╰ Synopsis You bring food to comfort Will and his best friend Macklin after a tough loss, but Macklin’s frustrated after the loss and snaps at you for always being there and Will is being protective and makes him apologise.
tags/contains Will Smith x fem!reader, Macklin Celebrini x platonic!reader. Angst with happy ending, protective Will, established relationship, Macklin lashing out on reader, requested.
➺ from Sera, to you📨. This lowkey turned out a fic for both of them, but this is still Will Smith x reader 👍
masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it!
You knew Will wasn’t happy the second the final score popped up on your phone. A tough loss, which you knew would linger. And neither was Macklin, you didn’t need to ask to know that. You’d been around them long enough to read the slump in Will’s shoulders from a single text, or the way Macklin would get more sad.
Truth be told, nobody was happy when they lost. The difference between them was that Will was your boyfriend, the person you wanted to wrap up and protect from every bad thing and Macklin had somehow become a protective brother you never knew you needed.
You’d grown to love him in a platonic way because he mattered so much to Will, and once you really got to know him, you understood exactly why. He was loyal, quick to laugh on good days, and the friend who’d have Will’s back no matter what.
So when games went south, you wanted to be there for both of them.
You hadn’t been able to make tonight’s game but you’d promised Will you’d come over as soon as they were home. On the way, you stopped at the little pizza spot they both loved and picked up a large pepperoni and a side of garlic knots because who didn’t love food when they were feeling low?
When you reached their apartment, Will opened the door almost immediately. His hair was pushed back messily, you could see the tiredness in his blue eyes but the moment he saw you, it kind of disappeared.
“There you are,” he murmured. He didn’t even wait for you to step fully inside before he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that quickly deepened into another, and then another as if your mouth was the only thing that could ease the frustration that still coiled in him.
You smiled against his lips when you finally pulled back just enough to breathe. “Missed me that much?”
“More than you know,” he admitted quietly. “Tonight sucked.”
“I know, baby.” You lifted the warm pizza box and the paper bag of knots. “But I brought food.”
He let out a small, grateful laugh and took them from your hands, leading you into the living room. The space was dimly lit, and the couch looked perfectly inviting. You both dropped onto it together, thighs pressed close, his arm sliding naturally around your shoulders as you opened the box on the coffee table.
“For my favourite man,” you teased softly, letting him get a slice.
Will hummed in appreciation, leaning in to steal one more quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re too good to me.”
You shrugged, warmth blooming in your chest as he kept you tucked against his side. “Just want to make tonight a little better.”
He squeezed you gently. “You are. Like always.”
You let Will vent as he picked at his slice of pizza. He talked about how the other team had been chippy all night with slashing, shoving, running their mouths, stuff the refs let slide way too much.
“It’s like they knew they couldn’t beat us straight up, so they just tried to get under our skin,” he muttered, leaning into you a little more. You nodded, murmuring agreements in all the right places, your hand rubbing slow circles on his thigh.
Footsteps padded down the hallway, and Macklin appeared in the living room doorway. His hair was wet and tousled from the shower, a towel slung over his shoulder as he headed toward the kitchen without looking up. You didn’t think much of it, Will was still talking, and Macklin would probably join you both once he was done.
A minute later, he came back out, finally glancing toward the couch. His eyes landed on you, and something in his expression shifted. He rolled his eyes and dropped heavily into the armchair next to Will.
“You’re here again?” The words came out flat, almost bored, but with a bite underneath that made your stomach drop.
You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, hey..” you started softly, trying for a smile, but it faltered.
Will went still beside you, his slice halfway to his mouth.
Macklin didn’t even seem to register the tension at first. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Why are you always here? Every single time something goes wrong, you show up. We can’t even just be pissed in our own apartment without you hovering.”
Your throat tightened. “I- I just brought food. I thought-”
“It’s not about the food,” he snapped, voice rising a fraction. “It’s every night. We lose a game, you’re here. We win a game, you’re here. We just want one night to breathe without someone else in our space all the time.”
The words hit harder than you expected. You’d never heard him talk like this. Macklin, who teased you about Will, who’d once stayed up until 3am helping you surprise Will for his birthday.
Will’s jaw clenched. “Macklin,” he said. “Don’t speak to her like that.”
Macklin threw his hands up. “Come on, man. You know it’s true. Don’t you need space sometimes?”
You swallowed hard, the sting behind your eyes growing hotter. “No, it’s fine,” you managed, even though your voice wobbled. “I get it. I am always here. I didn’t mean to-” You stopped, because what could you even say? You’d thought they liked having you around. Will always said he loved it and Macklin had never complained.
You stood up quickly, setting your slice back in the box. “I’ll just go to your room, Will. Give you guys space.” The last word cracked a little, and you turned before either of them could see the tears starting to blur your vision.
You made it down the short hallway and into Will’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind you. You weren’t even mad, but you were hurt. Deeply and unexpectedly hurt.
Behind you, you heard Will’s voice rise sharply in the living room. “What the hell was that, Mack?”
You didn’t catch Macklin’s reply. Then the door opened behind you, and Will slipped inside, closing it again with a quiet click. He didn’t say anything at first. He just crossed the room and pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight, like he could shield you from every word that had just been said.
Will’s arms stayed around you for a moment, his chin resting on the top of your head. You could feel his heart beating fast against your cheek. When he finally pulled back, he guided you gently to sit on his bed, settling beside you with his hands framing your face. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had escaped.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Mack didn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated. The reporters were weird tonight, asking the same stupid questions over and over, and the other team was chipping at him all game. He’s wound tight.”
You looked up at him. “But why would he say that to me? You’re frustrated too, Will. But you don’t lash out like that.”
Will’s jaw tightened again, but his touch stayed soft. “I know. He wasn’t thinking. The words just came out wrong, he didn’t realise how they’d sound until it was too late.”
More tears welled up, and you tried to blink them away. “He’s right, though. I am always here. If I’m a burden, you could’ve just told me. I wouldn’t have-”
“Stop.” Will’s voice was firm, but gentle. He cupped your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You are not a burden. Not even close. I love having you here more than anything. This apartment feels empty when you’re not around and I mean that. You make everything better, even nights like tonight.”
You sniffed, leaning into his palm. “Then why did he-”
“I’m going to talk to him,” Will said, already shifting like he was about to stand.
“No!” You grabbed his wrist, panic rising. “Don’t go. He’ll think I sent you to fight my battles or guilt him into apologising.”
Will paused, then shook his head. “I don’t care what he thinks right now. He doesn’t get to speak to you like that and pretend nothing happened. You didn’t deserve a single word of it, and he needs to hear that from me.” His tone left no room for argument, protective in the best way.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Will slipped out, closing the door behind him as you heard his footsteps down the hall. “Mack. We need to talk.”
A muffled reply from Macklin, defensive. “Dude, I’m tired-”
“No. You don’t get to brush this off.” Will’s words were sharp. “You just tore into my girlfriend, the person who dropped everything to bring us food after a shitty night and made her cry. She thinks she’s a burden now because of you.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“I don’t care what you meant. You hurt her. And if you ever speak to her like that again, we’re gonna have a real problem. She’s family to both of us, man. Go and fix it.”
Will’s voice softened, but stayed firm. “She deserves an apology. Not because I’m telling you to but because you know you were wrong.”
Macklin sighed heavily. “I know.”
A soft knock pulled your eyes from your phone, but you didn’t look up right away. You kept scrolling, thumb moving faster than necessary, pretending to be absorbed in whatever random video was playing. The door opened anyway, and Macklin stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.
He hesitated for a second, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed near your feet, the mattress dipping under his weight. You still didn’t meet his gaze, even though the screen had gone blurry through the leftover tears.
“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, voice low, nothing like the sharp edge it had carried earlier.
You finally glanced up. His shoulders were slumped, and he was staring at his hands like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“I don’t even know why I said all that,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was pissed at the game, at the refs, at those idiot reporters asking the same dumb questions for the hundredth time. Everything felt like it was piling up, and I just exploded. And I aimed it at the one person who didn’t deserve a single bit of it.”
He risked a look at you, eyes genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t mean any of it. If anything, I love having you around more than pretty much anyone else. You show up with food, you make Will happy, you make this place feel less like a locker room and more like home. Half the time I’m the one stealing your food when you’re not looking.”
A tiny huff escaped you and Macklin’s mouth twitched in the faintest relieved smile.
“Seriously,” he went on. “If some random person was always hanging out here, I’d probably lose it. But you? You’re different. You’ve been family for a long time. I was just too wound up to think straight, and I took it out on you because.. I don’t even know. Because you’re safe I guess. And that makes it even worse.”
He shifted a little closer, careful not to crowd you. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that you’re sitting here thinking you’re anything less than wanted, because you’re not. You’re the opposite of a burden. I’m really, really sorry.”
Silence settled for a moment. Then you sat up properly, tucking your phone away, and leaned forward to wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. Macklin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours, his arms coming around you immediately.
When you finally started to ease back, he didn’t let go completely, his hands lingered on your arms as he searched your face.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You gotta say it. Please?”
You met his eyes, the redness around them mirroring your own, and gave a small nod. He shook his head gently, a faint, hopeful smile tugging at his mouth. “Out loud? I need to hear it, Y/n.”
“I forgive you, Macklin.”
Relief softened his whole expression, and he pulled you into one more quick, grateful squeeze before finally letting go.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Seriously. And next time I’m being a complete idiot, you have full permission to throw something right at my head.”
A laugh escaped you as you wiped the last traces of tears from your cheeks. “I’ll hold you to that.”
word count: 1,150 + words | long narrations ahead!
a/n: first official post on the shark tank blog! 🩵 wanted to kick things off with a little protective macklin action. let me know what you think in my asks!
my moon, my man, so changeable and such a lovable lamb to me..
dating the face of the franchise came with a very strict set of unwritten rules. rule number one? keep it a secret. you didn’t need the media circus, and macklin—as hyper-focused and professional as he always was—preferred keeping his private life entirely separate from the rink. which meant when you sat in your usual lower-bowl seats just behind the glass, you were just another fan in a teal jersey. you weren't supposed to lock eyes. you weren't supposed to smile when he did a lap past your section during warmups.
but tonight, someone else was breaking a completely different rule.
it started in the first period. a defenseman from the opposing team had been skating close to your side of the glass during a whistle. he’d caught sight of you, offered a sleek, lingering smirk, and tapped his stick against the boards right in front of your seat.
you tried to ignore it. but by the second period, every time his line was on the ice, he was looking up. a blatant, unbothered stare, completely checking you out every single time he skated past. it was getting incredibly annoying, and honestly, you were starting to get pissed off.
you didn't look at him. you looked at macklin.
and macklin definitely noticed.
from across the ice, you could see the exact moment #71 caught the exchange. he was sitting on the bench, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck were straining. he didn't look away from that defenseman for the rest of the shift, his dark eyes tracking the guy with a terrifying, icy intensity. when macklin’s line finally hopped over the boards, his play was brutal. he was skating faster, hitting harder, absolutely suffocating the opposing line. but during a battle along the boards right in front of you, the defenseman shoved a sharks player, looked directly past the glass into your eyes, and gave a cocky wink.
the arena didn't see the wink. but he did.
two seconds later, the opposing team caught a lucky break on the transition, breaking into the sharks' zone and burying a puck into the back of the net. the red light flashed. the buzzer blared. the opposing team started to celebrate, but nobody was watching the puck. because before the referee could even blow his whistle to signal the goal, macklin celebrini had already crossed the blue line like a freight train. he didn't even hesitate. with a violent, fluid motion, macklin ripped his gloves off, letting them clatter uselessly to the ice, and launched himself directly at the defenseman.
the collision was deafening.
macklin grabbed the front of the guy's jersey, shoving him squarely against the glass right in front of your face. the glass rattled violently from the impact. the arena went absolutely electric. thousands of fans leaped to their feet, roaring in approval as a massive scrum broke out. macklin was throwing punches, completely blind with rage, his helmet knocked sideways until the linesmen finally dove in, wrestling him away.every single fan in sap center was hyped out of their minds.
except you.
your heart was in your throat, your hands gripping your jersey as you watched him get dragged toward the penalty box. as he sat down on the bench inside the box, you could see the damage—a nasty, bleeding cut stretching across his cheekbone from where a visor had caught him. you stared directly through the glass at him, letting out a heavy, stressed sigh. are you kidding me? you thought.
macklin was breathing heavily, his chest heaving under his jersey as a trainer handed him a towel to press against the blood on his face. through the glass, he caught you staring. he didn't look at the screaming crowd, and he didn't look at the replay on the jumbotron. he just stared straight back at you, his dark eyes still wild and intense, offering zero regrets for what he just did.
the game continued, and for the rest of the third period, you just sat there pouting. you were completely pissed off—annoyed at the opposing defenseman who kept trying to look your way from across the ice, and stressed out about the cut on macklin's face. macklin spent his penalty time staring daggers through the box glass, looking like a caged animal until he was finally let out to finish the game. the sharks played angry after that, completely shutting down the opposing team.
when the final buzzer finally echoed through the arena, the scoreboard lit up with a sharks win. the crowd erupted, celebrating the victory, but you didn't stick around to watch the handshakes. the second the buzzer sounded, you stood up, bypassed the cheering fans, and flashed your pass to the arena security. your lips were pressed into a thin line as you marched straight down the concrete tunnel, heading directly for the back entrance of the locker room. you were completely stomping your way through the corridor, your anger radiating off you in waves. you passed by a few other team members who were heading back from the ice, still riding the high of the win. will walked right past you, a wide grin on his face.
"hey! what's up—" will started to say, raising a hand to greet you, but you just stormed right past him without a word. you were way too busy being furious to deal with his casual banter. what the hell was macklin even thinking? he got a fucking cut on his face over a stupid, meaningless chirp from some random defenseman.
you pushed the heavy door to the locker room open and stepped inside. most of the guys were still lingering in the main area, but macklin was in his stall, looking incredibly grumpy. william eklund was right next to him, unstrapping his pads.
"what was that fight for, mack?" eky asked, tossing his elbow pads into his bag and glancing over at him. "you completely snapped."
"yeah, mack, what was that for?" you spoke up, your voice echoing sharply against the concrete walls.
both of their heads instantly turned in your direction.
eky’s eyes went completely wide as he looked from your furious expression to macklin's suddenly tense posture. reading the room at lightning speed, eky scrambled his way out of his stall, dropping his gear. he quickly grabbed the arm of another remaining teammate nearby, practically dragging him out of the room. "uh, we're gonna go grab some water. come on," eky muttered, shoving the other guy out the door and slamming it shut behind them, leaving the two of you completely alone.
the locker room fell dead silent.
macklin sat on the bench, his skates still on, a blood-stained towel slouched in his lap. the cut across his cheekbone was still oozing slightly, a sharp contrast against his pale, sweaty skin. he looked up at you through his eyelashes, trying to maintain his tough, unbothered hockey-captain persona, but his shoulders dropped slightly under your glare.
"you're mad," he said flatly, his accent slipping through.
