yeah, but you thought your earring had fell out at the same moment.
will has actually been . . an angel. he’s left you alone. he hasn’t pried. hasn’t seeked you out to hound you. it’s you — you think about him for even a second and you’re riddled with guilt, you hear him and your face flushes with embarrassment, you see him and your chest starts beating too fast and your stomach gets that weird tingly sensation like it did when his tong—
“you’re getting creative.”
he snaps you out of your daze. you blink, lost. “what . . what do you mean?”
“you’re avoiding me.”
his voice makes you straighten, although he’s smiling, gum smacking in his mouth. he has a navy hat on, some baseball team on it, matching his navy t-shirt. “i’m . . i’m not,” you try to play off. “i’ve been busy.”
“doing what?”
“just with classes and stuff . . cheerleading . . usual.”
“i haven’t seen you in class. i was looking for you.”
that makes your heart squeeze with guilt. you’re unfazed when he doesn’t show up to class, he’s missed a dozen classes due to hockey, whether college-related or some variant of international play - you get on with your day.
when you don’t show up one day, will’s brain is wracked wondering if everything’s ok.
“i’ve been every day,” you answer, and you have, you’re not lying . . . you’ve just been on the complete opposite side you usually sit on. “did you need something . . ? my file—”
he shakes his head while lowering his basket, placing it on the floor to opening a machine door. “i just . . wanted to make sure i hadn’t done something.”
you frown. “what?”
he shrugs one shoulder, slightly turning his back to you while he loads up his machine. “just figured i made you uncomfortable or somethin.”
the joking tone is gone.
it’s so matter-of-fact that it makes your chest tighten. “no,” the answer comes instantly as you shake your head. “no will, that’s not . . . no. you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
he watches you closely, turning around to you. “you promise?”
“i promise,” you hold up your hands as if to prove you’ve got nothing crossed. you even uncross your legs. “you didn’t make me uncomfortable. i . . it’s me.” you confess.
you slump in your spot, like you can no longer carry the weight. “it’s just — every time i see you, i — i get embarrassed. i can’t believe i tried to kiss you and i’m so sorry for it. ‘n then i was scared in case you started telling people and if brad found out so i’ve had this god-awful anxiety all week, it makes me sick—”
will’s standing in front of you now, his brows furrowed as he moves his hands across like as if to cut you off. you do. “you’d think i’d tell people?”
you raise a shoulder. “. . well yeah, like i thought . . maybe you’d tell your friends.”
he just looks at you.
“and they’d joke about it . . .”
still nothing.
“and then someone would overhear . .”
he slowly shakes his head.
“or maybe you’d bring it up to brad.”
will’s brows furrow. “you think i’d tell brad?”
“—not in a cruel way,” you say quickly. “just . . because you two don’t like each other and . . i thought maybe you’d . . . rub it in or something?”
a long silence settles between you. will steps closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that you’re no longer talking across the room. you can smell his signature scent better, cleanliness and something masculine. “i don’t really like brad.”
“i know.”
“but i like you a lot more than i don’t like him.”
you close your eyes and that, feeling like your heart could melt through your fingers.
he says it so casually, with no shame or embarrassment.
“why would i do something like that? at your cost?”
your throat tightens as he keeps going, and you have to lift your hand to get him to stop taking. “will—”
“—you really thought i’d use you to get at him?”
“n—no.” the word comes out small. “i don’t know what i thought i just . . was overthinking it every possibility,” you lower your head. “. hiding just makes the most sense.”
he smiles, but it’s smaller this time - softer. the one that kind of pulls at your heartstrings. “hey,” he says quietly, waiting until you meet his eyes. “you really don’t have to do all that.”
“what?”
“hide from me.”
the words aren’t teasing anymore, and his gaze holds yours in a comforting reassurance. “i hate to think you’ve spent a week changing where you sit or taking different routes, worrying every time you see me because you think i’m gonna make things weird.” he gives a tiny shake of his head. “i’m not.”
you look down at your hands.
“i haven’t told anybody,” he continues. “and i’m not going to. not my teammates. not my friends. definitely not brad. it’s nobody else’s business but ours, and if you don’t want anyone knowing, then that’s where it stays.”
ours.
it sounds weird coming from him and doesn’t something weird to your limbs.
“you don’t have to explain yourself to me, and you don’t have to spend every day trying to make sure we never end up in the same room,” his voice is warm now, almost comforting. “i’d rather you just be yourself . . ” he’s closer now, standing directly in front of you, your knees almost touch him. “i’d much rather get the version of you that argues with me that i’m not 6’1 in skates and tells me i’m annoying.”
you laugh a little, looking away from his blue eyes. “you are not 6’1 in skates.”
“‘course i am,” he inches closer, face full of fake arrogance although his voice is soft and teasing. it eases your nerves, loosens you a little.
“i . .” you laugh at yourself without any humour in it. “you’re right. i’m sorry, i’m just . . i’m a mess at the minute.” you place your head in your hands.
you don’t know why you assume will to be cruel like that. you know he’s not. maybe it’s a you thing: you have a hard time learning not every guy is brad. it’s instinct to assume they’re all the same.
will doesn’t hesitate to peel your hands from your face, standing almost between your legs if they had been spread apart a little more. “you’re not a mess, y/n.” his hand’s nonchalantly relax on your thighs, your bare thighs because it’s approaching 10PM and you’re dressed for bed in a plain oversized t-shirt while 90% of campus is at that 80s themed party tonight.
your gaze drops to his hands, how they blanket your thighs, the way fingers stretch farther than they seemed capable of around them. when you finally drag your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you.
“nobody knows. nobody will know,” his voice is low, like it’s meant only for you.
his hands shift again, slower this time, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “just you and me . . .”
you don’t mean to do it, you try to fight it - but you look anyway - you look at his mouth while he’s talking. pink lips moving, voice smooth like honey, soft in a way that doesn’t match how close he is standing. the sound settles under your skin, soft and slow, it warms every part of you until it feels like you’re physically melting.
your shoulders drop first, tension bleeding out of you in a way that makes you blink like you’ve just woken up.
it’s like the space between you starts shrinking on its own. “will,” you mutter, eyes dropping. “we—you’re too close.”
he huffs a quiet laugh at that. “too close?” his brow twitches, “after a week of not seeing me?”
you give him a look despite his teasing, but you still don’t move.
his lips tug in response, fingers sliding to the crease between your legs and torso, fingers curling around the back until he’s pulling you towards him. your breath catches before you can stop it, your eyes dropping eye-level with his neck. the smell of his aftershave hits you next, clean and sharp, drawing you closer to him.
“you’re telling me to move . . ” he murmurs, “but you keep coming closer.”
“’m not.”
“no?” his nose brushes yours, feather-light, enough to make your heart jump; your eyes close.
you don’t know what he’s saying anymore, your thoughts feel like they’ve been wrapped in cotton and you’re waiting for him to kiss you.
his nose grazes yours again as he leans in, slow enough to give you every chance to pull away, and when you don’t – he finally kisses you.
again.
the kiss is slow. unhurried, like neither of you has anywhere else to be.
somewhere between his hand finding your waist and your fingers curling instinctively into the front of his t-shirt, the noise you’ve been carrying around all week melts into silence, every anxious thought that had been ricocheting around moments ago simply fades.
will’s lips are soft. they’re gentle on yours. it’s so sweet it makes your ears ring.
when he pulls away, your eyes stay closed and you don’t dare move.
he kisses you again.
it deepens this time, his lips parting more gradually until his tongue slides against yours, warm and wet and tasting faintly of something minty. your arms come up to his neck in a mind of their own, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. you can feel the smirk in his kiss.
he doesn’t let you breathe. it’s a kiss you’ve never experienced before; it sends tingles down your spine and makes your toes curl. you chase more.
will makes a breathy sound, lips pushing harder against yours as his hands tighten around your waist. he pulls your lower half closer to the edge of the machine until your knees bracket his hips and you grab his arm consciously. “will,” you hum breathlessly, his lips brushing yours. “we can’t—”
he cuts you off again, messily slotting his lips against yours.
the alarm bells in your mind silence with the the feel of his hands travelling back to your legs, caressing the top of your thighs, his thumb smoothing the inside of it. it makes your breath stutter; your brain short-circuit and thoughts turn to mush.