"of course i'm mad!" you snapped, crossing your arms and stepping closer to his stall. "macklin richard, you threw your gloves off before the whistle even blew. you could have gotten suspended! look at your face, you have a huge cut. what was that for?"
macklin scoffed, yanking the tape off his wrists and tossing it violently into the trash bin next to him. "you know exactly what it was for."
"he was just looking, mack. it's just a stupid opponent trying to get under your skin, and you took the bait completely."
"he wasn't just looking," macklin muttered. he stood up on his skates, suddenly towering over you. the raw adrenaline from the game was still rolling off him, making his dark eyes look incredibly intense. he stepped right into your personal space, ignoring the unwritten rule about being seen together. "he was looking at you. he kept doing it all night. and then he winked at you right in front of me."
you opened your mouth to argue, but the sheer possessiveness in his voice caught in your throat.
"i don't care about the suspension," macklin said, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes scanned your face, ensuring you were safe and untouched. "nobody looks at you like that. nobody taps their stick at you. i don't care who he thinks he is, i'm not letting some random defenseman disrespect what's mine."
your anger started to deflate, but seeing how riled up he still was, a little smirk began to tug at the corner of your lips. the heavy tension in the room suddenly shifted into something much lighter, and you just couldn't help yourself. ho.
you took a step closer, intentionally tapping your fingers right against the center of his chest. "oh, really? so our big, serious franchise player gets a five-minute major because he can't handle someone looking at his girlfriend?"
macklin’s jaw tighted, a faint flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the skating. "shut up. i was protecting you."
"you were jealous," you teased, leaning in slightly, your eyes dancing with amusement as you looked up at him. "admit it, mac. you saw him wink and you totally lost your mind."
"i did not lose my mind," he muttered, though he didn't step back. his eyes flicked down to your lips, his protective stance melting into something much more breathless. "i just redirected his attention."
"by getting a massive scratch on your face?" you reached up, gently tracing the skin just beneath the cut, making him hiss softly. "very heroic. though, i have to say, seeing you rip your gloves off like that was a little hot. too bad you ruined it by sitting in the penalty box like a pouting toddler for the rest of the period."
macklin let out a low, defeated chuckle, his hands coming down to rest securely on your waist, pulling you flush against him despite the sweaty hockey gear. "i wasn't pouting," he murmured, a rare, smirk finally breaking through his tough exterior as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "and if you think that was hot, just wait until we get home. but first, you're coming with me to the medical room to hold my hand while they stitch this up."
"only if you admit you're a jealous psycho," you whispered back, tilting your head up.
macklin rolled his eyes, kissing your cheek right next to his injury. "fine. i'm a jealous psycho. now let's go."
(he is so baby love, baby boy, baby everything coded. lmk what you guys think!)
When you meet Will’s family for the first time, it did not go as you expected. They painted you out to be everything you weren’t. Fame. Money. Clout. Materialistic gold digger. You never missed a game of his prior to this incident seeing as if his family were never in attendance but of course, they started to show up every game because you’re there. Feeling unwelcome and uncomfortable, you didn’t go anymore. You weren’t going to kiss their asses and stood your ground when it came to your relationship. Will invited you to his cousins wedding as his date months later and you confront his family showing how much you will fight for your relationship with Will and that you are in it for the right reason. One reason only. For Will.
red lines (will smith x reader)
word count: 1,450+ words
a/n: post number five as my first ever imagine req! 🩵 tw: long long narrations ahead. enjoy!
dinner with your sister and the jokes kinda hurt / cried the way home and you're putting me first...
you had tried so hard to be strong. you really, truly had.
when will’s family had called him out of the blue to suggest a private dinner while they were in town, your heart had immediately climbed into your throat. it had been months since they first made it clear they thought you were just after his new nhl lifestyle. but will had looked at you with so much hopeful, quiet exhaustion in his eyes that you swallowed your pride. you put on a simple, respectful outfit, checked your lipstick in the mirror, and promised yourself you would be a perfect guest.
you weren't going to cause a scene. you were just going to love him quietly.
but his family had other plans.
the private dining room at the restaurant was suffocatingly quiet. you sat close to will, your thigh pressed against his under the table for comfort, while his mother and older sister sat across from you like a firing squad hidden behind polite smiles. will was trying his best to talk about the road trip, his voice enthusiastic as he recounted a game-winning play, but his sister completely derailed the conversation, her eyes sliding over to you with a sharp, artificial gleam.
"so," she murmured, taking a slow, calculated sip of her wine. "i saw on social media that you were at the charity gala last weekend. must be nice getting invited to those exclusive events now. i bet the gift bags are incredible."
your fingers tightened around your cloth napkin, your cheeks flaring a faint pink. "it was actually a wonderful event for the children's hospital. the team did an amazing job organizing it."
"oh, i'm sure," his sister chuckled softly, a dry, dismissive sound that made the air turn to ice. "it's just funny. will used to be so focused on his training and his games, and now he’s suddenly being dragged to red carpets and galas. i guess when you date a pro athlete, you have to make sure you get seen in the right rooms, right? got to make the most of the clout while it lasts."
the comment hit like a physical slap. it was wrapped in a casual, teasing tone—a joke meant to look harmless—but the underlying malice was loud and clear. they were still painting you out to be a materialistic gold digger, a parasite feeding off his hard work. prior to that, his family was rarely in attendance at his home games, preferring to watch from a distance. you, on the other hand, had never missed a single night. you were always there behind the glass, wearing his jersey, being his steady anchor.
they didn't do it to support him; they did it because you were there. every time you sat in the lower bowl, you could feel their icy, judgmental glares cutting through the crowded vip lounge. they made it completely obvious that you were unwelcome and uncomfortable, dropping loud remarks about "girls who target athletes" just within your earshot, trying to pressure you into a corner.
will’s fork clattered loudly against his plate, his entire body going completely rigid next to you. "that’s enough," he warned, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl.
"what? i'm just joking!" she laughed off quickly, throwing her hands up innocently while his mother nodded along in agreement. "it's just a little joke, will. don't be so sensitive. she knows we're just teasing, right?"
you felt eighteen thousand eyes on you. every single instinct told you to stand up, to defend your honor. but you looked at the sharp, heartbroken tension in will’s jaw—the way he looked so caught between the family he grew up with and the girl he wanted to build a life with—and your respectful nature won. you didn't want to ruin his dinner. you didn't want to make him choose right here in front of the waiters.
"it's fine, will," you whispered softly, your voice trembling slightly as you forced a small, painfully shy smile. you kept your eyes glued to your plate, swallowing the heavy lump of humiliation forming in your throat. "really. it’s okay."
the second the valet brought will’s car around after that frozen evening, the fragile armor you had worn all night completely shattered.
will closed the passenger door, cutting off the humid night air, and slid into the driver's seat. he didn't even put the car in drive. he just turned the ignition on, the soft, amber dashboard lights illuminating the cabin, and looked over at you.
you were staring straight out the side window, your hands trembling in your lap, completely silent. and then, a single, heavy tear broke free, tracking down your cheek and smudging your lipstick.
you let out a small, broken hiccup, quickly covering your mouth with your hand as you began crying the way home. you tried to pull yourself together, trying to be strong and keep the ugly sobs inside, but the emotional exhaustion of months of feeling unwelcome and judged just came pouring out of you.
"baby... oh, shit, look at me," will breathed, his voice breaking instantly.
he shifted into park, unbuckled his seatbelt, and immediately reached across the center console. his large, strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your fragile frame over the leather divider until you were practically buried in his lap, your face hidden entirely in the soft fabric of his team tracksuit jacket.
you bawled your eyes out against his chest, your fingers frantically clutching at the fabric of his shoulders as you let the tears ruin your makeup. "i'm sorry," you choked out, your voice a breathless, humiliated squeak. "i tried to be respectful, will. i didn't say anything back to her because i didn't want to make a scene... i'm so sorry i'm crying."
"stop apologizing," will murmured roughly, his voice thick with an absolute, defensive rage at his family, but turning incredibly soft and tender the second his mouth pressed against your wet cheek. he held you so tightly against his chest, his large hands gently stroking your hair, rocking you back and forth in the quiet dark of the car. "you were perfect tonight. you are always so graceful, so good to them, and they don't deserve it. i am so incredibly sorry they made you feel small."
he pulled back just an inch, his warm thumbs gently and tenderly wiping the hot tears from your face, completely ignoring the way your lipstick stained his skin. his dark eyes were burning with an absolute, unyielding devotion as he looked down at your ruined face.
"listen to me," will whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. "you are the only thing that matters to me. you're my first priority, love. always. from now on, if they can't treat you with respect, they don't get to see me either."
after that night, feeling entirely unwelcome and uncomfortable, you didn't go to his games anymore. you weren't going to kiss their asses, and you stood your ground when it came to your relationship. you stayed away from the arena, choosing your peace of mind over their toxic glares.
but then three months later, the test of your boundaries finally arrived.
---------------------
"it's my cousin's wedding," will had whispered against your hair one evening, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you sat on his apartment couch. his voice had been raw, completely exhausted by the distance his family had forced between you. "please come as my date. i don't want to walk into that room without you. you don't have to talk to them. just hold my hand."
you looked at the sharp, stressed line of his jaw and realized you were done hiding. you weren't going to let their miserable assumptions shrink your life or ruin the best thing that had ever happened to you.
the wedding reception was held in a lavish, glittering ballroom just outside boston. the air was thick with the scent of expensive floral arrangements, clinking champagne flutes, and low, upper-class chatter. you looked stunning in a sleek, elegant emerald gown, your arm securely looped through will’s crisp black tuxedo sleeve.
you had kept your promise to him. for the first two hours, you were a ghost to his immediate family, focusing entirely on making will smile, laughing with his extended cousins, and ignoring the burning stares from his parents' table across the room.
the breaking point happened near the champagne bar during cocktail hour.
will had stepped away to the restroom, leaving you alone for a brief moment. you were waiting patiently when a sharp, familiar clearing of a throat sounded directly behind you.
you turned around. will’s mother and his older sister were standing there, their arms crossed, looking at you with that exact same condescending, cynical expression that had driven you out of the arena.
"i have to admit, i'm surprised you actually showed up," his sister murmured, her voice dripping with an artificial, sugary sweetness that didn't reach her eyes. "though, i suppose a high-profile family wedding is the perfect place to get photographed for the blogs, right?"
"excuse me?" you said, your voice entirely calm, steady, and dropping into a cold, dangerous register.
"oh, come on," his mother joined in, taking a slow sip of her wine, her eyes scanning your emerald dress with obvious disdain. "we know exactly what you're doing. will is young, he's naive, and he has a massive contract. we've seen girls like you his entire hockey career. you think you can just lay low, skip the public games to look innocent, and then slide right into a family event? you're playing a long game for the money, honey. but it's not going to work."
the sheer audacity of the words should have made you cry. three months ago, it would have.
but tonight, something inside you snapped into absolute steel. you didn't flinch. you didn't look around for will to save you. you took a deliberate step forward, completely invading their space, your eyes locking onto his mother's with a fierce, unyielding intensity that actually made the older woman take a small step back.
"listen to me very carefully," you whispered, your voice cutting through the ambient noise of the ballroom like a knife. "because i am only going to say this to you once."
several nearby relatives stopped talking, their heads turning toward the bar as they sensed the sudden, suffocating shift in the atmosphere.
"you have spent months painting me out to be a gold digger because your own minds are too small to understand a genuine relationship," you said, your voice completely unwavering, standing your ground with every ounce of strength you had. "you think i'm here for the fame? i hate the cameras. you think i'm here for the money? i pay my own rent, i work my own hours, and i have never asked your son for a single dime. i stood back and stopped going to the games because i refused to lower myself to your toxic games."
his sister’s mouth fell open, her face flushing crimson. "how dare you speak to—"
"i am speaking because you need to hear the truth," you interrupted, stepping even closer, completely commanding the space. "i am done letting you make me feel small. i will fight for my relationship with will until my last breath, and i am not going anywhere. if you think you can freeze me out, you are severely underestimating how much i love him. because i am in this for the right reason. one reason only."
you paused, your eyes burning with absolute truth as you looked between the two of them.
"i am here for will. not his jersey, not his bank account, and certainly not your approval. just *him*. and if you can't accept that, then you are the ones who are going to lose him, because he knows exactly who i am."
"what is going on here?"
a deep, furious voice shattered the tension. will had appeared from the crowd, his broad shoulders tense, his dark eyes wide with an absolute, defensive rage as his gaze darted from his blushing, stuttering mother straight to you. he didn't ask his family for their side of the story; he instinctively stepped right in front of you, his massive frame shielding you from them completely, his large hand instantly locking around yours with a tight, protective squeeze.
"will, she was just being incredibly disrespectful—" his sister began, her voice panicked.
"shut up," will snapped, his voice a low, dangerous growl that completely silenced the group. he didn't even look at his sister. his eyes were fixed on his mother, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle leaped violently. "i told you both to leave her alone. if you ever say another word to her, if you ever make her feel unwelcome for a single second again, i am walking out of this wedding right now and you won't see me for the rest of the season. am i making myself clear?"
his mother went completely pale, realizing for the first time that her grip on her son was entirely slipping because of her own malice.
will didn't wait for an answer. he turned his back on them completely, his eyes softening into that pure, intense devotion the moment he looked down at your face. he reached up, his large, warm hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin to make sure you were okay.
"let's get out of here," will whispered, his voice thick with emotion and pride at how fiercely you had just defended your love.
"will, it's your cousin's wedding," you breathed, a small, relieved smile finally breaking through your armor.
"i don't care," he murmured, his eyes glittering as he leaned down, completely ignoring the whispering relatives around the ballroom, and pressed a deep, lingering, worshipful kiss against your lips. he pulled back, yanking your hand to lead you straight toward the valet doors. "i have my date. that's the only family i need tonight."
(been wanting to write about him, i promise more will x reader from now on!)
a/n: post number six! 🩵 oh, this one is just pure sunshine. reader is the bright, bubbly new rinkside interviewer for the sharks, and will is completely losing his mind over her. enjoy the butterflies!
i think he knows / his footprint on the sidewalk / leads to where i can't stop go there...
you were the undisputed spark plug of the san jose sharks broadcast team. as the new rinkside interviewer, your energy was a breath of fresh air in a league that usually kept things strictly professional and monotone. you were beautiful, incredibly bubbly, and possessed a bright, magnetic smile that made every single player open up instantly during pre-game hits and intermission reports.
the fans absolutely adored you.
and will smith was completely, utterly ruined by you.
it had been a slow burn over the first few months of the season. it started with quick, polite nods in the hallways, then transitioned into playful banter during standard post-practice scrums. but lately, the air between you had turned thick with a frantic, heart-fluttering kind of chemistry. you were a master at your job, keeping your composure on camera, but every time your microphone panned to #2, your heart did a stupid, rhythmic little skip.
it was an hour before puck drop against vegas, and you were standing down by the home bench, checking your notes on your tablet. the arena was still empty, the stadium lights casting a cool, bright glow over the fresh, unblemished ice.
the heavy thud of the locker room door echoed through the tunnel. you looked up, your bright smile appearing instantly as will stepped onto the bench.
he didn't have his pads on yet—just his tight grey training shirt, black shorts, and his skate guards on. his dark hair was a bit messy, that boyish, charming look of his completely intact as he walked down the steps. he was tossing a puck up in the air, catching it effortlessly with one hand.
he didn't look at the ice. his dark eyes went directly to you.