“will,” you say again between kisses, eyes closing with every stroke of his tongue massaging yours. it distracts you from the hand slowly making its way between your legs. “mmph—”
the sudden contact of will’s middle finger pressing against your clothed slit sends a jolt through your body; a high-pitched gasp past your lips. he continues to kiss you as you pull away, barely regaining consciousness as your hand snatches a hold of his wrist, stopping his hand from moving another inch. “will, will, will—” you whisper, trying to get him to stop.
he does. the second you whisper, he eases back, breaking the kiss gently between you. his eyes stay closed for a moment longer, forehead hovering yours, his lips glisten with saliva. his breathing is still uneven, his shoulders moving with each intake.
he doesn’t rush. he just lets you go, his nose brushing your cheek as if he’s giving himself a second before reality catches up.
“will . . .” your voice comes out embarrassingly small. you swallow. “i-i can’t.”
this time, he nods. slowly. like he’d already known that was coming.
it makes your chest hurt.
your eyes dart to the door, your heartbeat suddenly loud again.
you look back at him, eyes softening at the devastating sight: blond curls messily spread across his forehead, cheeks flushed pink from your intense makeout. “i’m sorry,” you blurt, gently easing his hand from your waist. he lets you. “i just—we shouldn’t’ve . . i shouldn’t have—”
he gives another small nod and takes half a step back. “i get it,” he says like he’s trying to spare you the conversation. “it’s cool.”
“no—” you trap him between your legs before he can step away anymore. “please wait.”
“it’s fine, y/n.” he unhooks your ankles over him.
“no will, wait, please,” you hop off the washing machine, ignoring the terrible ache down below as you try to get him to look at you. “it’s not you—”
“i know.”
“no but—”
he tries not to sigh. “y/n–”
“please don’t be weird with me.”
he pauses. he looks at you properly, confusion swirling in his eyes. “i won’t . . ?”
“don’t be mad.”
he looks back at you, brows knitting together. “i’m not.”
dismissive. matter-of-fact.
your chest only tightens. “no, but you are,” you insist quietly. “i can tell.”
“i’m not mad at you,” he establishes, furrowing his brows at the accusation.
“promise?”
he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, keeping his gaze on you. “yeah.”
you search his face for something, anything, that tells you he’s telling the truth. “i’m not going to avoid you,” the words spill out too fast, “not this time. i swear.”
his expression softens, eyes drifting to the floor, “you don’t have to promise me anything.”
“no but i do, i—” you don’t even know what to say. “can we just be the same? like, before?” your eyes are pleading as you look up to him. “i don’t want you to—” ditch me? leave me alone? ignore me? “i dunno, i’m — just—don’t change anything. we’re good.” you nod, smoothing the bottom of your shirt. “we’re good. you don’t need to—to disappear on me or—”
“disappear on you?” will perks an eyebrow at that, offended. “that’s you who does that.”
“i know, i know, i’m sorry. i won’t this time, i promise.” you cringe, cheeks flaming. “i’ll literally save you a seat on monday, i— we’re cool. we’re cool. this never happened.”
will raises his head in acknowledgment.
alright.
cool.
he nods. “yeah.”
it isn’t cold. it isn’t angry. if anything, that’s what makes your heart clench. he isn’t going to fight you on it or ask why, he isn’t going to make you feel worse than you already do.
he just accepts your response. “see you around.”
you take a step closer as he makes it to the door, basket scooped in his hand. “will—” you open your mouth, but nothing comes - because what are you even supposed to say?
you settle with a weak ‘i’m sorry’ and he gives another nod. “i know.”
and then he’s gone.
the second the door shuts, your chest caves. you drag a hand over your face.
idiot.
this never happened? why would you say that? that wasn’t what you meant. you feel even worse as you did before, and this time, you promised you wouldn’t avoid him.
-
the party buzzes around you.
people shout over the music, bottles clink somewhere in the kitchen, someone you’ve never met is laughing hard enough to fold in half. it’s chill for a saturday night. you stay tucked into brad’s side most of the night, fingers hooked loosely through his arm. you laugh when everyone else laughs, nod along to conversations you haven’t really heard.
you’re already moving when brad asks for you to get something for him.
you try to have a good time, you’ve had two seltzers to help you, but there’s a strange emptiness following you around all evening.
like something’s missing.
you don’t realize how often your eyes drift across the room until you catch yourself doing it again.
“babe, can you grab me another beer?”
“’course.” you grin, brushing a quick kiss against his cheek before disappearing into the kitchen.
it’s automatic, all of it - the way you lean against him when he pulls you in, play with the hair at the back of his neck while he’s talking to his friends - you’re attentive. sweet.
maybe a little too hard.
you weave through the crowd, muttering quiet apologies as shoulders knock yours from every direction. “sorry.”
“it’s fine.”
you step aside to let them through.
that’s when you see him.
will.
your heart stumbles so hard it almost feels painful.
he’s sunk into the corner of the sofa, one arm stretched lazily along the back of it. a girl sits tucked into his side, laughing at something he’s just said. another sits to his left, their knees touching.
your eyes stay fixed on them, unable to look away despite every part of you screaming to.
he says something that makes the one of the right laugh, and her fingers curl around the front of his t-shirt, collecting a firm grip – and your feet stop.
you watch him nod, lips pulled to the side in that smirk he does and you catch the way his eyes dip to her mouth.
your eyes could slice him.
don’t.
before your brain can make sense of what you’re looking at, will leans in, all confidence. she meets him halfway.
then it happens.
they kiss.
your brows raise and your mouth falls open before your brain has fully registered what’s going on.
he kisses her.
not accidentally.
not drunkenly.
deliberately.
for a second, all you can hear is the rush of blood flooding your head.
your entire body goes hot.
you watch like a complete weirdo, watching the way he slips his tongue in, the way his head moves to meets hers, the way his eyes remain closed and his hand rests on her leg.
something ugly flares inside you violently.
your whole body racks.
“babe?”
brad’s voice reaches you from somewhere behind.
you don’t answer.
you’re still staring.
still hoping, stupidly, that he’ll pull away.
“babe?”
you flinch at a hand brushing your elbow, so hard it almost startles you.
“what?” you bite.
brad blinks. “i just asked if you got my drink . .“
“well, i’m getting it, aren’t i?!”
his eyebrows raise, taken back by the tone. “alright . . .”
honestly, brad is at a loss these days. when he’s being an ass, you act a psycho, when he’s on his best behaviour and treating you good, you act a psycho.
“god!” you scoff, wrenching open the fridge harder than necessary.
“what’s wrong with you?”
“nothing.”
“doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“BRAD!” you shout this time, slamming the door closed with a flare in your eyes. “STOP talking to me.”
a couple of heads turn and brad raises his hands immediately. the look in your eyes is new.
“okay.”
guilt pricks at you for all of half a second when you hand him the can, because when you look up again—they’re still there.
heat surges through you all over again. you don’t even recognize the feeling.
“babe, chill out, alright? what happened?” brad’s voice is soft for once as he stands in front of you, blocking the view. he tries to be gentle. he says he’s been working on himself and you’ve noticed it.
you rip his hand from your side and storm off back to your spot, your whole body almost shaking with emotions you didn’t even know you possessed.
-
monday comes around when you’ve still got that furrow in your brow. the lecture theatre is already half full by the time you arrive, coffee in one hand, headphones still around your neck.
you scan the rows automatically whilst walking up the steps – and there he is.
will.
in your seat.
well, not your seat. your row.
he’s saved the chair beside him with his backpack, spotting you almost immediately. he lifts it onto his lap without a second thought.