"hey ms bubbly," will murmured, his voice low and raspy as he stopped right at the boards next to you. a soft, helpless little smile broke across his face, his jaw clenching slightly as he leaned his hip against the rail.
"hey, will," you chirped back, your tone bright, and full of that natural warmth that always made him flush. you tilted your head, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "ready for tonight? i heard the coach is putting you on the top power-play unit."
"yeah, trying to be," he said, his eyes scanning your face with a terrifying amount of focus. he caught the puck one last time and squeezed it in his glove. "you doing the first intermission interview tonight?"
"i am," you smiled, taking a small step closer to the boards, your microphone tucked under your arm. "depends on who scores the first goal, though. so if you want to get interviewed by me, you better go score one."
it was a playful, teasing joke—the kind of bubbly banter you shared with a lot of the rookies.
but will didn't laugh it off.
he just stared down at you, his dark eyes darkening just a fraction as a dangerous, confident smirk played at the corner of his lips. he leaned forward over the boards, completely invading your space until you could smell the clean, sharp scent of his soap. "is that a challenge, baby?"
your breath caught completely in your throat. a wave of heat rushed up your neck, your cheeks instantly turning a soft pink under the arena lights. you cleared your throat, trying to keep your professional exterior from completely melting. "just... standard journalistic motivation, smith."
will let out a low, breathless chuckle, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to yours.
"noted."
-------------------
three hours later, sap center was an absolute madhouse. the crowd was deafening, the horn blaring, and the sharks were up 2-1 at the end of the first period.
and true to his word, will smith had buried a beautiful, backhanded goal top-shelf just two minutes before the buzzer.
you were standing at the entrance of the player's tunnel, the live broadcast camera hovering right in front of you. the red light clicked on, and you flashed your classic, radiant smile into the lens. "welcome back to sharks hockey! i'm here with rookie forward will smith, who just broke the ice with a massive goal to close out the period. will, walk us through that play."
will skated right into the frame, his chest heaving under his heavy teal jersey, sweat dripping down his temples and soaking the hair sticking to his forehead. he looked massive, raw, and completely electric from the adrenaline.
he took his position right next to you, his broad shoulder brushing heavily against yours. you held the microphone up, your eyes locking onto his as you waited for his standard post-goal response.
but will wasn't looking at the camera. he was looking entirely at you.
"yeah, you know," will began, his deep voice heavily miked as it broadcasted to millions of people watching at home, his gaze intense and unwavering. "the boys made a great play at the blue line. forced the turnover. but honestly... i had some extra motivation to get to the net tonight. someone told me i needed to score if i wanted to get a slot on your broadcast."
your heart stopped. your jaw practically dropped on national television.
the broadcast commentators in the booth instantly let out a collective, chaotic roar of laughter over the headsets, while the fans sitting right behind the glass near the tunnel erupted into loud, feral squeals of excitement.
you felt a furious, burning crimson flush explode across your cheeks. you managed to keep your bubbly smile alive, though your hand holding the microphone trembled slightly. "well... it looks like the motivation worked beautifully. thanks, will. back to you guys in the booth!"
"clear!" the cameraman yelled, dropping the lens.
the second the live feed cut, you finally let out a breathless, panicked laugh, bringing your free hand up to hide your blushing face. "will! oh my shit, you cannot say stuff like that on a live broadcast! my producer is probably having a stroke right now!"
will didn't look remorseful at all. in fact, he looked utterly delighted.
he took a step closer to you, completely ignoring his teammates who were currently jogging past into the locker room, making loud barking noises and shoving will's shoulders in pure amusement. macklin celebrini literally yelled, "get her number, smitty!" as he ran past.
will didn't even blink. he just kept his eyes locked onto yours, his heavy skates cutting a soft edge into the rubber matting as he closed the distance between you in the narrow tunnel.
"i told you," will murmured, his voice dropping into a low, private register that was strictly meant for you and no one else. the raw, breathless confidence radiating off him was completely intoxicating. "i do what it takes to get what i want."
"smith..." you squeaked out, your heart hammering a ridiculous, frantic rhythm against your ribs. you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your usual bubbly talkativeness completely failing you under the sheer weight of his stare. "you're... you're crazy."
"maybe," he whispered, a beautiful, devastatingly charming smirk breaking across his face.
he reached out, his large, wet hockey glove gently brushing against your forearm for just a fraction of a second—a tiny, hidden touch behind the curtain of the tunnel. he leaned in just a millimeter closer, his dark eyes glittering with a sudden, playful spark of absolute certainty.
"i'm going to score another one in the third," will whispered against the cool air between you, his voice a promise that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. "and when we win this game, you're letting me take you out for dinner. i think you already know what my answer is going to be if you try to say no."
before you could even find your voice to respond, will turned on his skates, flashing you one last, lingering wink before disappearing down the dark hallway into the locker room.
you stood there completely frozen against the concrete wall of the tunnel, the microphone heavy in your hand, your face burning a furious pink as the echo of his footsteps faded. you let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your fingers tracing the spot on your arm where his glove had just brushed.
Can I request singing karaoke with Will Smith when the SJS team get together for family night?
family night (will smith x reader)
word count: 1,350+ words
a/n: post number eight! 🩵 swapping the track to nothing's gonna stop us now by starship. will is completely domestic, and so deeply deeply in love with you. enjoy this sweet night out!
let 'em say we're crazy, what do they know? put your arms around me, baby, don't ever let go...
the private room at the downtown san jose karaoke bar was absolute, unadulterated chaos.
the sharks had secured a massive four-game win streak, and the energy was dangerously high. the room was a blur of neon green and purple lights, half-empty platters of sliders, and the deafening sound of a bunch of professional athletes who could skate like the wind but couldn't carry a tune to save their lives.
currently, macklin and fabian were sharing the stage, aggressively screaming the lyrics to a throwback rap song into two different microphones, completely off-key.
you were sitting in the back corner of the wrap-around leather booth, a bright, helpless laugh bubbling past your lips as you watched the spectacle. you were completely tucked against will’s side. his large, heavy arm was draped securely over your shoulders, his fingers playfully twisting a loose strand of your hair as he watched his teammates lose their minds.
will looked casual tonight—just a soft, fitted black t-shirt that showed off the broad line of his shoulders, his damp hair messy from a quick post-practice shower. every now and then, he’d lean down, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured a private joke into your ear over the loud music, making you giggle and hide your face in his chest.
"i'm telling you, they’re getting kicked out of here if they hit that high note any flatter," will whispered against your ear, his chest rumbled with a low chuckle.
"oh, let them have their fun," you teased, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your hand resting flat against his chest. "i think mack is actually trying his best."
"mack has zero rhythm," will scoffed playfully, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish, charming smile you loved so much.
before you could respond, the song ended with a loud, static screech from the speakers. macklin pointed a sweaty finger straight at your corner of the room, his eyes glittering with pure mischief. "alright! next up! we need the rookie king and his girl on the mic! smitty, get up there!"
the entire room immediately erupted into loud, feral barking noises. henry thrun started pounding his fist on the table, matching the rhythm of the team chanting, "smitty! smitty! smitty!"
you instantly flushed a bright, furious pink, shaking your head frantically as you tried to shrink back into the leather cushions. "oh, no, no, no. i am strictly an audience member tonight, guys. absolutely not."
"come on! don't leave him hanging!" misa boomed from across the room, tossing a wireless microphone directly into will’s lap.
will caught it effortlessly with one hand, a slow, confident smirk spreading across his lips. he didn't look nervous at all. in fact, he looked utterly delighted by the challenge. he looked down at your blushing face, his large hand sliding down to grip your waist, gently tugging you toward the edge of the booth.
"come on, baby," will murmured, his voice low, private, and dipping with an absolute, infectious amount of charm. "you can't let them win. just one song. i'll do most of the singing, i promise."
you looked at his dark, glittering eyes and the crooked smile that always made your knees go entirely weak, and you knew you stood absolutely zero chance of saying no to him.
"fine," you sighed dramatically, a bright, giggly smile breaking through your shyness. "but if we ruin the team chemistry with how bad this is, it's on you."
"deal," will chuckled, pushing himself up from the booth and pulling you up by your hand, his long fingers instantly locking firmly with yours as he led you onto the small, neon-lit stage.
the boys cheered like they had just won the stanley cup as the monitor screen began to flash the intro to the ultimate 80s duet—nothing's gonna stop us now. it was a song you and will always blasted in his car during late-night drives down the pacific coast highway, the lyrics entirely drilled into your brains.
the dramatic synth intro started, the baseline hitting heavy through the speakers.
will hold the microphone up to his lips, his eyes completely locking onto yours as he took the first verse. look into my eyes, i see i paradise, this world that i've found is too good to be true... his voice wasn't perfect, but he had a surprisingly good rhythm, a low, effortless confidence radiating off him that had the boys slinging their arms over each other's shoulders and swaying back and forth in the background.
when the grace slick portion of the song arrived, you finally built up the courage to lift your microphone, your sweet voice blending perfectly with his rougher register. let 'em say we're crazy, i don't care about that, put your arms around me baby don't ever look back...
the moment the chorus hit, the room went entirely wild. and we can build this dream together, standing strong forever, nothing's gonna stop us now~
macklin was aggressively recording the whole thing on his phone, while will just stepped closer to you, completely tuning out the chaotic cheers of his teammates. he moved with a slow, relaxed grace, his free hand coming down to rest securely on your hip, pulling you into his space right there in front of everyone.
he sang the lyrics directly to you, his gaze intense, heavy, and filled with a raw, undeniable amount of devotion. it was a public room, but the way he looked at you made it feel like you were back in his black car in the absolute dark, just the two of you against the world.
right at the big guitar solo bridge, the rival-team trades and upcoming drafts were completely forgotten. you threw your head back, laughing as will dramatically dropped to one knee on the sticky stage floor, holding the microphone up to you like a lovesick teenager, yelling grace and mickey's overlapping parts while the boys in the background started waving the flashlights on their phones.
you finished the final, high-energy note together, breathless and grinning from ear to ear.
the room completely exploded. hockey gloves—or rather, crumpled-up napkins—were thrown onto the stage like hats for a hat trick. will jumped back up to his feet, a triumphant, boyish laugh breaking across his face as he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you right off your feet and spinning you around in a circle under the purple strobe lights.
"you were incredible," will whispered against your ear as he set you down, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes burning into yours with so much pride.
"you're a dork," you breathed out, your hands resting on his shoulders as you tried to catch your breath, your heart hammering a ridiculous, happy rhythm against your ribs.
"yeah, but i'm your dork," he murmured roughly.
he didn't care that macklin was still rolling the camera, or that thirty of his teammates were currently whistling and cheering. will leaned down, his warm hand cupping the side of your jawline, and pressed a deep, lingering, completely worshipful kiss against your lips right there on the stage. it tasted like sweet soda and pure happiness, a definitive statement to the entire room that you were his first and only priority.
when he finally pulled back, your face was burning a brilliant crimson, but the bright, golden warmth in your chest was completely undeniable. will kept his arm locked tightly around your waist as you walked back to the booth, his large hand immediately finding yours under the table the second you sat down.
the boys moved on to the next chaotic track, the room filling with noise again, but as you leaned your head back against will's shoulder, listening to the steady, heavy beat of his heart, you knew there was nowhere else in the world you'd rather be.
(the song played in my mind 272772 times writing this enjoy!)
Imagine getting jealous over your best friend Mack being flirty or flirted with with
ruin the friendship (macklin celebrini x reader)
word count: 1,400+ words
a/n: post number seven!🩵 this is for the girls who are completely tired of being the safe, quiet best friend (aka me) enjoy!
she look at me, i fake a smile so he won't see / that i want and i'm needing everything that we should be...
there was a very specific, agonizing kind of torture reserved for being macklin celebrini’s best friend.
you had the front-row seat to his entire life. you were the one who helped him study for his midterms, the one who knew exactly how he took his steak, and the one who sat in his parked car for hours just listening to him talk about his dreams for the draft. you were his safe haven, his absolute anchor at boston university.
but you were also the one who had to watch every single girl on campus try to slide into his space.
tonight was a massive, sweaty bu hockey house party in brookline. the bass was rattling the old windows, the air thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and expensive cologne. you were sitting on the kitchen counter, quietly swirling a red plastic cup, when macklin walked into the room.
he looked devastatingly handsome—just a simple grey crewneck sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his dark hair a little messy from the freezing boston wind outside. and right at his side was a gorgeous blonde girl from his communications class, her fingers hooked casually into the front pocket of his jeans.
macklin was laughing at something she said, his eyes glittering under the dim kitchen lights. he looked happy. he looked completely unbothered.
and you felt like you were actively suffocating.
you faked a smile when macklin’s dark eyes caught yours across the crowded room. he gave you a quick, familiar little nod, a soft smile breaking across his face before the girl pulled his attention right back to her.
the jealousy crashed over you so violently it made your chest physically ache. you had spent an entire year keeping your mouth shut, burying your feelings deep down in the dark because you were terrified of losing the best thing in your life. you didn't want to blow up the friendship. you didn't want to make things weird.
but as you watched that girl’s hand slide up macklin’s arm, something inside your brain just snapped. the heavy weight of the unsaid confessions, the quiet late-night drives, and the way his thumbs always lingered a second too long when he wiped your tears—it all came rushing to the surface, fueled by the liquid bravery in your cup.
you were entirely done playing the role of the sweet, platonic best friend. you wanted to ruin the friendship.
"hey," you murmured, sliding off the counter and walking straight up to them. your voice was entirely calm, but your eyes were burning with a sudden, reckless intensity.
macklin stopped mid-sentence, his gaze instantly dropping to your face. he noticed the shift in your energy immediately—the hockey player in him always hyper-aware of your moods. "hey. everything good?"
"i need to talk to you," you said, completely ignoring the blonde girl standing next to him. you reached out, your fingers wrapping firmly around macklin’s wrist. his skin was warm, his pulse jumping slightly against your touch. "privately. right now."
the girl frowned, her mouth opening to protest, but macklin was already moving. he didn't even hesitate. he let go of her completely, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face as you led him out of the chaotic kitchen, down the dark hallway, and straight into an empty guest bedroom at the back of the house.
you shut the heavy wooden door behind you, cutting off the deafening thud of the bass. the silence in the room was instant, thick, and suffocating.
macklin leaned his broad shoulders against the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at you. the room was only lit by the faint streetlamps outside the window, casting long, sharp shadows across his jawline. "what's going on? you've been acting weird all night."
"i-i'm sick of it, macklin," you breathed out, your voice trembling slightly as you took a deliberate step into his personal space. the alcohol was screaming in your veins, erasing every single drop of your usual shy, respectful nature.