“morning sunshine.” he says.
like friday never happened.
like saturday didn’t exist.
like two girls hadn’t practically climbed into his lap before midnight.
your jaw tightens.
“. . hi.”
you slide into the chair without looking at him.
the silence stretches. he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“good weekend?”
is that a joke?
you just nod, keeping your head to the front. will lifts his in acknowledgment, sensing you’re not in a chatty mood.
“brad got asked to skate with us tomorrow,” he says after a while, looking over at you after he finishes taking notes off the slide.
that grabs your attention. you look up, barely meeting his eyes for a second, trying to sound interested. “he did?”
“yeah. jake’s got mono, leno’s concussed . . asked if he’d come by the rink tomorrow afternoon.”
you hum, typing on your laptop.
conversation = over.
he studies you for a second as you avoid his gaze, then shakes his head so subtly, you don’t see it.
something’s up.
you type while will scribbles notes. every now and then he fidgets in his seat, his elbow brushes yours, he stretches dramatically or readjusts his hat on his head and it slowly chips at your patience.
“will, quit smacking your gum.”
“will, your volume.”
“will,” you nudge his arm off your side of the desk. “your elbow.”
you try not to sound so quick with it, but you swear, he must be doing it on purpose. you’re laser-focused on the screen at the front of the room while he texts from next to you, and you can’t take it.
“oh my god, smitty! can you breathe through your nose?” your head cranks to him, unable to concentrate on anything other than the sound of his breathing next to you.
will pauses, mouth still open, glancing at you.
he shuts his mouth, not tearing his eyes from you.
ok.
five minutes later, after trying to be as mute as possible, he yawns.
you don’t even look up. “will.”
“huh?”
“why are you being so loud.”
he freezes. “ . . what?”
“seriously.” you grit your teeth.
will’s brows furrow. your attitude is clear as day to him now. “i . . yawned.”
“yeah. out loud. for everyone to hear.”
“i wasn’t aware there was another method?” he responds sarcastically, squinting his eyes at you.
“come up with one.”
his brow twitches. so that’s the mood you’re in today? he looks around theatrically. “anybody know how to yawn quietly?”
a couple of students glance over before returning to their conversations. will looks back at you. “you are in a mood.”
“i’m not.”
“could’ve fooled me,” he tilts his head, making your stomach flip. “seriously . .” he turns back to fix his notes, “tell brad to step his game up or something.”
you shoot him a look. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he shrugs. “i don’t know. dude’s clearly slacking if this is what i’m dealing with on a monday morning.”
your jaw falls. “he’s not slacking in anything.”
“pfft. ok.”
“hey!” you snap, “what are you getting at?”
“nothing.”
“no say it.”
“i said nothing.”
“you’re implying something.”
“you’re hearing things,” he smiles at himself, tongue poking his cheek. it’s cute seeing you mad. it’s actually cute seeing you mad at him.
you don’t find it funny.
instead, you thump his arm with your fist.
“OW!”
“you’re an asshole.”
“that’s assault.”
“good.”
he rubs his bicep dramatically but smiles. “jesus.”
the professor begins wrapping up the lecture, peers already exiting the room while others are still packing their bag. you’re halfway through closing a document to get out of here when—
clap!
your laptop snaps shut, and you jump.
will’s already standing, one hand still resting on the top of it. “tell your boyfriend he owes the rest of us an apology,” he says, swinging his bag over his shoulder, and your brows furrow. “ . . he’s gotta be doing something wrong if this is the mood he’s sending you into class with.”
there he is again. picking at your relationship. acting like he knows everything.
you snatch your laptop back. “get off his back.”
will’s lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “you should try getting off mine.” he bargains, inching close to your face.
you open your mouth, but end up looking like a goldfish because you open and close your mouth ‘cause nothing comes out. too distracted by him getting too close in your face, the dimple on his cheek, how pink his lips are. he walks off, unbeknownst to the heat clawing at your body.
-
you spend the rest of the week going about your day as normal. you go to class, you go to practice, you’ve even been to the rink, watching brad who’s been filling in for defence. it’s surprisingly easy tuning out the annoying sound that is will.
or at least you pretend it is.
in group discussions, you pretend to write something super important in your notebook when he gives his input. you don’t look at him when he talks. if someone asks the group a question, you answer them all but him. you leave your earphones in through every lecture you share, even when nothing’s playing anymore. at the rink, you don’t even turn your head when he flies past on the ice a dozen times, barely allowing yourself to clap twice when he makes a good play because everyone around you does.
the anger starts to dull around the edges by midweek, as if being away from him has allowed you to cool down and realize it’s not that deep. that you’re overreacting and his little remarks are nothing out the ordinary from him. you almost ask him for his notes on a slide that went by too fast — almost.
until a girl in the row in front turns around and asks for a pencil.
will passes her one before you even comprehend what she says, and you watch the way they interact: the way she smiles up at him, how she says his name when she thanks him, the way he winks back in response.
suddenly, you’re staring at his side profile and you’re replaying the image of him slipping his tongue in some girl’s mouth.
“FUCK!” you unexpectedly say out loud, palms smacking your forehead.
people turn and look at you concerned, including will, who’s is more confused, but assumes, like everyone else, that it’s an answer you’ve answered incorrectly on your sheet as you look down at it.
it’s not. you’re just going insane. you swear. you swear, you’re going insane.
friday rolls around when you find yourself at the rink, running a little behind to meet brad after he pitched dinner and a movie at his place after you were both finished with practice. you texted him you’d be there in ten and he never answered, so made your way in to the arena anyway, only to be met with the sound of a single set of skates still cutting through the ice.
i already know who this is, you think to yourself, strutting over to the ledge.
will sees you when you come in, still shooting pucks in the net despite practice ending 10 minutes ago. he’s always the last off the ice. always putting in an extra shift.
he goes back to firing shot after shot, aiming for a different angle in the net until the person on the zamboni will have to force him off the ice. he doesn’t acknowledge you. you don’t acknowledge him.
you set your bag up on the ledge to dig through the clutter for your phone; a mess of makeup products, your sweaty uniform, a bra, loose change, hair clips, pom-pom strands and water bottles - it makes it harder then necessary.
by the time you pull it out, you don’t waste time in checking if brad got your message and call him instead - trying to block out the crack of each shot that echoes around the rink. “hello?”
“hey. what’s up?”
“where are you, i just got here. i’m standing in the box?” you glance around, trying to see if you can catch sight of him lingering in the tunnel.
“babe, i left like 5 minutes ago. i was gonna hang at jordan’s ‘til you were done practice?”
“i told you i finished the same time as you?”
crack.
your eyes follow the trail of the puck hitting the boards.
“i though you finished at 5:30? and by the time you get showered ‘n shit i was just gonna wait for you to call me . .”
“i finish at 5:00 and that’s including getting showered ‘n stuff.” you glance to the side in disbelief.
“oh.”
“oh?” you repeat. “will i meet you at your place or not?”
“look, just come to jordan’s. i’ll text you the address. i’ve already had a beer so you’ll have to come grab me anyway.”
“okay,” you huff, lowering your phone. “bye.”
“bye.”
you throw your phone in your bag, shoving the other things you had to take out back in when your favourite lipstick hits the ice with a ‘clack’ as it falls from the ledge and begins rolling further out.
past the blue line, past the face-off dot, until it finally comes to a stop almost dead centre of the rink.
you eyes immediately jump to will, the only one on the ice, who was watching it as well.
he’s smacking his gum (as always), and shrugs a shoulder while looking at you. “i’m not getting it.”
the bluntness makes you straighten.
you blink.
“you act like i don’t exist so,” he pulls a face like it’s something out of his control, turning back to his setup. “come get it yourself.” another crack of the boards deafens your ears.
you look back to the lipstick in the middle of the rink, then to the type of shoes on your feet.
ordinary sneakers. barely a grip on them with how long you’ve had them.
can you even walk on ice with regular shoes on?
you look at will to see if he’s being serious, but he’s too busy on stick work, not even sparing you a second glance.
you swallow nervously.
is he really gonna make you grab it yourself?
you contemplate how badly you really need it, considering you haven’t skated on the ice since you were 10 and at that, had a penguin skating aid to lean on.
you then consider the fact the zamboni will probably crush a perfectly good $25 lipstick into little tiny pieces if you do.
you also then consider the worst case scenario: what if it shoots out a tiny piece at somebody? and causes a total freak accident where blood is on your hands because you couldn’t be bothered to pick up after yourself? that gets you moving.
you set your bag down and tuck your hair back so it doesn’t block your view. you mutter something under your breath and step carefully through the open gate, goosebumps running along your legs.
the second the rubber mat disappears beneath your white nikes, your confidence goes with it.
your foot slides at least a foot.
you immediately grab the boards.
you hear him snort.
you ignore it.
with one hand clamped to the top of the boards, you shuffle forward awkwardly, feet barely leaving the ice.
god, how are you making it to the centre?
you make it a whole three steps before one foot shoots slightly ahead of the other when will sends another puck against the boards, making you jump and lose footing. “whoa!—” you catch yourself at the last second.
you quickly realize how terrifying and dangerous it is be on the ice during a game.
the boards rattle with you.
you continue inching forward, tiny steps at a time, looking no-where but the golden-like rectangle. it’s so slippy. the shooting has stopped so you assume will is watching you. you don’t wanna know how stupid you must look tight now.
stiff. jumpy. covered in goosebumps.
it’s so cold, your arms and legs suffering the most as they remain bare from the worn BC t-shirt and shorts you first got years ago. you’re convinced the shivering isn’t helping with your balance.
will watches, leaning lazily on his stick before setting it against the boards beside his helmet. then, with a couple of effortless strides, he’s gliding towards you, almost racing you without looking like he’s trying.
you refuse to look at him.
your eyes stay fixed on the lipstick.
just a little bit more . . .
you crouch carefully, every muscle in your body tensing as your fingertips hover inches away – when a pair of skates come into view and give a soft tap of the golden case, sending the thing gliding further on down to the right, a few more feet across the ice.
you freeze, mouth dropping as you look up to see will already drifting backwards.
“ . . . ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”
“oh.” he looks theatrically around the empty rink. “you can see me?”
you stand in such a rush, stumbling, forgetting where you when his arm out stretches to catch you - and you hold on, closing the distance between you in two careful, clumsy steps, grabbing a fistful of the arms of his jersey. “you’re an asshole!”
“damn, i didn’t think you’d know it was me,” he continues with the joke, staring down at your face, “forgot my invisible cloak.”
“i’ve seen you all week, i’ve just been purposely ignoring you!” you snap, feeling smaller than usual as he towers inches above you in his skates.
“for no other reason than . . ?”
“for no other reason being you’re insufferable company and nothing but a pain in my ass.”
he rocks gently on his skates, taken aback but still finding it amusing. he loves when you swear. it’s surprisingly out of character. “gee . .” he tilts his head slightly, eyebrow twitching up, “guess brad’s still being a pussy and not eating yours.”
your face falls.
almost horror-like, as if you can’t believe he just said that.
you can’t believe he just said that.
your mouth hangs open.
nothing.
not a single comeback.
you just stare at him, heat rushing up your neck so fast it burns your cheeks. for once, your brain doesn’t have anything clever to throw back. just stunned, offended silence.
“you—” is all you manage, breathless with disbelief.
it isn’t even anger at first, it’s pure, stunned embarrassment.
you shove against his chest on instinct, creating space between you like distance might somehow undo what he’d just said. you can’t even bring yourself to meet his eyes. you just push him away, allowing him grin to himself while you twist on your heel to fetch your lipstick and go.
you make it just three steps in when your foot slips sideways and a squeak leaves you. “WHEUP!—”
your knees slam into the ice.
hard.
a cold thump echoes across the rink before your palms slap down after them, and the pain is immediate.
hot.
your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. you stay frozen on all fours, forehead bowed, your palms stinging against the freezing ice as your knees throb beneath you.
it hurts so bad.
the scrape of skate blades reaches you seconds later. “shit, hey—” a gloved hand appears in front of you. you bat it away without thinking. you can’t even tell him to leave you alone, a lump lodged too tightly in your throat.
he’s surprised. “y/n,” he says, his voice different. the teasing is totally gone.
instead, you turn your face away from him, swallowing hard, refusing to let him see the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes - whether from the pain or the embarrassment, you don’t know. you force yourself forward, practically crawling the first couple of feet before grabbing onto the boards with both hands. every movement sends another throb to your knees.
will watches, heart racing, the guilt pulling him down. he wants to throw himself down on the ice and break every one of his teeth if it would make you feel any better.
he stays where he is when you push through the gate without another glance, limping while picking up your bag.
he stands in the silence on his own, his eyes drifting to the abandoned gold tube sitting alone in the middle of the ice. he spots the little dots of blood from where you’ve cut your hands.
he throws his head back, sighing loudly.
why did he do that?
-
by saturday night, you’re exhausted. it’s ridiculous: the weekend’s barely started. your knees are still bruised, ugly shades of purple blooming beneath the skin. every time you kneel or bend them too far, they remind you exactly how hard you hit the ice.
you cried in the car. not because of will, because they hurt fucking bad – because the second the adrenaline wore off, every movement stung like a motherfucker. only for 2 minutes, because you had to go collect brad, and brad hated crying, or he hated dealing with it, rather.
date night hadn’t lasted long anyway. the first time you’d shifted in your place, you’d sucked in a sharp breath.
‘what’s wrong?’ he’d asked, giving you a weird look.
‘it’s nothing, just . . my knees’ you rolled your pyjamas up to show the violent bruising already coating them. brad’s brows furrowed. ‘what’d you do?’
that made you pause, because you didn’t know what to say. the instant will comes to mind, your immediate reaction is to deflect and deny when brad brings him up. ‘i don’t know.’
you knew it was the wrong answer the second you’d said it.
‘you don’t know?’ he repeated, staring at you.
‘well i . . i fell, what’d you think i did?” you chuckled nervously, settling on the lie you did it at practice. however, brad’s face hardens at your remark, and you don’t realize the damage you’re doing right now.
he squints his eyes. ‘you tell me — what were you doing?’
you can guess how it ended.
now, you’re catching up on laundry, again, because there’s a party and you offered to do katie’s now that she’s back at her boyfriend’s place. as always, it’s empty. chill vibes. you have one earphone in, listening to your 80s playlist you always play, thinking about the little bit of work you could catch up on when you get back.
you finish sorting another pile before setting your next basket down next you, opening the door to switch them out.
when you finish emptying the machine, you reach for the next basket - only to find the little glimmer of gold sitting on top.
your hand pauses.
your lipstick.
from the rink.
you stare at it for a second before turning around, met with will standing opposite side of the room at a machine.
he stands with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, his laundry basket next to him.
and all you can think is why — why does the sight of him tug at your heart?
you look back down at the lipstick.
it’s spotless, the scuffs are gone, there’s not a fingerprint on the metallic surface. he’s taken the time to make sure it wasn’t ruined before giving it back.
will’s loading up a machine when you look back at him, pressing buttons effortlessly before he turns around to lean against it, crossing his legs, his eyes focused on his phone.
you let out a quiet breath, turning back to your laundry.
you can’t seem to stay mad at him. you’re not mad at all when you block out saturday altogether, not when you know will is completely clueless to the situation - rightfully confused because he did, in fact, do nothing wrong.
you don’t even know what he did wrong. you just didn’t like seeing him with another girl, which is so strange to admit to yourself because you have a boyfriend . . . you like to think it’s because by seeing someone else look that excited to kiss someone made something uncomfortable shift in your own chest.
maybe it forced you to notice something your relationship had been missing for a while. that easy pull towards someone, that excitement, that thrill.
god, you don’t know. you still don’t know. it makes your head hurt when you think about it for too long. you just know it made you uncomfortable and you have to assume it’s somewhat an indication that your relationship is lacking in something. you want to feel what that girl felt. experience what she felt.
but you do know how she felt, you just don’t know what to do with the fact that it wasn’t with brad.
one thing is for certain is that it’s something for you to work on, not will. you’re mature enough to accept he did nothing wrong and he doesn’t deserve your cold shoulder while you try to figure out how to fix yourself.
you’re the fucked up one, not him.
will’s been nothing but sweet to you.
respectful.
familiar.
even though he had his tongue in another girl’s mouth.