"sick of what?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, cautious register.
"sick of being your best friend," you snapped, the raw truth finally ripping out of your chest like a weapon. you looked up at him, your eyes swimming with hot, angry tears of frustration. "i'm sick of watching you look at other girls. i'm sick of sitting on your couch and pretending like my heart doesn't break every time you tell me about someone else. i don't want to hear about your class crushes anymore. i don't want to be the safe choice."
macklin went completely, utterly rigid against the door. his arms dropped to his sides, his chest heaving as his dark eyes went wide with a sudden, violent wave of shock. "but..."
"no, let me finish," you choked out, a single tear finally breaking free and running down your cheek. you stepped even closer, your hands coming up to press flat against his chest, right over the steady, heavy thud of his heart. "i want to ruin this, mack. i want to break the rules we made. i don't want to be the girl who holds your keys anymore. i want everything."
the silence that followed was agonizing. your hands were shaking against his grey sweatshirt, your heart hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against your ribs. you had laid every single card on the table. you had officially crossed the red line.
macklin didn't say a word. he just stared down at you, his breathing heavy and ragged in the quiet room. his jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle leaped violently under his skin.
and then, his hands came up.
his large, warm palms firmly gripped your wrists, slowly but deliberately lifting your hands off his chest. he didn't squeeze tightly; his touch was incredibly gentle, but the physical separation felt like a iron wall slamming down between you.
he took a small, agonizing step back, breaking the contact entirely.
"n-no," macklin whispered, his voice incredibly rough, deep, and laced with a heavy, suffocating amount of hesitation. he looked down at your ruined, tear-stained face, his dark eyes darkening with a look that made your stomach completely drop. "you're drunk. you don't know what you're saying right now."
the words hit like a physical blow to the chest, completely erasing the warmth of the alcohol and leaving you entirely freezing.
"i do know," you whispered back, your voice cracking completely as a cold, miserable wave of humiliation washed over you. "i know exactly what i'm saying."
macklin swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he glanced away from you toward the dark window, his hands shoving deep into his pockets as if he was trying to restrain himself from reaching out. "we can't do this. you're my best friend. if we go there... if we mess this up, i lose you completely. i can't lose you. i need you too much."
it was the ultimate, frustrating rejection wrapped in a compliment. he was choosing the safety of the boundary over the risk of you.
a bitter, watery laugh broke past your lips, your shoulders shaking as you backed away from him toward the door. the rejection was a heavy, suffocating weight in the room, making your chest ache so badly you could barely breathe. "right. the friendship. wouldn't want to ruin that."
"hey, wait, that's not what i mean—" macklin stepped forward, his hand reaching out to grab your arm, his face pale with a sudden panic as he realized he was actively slipping away from you.
but you were already turning the handle.
you ripped the door open, bursting back into the loud, chaotic hallway before he could touch you. you didn't look back at him. you didn't stay to hear him explain. you ran straight through the party, the tears blinding your vision as you fled into the freezing boston night, leaving the broken pieces of your oldest friendship entirely behind you on the floor.
(i kinda hated how i wrote this but n e ways hope you like it!)
I think we need a part 2 to "ruin the friendship", because no, you cannot just leave it hanging like that. That can't just be the end of things.
Please, and thank you! :)
ruined the friendship. (macklin celebrini x reader)
word count: 1,600+ words
a/n: part two, post eleven! 🩵—just a boy who has been keeping himself small to keep you safe, finally breaking down. hope you enjoy!
ruin the friendship pt 1 <-
carve your name into my bedpost/ 'cause I don't want you like a best friend/ only bought this dress so you could take it off
three days.
you had managed to avoid macklin for three suffocating days. you ignored his frantic texts, let his phone calls go straight to voicemail, and took the long way around the campus just to avoid running into his grey varsity jacket. the humiliation of the confession was still burning a bright, painful crimson behind your eyelids.
you had laid your soul bare on a dusty carpet, told him you wanted to break every single rule, and he had hidden behind the cowardly shield of protecting the friendship.
but on the fourth night, your stubborn isolation collapsed.
it was a freezing tuesday, the boston wind rattling the glass panes of your off-campus apartment. you were sitting on your living room rug in an oversized sweatshirt, trying to focus on a reading, when a sudden, aggressive knock sounded at your front door.
your heart did a violent, dangerous flip against your ribs. you didn't even have to look through the peephole; you knew the loud, commanding rhythm of that knock by heart.
you walked over and swung the door open, ready to yell at him to leave you alone.
but the second the door opened, the words died completely in your throat.
macklin was standing under the dim hallway light, looking completely wrecked. his dark hair was messy from the wind, his cheeks flushed a deep pink from the cold, and his eyes—which was usually so calm and calculated—were glittering a frantic sort of desperation. he didn't have his hockey gear, he didn't look like the calm macklin you knew. he just looked like a man who hadn't slept in ninety-six hours.
before you could even utter a single syllable, macklin took a heavy step across your threshold, forcing you to back up as he slammed your apartment door shut behind him. the heavy thud of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the quiet room.
"what are you doing here, macklin?" you whispered, your voice trembling as you crossed your arms defensively over your chest, trying to ignore how his familiar scent of expensive cologne and cold fresh air instantly filled your tiny living room.
"you're ignoring my calls," macklin breathed out, his voice dropping into a low, dangerously rough register. he didn't stay by the door. he walked straight into your space, closing the distance between you until you could feel the radiating warmth of his chest. "you ignored every single text. you think you can just drop a bomb like that on me at a party and then disappear? run away?"
"run away? you rejected me!" you snapped back, the hurt from three nights ago rushing right back to the surface, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes. "you told me i was drunk. you told me we couldn't do this because of the friendship. i have told you everything, and you pushed me away. so yes, i am hiding from you, because looking at you makes me feel like i'm actively suffocating."
macklin’s jaw clenched hard the muscle leaped violently under his stubble. he let out a short, breathy laugh that sounded completely hollow, raising a hand to grip the back of his neck as he stared down at your tear-stained face.
he didn't look—he didn't look like he had a rehearsed speech. his chest was just heaving under his black crewneck, his fingers trembling slightly as he dropped his hand from his neck.
"i didn't say no because i didn't want you." he whispered, and his voice sounded so small, so entirely stripped of his usual confidence that it made your breath catch. he took a slow step closer, his eyes searching yours with a desperate, quiet kind of ache.
"i said no because you are the only good, quiet thing i have in my life. everybody else wants a piece of me for the hockey, or the draft, or whatever the hell version of me they see on tv. but you... you've seen me bleed since we were kids. you know the worst parts of me, and you still let me sit on your kitchen counter and just breathe."
a soft, shaky breath left his lips, his shoulders dropping as if he was letting go of a weight he’d been carrying for years.
"i was terrified, okay? i still am. because if i touch you the way i've wanted to touch you since we were eighteen, and i mess it up... i don't just lose a girlfriend. i lose my person. i lose the only place in the world where i feel safe. i didn't want to lose you just to satisfy how selfish i am."
his hands came out of his pockets, moving slowly and tentatively, as if he was asking for permission. when you didn't pull away, his large, warm palms gently slid up to cradle the sides of your face. his skin was rough against your cheeks, his long fingers tangling into your hair, holding you like something fragile, something he had finally earned the right to touch.
"but these last three days... they were hell," macklin murmured, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could drop. his dark eyes were bright, completely flat, raw and exposed. "i sat in my apartment and the silence was so loud it made me sick. i realized that trying to protect the us was just a cowardly way of hiding from how much i love you. i don't want the safety of it anymore. if staying your best friend means i have to watch you belong to someone else, then i’d rather take the risk and spend the rest of my life trying to earn you properly. every single day."
your hands came up instinctively, your fingers gripping the fabric of his sweatshirt at his waist, your knuckles turning white as you looked up at your boy, your macklin.
"i want to ruin it," he whispered, his forehead gently coming down to rest against yours, his breathing ragged and warm against your lips. "i want to break every single rule we ever made. let me ruin it."
you didn't answer with words.
you simply shifted your weight, pulling yourself up on your tiptoes as your fingers slid up from his waist to tangle frantically into the short hairs at the back of his neck.
macklin didn't waste another millisecond.
he came down to meet you, his mouth crashing against yours in a deep, desperate, and a complete kiss that had been brewing for five long years. it wasn't a gentle first kiss; it was a violent collision of pure, suppressed jealousy, and absolute relief.
macklin let out a low, ragged groan into your mouth, his arms instantly wrapping securely around your waist and hoisting you completely off your feet. your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, your back pressing firmly against the nearest wall as he carried you into the room without ever breaking the kiss.
his lips were warm, demanding, and worshipful, tasting of the cold boston night and an unfiltered craving. his tongue slid seamlessly against yours, claiming your mouth with a intoxicating dominance that proved exactly how long he had been holding back.
you whimpered against his lips, burying your face in his neck for a split second to breathe, your heart hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs. macklin didn't let you stay away for long, his lips immediately tracing a burning path down your jawline, his teeth gently nipping at the sensitive skin of your throat until you were shaking in his grip.
"tell me this is what you want," macklin breathed out against your pulse point, his hands firmly gripping the undersides of your thighs, holding your weight against the wall effortlessly. "tell me i'm not dreaming, because if i lay you down on that bed, there is absolutely no going back to how we were."
you pulled his face back up to yours, your hands framing his handsome, flushed cheeks, your eyes wide and completely filled with a certainty.
"there is no going back," you whispered back, a beautiful, breathless smile breaking through your tears as you looked at your boy. "kiss me again. ruin everything."
macklin let out a soft, triumphant chuckle, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with that familiar, devastatingly charming smile before he pulled you right back into his chest, burying his lips in yours as he carried you down the hallway toward your bedroom.
(someone literally asked if im using ai to write, girl, 2 am post iced coffee + black currant (don't smoke kids) that's what gets me into a fucking flow state. i bleed my eyes out on the damn notes añño for grammatical errors, fixing grammars & sentence structure, and i'm literally using google and mwebster to search words/ meanings just to get the vibes right 😭 but i guess i'll take the compliment on the flow!)
Summary: Y/N get asked out by Will as a bet. Will wasn’t attracted to her at first, he did it so he didn’t have to hear his friends. Months go by, dates after dates. Kisses, cuddles, making love and trusting that he wasn’t like the other guys she knew. Deciding to surprise him one day at practice, Y/N overhear his friends ask Will if he’s got into her pants reminding him of the stupid dare. Y/N felt like a loser. Broken hearted, she left without Will knowing. (You can end it however you like angst or happy.)
bet game (will smith x reader)
word count: 1,600+ words
a/n: post number twelve! 🩵 i got humbled on a random thursday afternoon too btw 💔 enjoy reading!
you know you really made me hate myself/ had to stop before i break myself/ should've broke it off to date myself/ you didn't deserve me at all, at all..
the thing about trust is that it takes months, weeks, days and years to build, but only about five seconds to completely turn to ash.
you have always been careful. you grew up watching your mom, your friends get their hearts absolutely obliterated by guys who treated girls like hockey stats, so you built your walls high. you stayed in your own lane, happy and content. but then entered your life, and he spent four months systematically tearing those walls down with a his quiet patience that felt entirely too real to be fake.
it started out small. a casual coffee run. then it turned into actual dinners, late-night drives through san jose with the windows down, and quiet sunday mornings tangled in his bedsheets.
will wasn’t loud or boastful. he was gentle. when he kissed you, his large hands always cradled your jawline like you were something precious. when he held you after making love, his chin resting atop of your head while his chest rose and fell against your back, you genuinely believed you had found the one exception to the rule. you trusted him with everything.
which is exactly why the universe decided to humble you on a random thursday afternoon.
the sharks had a late practice at tech cu arena, and you wanted to surprise him. you had a brown paper bag from his favorite sandwich shop in your hand, a soft, excited smile on your face as you walked down the concrete back hallway toward the player lounge.
the heavy metal door was cracked open just an inch, the muffled sound of rowdy laughter spilling out into the corridor.
you paused, your hand lifting to knock, but the words cutting through the air made your fingers completely freeze.
"so come on, smitty, spill it," a familiar voice laughed, the sound of a hockey stick blade clicking against the floorboards echoing. "the four months are up this week. did you actually get into her pants yet or are you still dragging out that stupid locker room bet?"
your heart stopped and fell a hundred meters deep. it didn't just skip a beat; it dropped straight into the pit of your stomach, leaving a cold, hollow void in your chest.
"leave it alone, man," will’s voice came through the crack, but it wasn't defensive. it sounded tired. heavy. "i told you guys to drop it."
"oh, so you did get into her pants," another teammate chimed in, chuckling. "man, i didn't think you'd actually go through with it when we dared you. she wasn't even your type. you really ran the whole distance just so you wouldn't have to hear us chirp you about backing down from a bet."
you stood there in the freezing hallway, the paper bag wrinkling under your tightening grip. the silence from will’s side was the loudest thing you had ever heard. he didn't yell nor defend your name. he didn't tell them that he loved you like how he held you every night. he just let the words hang there, a silent acknowledgment that your entire relationship—every single kiss, every vulnerable secret you whispered in the dark—was born out of a locker room joke.
and you felt like the biggest, most pathetic loser on the face of the earth.
the tears didn't even fall hot; they felt freezing cold as they leaked out, blurring your vision. you didn't burst through the door to cause a scene. your pride wouldn't let you. instead, you set the takeout bag quietly on the floor by the wall, turned on your heel, and walked out of the rink, leaving before will ever knew you were there.
(timeskip!)
by 6:30 p.m., you were sitting on your living room floor, surrounded by cardboard boxes, your clothes on the floor and your bags. the initial numbness you felt had worn off, replaced by a shaking rage and a agonizing sense of humiliation. you couldn't stay in this apartment, you couldn't be in this city. in his city.
when the front door handle jiggled, your muscles locked.
will walked in, his sharks duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his cheeks a little pink from the rink. "hey, babe, i tried texting you after skate—"
he stopped dead in his tracks. his eyes immediately darted from your pale, tear-stained face to the open boxes on the floor to your clothes messed up and hanging fromone of the boxes, and the blood completely drained from his face. the bag slid off his shoulder, hitting the hardwood with a heavy thud.
"babe?" will whispered, his voice cracking slightly as a sudden, sharp dread hit his chest. "what... what is this? what's going on? why are you packing?"
you didn't look at him at first. you just kept your eyes on the tape gun in your lap, your hands shaking so violently you had to press them flat against your knees.
"how much was it?" you asked. your voice wasn't loud or dramatic. it was small, paper-thin, and completely exhausted. "like, a hundred bucks? fifty? what was my price, will?"
will took a slow, tentative step forward, his hands lifting slightly. "what do you mean? what are you talking about?"
"i was at your practice today," you whispered, finally raising your head. the hollow look in your eyes made him freeze instantly. "i was standing right outside the door, holding a stupid turkey sandwich because i thought you were having a stressful week. and i had to listen to your friends ask if you'd finally gotten into my pants yet. i had to listen to them talk about the four-month deadline. a bet."
the second the words left your mouth, will looked like he had been physically struck by a hockey puck. his jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening in pure horror as the realization crashed over him, completely disappeared by what you said, leaving behind a boy who looked utterly sick to his stomach.
"no," will breathed out, a low, broken sound tearing from his throat as he scrambled forward, dropping heavily to his knees right in front of you on the carpet. he reached out, his large hands frantically trying to grab your wrists, but you pulled yourself back, tucking your arms against your chest.
"baby p-please, listen to me," he begged, his chest heaving under his grey sweatshirt, his voice shaking violently. "yes, it started like that. i was a stupid, my friends wouldn't shut up, and i did it just to get them off my back. i wasn't attracted to you at first because i didn't know you. but swear to god, after the first week, it wasn't about that anymore. it hasn't been about that for months."
"the first week?" you let out a dry, broken sob, shaking your head as you pressed your back against the couch, trying to get as far away from him as possible. "will, you took me to that drive-in movie the first week. i told you about my parents divorcing. i cried on your shoulder because i felt safe with you, and the entire time... you were just checking days off a calendar?"
"no! i wasn't, i swear—"
"did you laugh?" your voice cracked completely, a heavy stream of tears finally spilling over your lashes, making your cheeks burn. "when you went back to the locker room the next morning, did you guys laugh about how easy it was to get the girl to talk to you? did you tell them everything i told you in confidence?"
"i never told them anything!" will shouted, the raw emotion finally ripping out of him as a heavy tear ran down his nose, his face flushing a painful red. he leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the carpet as he cried, his shoulders shaking uncharacteristically. "i fell in love with you! i forgot about the bet after the first month, i didn't tell them to shut up today because i was a coward and i didn't want them knowing how much power you actually have over me. i was stupid. i am so, so stupid."
he looked up, his eyes completely bloodshot, glistening with a desperate, agonizing longing as he reached out again, his fingers just barely brushing the hem of your sweatpants, begging for a single inch of grace.
"please don't leave. smash my windows, scream at me, hate me, do whatever you have to do, but please don't pack your things and leave me. i can't do this without you. i'll go to the media, i'll tell the whole team, i don't care. just don't look at me like that. don't leave me like that."
you looked down at him—at the boy, your love— who had the world at his feet, now completely broken and sobbing on the living room floor.
"i can't even look at you right now without wondering if you're touching me because you want to, or because someone is keeping score," you whispered, your voice dropping into a flat quiet register that cut worse than any scream. "i told you what my ex did to me. i literally looked you in the eyes in this exact room and told you i was terrified of being a joke to someone, that trusting is the equivalent to hurting. and you held my hand, will. you kissed my forehead and told me you would never hurt me. you knew my exact trauma, and you still used it as a blueprint to win a dare."
"i didn't—please, it wasn't a blueprint—"
"good luck with the playoffs, smitty," you murmured, your voice completely devoid of any remaining warmth as you stood up, stepping right past his trembling hands. you grabbed your keys from the kitchen counter, leaving the tape gun and the half-packed boxes right where they lay.
"baby, please! don't walk out that door, please!" he choked out, turning on his knees to watch you walk away, his hands flat against the floor as if he didn't have the strength to stand up and stop you. "i love you! i'll do anything! please don't leave me!"
you didn't say another word. you opened the front door, the heavy click of the deadbolt echoing like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. you didn't look back to see him with his head buried in his hands, his loud, ragged sobs filling the empty space. you just stepped out into the cold san jose night, shutting the door firmly behind you and leaving the boy who loved you—and the lie that started it all—entirely behind in the dark.
( i change the ending since it doesn't really suit the flow of the story hope anon is ok with it 😭 but no ok smitty would never ever do this, but man this pissed me off it reminded me of my ex being an absolute bullshit fucked hooted face motherfucker. bye)
would you care to write about sam dickinson? if you don’t mind could you write about how you are friends with like some of the girlfriends or families! and you get invited to a game and sam catches your eye!
+number ( sam dickinson x reader)
word count: 1,800+ words
a/n: post number thirteen! 🩵 why is there no single gifs of him? that man is gloriously gorgeous, n ways first ever dickie oneshot au. enjoy reading anon!
i'm perfectly fine, i live on my own / i made up my mind, i'm better off being alone...
you had your routine down to a science, and it didn't include hockey players.
being best friends with will smith's girlfriend meant you were adjacent to the lifestyle without ever being consumed by it. you knew the schedules, you knew the flight times, and you knew exactly how the media could turn a twenty-minute conversation into a lifetime sentence. you were smart, you had your own career moving in a beautiful upward trajectory, and you were genuinely, deeply content in your own skin. you didn't need a savior, and you certainly didn't need the chaotic, high-stakes whirlwind of a professional athlete's life. you were better off alone, protective of your peace, keeping your heart safely tucked away behind a lock nobody had the combination to.
but when the girls invited you to a late-season home game, offering a spot in the family suite with the promise of good food and better company, you couldn't say no.
the suite was exactly what you expected—a blur of expensive perfume, the familiar, warm chatter of the players' families who had welcomed you into their circle months ago. you sat near the glass, laughing with the wives, holding a glass of white wine, perfectly comfortable being the observer in a world built on bright lights and heavy expectations.
then the team took the ice for warmups.
you weren't really paying attention until number six skated out of the tunnel. sam dickinson moved across the ice with a kind of effortless, sweeping grace that immediately made the rest of the rink fade into a blur. he was young, carrying the massive weight of a high draft pick on his shoulders, but there was a peaceful, grounded maturity to the way he carried himself.
as he circled past your section, he lifted his head, eyes scanning the family box to catch a glimpse of someone he knew.
instead, his gaze landed directly on you.
it wasn't a fleeting, polite look. sam's pace slowed just a fraction, his eyes locked onto yours through the double-paned glass. there was a split second where the roar of the arena, the music thumping through the subwoofers, and the chatter behind you completely ceased to exist. you didn't look away; you couldn't. you just watched him, your breath catching in your throat as a strange, warm pull settled deep in your chest.
"oh," your best friend murmured from the seat next to you, a knowing, dangerous smirk growing on her face as she followed sam's line of sight. "so you do have a type."
"shut up," you whispered, your cheeks instantly flushing a soft, pretty pink as sam finally turned his head to join the line, though a tiny, unmistakable trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
the game ended in a hard-fought win, and the energy in the post-game family lounge was electric. the room was a private oasis of low lighting, plush leather couches, and the low murmur of players winding down from the adrenaline.
you stood near the back beverage station, waiting for your friend to finish talking to her will's parents, feeling entirely detached from the celebrations. you were already planning your quiet drive home, thinking about the book on your nightstand, reminding yourself that tonight was just a fun distraction.
"hey."
the voice was deep, quiet, and carried a soft, polite tone that completely derailed your thoughts.
you turned around to find sam standing just two feet away. he had changed into a black gym long sleeves, his hair still slightly damp from the post-game shower. up close, he was taller than you realized, his broad shoulders easily commanding the space around him, but his expression was entirely gentle. there was no ego in his eyes, no rookie swagger—just a genuine, quiet curiosity.
"hey," you replied, your voice soft, offering him a small, kind smile.
"i'm sam," he said, extending a hand. his knuckles were slightly scraped from the game, his palm warm and steady as his fingers wrapped around yours. the contact sent a sudden, electric jolt straight up your arm. "i noticed you during warmups. i don't think i've seen you around the lounge before."
"i'm a friend of the family, will's girlfriend's best friend, or whatever you call it" you explained, tilting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. "just a guest for the night. i'm usually pretty good at blending into the background."
sam let out a quiet, throat-deep laugh, the sound incredibly human and grounding in a room full of artificial noise. "yeah, well, you didn't blend in tonight. not to me, anyway."
the honesty of his words hit you right in the ribs. you were used to guys playing games, offering rehearsed lines or trying too hard to impress you, but sam just stood there, completely transparent, looking at you like you were the only person in the room who mattered.
"you played well tonight," you murmured, wanting to shift the focus away from the sudden, frantic beating of your heart. "the defense looked tight in the third."
"thanks," he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made something melt inside you. "it's easier to play when you know exactly who's watching from the glass."
you ended up talking for forty minutes.
you stood in that dim corner of the lounge, completely oblivious to the families leaving around you. sam didn't talk about hockey. he asked about your work, listening with an intensity that made you feel entirely seen. he wanted to know what kind of music you listened to on drives, what made you laugh, how you managed to keep such a beautiful, steady peace about yourself in a city that never stopped moving.
but just as the tension between you was getting thick, a shadow loomed over the corner.
"alright, you two, wrap it up," your best friend’s voice broke through the bubble, a massive, unbothered grin on her face as she slid up right next to you, her will trailing behind her with an amused smirk. she leaned her shoulder heavily against yours, looking at sam with pure mischief in her eyes. "dickie, stop trying to be suave. you've been staring at her since the first period."
your jaw practically dropped, your face completely exploding into a bright crimson. "oh my god, stop," you choked out, swatting at her arm.
sam, however, didn't look annoyed at all. instead, his ears turned a faint pink, a helpless, boyish laugh bubbling out of his chest as he rubbed the back of his neck. "i mean... she caught me. i can't even deny it."
"exactly. and since she's too polite to do it, and you're too busy staring into her soul," your best friend pulled her phone out, unlocking it with lightning speed and flashing a contact screen directly in front of sam's face. "type your number in. right now. because i'm dragging her home before she passes out from blushing."
"you are the worst person i know," you whispered, hiding your face in your hands, but your shoulders were shaking with an involuntary giggle.
sam’s smile was absolutely blinding. he didn't hesitate for a single second, snatching the phone from your best friend's hand and quickly typing in his digits before handing it back like it was a prize trophy. "there. done. you better actually text me."
"oh, she will," your best friend smirked, grabbing the phone, hooking her arm firmly through yours, and physically turning you around toward the exit. "bye, sam! great game!"
"bye, sam," you managed to call out over your shoulder, completely breathless.
sam stood there his eyes locked onto you with a heavy, magnetic warmth until you hit the double doors. the second you stepped out into the chilly arena corridor, your best friend let out a loud squeal, pulling you along the concrete hallway as you both fell into a fit of breathless, chaotic giggling.
you had spent your whole life being perfectly fine on your own, alone but contended, you moved whether you like and eat wherever, but as you looked down at your phone and saw the new contact name waiting for you, you knew the board had been completely reset. for the first time in your life, you were completely ready for the storm to bash and maybe—kiss you?
(dickie my very personal handsome gorgeous close friend)
can you pls do a part 2 to the sam dickinson story? like where she comes to the toffs and he asks her out on a date or something? i just need more sam pls!!
make a wish (sam dickinson x reader)
words: 2000+ !ong narrations ahead
a/n: post number nineteen! 🩵 happiest birthday to our media darling, aka the person whom misa likes, dick. (ball knower only) enjoy reading anon!
001 -> +number
and in the blink of a crinkling eye/i'm sinking, our fingers entwined/cheeks pink in the twinkling lights/ tell me bout the first time you saw me..
there is a specific brand of quiet that belongs solely to a woman who has spent years building her own sanctuary.
when you are single and genuinely content, your life becomes a beautifully curated routine of your own making. you choose the silence of your apartment, you choose the layout of your mornings, and you choose exactly who gets to see the unpolished corners of your soul. it is a safe, immovable fortress. but the terrifying thing about allowing a man like sam into that fortress is the sudden knowledge of what you stand to lose. you learn that independence is a comfortable armor, but it is armor nonetheless—cold to the touch and heavy after a while.
for three weeks, your phone had been a constant source of low-voltage panic. sam had been texting you from random hotels, sending midnight thoughts after hard games, his words steady and entirely transparent. and with every blue bubble that popped up on your screen, a small, stubborn brick would fall from your wall. it was terrifying—this clumsy transition from being completely self-reliant to realizing that you were suddenly looking at your screen, waiting for a hockey player to ask you about your day.
you were adjusting, slowly and with a fierce sort of hesitation, learning how to hold onto your independence while simultaneously letting him hold your hand.
"he's asking if i'm asleep again," you whispered to the steering wheel.
you were sitting in the driveway of cat and tyler toffoli's house, the engine of your car idling low in the dark. the driveway was packed with high-end luxury suvs and sports cars, the windows of the beautiful suburban home glowing with warm, golden light. inside, the san jose sharks were celebrating sam's birthday.
your best friend—will’s girlfriend—had gone in over an hour ago to keep things looking completely normal. she hadn't texted you, she hadn't come to get you; she was playing her part perfectly, letting the boys believe that you were miles away, safely tucked into your predictable, independent routine.
you glanced down at your lap where a small, bakery-box was resting. inside was the chocolate cake cat had asked you to secretly pick up earlier that afternoon.
your phone buzzed again against the console.
sam🧡
just got back from dinner with the guys.
everyone’s at toff’s house now.
wish you were here :(
you bit your lip, a fluttering ache blooming right behind your ribs. it felt so high school—the secret coordination, the hot flush in your cheeks, the absolute dizzyness of knowing someone was standing in a crowded room wishing for you.
and it was crazy, really, when you actually thought about what you were wearing. you looked down at the soft, casual yellow dress you’d picked out, the fabric light and airy, paired with a neat top and a cozy cardigan sweater bundled over your shoulders to protect against the chilly evening. if anyone had told you a month ago that you’d be sitting in a car, dressed up in something so soft and pretty, putting real, conscious effort into surprising a guy, you would have laughed them out of the room. you used to be the girl who wore heavy denim and oversized layers as a shield, someone who didn't dress up for anyone but herself. but that's the thing about love—it changes you over time, slowly loosening the knots you tied so tightly around yourself. it makes you want to show up. it makes you want to try.
you picked up the box, took a deep, grounding breath, and killed the engine.
-------------
the kitchen was humming with the loud, heavy energy of a team gathering. you had slipped through the mudroom entrance entirely unnoticed while the rookies were occupied in the living room. cat met you at the counter, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she helped you quietly slide the chocolate cake out of the bakery box.
"he has absolutely no idea," cat whispered, striking a match and handing it to you. "on cue, okay? the second i hit the lights, you walk out."
your fingers trembled slightly as you took the match, holding the small flame to the wax candles. the numbers 2 and 0 caught quickly, flickering a warm, steady gold against the dark frosting. your heart was doing frantic violent laps against your ribs. you weren't just a girl walking into a room with a cake; you were a fiercely independent woman stepping completely out of your comfort zone, carrying the weight of your own vulnerability in both hands.