FUCK!
why the fuck are you keep coming back to that, y/n?!
will glances up as you close your eyes and clench your jaw - and he immediately feels like he’s right back to square one.
stop thinking about it y/n. stop it. just focus on . . . laundry. you were doing laundry.
you steal a glance at him while picking up a shirt to fold, scanning him head to toe as if he’s gonna look any different from yesterday. he stays distracted on his phone, head dipped down. the only thing moving is his thumb, his fingers adjusting their grip every now and then around the phone. you swallow.
he’s so big.
tall! you mean tall. he’s still so tall even without skates.
he shifts, one leg holding most of him while the other relaxes, and you quickly look down, hoping you haven’t been caught studying him after ignoring him a whole week. he keeps one hand tucked under his armpit, the sleeves of his hoodie contracting against his forarms.
you divert your focus back to your dirty and clean clothes, the hum of the dryers being the only sound in the room. your music isn’t playing anymore, your earphones abandoned at the side.
he still hasn’t said anything.
ignore him. just ignore him, y/n, he literally can’t say anything without offending y—
“are you ignoring me now?”
the words leave before you can stop them . . and you can only own them once they leave, standing with a hand on your hip as your face frowns.
why did you just do that??
will looks at you confused, even glances around to see if you’re talking to anybody else.
“—‘cause i’m supposed to be ignoring you,” you continue, not knowing what you’re doing.
the fuck?
“i . . isn’t that what you want . . ?” will looks at you confused, tilting his head.
“i never said that?” you look at him like he’s not making any sense.
“oh, no i just . . assumed when you said . . i was insufferable company and you’d been purposefully ignoring me all week, that . . you wanted me to fuck off.”
oh yeah, you did say that.
still, it’s too late to back down now. “no . . ?”
will stares at you, mouth open, breathing without another thought in his head before shaking it off and turning his attention back to his phone.
you slouch, dropping your stance and backtrack. “ok ok, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, just — forget that. i’m sorry. i’m being annoying and . . gaslighting you to be honest. i don’t know what i’m saying.”
will slides his phone into his pocket then, giving you his full attention. “that’s the problem. if you don’t know, how am i supposed to know?” his tone pinches at your heart, because it’s gentle as always, despite your sense of frustration. “i’m doing what you asked, i gave you space and tried to keep things normal, and you . . wanted to rip my head off ‘cause i breathed too loud?”
“oh but will you always breathe loud! you’re a mouth breather,” your palm hits the washing machine like that’s an unfair reason to be mad.
he gives you a flat look.
you slump. “sorry.”
you do feel guilty, because he’s so right. the whole week, every stupid joke, every sarcastic comment, he’d been trying to get you back to normal – and you’d punished him for it.
“the rink yesterday, it was just me and you - i was messing with you ‘cause,” he shrugs awkwardly, “i don’t know. i thought it’d get you talking to me again.” then he pulls a face. “clearly misjudged that one.”
your eyes fall to the floor. “no, will—”
“—then you hit the ice and i can’t stop thinking about it. i felt like it was my fault. i shouldn’t have kicked it away again, i was just playing around, but . . i felt like an asshole after. it looked real sore. it looks real sore” his eyes dart to your purple knees.
“it is, but it wasn’t your fault,” you shake your head, “i probably would have fell anyway. i was storming off and forgot i wasn’t on normal ground.”
“did you cry?”
the equation surprised you. you debate telling him, your face straight. “yes . . . but because it hurt, not ‘cause of you . . ”
that still makes will’s stomach sick with guilt. he lets out a soft sigh. “look y/n—”
no, no what happened to gorgeous?
“—i don’t know what i did to make you mad, if i crossed a line, just tell me—”
“—you didn’t.”
“—ok but are you saying that because it’s true?” he looks back up at you. “or are you just saying it because you don’t want me to feel bad?”
“no! no i promise.”
“so why? why the bad attitude? why have you spent the whole week mad at me? are you mad at everybody?”
to be honest, yeah — you have been mad at everybody, and it’s all because of him.
but there’s no way in hell you’re telling him that.
‘i saw you kissing another girl and it ruined my weekend. more than it did when i caught my boyfriend staring at our waitresses ass on my birthday.’
you’d rather launch yourself into traffic.
“i . . i don’t know,” you rub your arm. you’re not used to this amount of communication. you’re also not used to having to think like this. usually sorry’s enough and you deal with whatever consequences that follow after.
will deserves more than that. “i guess i’m mad . . at myself. maybe. i don’t know. i just don’t like . . how i can’t think straight anymore. my head is so messed up. i don’t even know anymore. i don’t know. i don’t know what i’m doing.” your head falls into your hands with stress.
will’s expression softens almost immediately. he lets out a slow breath through his nose. “hey.”
you look up.
“i don’t want that.”
you frown.
“whatever’s going on in your head,” he gestures vaguely towards you. “i don’t want you feeling like you’ve got to force yourself into anything because of me.”
your chest tightens.
“if you’re fighting yourself over this . . . that’s not something i want to add to.”
“i’m not—”
he sighs, eyes stuck on you. “y/n, listen - there’s no hard feelings. if things were simple . . you’d probably know what you wanted. i’m not saying that to make you choose, don’t take it that way,” he holds his hands up, “i just . . i think you are happy in you’re relationship and i need to stop trying to get your attention, because it’s my interference that’s messing with your head.”
your heart sinks.
what?
“if me doing that means you spend the next week feeling guilty . . or confused . . or taking it out on yourself . . ” he shakes his head, “. . i don’t want that.”
your face falls.
oh no.
he notices your expression and immediately backtracks. “that’s not me trying to make this a thing,” he says quickly. “honestly. i’m just saying . . . maybe the best thing i can do is stop,” he gives another small shrug, his face offering a small, playful smile. “i’ll cool it with the jokes. stop trying to steal your attention. give you space, divert my attention on someone else.”
“no,” it comes out far too quickly, your face falling completely as you shake your head. “no, no, no,” you slip off the machine.
will watches you, face pulling in confusion as you approach him. “i have to—”
“no! no i—” you rush to him, hands instinctively grabbing his forearms as you almost collide. “i want your attention. i want you to annoy me, i—” your hands are on his face before you can even think, pulling him down to you. the kiss cuts him off completely.
you don’t even know what you’re doing.
all you know is that he’s saying the complete wrong thing and you don’t even want him to leave you be.
you don’t want that.
your lips collide forcefully, enough that will can sense your desperation.
you kiss him slow, lips lingering before taking a short second to part, just to breathe, before kissing him again.
hungrier.
will reciprocates this time, kissing you back. he takes a second to switch his hat backward, before his hands carefully place themselves on your waist and dips his head to meet you. you hum, melting against him.
he’s warm and soft and just as you remember him.
you kiss him harder, longer, like you can’t get enough, and quickly quicken the pace. you open your mouth, missing his tongue, missing him being up all close on you. tingles dance down your spine when you feel it, butterflies shooting around your stomach. “don’t ignore me,” you plea breathlessly, speaking between kisses, “don’t stop with your jokes . . and your teasing . . and–“ kiss “–your annoying breathing.”
a laugh escapes him, swallowed immediately by another kiss. “no?” -kiss- “you don’t want that?”
“no,” you kiss him back, needing him to stop talking.
“why’s that?” he pulls away to look at you, smirk taking up his whole face. when you try to kiss him again, he pulls back
“because m—” you inch closer again, watching him look at you with amusemen, “my days would be boring without you,” you confess, trying to pull his neck back down to you.
will’s brow twitches cockily.
not that you can see, you’re too busy focused on his lips.
your whole body feels electric. that weird, foreign feeling back in your belly as you hands gravitate shyly down his torso, resting there, unable to look him in the eye.
“y’want me to keep annoying you?”
you nod.
“want me to keep calling you gorgeous?”
you look up at him at that, and nod again.
he perks a brow. “you think you’re gorgeous?”
you tighten your grip on the back of his neck and pull him back into another kiss before he can tease you again. “shut up will.”
will smiles, satisfied, and gives you what you want. he kisses you good, real good, so good you forget all about that disgusting, green jealousy that’s been following you about you all week.
his lips are soft but his hands are rough - dropping to your hips with a firm grip, he pulls you against him in a way that makes your nerves explode and brain short circuit.
“will,” you half-gasp when he instinctively picks you up, setting you down on a different machine. he steps in between your legs, your hands on his shoulders as your eyes widen as he settles in front of you. the pulse in your neck sky-rockets from the closeness, from the familiarity or his hands.
his eyes look dark, pupils blew out, but the familiar softness of blue still remains there comfortingly.
you smile into another kiss, melting against him as his tongue slowly crashing against yours. you don’t realize his hands brushing your legs, your knees that are battered - you don’t even flinch, that’s how gentle he is.
he places them flat on your thighs, large, paw-like palms soothing you with warmth and familiarity as they move up and down. your mind is already hazy when you move closer to him, inching forward in a rocking-like motion which brings will to a pause. his eyes look up from you legs, blue orbs boring into yours as his voices lowers.
“i need you to make a deal with me.”
“what is it?” you hook your arms around his neck, keeping him close.
“i need you to promise me you’re not going to go weird on me again,” his eyes scan your face, distracting you from his fingers slipping between your thighs.
“i—i won’t,” you stutter.
“y’promise?” his finger brushes your front again, making you jolt. “you promise me this is what you want?”
your mouth slowly falls open as will slowly begins to stroke you through your panties, his gaze locked on you.
you forget what he’s asking. “m—will.”
“tell me,” he looks down at you, standing tall and full of confidence. entire frame blocking you from anyone who could walk in.
“—i promise . . i promise this is what i want,” you moan embarrassingly, head dropping in shame.
fuck! what are you doing right now?
his fingers move slowly, feeling your hot slick begin to pool through the material, “want me to keep goin’?”
you bite your lip to conceal your noises, nodding frantically. “mhm.”
he pushes your knees further apart, spreading them while slowly lifting his hand to slide under the waistband on your underwear. when his hand comes into contact with your bare cunt, you flinch, legs closing from the touch, your eyes shooting to him for comfort.
he’s not looking at you though, soley focused on his hand buried in your shorts.
his middle finger slides through your folds, soaked immediately, your arousal no longer a secret. a sharp gasp escapes you, your mouth hanging open. he watches your face carefully while sliding his finger in, watching the way your lips part and your eyes blink in poor consciousness as you stretch around his finger.
fuck, feels so good already.
“oh my god,” you whine, legs trying to close. “will—”
“—shh,” he leans in and kisses you again, wasting no time in sliding a second finger, using his other hand to keep your legs open.
you moan loudly against his mouth, brows pinched together with unfamiliar pleasure while your focus slips. “hmmm—fuck.”
“this what you wanted?” he grins, pumping his digits into you at a steady pace. “this what you needed all week, gorgeous?”
you’re already clenching your thighs, trying to push them together again. “uh-uh—huh.”
he grins at your lack of speech, kissing your lips, endeared. “—and you’re not gonna ignore me after this, right?” his fingers work faster in you, moving them in coordination with how your body responds.
the moans and whimpers don’t stop flying from your lips.
“m—mhm!”
“tell me. tell me you’re not gonna ignore me.” he tries to hold your eyes.
“i—i—will!”
“you will?” he fakes concern, stopping his movements.
“NO! no i won’t! i’m not! please! please i’m not going to!” you cry, grabbing his wrist. “please! don’t stop.”
will’s smirk grows as he continues.
he watches you, the way your head tips back on the machine, the way your mouth hangs open the majority of the time. it’s like you don’t even know where you are right now, the idea of someone being able to walk in not even a concept in your mind.
you’re completely surrendered to him.
just him and his fingers shoved knuckle deep in you. “FUCK!”
you cry out, ears burning with the noise of your juices slicking.
your stomach clenches, your legs flinching as you feel an unfamiliar build grow more and more by the second. it scares you. “will, will, will—” you squeak, feeling his fingers curl at a particular spot that makes you feel like you need to pee. “will stop, stop—”
“what’s wrong, baby?” he breathes, trying to hide his confusion, the nickname going straight to your core. he knows your close - he can feel you clenching around him, it almost hurts. “you gonna cum for me?”
your eyes practically roll to the back of your head at his words, struggling to stay open with each dazed blink. “i—i-”
“it’s ok babe, just let go. that’s what i want you to do,” his voice is soft and gentle, contradicting the violation his hand is doing to your pussy.
he has you melted down to nothing.
your face pulls together as your whole body racks, your hand clutching his wrist for stability as you breathe frantically. “can’t i—i need, you need—”
“—you can, gorgeous. cum for me. cum right now,” his fingers speed up inside you, pumping frantically, squelching deafeningly. little weird stars dot your vision as your eyes lock on each other’s. those sweet, dark and dangerous baby blues.
the moment will’s thumb presses against your nerves, you’re a goner. your jaw goes slack, your eyes flutter and your legs thrash trying to pull away. a wet, gushing, drip-like sound rings in your ears as you cum. “WILL!” you sob, nails digging into his skin. will’s fingers don’t falter, not even as he drops his gaze to see the water-like liquid squirt out of you, dripping onto washing machine, splashing onto the floor.
“holy fuck.” he breathes, neck craning to the ground as you cry out. you try to cover your mouth with your arm, embarrassed by the noise leaving you.
your eyes find his, immediately giving you away.
he sees it - the surprise. the nerves.
the quiet panic of not understanding your own body. your own heart.
but he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t point it out.
doesn’t make you feel exposed.
instead, a gentle smile tugs at his lips, so warm it quiets every anxious thought in your head.
he grins at you like you just hung a medal around his neck. “good job, gorgeous.” he praises.
you can only look at him, face blooming, contorted as your body slowly finishes riding out it’s orgasm on his hand.
will’s fingers slow, remaining inside you.
your chest rises and falls as you look at will with an intensity he’s never seen before.
you refuse to look anywhere else but him.
for a moment, neither of you say anything.
it’s fine.
you’re just staring at each other, heavy breathing filling the silence.
partly because both of you can’t believe what just happened.
“i didn’t — done that before.”
will’s face falls into a soft amusement, his lips tugging at the sides. “you what?”