"go, go, go," cat breathed, and suddenly, the kitchen and dining room lights snapped off.
the entire house plunged into darkness, save for the small, bouncing glow of the nineteen candles in your hands.
just don't trip, you prayed frantically, your heart throat-high as your boots hit the hardwood floor. please, god, don't let me trip and ruin his birthday.
you kept your eyes glued to the cake, your knuckles white against the cardboard base as you slowly navigated the doorway into the dining area. the sudden darkness had cut the loud chatter of the living room instantly. a few confused murmurs rippled through the team, followed by the shuffling of heavy feet as the guys moved toward the glow.
then, the singing started.
tyler’s deep voice led the charge, and within seconds, twenty massive hockey players were shouting the lyrics to happy birthday, clapping rhythmically as you moved closer to the center table.
you finally lifted your eyes over the flickering flames.
sam was standing near the edge of the living room rug, and the second the light of the candles caught your face, his entire body went completely rigid.
the song was a loud chaotic roar all around him, but sam looked like he had just been struck by lightning. his eyes widened into pure shock. his jaw dropped a fraction of an inch, his gaze tracking your entire silhouette—the bright, unexpected pop of your casual yellow dress, the neat top beneath it, the knit of your cardigan sweater, and the long, loose waves of your hair glowing in the candlelight.
he didn't look at the cake. he didn't look at his teammates. his eyes were locked entirely, utterly onto you.
you stopped at the edge of the table, your hands shaking slightly as you set the cake down on the wood. your face was burning hot under the heat of the candles and the weight of his stare.
"make a wish, dickie!" macklin celebrini yelled, aggressively shoving sam's shoulder from behind to break him out of his trance.
the shove pushed sam forward a step, but he didn't even blink. he moved toward the table like a man walking in a dream, his long legs bringing him right to the opposite side of the cake. up close, the golden light of the fire danced across his sharp jawline and the heavy cotton of his black crewneck, making him look breathtakingly handsome.
"make a wish sam." you muttered and gave him a soft smile.
he took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours, and blew out the candles.
the room immediately plunged into darkness again for a split second before the overhead lights clicked back on, revealing the massive, rowdy grins of the team. the kitchen completely erupted into chaos—slapping tables, whistling, and deep, boisterous laughter as the guys crowded the table to get a piece of the chocolate.
"he was sighing into his glass for forty-five minutes, y/n!" misa shouted over the noise, pointing a finger at sam’s face, which was rapidly turning a deep, spectacular crimson. "literally looking like his dog died because he thought you weren't coming!"
"shut up," sam muttered, his voice cracking just a little bit as he completely lost his composure.
he didn't wait for the team to clear out. he didn't care about tyler cutting the cake or cat laughing with your best friend by the counter. sam stepped directly around the edge of the table, his broad six-foot-three frame cutting through the crowd until he was standing right in front of you, completely blocking out the rest of the room.
the transition from the loud, public celebration to the inches between your bodies was dizzying. the flustered, awkward shyness hit you both like a wall.
"you lied to me," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low manly register, his ears turning a bright, unmistakable pink under the dining room lights. he rubbed the back of his neck, a helpless, breathless laugh bubbling out of his chest.
"i had to," you whispered, tilting your head up to look at him, your hands tucking nervously into the soft fabric of your yellow dress to hide how much they were trembling. "happy birthday, sam."
"can i... can i get a proper greeting?" he asked softly, a lazy, incredibly flustered smirk touching his lips as his eyes dipped to your mouth, his posture turning slightly stiff with hesitation.
you stepped into his space, your heel clicking softly against the floor. you reached up, your fingers lightly catching the heavy cotton hem of his black crewneck to pull him down just enough to reach his cheek.
the second your lips pressed against his skin, sam let out a low, rough breath that hit your neck like warm air. his large, scraped hand came out of his pocket, his palm settling flat and firm against the small of your back. his fingers pressed through the knit of your cardigan sweater, sinking into the soft waist of your dress with a heavy, possessive grip that completely betrayed how shy he was trying to act. he didn't just let you kiss him; he leaned his face into the curve of your neck for one intense, lingering second, inhaling the clean lavender scent of your perfume until your chest was flush against his torso.
you could hear his heartbeat right against your ear—erratic, fast, and completely unbothered by the noise.
when he slowly pulled back, his hands stayed locked on your waist, his thumbs tracing a slow, heavy circle against the yellow fabric that made your knees feel weak. he looked down into your flushed face, his mouth twitching as he tried to find his footing, his dark eyes wide and full of an intense, adolescent infatuation that felt so real it made your chest ache.
"who are you?" sam teased softly. he nudged your chin with his knuckle, his hand visibly trembling against your skin. "what did you do to the girl who told me she was too busy for a hockey player, huh? where’d she go?"
your face was burning hot. you let out a dry, awkward laugh, your hands hovering near his chest. "she's still here, dickie. she just... she likes to dress up"
"clearly," sam muttered, his eyes darting down to the fit of your dress, then back to your eyes, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths. he looked completely stressed out by how pretty you looked, his grip on your waist twitching again. "i mean... damn, baby. you look... it's weird. you look so good it's weird."
"weird?" you countered, your independent defensive instincts flaring up to hide how much he was rattling you. "thanks, sam. glad to know turnin' twenty hasn't changed your charm."
"no, not like—not bad weird," he stammered quickly, his ears turning bright red as he practically choked on his own tongue, his eyes wide with panic as he looked at tyler for help. "i just mean... you usually look like you're about to run a boardroom in all dark colors. tonight you look like... a sunny day or something. you look like my girl."
the words hung in the warm air, thick and terrifyingly real.
"hey! birthday boy!" tyler’s voice boomed from the counter, his hand lifting a knife over the frosting. "stop staring at her she'll melt and eat some cake before the boys take it all!"
sam snapped his head toward the counter, his entire face flushing a dark crimson. "i'm coming, toff!" he yelled back, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive, as his hands finally dropped from your waist like he’d just touched a hot stove. he shoved his fingers deep into his pockets and stepped back a full foot, refusing to meet your eyes as he awkwardly gestured for you to walk ahead of him into the dining room.
----------------
as the night bled deeper into the early hours of the morning, the heavy celebration naturally drifted outward. the back double doors of the house were left open, letting the cool, crisp midnight air sweep in to cut the stuffy warmth of the crowded rooms.
in the sprawling backyard, tyler had lit the large stone bonfire pit. the flames flickered a deep, lazy orange, casting long, dancing shadows across the manicured grass. the rest of the team was still loud—a few of the guys were throwing a football around in the dim peripheral light of the patio lamps, their deep laughter and boisterous shouts echoing into the tree line—but the fire pit itself had become a quiet orbit.
you were sitting on one of the heavy, dark wooden benches curving around the stone ledge of the pit. the cold air was biting at your cheeks, but the front of your body was entirely wrapped in the intense, radiant heat of the crackling wood. you pulled your cardigan sweater tighter around your shoulders, the hem of your yellow dress skimming your ankles as you stared into the embers, watching the way a single spark would catch the draft and float upward into the black sky before dissolving into nothing.
there was a soft crunch of gravel, and then the bench shifted.
sam sat down beside you.
he had grabbed a heavy, oversized gray team hoodie over his black crewneck, the hood hanging loose against his broad shoulders. he didn't say anything immediately. he just slid into the space right next to you, his thigh pressing flush against yours, his massive presence instantly creating a shield against the biting wind. he looked tired—the long game from the night before and the sheer exhaustion of being the center of attention finally catching up to his eyes—but as he looked at you, his posture softened completely.
he held two paper cups of hot cider, steam rising in thin, twisting ribbons between your faces. he handed one to you, his rough, scraped knuckles brushing against your fingers in a slow, lingering touch that sent a familiar, low-voltage current straight up your arm.
"thanks," you murmured, pulling your knees up slightly and wrapping your arms around them, holding the warm cup close to your chin.
"no problem," sam said softly, his voice gravelly and thick with tiredness. he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixing on the glowing red center of the log in front of him.
for a long time, neither of you spoke. the distant sounds of macklin shouting about a dropped pass and the low, steady thrum of the music from the house felt like a soundtrack playing in an entirely different zip code.
"tyler says that if you burn cedar wood, it keeps the ghosts out of the yard," sam suddenly muttered, his voice carrying that lazy, completely unvarnished cadence of a boy just talking to talk.
you let out a quiet, breathless laugh, looking at him over the rim of your cup. "ghosts? in a suburb in san jose?"
"i'm serious," he said, turning his head toward you, a faint, sleepy smile playing at the corners of his lips. his ears were still slightly pink from the cold, his dark hair falling messy across his forehead. "he swears by it. says he had a cottage in ontario where the porch used to creak until he started burning cedar. i think he just likes the smell and needed an excuse to buy expensive firewood, but he was totally intense about it."
"it sounds like nonsense," you whispered, your smile widening as you looked at the serious, boyish expression on his face.
"it probably is," sam agreed, his shoulders rising and falling in a slow sigh. he shifted slightly, his large hand coming out to trace the rough grain of the wooden bench between you. "but then i started thinking... what if it's not about ghosts? what if it's just about making enough smoke so you can't see the things you're worried about?"
you paused, the playful lightness in your chest shifting into something heavier, something beautifully grounded. you looked at the way his fingers moved against the wood—the strength in them, the absolute certainty of his touch, contrasted against the raw, vulnerable nonsense coming out of his mouth. it was silly talk about firewood, but under the surface, it had a strange, striking sense to it. it was about wanting a clean slate. it was about wanting peace.
"what are you worried about, dickie?" you asked softly.
sam stopped tracing the wood. he let his hand rest flat against the bench, his knuckles just an inch away from the fabric of your dress. he didn't look back at the fire. he kept his dark eyes locked entirely on yours, the orange glow of the bonfire reflecting in the deep centers of his pupils like small, contained stars.
"i used to worry about the routine," he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, heavy register meant only for the inches between you. "out there, everything is a script. you wake up, you skate, you eat what they tell you, you play the game. it's safe because you know exactly what happens next. i liked being alone in that. i liked knowing nobody could mess up the lines."
he paused, his thumb shifting to lightly brush against the side of your shoe, a hesitant, completely tender gesture.
"but then you showed up with that cake in the dark, wearing a yellow dress," sam whispered, a breathless, raw laugh escaping him as his eyes swept over your clothes again, his gaze softening to a degree that made your chest ache. "and i realized i don't care about the script anymore. i don't even care if i forget the lines."
the words hit you right in the center of your ribs—not with a sharp pain, but with the undeniable heavy weight of an anchor dropping into deep water.
you looked at him, and suddenly, the backyard vanished. the loud shouts of the rookies playing football in the dark faded into a dull, unreadable hum. the music from the house stopped existing. the flickering flames of the bonfire seemed to freeze in mid-air, the crackle of the wood turning into a silent, steady warmth. the entire universe, with all its chaotic timelines and heavy expectations, simply ground to a halt, narrowing down until the world was only the width of this wooden bench.
you were looking at each other like you were the only two people left on the earth.
it was a terrifying sensation for a woman who had spent years being perfectly content on her own. you could feel the edge of your fortress crumbling completely, the safe, predictable silence of your single life being replaced by the rapid, erratic thud of this boy's heart. it was scary—knowing that if he walked away, he would take a massive piece of your sanctuary with him.
but as sam reached out, his large, warm fingers finally sliding over your knuckles, closing around your hand with a steady, protective pressure, the fear didn't feel like a threat anymore.
his hand was warm, rough from the ice, but so incredibly gentle as he squeezed your fingers. you looked down at your joined hands, then back up into his honest, infatuated face.
it was scary, yes. it was the most terrifying thing you had ever permitted yourself to feel. but as the cold wind blew past the fire pit, leaving the two of you completely untouched in your tiny, shared pocket of warmth, you realized that the fear was okay. because beneath the terror was a profound, unshakeable contentment.
it was a beautiful, kind of peace—the absolute certainty that the fortress hadn't been destroyed; it had just finally found its king.
(happiest birthday dickie!! i wish u good health and more media interviews pls, i hope you liked this one anonn! :p also credits to the users who made these dividers ive used omg i forgot where i got it but its not mine 🥲)
Imagine You’ve known Will and Grace since 8th grade. You were new to Boston and moved in next door so you’ve known them for 7 years now. You’ve always been a tom boy who loved sports, wore men’s clothes and never did your hair/makeup to look like the girls your age. Now that you’re 18, you are trying to impress the 21 year old Will Smith. Dresses, skirts, shaved legs, hair and makeup done up. All for him.
lanes and lines (will smith x reader)
word count: 1867?+ !ong narrations ahead
a/n: post number eighteen! 🩵 i am so excited to do this as a mini series! my requests are being bombarded once again but fret not, i will be posting slowly but surely to keep the adrenaline pumping. if u simply click the title below it will lead you to the playlists of this series :) enjoy reading!
part 001 <- 002 <- 003 <- 004 -> 005 typing...
001. the north end and the hand me downs
the thing about boston in the winter is that everything smells like salt, car exhaust, and old bricks.
when you moved into the triple-decker next door to the smiths in the middle of eighth grade, you carried two cardboard boxes of baseball cards, three pairs of oversized men’s carhartt carpenters, and a total lack of understanding of what girls your age were supposed to look like. your mother had packed a single small suitcase for herself three months prior—saying something vague about running to the corner store for milk and simply never turning the blinker off—leaving your dad and your older brother, leo, to raise you on a steady diet of box mac-and-cheese and red sox radio broadcasts.
consequently, you looked like a junior varsity lineworker.
your hair was usually shoved into a faded fenway cap to hide the fact that you didn't know how to blow it out, your knuckles were permanently gray from fixing the chain on your old ten-speed bike, and you wore leo’s old high school hockey jerseys like blankets. to the kids down at the end of the block, you were a premier laughing stock. a girl who didn't fit into the narrow, glossy lines of the middle school hallway.
it happened on a freezing tuesday after school, the sky the color of a wet slate shingle. you were walking home alone, your canvas backpack cutting into your shoulders, when three boys from the ninth-grade class cornered you near the neighborhood rink. they were throwing ice-packed snowballs at your boots, laughing at the way your brother’s old winter coat swallowed your frame.
"hey!" one of them yelled, his voice cracking with puberty. "you borrow your dad's clothes today or are you just hiding a bunch of stolen candy in there? where'd your mom go anyway? did she leave because you look like a dude?"
the mention of your mom hit your chest like a lead puck. you stood frozen on the icy sidewalk, your fingers tightening around the straps of your backpack, your throat swelling with a hot, angry lump you refused to let drop.
"hey! back the hell off!"
the voice didn't come from behind you; it came from across the street.
will was fourteen then, a gangly kid with legs that were growing faster than his torso, but he crossed the slushy asphalt with a terrifying, single-minded focus. right behind him was grace, her pink winter coat flying open, her face twisted into absolute fury.
"leave her alone, you losers!" grace screamed, instantly dropping her school bag into the snow and scooping up a chunk of ice, hurling it directly at the lead boy’s chest with surprisingly perfect form.
will didn't even use snow. he ran across and he stepped right into the space between you and the ninth-graders, his chest heaving, his dark eyes fixed on the biggest kid. "you say another word to her and i'm taking your skates off the hook and throwing them into the harbor. you think i'm playing? try me."
"s-she's a freak, smitty," the boy muttered, though he took a noticeable step backward.
"she's our neighbor," will barked, his jaw hardening into a line that looked entirely too mature for his age. "and if you look at her again, you're dealing with me. and you're dealing with her brother, i heard that her brother crushes bones, man you wouldn't want your bones crushed would you?." he whispered taunting the bullies.
as if on cue, the heavy metal doors of the rink swung open, and leo came charging out in his track pants, a hockey stick still clutched in his taped glove. he’d seen the tail end of it from the lobby window.