“i mean!—” you facepalm a second, eyes closing as you try to think of what you’re trying to say. “. . i’ve never done that before. i don’t even—was—was ‘at supposed to happen?” you gulp.
anxiety immediately begins to set in.
oh god, did you just pee?!
will’s chuckle drowns out any second-guessing as he inches close enough that your noses touch, his voice smooth like honey. “that’s the hottest thing that could have happened . . .” his hair tickles you, “can’t teach that.”
your face burns, chest still rising as you refuse to meet his gaze.
will slowly retreats his hand, apologising when he notices the furrow in your brows at the discomfort and emptiness. “sorry gorgeous.”
you wipe your sweaty palms on your thighs that even feel sensitive while your eyes find the door, a weird sinking filling your chest.
that was a really stupid thing to do.
you don’t regret it.
you look back to will, waiting for him to make a move while you wait for the embarrassment to rush in any second now. it always does.
instead, he holds out both his hands for you to take.
still catching your breath, you take them.
he smiles, steadying you as you slide carefully off the washing machine. your legs wobble, but his grip tightens instinctively around your hands.
your legs are like jelly.
once you’re steady, he lets go, but he stays where he is, in front of you, watching you tuck your hair behind your ear.
his eyes dart across your face, the soft glow to it whether from him or the heat of the small room. “you okay?” he tucks a strand you missed.
you nod, too embarrassed to speak. hardly able to look at him.
he senses it. “i hope you meant what you said.”
you freeze, head snapping to him. “what did i say?”
will lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his had with a little smile. “about you wanting me to keep annoying you . . paying you attention . .” he teases.
you give his shoulder a playful shove. he barely moves. “ok.”
“your days would be boring without me—”
“—ok will!” another pathetic shove, still feeling loose on your feet.
“alright, alright.” he’s laughing now, catching your wrist before you can push him again. “just making sure you remembered.”
“i do,” you say, pulling away. “and . . i meant it.”
he smiles. “good. i meant what i said too.”
“about what?”
“about how you better not be a weirdo and start hiding on me again,” he sways on his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. “i don’t want you feeling like you ever need to avoid me . .” your eyes soften, “. . or worry i’m gonna tell anyone. this stays between us. whatever it is we do . .”
your shoulders loosen without meaning to.
the knot that’s been sitting in your chest since the kiss finally begins to ease.
he notices the perk up. you smile. “okay . . cool.”
“cool.” he smiles back.
before either of you can say anything else, before you can stand any longer just looking at each other, the laundry room door swings open. “YO! will!”
it’s one of the guys from the hockey team.
he walks in carrying an overflowing basket, not a shirt on, a towel around his neck.
will steps back so naturally you’d almost think nothing had happened. “what’s up?”
“you here?” he nods towards the empty machine.
“nah, all yours.”
“sweet.” the guy glances between the two of you. “hey.”
“hey,” you answer, hoping your face isn’t still flaming. he bends down, beginning to sort his washing without another thought.
will reaches for his own basket, then looks at yours. “you heading back to your dorm?”
you nod.
“i’ll carry that for you.”
he says it as casually as asking what time it is, already lifting it before you’ve answered.
you can’t help the small smile that escapes. “thanks smitty . . ”
“don’t mention it,” he shoots you a wink. “just focus on getting up those stairs on your own.”
you give him a look, and somehow, with him carrying your laundry and teasing you exactly like before — it feels like nothing has changed.
Summary: Your friend sets you up on a blind date and it ends up being the best thing that’s ever happened
You’re tempted to cancel. You’re standing in front of your mirror, turning in circles inspecting your outfit, and wondering if this is a good idea. You’re going on a blind date, set up by your friend who swears on her life that this man is “literally perfect for you.”
But “literally perfect” could mean literally anything. What if he’s ugly? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he won’t stop talking about bitcoin or how much he wants to suck Elon’s dick? Okay, dating in the Bay Area has scarred you.
You stare at your phone, already drafting the text to your friend in your head. Maybe you have a migraine. Or food poisoning. Maybe your car won’t start.
But instead you grab your purse. Because honestly, fine, whatever. If it’s awful, at least you’ll get a good story out of it.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
The restaurant your friends picked out is small, quaint even. Not fancy enough to make you more nervous than you already are, but it’s not casual either. You walk up to the hostess stand.
“Reservation for Will?” You ask, trying, and slightly failing, not to sound too anxious.
She smiles warmly at you. “Right this way.”
Your heart starts pounding. He’s already here? You’re already ten minutes early, how long has he been waiting? And right in the middle of your spiraling, you see him.
He’s tall, blond hair slightly messy, wearing a nice sweater. He looks up as you approach and he freezes. Then he stands up so fast he almost knocks his chair backwards.
You freeze too for half a second because oh my fuck he’s beautiful. Not just like objectively attractive, he’s stupidly, unfairly pretty. Clear skin, great jawline, and soft blue eyes that are staring straight at you. And he looks just as nervous as you feel.
“Hey.” He says, then he laughs under is breath at that. “Hi, sorry. You must be-”
You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you.
There’s a second where he clearly doesn’t know what to do next. He steps forwards like he’s going to hug you, but then he hesitates and offers a handshake, but then he pulls back like that’s too formal. You start laughing slightly.
He grins. “I swear I’m not normally this awkward.”
“Yeah?” You tease.
And just like that, all the nerves dissolve. He ends up giving you a quick hug. Then the two of you sit down.
“I’m happy you’re real,” he says, shaking his head like he’s stunned. “I was almost convinced my buddy catfished me.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Excuse me?”
He gestures at you. “He said I’d like you. He did not mention you’re literally gorgeous.”
You feel your cheeks heat instantly and you look down at the table. “Laying it on thick already, huh?”
He smiles at that. “Never, I’m just being honest.”
You laugh, full and unguarded, and he visibly relaxes like that was the goal all along. After that, dinner flows like you’ve known each other for years.
He’s hilarious in that effortless way, quick, dry, very self-aware. He leans in when you talk and he actually listens, nodding along and asking followup questions.
He tells you he was skeptical too.
“Yeah, I was terrified it was gonna be, like, the worst experience of my life. But it’s definitely not.” He says, taking a sip of water.
“Right?” You agree. “I was worried you’d chew with your mouth open or something.”
“Chew with my mouth open?” He exclaims, appalled at even the thought of that. “I have excellent manners. I’m media trained.”
“Media trained? What are you, an actor?” You ask, laughing.
He gives you a sheepish smile. “I’m an athlete.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Like, professional?”
He nods. “Yeah…I play for the Sharks. Hockey.”
You just stare at him. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head, smiling, clearly finding the whole situation amusing. “I would never lie, remember? I’m honest.”
“And my friends didn’t think to mention that?” You say, smiling now too.
He shrugs. “I told them not to. I wanted you to meet me as me, not…that.”
The way he says it is soft, like he’s almost shy now. And that’s the moment it shifts for you, because he could’ve led with that. He could’ve flexed it or walked in expecting you to be impressed. But instead, he was nervous about whether to hug you. Your expression softens as you stare at him.
“What?” he asks, smiling like he already knows.
“Nothing,” you say. “I just… wasn’t expecting this.”
“Good kind of unexpected I hope?” he asks, quieter now.
You hold his gaze. “The best kind.”
His smile softens into something warmer. By the time dessert comes, you’re leaning toward each other across the table like magnets. Your knees brush under the table and neither of you move away. It doesn’t feel like a first date anymore.
When you step outside, the night air is cool and quiet.
He rubs the back of his neck like he’s nervous again. “So.”
“So,” you echo.
“I had a really good time,” he says honestly.
“Me too.”
He steps closer. “Can I be honest?”
“Aren’t you an ‘honest guy’?”
He rolls his eyes playfully. “I was hoping you’d be great. But I didn’t expect this to feel… so easy.”
“Easy?” you repeat.
“In a good way,” he says quickly. “Like I don’t have to try to be anything, like I can be myself.”
Your heart does something ridiculous in your chest.
“You don’t have to be anyone else,” you say softly.
There’s a beat of silence.
And then, because he’s Will, he grins. “Okay, but can I kiss you or is that too forward for someone who didn’t know whether to hug you an hour ago?”
You laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is that a yes?”
You step closer, nodding. His hand slides gently to your waist, hesitant for half a second. When he kisses you, it’s soft and perfect.
“Yeah,” he murmurs after he pulls away. “Best blind date ever.”
You smile, breathless. You can’t believe you almost cancelled tonight. Because now, with him walking you back to your car, his fingers laced through yours, it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Hi! Can I request a Will x reader. They meet in a bookstore while Will is looking for a new book for the book club. The reader is shy and hesitant to go on a date with will.
book club | wsh²
will smith hockey x bookstore employee!reader
wc: 1.6k
a/n: all dialogue whoops!
“Do you need any help?”
Will is startled out of the daze he’s in. He’s overwhelmed by the shelves overflowing with pages upon pages of unfamiliar authors and flowery prose. It all blurs together into nothing until he turns and sees you, and it’s like the world comes back into focus. You stand a couple of feet away from him, head tilted to the side, eyeing the book in his hands, a small, polite smile on your lips. You have a tiny name badge on your chest, and he has to squint to read it.
“Oh—uhm, yes, actually. I’m not sure where to start.” He quickly stuffs the book back where he found it. He had no idea what he was doing.
“Is this for yourself or maybe a loved one?”
“For a book club?” He asks it as a question, like you were the only one who could approve this third option.
“That’s fun!” You clasp your hands together softly, your eyes filling up with joy. “Is this your first time hosting one?”
“Yeah. Honestly, I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.”
“Do you know what genre you’d all might like?”
“Uhm, well—we’re all different ages— coworkers—“
Coworkers! He wants to smack himself across the face. Technically, it’s true, but he sounded like an idiot.
“Hmm, so maybe nothing about your jobs then, right?”
“Yeah,” he exhales a small laugh.
“Well, I'm thinking we're in the wrong section. This is romance.” Your eyes wander to the shelf he’s standing in front of, full of books with sparkly letters and cartoon-covered title pages.
“Right.” He blushes a deep red. It wasn’t his fault. It was the first section he was greeted with when walking into this place, and he was so lost he couldn’t distinguish one thing from another.
You start walking further into the store, and he follows close behind like a puppy. “I don’t want to assume, but most guys your age like sports autobiographies, or other non-fiction, like self-improvement books. Would that be something your group would like?”
“That’s-uhm-related to our jobs, a bit? Think they’ve already read a lot of stuff like that.”
You pivot, turning back to him, a new look in your eye. You’re curious, he can tell, but he doesn’t know how to tell you he’s a professional athlete without being a douche about it. You’re so breathtakingly beautiful, he might fuck up and lie about still being in college if you asked, so he could sound more relatable to you. He isn’t this distant, far-off athlete with fame and accolades. In this store right now, he’s just Will.
“Oh? So maybe something fictional? For book clubs, I usually recommend a series to start out with. So you can come back and get the next one. Keeps everyone engaged too!”
Perfect. Perfect. Whatever series you recommend, he knows he’s buying it immediately. And maybe that’s unfair to Mack, who specifically told him not to pick out something “dumb” or “the first thing he saw” because he knew his best friend, and he didn’t trust him to do anything right. It’s one of the reasons why Mack didn’t come, because he knew they’d start arguing in this dainty and quiet bookstore. Will told him they would get kicked out, and, God forbid, the scene would be plastered all over twitter the next day.
But now that he’s thinking about it, you’re his best shot at not picking out something stupid for the guys to read. He still wants to make this book club an actual thing, and you seem really passionate about everything — the way you’re asking questions, the inquisitive looks you give him because you’re trying to flesh out his whole being without asking too much.
There’s a table with a sign that reads popular adult fiction series, and you thumb over one of the books on the table.
“Have you read a lot of these?” He asks because he knows you won’t give up any more information about yourself. Really, you shouldn’t. This is your job, and you’re giving him advice, but surely, he needed to know if the smart and pretty girl who’s recommending it has read it.
You nod, eyes darting over the books. “I’m trying to think…of something you’d like.” He watches your side profile, the soft curve of your cheek, the focused pucker of your lips. Then, you’re suddenly grabbing a book from the other end of the table, body leaning forward to reach it.
“Maybe this? It’s a three-part series. It’s not even set in this millennium, so no worries about sports and modern jobs and stuff,” you say, and then you realize how awkward it sounds. Your face flushes. He gently takes the book from your outstretched hands, smiling at your description.
He reads the back cover, and you stand there, anxiously playing with your name tag.
“Did you like it?” He asks suddenly, and you almost choke on nothing. People don’t often ask you that.
“Yeah, I just finished the last book. I love that author.”
“I’m sold.” He smiles widely, and your heart flutters. The thing you know it shouldn’t do.
“Cool! I can help you at the register.” He grabs three more of the same book.
“Could I—could I ask if you’re single?” He stutters out as you hand him his receipt. He’s never felt so nervous in his life. He thinks there’s no way in hell you weren’t already taken.
“Oh,” the smile drains from your face, “I don’t know if that’s — I mean — we don’t know each other. I think you’re really pretty, but—“ Your hand flies over your mouth, physically stopping yourself from digging the hole deeper.
“Pretty?” He laughs.
“Oh, God, sorry! I just kind of have a rule about…strangers.” It sounds silly when you say it out loud, because by now, you’ve spent a good ten minutes talking to him, and he really was not a stranger. You’re intimidated by him — that’s the reason.
“That’s alright. I get it.” He bites back his embarrassment.
“But hopefully, I’ll see you when you finish this one?”
“Yeah, definitely.” And then he thanks you, making it intentional the way he says your name, like he wants you to know he’ll remember it for next time.
—
He makes sure to come on the same day of the week, around the same time of day, too.
“Did you guys like it?” You ask. He was pretending to peruse a shelf, waiting to see if he’d spot you, but he guessed you found him first.
“Yeah, I mean, it was really good. I’m not a big reader, so I can’t compare it, but everyone loved it.”
Mack eventually found out. He was bewildered when Will came home with a book over 300 pages, which didn’t have an athlete or silly word play on the front cover. He jokingly asked who helped him, and that’s when Will flushed and stammered a bit, saying he found it by himself.
“Man, you’re so weird.” He had said, confused but okay with dropping the subject before Will started blabbering about you, totally unprompted.
“So now you’re saying we have to read this, and if it’s not good, we have to keep reading it?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be good. Trust me.”
And it was good. Macklin had to ask him when he was going back to get the next one.
“I’m so happy,” you say, already walking back over to that same table, him trailing beside you this time. You pick out the second in the series, handing it to him, expecting him to read the back, but he doesn’t. He just takes three more books from the stack again and thanks you.
“I-uh,” you start, unsure if you want to mention it, but now you’ve already started speaking, and he’s looking at you with those blue eyes, so expectant, “your name is Will, right?”
He smiles and nods.
“I didn’t mean to pry, I just…my coworker knows who you are so…”
“I should have told you my name before, but I got a little star-struck. Kinda forgot everything.”
“Oh,” you say, eyes shifting to the ground. “Thank you?” You question, finding the courage to look up at him through your lashes.
He won’t let that darn smile fall from his lips. It just gets bigger.
“I would say we aren’t strangers anymore.” He states.
“One could say that.”
“When will you let me take you out?” He takes a step closer to you, balancing four books in one hand.
“Maybe when you finish the series? Then we’ll have something to talk about over dinner?”
He’s calculating how long it will realistically take the group to finish the next two books. He’s going to be a real pain in the ass to them on their next road trip.
“It can’t be tonight?”
You smile, shaking your head as you start walking back to the front of the store.
“You need to get through this one first, at least.” You scan his books, placing them in a bag.
“We’re traveling this week — for work, you know?” He looks to see if you understand how his “job” works, and you nod, finding it endearing how he explains things. “So sometime next week? We’ll finish it by then. I’ll make them.”
You laugh lightly, and the beams of light from the glass windows adorn your face. He thinks you have the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.
“Please?” He asks. He plants his forearms over the counter, leaning closer to you. His blonde curls fall over his brows. You notice the small mole under his eye.
“Okay, Will Smith. Come back next week, and it’s a date.”
He slaps his hand palm down on the counter softly, celebrating.