"who am i killing?" leo roared, his seventeen-year-old voice booming off the brick walls as he sprinted down the concrete steps.
the ninth-graders didn't wait to find out. they scattered down the alleyway like rats, their sneakers slipping on the ice as leo and will actually chased them for half a block, their loud, echoing curses fading into the boston twilight.
when the boys were gone, grace turned to you, her small hands immediately coming up to brush the snow off your oversized shoulders. "you okay? don't listen to them. they're literal trash. their moms buy them generic cereal."
you let out a shaky, wet laugh, nodding as will came trotting back, his face flushed red from the cold run. he didn't say anything soft—he wasn't good at that yet—but his hand dropped onto the top of your fenway cap, giving it a rough, reassuring shake that nearly knocked it over your eyes.
"come on," will mumbled, his fingers lingering on the brim of your hat for a second too long. "let's go get some hot chocolate before leo actually tracks them down and gets arrested."
seven years bled together in a blur of seasons after that afternoon. the smiths’ house became your actual sanctuary, the third chair at their kitchen table permanently reserved for you.
but being the only girl raised by two mechanics meant the teasing was a daily currency.
"if you wear that jersey any more, it's going to grow limbs and walk out of the house itself," leo grumbled one night, throwing a balled-up sock at your head across the living room.
you were fifteen then, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a pile of used hockey tape. "it's comfortable, leo. mind your business."
"it has a grease stain from your pop's truck on the sleeve," will pointed out from the armchair, his long legs dangling over the side as he played with a mini-stick. he looked over at you, a tiny, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "seriously. you look like you're about to go do a shift at the shipyard. you want me to buy you a hard hat for your birthday?"
"shut up, smitty," you threw a roll of tape right at his chest. he caught it easily with one hand, his eyes crinkling with lazy, familiar warmth that always made your stomach do a weird, uncoordinated flip.
"i'm just saying," will laughed, tossing the tape back into your lap. "you're the only girl in Boston who knows how to change a spark plug but doesn't know how to use a hairbrush."
"she knows how to use a hairbrush!" grace yelled from the kitchen, walking in with a bag of potato chips. she dropped onto the couch and pulled your cap off your head, letting your messy, tangled hair fall around your shoulders. "she just needs... a vision. we're working on it."
you didn't have a vision. you had a crush that was starting to feel like a bruise. will smith isn't that hard to love— wait was it love, or was it infatuation. maybe you and grace watch too much romance shows or a growing realization that while will was starting to look like an actual adult—his shoulders filling out, his name appearing in local sports columns—you were still just the neighborhood tomboy who could catch his eighty-mile-per-hour slapshots in the driveway without blinking.
------------------
the first time you and grace tried to change your style, you were sixteen.
it was a sweltering july afternoon, and will was away at a development camp in toronto, giving you and grace a clear three-day window of absolute secrecy. grace’s bedroom smelled like vanilla, expensive moisturizer, and clean laundry—a total contrast to your room, which mostly smelled like old leather and chain grease.
"okay, don't move," grace instructed, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she held a tube of bright pink lip gloss. "this is called 'bubblegum pop.' it's supposed to make your lips look like a movie star."
"grace, it smells like a chemical factory," you mumbled, your eyes watering as she smeared the sticky, glossy substance across your mouth.
"beauty is pain, shut up," she muttered, grabbing a heavy blue eye shadow palette next. "now let me do the lids. will says he likes girls who look like they put effort in. i heard him talking to his buddies about that girl on the varsity field hockey team."
the mention of will’s preferences made you sit perfectly still, even when the scratchy bristles of the makeup brush poked you right in the corner of your eye muttering curses as grace kept glamming you up.
ten minutes later, grace stepped back, clanking her brushes into a glass jar. "okay. turn around. look at the vanity."
you turned slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs.
the reflection staring back at you was an absolute horror show. the bright pink lip gloss made your mouth look like you had just eaten a sloppy cherry popsicle, and the heavy blue shadow on your lids made your eyes look like you had been in a minor bicycle accident. your hair had been brushed out into an aggressive, frizzy triangle that didn't suit the sharp, lines of your jaw at all.
you looked like a toddler had defaced a museum statue.
you stared at the glass for three seconds before a small, helpless snort escaped your nose. grace looked at your reflection, then at her own horrified face in the mirror, and the two of you completely collapsed.
"oh my god," grace shrieked, burying her face in her pillows as she shook with laughter. "i'm so sorry! it looks like you got punched by a blueberry!"
"i look like a clown who got caught in the rain!" you yelled, wiping the sticky gloss off with the back of your hand, your ears burning with a mix of hilarity and deep embarrassment. "see? i told you! it doesn't fit my texture, grace! i'm just... i'm built for carhartts and grease and chains an—."
"no, no, we just went too hard," grace gasped for air, sitting up and grabbing a makeup wipe. "we tried to make you look like a girl from a magazine. we gotta find your lane. a classy lane. not... whatever this is."
you let her wipe the blue smudge off your face, but as you looked at your raw, clean skin in the mirror, the laughter died down into a quiet, heavy ache. you didn't want to look like a magazine girl. you just wanted to look like someone will could see as a woman.
---------------------------
by the time you and will were attending boston college high school together, the blueberry clown disaster was a distant memory, a brand-new, entirely more confusing problem took its place.
there was a literal two-year age gap between you—will was older, already moving with the heavier strides of a young man—but due to your late enrollment when you first moved to boston, you were in the same grade. you weren't on the same path; will was a blue-chip athlete bound for the highest tier of hockey sports, while you were a mechanic’s daughter just trying to pass pre-calculus. but because of your identical schedules, you were together constantly. you shared the same history lectures, the same english periods, and you ate lunch together out of brown paper bags at the exact same stained perimeter table in the cafeteria every single day.
and for the longest time, it was entirely, utterly platonic.
what you had with will wasn't a standard friendship. it wasn't something that could be bartered or traded for any prized possession on earth. it was a functional necessity. you needed him, and he needed you. for years in the driveway and the local rec rinks, you had been his goalie—the only person stubborn enough to stop his bone-crushing slapshots—and he had been your center. it was like yin and yang. a perfect, unpolished balance of two neighborhood kids who could read each other’s movements without ever having to look.
but your body had decided to stop cooperating with the disguise.
almost overnight during junior year, you had filled out. you hadn't stopped wearing your boyish style—you still wore men’s thick cotton hoodies and heavyweight champion sweatpants—but you weren't the worst-dressed girl in the school; you were just a girl whose curves were outgrowing her armor. your chest got noticeably bigger, your hips rounded out, and your ass became a distinct, soft shape that your brother’s old hand-me-down clothes could no longer completely flatten.
you felt like an imposter. you would haul a massive, oversized bc hockey hoodie over your head, tugging it down past your waist, but the soft, feminine weight of your breasts still pushed against the thick fabric, making you look entirely more done up than you ever intended to be.
walking down the high school hallways next to him became a specialized form of torture.
will was growing into his full six-foot-two frame, all broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and casual athletic grace. the hockey guys would yell his name from down the hall, and will would just give them that easy, confident chin-flick. but whenever you walked beside him, his eyes would occasionally dip—just for a fraction of a second—tracking the way a pair of standard gray sweatpants hung differently on your hips than they did on his.
"you're pulling at your shirt again," will murmured one afternoon as you both walked to his truck after school. the spring breeze was warm, and you were aggressively twisting the hem of your oversized black t-shirt around your fingers to keep it from sticking to your waist.
"i'm not," you lied, looking at the gravel.
"you are," he said, his voice dropping into a quiet steady register he only used when it was just the two of you. he stopped by the driver's side door, leaning his forearms against the roof of the truck, looking across at you. his eyes were thoughtful, completely unreadable. "you look fine, you don't gotta hide under four layers of fleece every day. it’s eighty degrees out."
"i'm comfortable like this, smitty," you muttered, throwing your backpack into the truck bed.
will didn't say anything else, but his gaze lingered on your face, on the flushed heat in your cheeks, before he climbed into the cab. he didn't understand the sheer panic of a body turning into a woman's when all you wanted was to remain the safe, faceless neighbor boy who could track his pucks in the dark.
---------------------
and then, the universe pulled the rug out from under the four of you.
the four-way friendship that had anchored your entire teenage life—the countless night drives, the burnt rye toast in your kitchen, the shared parking lot secrets—abruptly met its expiration date in the summer before you turned eighteen.
everything happened at once, a sudden, violent scattering of the high school bubble.
will got drafted to the nhl. his name was printed on every major sports column in the country, a first-round lock, his bag already packed for training camps and media tours that would take him thousands of miles away from the triple-decker. at the exact same time, leo got an assistant coaching and scouting job with a minor league program out in vancouver—a massive break for him, but one that required him to pack his entire life into his beaten-up civic and drive across the continent.
you and grace were being left behind. you were both enrolled at boston college for the fall, staying right there in the city, but the house next door was suddenly going to be empty. the kitchen chairs would be vacant.
the afternoon before will’s official draft day was a chaotic, heartbreaking mess of cardboard and packing tape.
over at your house, the screen door kept banging shut as leo hauled heavy plastic bins down the stairs, his face sweaty and his mood a weird mix of hyperactive excitement and sudden, quiet panic. you and grace were sitting on your front steps, knees pulled up to chests, watching him strap a set of old tires to the roof of his car.
"i can't believe he's actually going," grace whispered, her chin resting on her knees. her eyes were slightly glassy. "it’s just going to be us. in that massive lecture hall. no leo to yell at us about the toast. no will to pick us up from the library."
"i know," you said, your throat so tight it felt like you had swallowed a handful of sand.
you looked across the narrow gravel driveway to the smiths' house. will’s truck was parked there, completely clean, a garment bag containing his official draft suit hanging in the back window.
the truth was, you loved everyone on this block. you loved your dad with his oil-stained shirts; you loved leo, even when he was putting you in headlocks and calling you a caveman; you loved grace like a vital organ. but you loved will in a way that didn't have a name. it wasn't just a teenage crush anymore; it was an architectural foundation. you had spent seven years admiring the quiet, immovable steel of his character, the way he had stepped in front of those ninth-graders when you were just a scared kid who lost her mom. you loved him so much it felt like a physical weight behind your ribs, a constant, low-voltage ache that you had never been allowed to speak out loud because you were his goalie. his balance.
"hey."
the heavy, warm shadow fell over both of you before you even heard him cross the gravel.
will was standing at the bottom of your steps. he was wearing a gray sleeveless training shirt, his broad shoulders gleaming with a faint sweat from his own packing, his hair messy. he didn't look like an nhl star right then; he just looked like smitty from next door.
before either of you could speak, will stepped up the stairs, his massive arms moving on pure instinct. he hoisted his left arm over grace’s shoulder and his right arm over yours, his heavy, solid weight instantly sandwiching you both against his sides. his skin smelled like deodorant, old ice, and the familiar laundry detergent his mom used.
"come on," will muttered, his grip tightening around your shoulder, pulling you so close your ribs pressed against his ribs. "leave leo to look like a lunatic with his roof rack. we're going over to the spot."
he didn't give you a choice, literally steering you both down your steps, through the narrow gravel gap, and up onto the front porch of the smiths' house.
the front porch spot.
it was a specific corner behind the green wooden railing where the floorboards were slightly warped from twenty years of new england winters. for seven years, it had been the designated headquarters. it was where you had hidden when you were crying about your mother; it was where will had sat for five hours after his first major knee injury; it was where the four of you had shared a single sleeve of saltines after a high school game.
leo must have seen the three of you moving, because a second later, he dropped a roll of packing tape and came tramping across the yard, his heavy boots loud against the wood as he joined you.
the four of you crowded onto the old wicker bench that lined the railing. the seating arrangement happened seamlessly, a physical habit honed over a thousand summer nights. grace sat on the far left, her shoulder tucked securely under will’s broad wing. will sat solid in the center-left, his long legs stretched straight out over the warped wood. you were tucked right against his right side, your shoulder flush against his chest, completely bracketed by his warmth. and on the far right, closing the line, was leo, his massive frame anchoring you from the other side.
the silence that settled over the porch was heavy, thick with the gray boston humidity and the terrifying knowledge that tomorrow, the clock would start ticking.
"vancouver is far, man," leo said quietly, leaning his head back against the green siding of the house, his usual loud-mouthed swagger completely gone. he looked down at his boots. "it’s like... a thirty-hour drive. i don't even know if my civic's alternator is gonna make it past buffalo."
"it'll make it," will said, his voice firm, steady. he looked past you to leo, his eyes fierce that absolute loyalty that made him who he was. "and if it doesn't, you call me. i don't care what time it is or what city i'm in. you call me, and i'll get a truck out to you."
leo let out a small, rough laugh, reaching behind your neck to cuff the back of will’s head. "look at you. first-round pick. already talking like you got a corporate card."
"shut up," will muttered, but a faint, bittersweet smile touched his lips.
grace shifted on will's other side, her chin resting on her knees as she looked up. "are you scared? about tomorrow? the cameras? everything?"
will paused, his gaze drifting out toward the harbor line visible between the triple-deckers. his jaw worked for a second. "not about the hockey," he admitted honestly. "i know how to play hockey. it's just... everything else. the hotels. the flights. waking up in a room where i can't hear leo burning the rye next door."
leo let out a soft snort, his arm moving along the back of the wicker bench until his heavy hand dropped onto your shoulder, giving you a gentle, loving squeeze. he looked down at your small face poked out from the giant hood of your champion sweatshirt.
"hey, kid," leo murmured, his voice dropping that annoying older-brother edge, replaced by a rare, quiet tenderness. he bumped his shoulder against yours, a soft nudge. "you gotta promise me you won't lose your mind when there's no one here to eat half your breakfast. and don't go changing into some fancy college girl just because i'm not around to tell you that you look like a JV lineman, alright? i like my little brother-sister just the way she is."
a tear spiked your eye, hot and sudden, and you shoved leo’s knee with your elbow. "i'm not gonna change, leo. i'm staying right here."
"good," leo whispered, his fingers briefly catching the hair at the back of your head, shaking you gently. "because smitty's gonna get famous, and i'm gonna get a tan in canada, but you're the anchor. you keep the porch running."
will turned his head then, his eyes cutting through the small space between you to land directly on your face. you were trapped between the two most important men in your life, trying so hard to look small, trying to hide the fact that your heart was breaking in half.
will reached down. his large, rough hand—the one with the calluses from his hockey stick—dropped onto the crown of your fenway cap. he didn't shake it this time. he just let his palm rest there, the warm, solid weight of it filtering through the canvas brim down into your scalp.
"you gotta look after grace," will said to you, his voice dropping into a low, private tond that completely ignored the other two people on the bench. "she's gonna get lost on that bc campus on day one. you have the better sense of direction."
"i'll look after her," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. you reached up, your fingers lightly touching the edge of his wrist, right where his team-issued watch sat against his skin. "you just... don't forget how to skate, smitty. those western conference defensemen are bigger than the ones in high school."
"they're not bigger than me," will murmured.
the porch went quiet again, the distant hum of the commercial avenue traffic filling the gap. leo and grace began to murmur to each other on the flanks, leaving you and will trapped in the small, heavy pocket of space in the center of the bench.
will slowly leaned down, his massive frame shifting until his shoulder was completely flush against yours, his face just inches from your cap.
"hey," he said, his voice so quiet it was almost a secret. "look at me."
you turned your head slowly, your chin resting against the thick cotton of your hoodie, your eyes meeting his intense gaze.
"i'm leaving my car keys on the kitchen counter," will murmured, his eyes scanning your face with a strange, heavy gravity. "they’re for you. don't let my dad touch the truck. it’s yours while i'm gone."
"will, i can't take your truck," you whispered, your heart thumping violently against your ribs. "that's... that's your prize possession. you spent three summers working the docks for that engine."
will let out a low, rough breath that hit your cheek like warm air. his fingers reached out, his thumb catching the edge of your jaw, his rough skin grounding you instantly.
"i don't care about the engine," he said, his voice completely steady completely devoid of the usual teasing. "there's nothing in that garage that matters more than what's sitting right here on these boards. we've been in the same room since we were fourteen. i don't know how to go into a locker room where you aren't sitting at the perimeter table afterward."
he paused, his gaze tightening as he looked at the soft, rounded shape of your shoulders under the massive hoodie—the woman you were becoming while he was looking the other way.
"you're my goalie," will whispered, his thumb moving just a fraction of an inch to trace the small freckle near your lip. "you always have been. the center doesn't work if the net is empty. you remember that while i'm out west. we're the balance."
"i won't let anyone else in the net, smitty," you promised, your voice cracking just a little bit as you reached up to press your hand over his wrist, holding him there against your skin for as long as the twilight would allow.
"good," he murmured, his fingers lingering on your jaw for one more agonizing, beautiful second before leo’s heavy arm pulled you back into a side-hug, sealing the memory into the warped green wood of the porch before the morning sun could take them away.
(anon you are the elixir of my writing life i would kiss and kiss and make out with you so bad. THANK U SO MUCH for this request ily anon. credits to the rightful owners of the dividers :p)
a/n: post number twenty! 🩵 click the chapter title for the link of the series playlist! enjoy reading! special tag 💨 @lost-library-of-violets
part one <- two -> three -> four -> five typing...
002. the jackpot out the west
the thing about boston in the early autumn is that it forces you to look at your own skin.
when you and grace moved into the dorms at boston college, you brought the same heavy carhartts and faded caps, but the campus was full of girls who smelled like expensive lavender soap and wore matching knit sets. for the first two months, you felt like a grease stain on a white tablecloth.
but nineteen weeks of separation does something to a girl.
you were eighteen now, a first-year student surviving on dining hall iced coffee and late-night study sessions, and your body had finally finished the argument it started in junior year. you weren't just filling out anymore; you had grown into a genuinely curvy frame that you couldn't hide under an oversized jersey even if you tried. your waist had tapered, your hips had settled into a soft, definitive curve, and your chest had a feminine weight that made standard tops sit entirely differently against your collarbones.
"if you wear that gray fleece to the seminar tomorrow, i'm going to lock you out of the room," grace muttered from her bed, her laptop resting on her thighs.
the dorm room smelled like the vanilla room spray she’d brought from home. you were standing in front of the full-length mirror attached to the wardrobe door, wearing a pair of fresh white baggy sweatpants that sat low on your hips, paired with a simple, tight white tank top that hugged your torso completely. grace had spent the last hour helping you blow out your hair, and now it fell down your back in long, thick, smooth waves. wrapped up in the comfortable but snugly fitted clothes, you looked effortlessly pretty, your sneakers clicking softly on the linoleum as you shifted your weight.
"grace, it's just sweatpants," you muttered, looking at the way the fabric caught on your hips.
"yeah, but they're the sweatpants," grace said, shutting her laptop with a definitive click. she slid off her bed, walking over to grab your chin and turn your head toward the glass. "look at yourself. you're not fourteen anymore, y/n. you have a tiny waist and a fatass now. we are officially finding your lane this semester, and this effortless tomboy-but-sexy thing? this is your fucking lane, own it up."
"shut up, gracey," you whispered, your ears turning hot as you looked at your own reflection.
without the giant, heavy armor of leo's old hockey hoodies, you looked... visible. you looked like a girl who belonged on a college campus, not a girl who spent her weekends cleaning oil pans in her dad's garage.
what grace didn’t see in the mirror was the quiet, steady battle you had won with yourself over the last few months. one thing you genuinely loved about yourself now was how you had faced the suffocating fear of trying to fit into this new world and failing miserably. you hadn't hidden in your room. instead, with grace’s aggressive encouragement and a lot of late-night scrolling through social media aesthetic pages, you had slowly shaped your palette into something new. you started leaning into the more girly stuff, learning how to blend your old comfortable lane with the woman you were actually becoming.
and people were noticing.
it was a strange and dizzying adjustment to realize that boys didn't look at you with just casual familiarity anymore; now, they looked at you with those damn flirty eyes, narrowed down specifically to catch your attention across the quad. there had been three different guys in your economics lecture who tried to talk to you, and two others who had awkwardly cornered grace at a campus coffee shop just to ask for your instagram. you always just laughed it off, your stomach doing a nervous little flip before you deflected, completely unable to internalize the fact that you were the girl they were chasing.
because beneath the new blowout and the tight white tank top. low-voltage ache still flared up behind your ribs.
will had been gone for four months. his face was on the nhl network every single night; he was scoring goals in stadiums that had their own light shows, his world moving at a speed that didn't include the north end triple-deckers. you still had his car keys in your desk drawer—the heavy metal ring resting against your pre-calculus notes like a small, cold anchor—but you hadn't touched the truck once. it felt too much like stepping into his skin when yours was still changing every single day. so you just left it parked there at the airport where will was last seen by your eyes.
but midterms were finally over. the grueling weeks of exams and endless flashcards had drained the campus, leaving you and grace completely exhausted but buzzing with the energy of a hard-won victory. pack-up was fast, your bags shoved into the trunk of grace's car with messy celebration. you were finally going home for a week of break—a precious pocket of time to breathe the salty north end air, to eat your dad's cooking, and to throw a belated birthday party at your house with the smiths.
--------------------
three hundred miles away, a black bronco was idling at a rest stop just outside of connecticut.
will was leaning his forehead against the steering wheel, the engine rumbling low through the floorboards. he had a four-day break in the schedule—a beautiful gap between a road trip through the east coast and a home stand out west—and his coach had told him to get some sleep.
instead, he had caught a red-eye flight to logan airport at three in the morning, picked up his truck from the long-term parking lot, and started driving.
his phone buzzed against the center console. the contact name read leo (the caveman).
will picked it up on the first ring, his voice rough from the dry airplane air. "where are you?"
"just crossed into massachusetts," leo’s gravelly voice came through the speakers, backed by the distinct, rattling roar of his old civic's failing alternator. "the car sounds like a lawnmower with a bad attitude, but she’s moving. you got the keys to the porch?"
"my dad left 'em under the blue bucket by the oil tank," will said, leaning back against the leather seat, his eyes fixed on the gray highway line. "he thinks i'm still in san jose. he’s working the late shift at the shipyard anyway."
"good," leo chuckled, though his voice sounded tired, heavy with the weight of four months of long-distance scouting trips in western canada. "grace and y/n think we're both on the road until november. grace told me on the phone yesterday that they're studying later today at the library."
"they're not in the library," will muttered, his thumb tracing the leather of the steering wheel. "it's thursday. they're probably at the apartment or the dorms or they're home, it's the 1 week midterm break after all."
"whatever," leo said. "the point is, they don't know. we pull into the driveway at the same time. midnight. don't go flashing your headlights like a rookie, smitty."
he hung up the phone, dropping it back onto the passenger seat, his eyes looking out at the massachusetts state line ahead. his shoulders felt heavy from the travel, his knees aching slightly from a hard week of training camps, but as he shifted the truck into drive, his mind didn't go to the nhl standings or the upcoming game film.
it went to the perimeter table. it went to the warped green boards of the porch. he was currently driving eighty miles an hour just to make sure the porch or—his goalie was still there.
------------------
at 11:45 PM, the north end was dead silent.
the air smelled like salt and wet asphalt from a brief evening shower, the streetlamps casting long, orange pools of light across the narrow gravel driveway between the two triple-deckers. you and grace had taken the L-train back from campus, your shoulders heavy under your jackets as you walked up the concrete steps of your house. you were still wearing those sweatpants, your legs tired from the walk, your hands shoved into the pockets of a short black cardigan that grace had practically pinned to your body before you left the dorm.
"my dad’s truck isn't here," you murmured, looking at the empty space near the garage. "he must be pulling the double shift at the docks again."
"yeah," grace sighed, fumbling with her house keys as she stood on her own porch next door. "the whole block feels like a ghost town lately. it’s weird without the boys yelling about toast at this hour."
"i know," you whispered.
you turned around, leaning your back against your front door, looking across at the smiths' porch. the spot. it looked small in the dark, the old wicker bench empty, the green wood looking gray under the moonlight. you felt that ache behind your ribs—the absolute certainty that you would give every single prized possession you owned just to hear will’s heavy boots crunching on the gravel right now.
and then, two pairs of headlights turned the corner at the end of the block.
the high beams were cut instantly, dropped down to running lights, but you knew the sound of that engine before the car even reached the curb. it was a deep, low rumble—the three-summer engine will had built with his own two hands. right behind it, rattling like a tin can full of nails, was leo’s beaten-up civic.
both cars pulled into the driveway at the exact same time, their brakes squealing softly against the gravel as they came to a halt.
"leo?" grace shrieked, her voice cracking the midnight silence as she dropped her keys and sprinted down her stairs.
at the exact same time, the civic’s door slammed open, and leo’s massive six-foot-seven frame stepped out. before he could even utter a single, loud-mouthed, teasing syllable—before he could even open his mouth to call you a jv lineman—you flew down your porch steps. your sneakers pounded against the concrete as you literally ran at him, launching yourself forward and wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his coaching hoodie just to shut him up before he could start his usual loving torment.
"whoa! hey kiddo easy!" leo laughed, his deep roar muffled as he caught you easily, his massive arms locking around your waist to support your weight.
across the driveway, the door to the bronco opened, and will climbed out.
he looked bigger. his broad shoulders filled the dark space between the vehicles, his posture carried a professional athlete stance. grace immediately ran over to him, and will smiled, pulling his sister into a warm, heavy sideways hug, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.
but as he hugged grace, will’s dark eyes drifted over her head, locking onto the scene by the civic.
and he completely froze.
will’s jaw worked slightly, a sudden confusion clouding his features. leo hadn't mentioned a single word about bringing anyone home with him. in all their late-night phone calls across time zones, leo had never said a damn thing about a girlfriend.
will stared at the girl currently clinging to leo’s neck. from behind, she was stunning. she had long, thick, wavy hair that bounced softly against her back, and she was wearing a cardigan loose at her shoulder revealing a tight white tank top that exposed the smooth, elegant skin. the white baggy sweatpants sat perfectly on her hips, tapering down to a pair of clean sneakers, but what completely shut will's brain off was the breathtaking curve of her body. she had a tiny narrow waist that completely flared out into a phenomenal, undeniably fat ass that the sweatpants did absolutely nothing to hide.
will's chest tightened. his eyes locked onto the curve of her hips, his mind spinning in a dark, sudden loop. damn, he thought, a heavy, unbidden spike of envy hitting his ribs as he watched leo hold her. leo must have hit the absolute jackpot out west.
he felt weird, a protective irritation flare up in his throat. who was this girl? and why was she acting so familiar in their driveway?
will opened his mouth, about to ask grace who the hell leo had brought to the north end, when grace took a deep breath, stepped out from under his arm, and cupped her hands around her mouth.
"y/n!" grace called out, her voice echoing off the brick walls. "let him breathe for two seconds so i can hug him too!"
the name cut through the midnight air like a whistle.
will’s thoughts were completely, utterly shut off. his entire body went rigid.
the girl clinging to leo slowly let her feet touch the gravel, turning her head around over her shoulder to look across the yard. the orange glow of the streetlamp hit her face perfectly. the long, smooth waves of hair shifted, revealing the warm skin, the soft freckles across the nose, and those eyes he had memorized over seven years of school lunches.
it wasn't a girlfriend from vancouver.
it was his goalie— or y/n, just y/n but prettier and sexier and and... fuck she looks like what he imagined that night when he was eighteen.
will’s hand slipped out of his pocket, his breath catching so hard in his lungs it felt like a physical blow. he just stood there by the hood of his truck, his eyes blown completely wide staring through the gray boston mist at the girl in a tank top like the entire universe had just re-aligned itself right in front of his face.
the silence stretched out between the two trucks, thick and heavy with the smell of damp earth and the low, cooling click of engines.
you slowly unclasped your arms from around leo’s neck, your feet settling fully onto the gravel. the sudden transition from the safety of your brother’s hug to the tension of will’s stare made the back of your neck prickle with heat. you pulled at the hem of your short black cardigan, an old habit resurfacing instantly, but the fabric was too small to hide the way your waist curved into the white sweatpants.
will hadn't moved an inch. his arm was still frozen half-extended where grace had just been standing, his large hand hovering in the cool air. under the orange glare of the streetlamp, you could see the exact moment his brain caught up with his eyes—the slight, stunned parting of his lips, the way his jaw dropped a fraction before he snapped it shut.
you stood there, suddenly hyper-aware of the long, smooth waves of hair brushing against your bare collarbone of the tight cotton of the tank top. for seven years, you had been his shadow in an oversized fenway cap. now, under the north end sky, you felt entirely, devastatingly naked.
"smitty," you said, your voice small, a little breathless, cutting through the damp air.
the sound of your voice seemed to break the spell. will took a slow breath, his chest expanding against his dark shirt. he looked down at his own sneakers for a split second, a completely uncharacteristic wave of shyness hitting him so hard he had to clear his throat. the confident, first-round nhl draft pick vanished, replaced instantly by the boy from next door who used to get flustered when he lost his favorite roll of grip tape.
"hey," he murmured, his voice deeper than you remembered it over the phone.
he took two steps forward, his long legs eating up the distance between his truck and the gravel space where you stood. his movements were cautious, almost clumsy, as if he was afraid that if he moved too fast, the image of you would dissolve back into the mist.
he stopped just two feet away from you. up close, he was massive. the months of professional training had thickened his neck and broadened his chest, blocking out the light from the streetlamp completely.
you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers twisting the edge of your cardigan sleeve. "you're late. leo said you guys were supposed to be on the road until november."
"had a break," will said, his eyes tracking the small freckle near your lip. he swallowed hard, his gaze dipping for a second to the soft curve of your hips before his eyes shot back up to yours, his neck flushing a dark, sudden red under the streetlamp. "couldn't... couldn't stay out there any longer. had to come back for your birthday."
an awkward, intense tension hung between you, the kind that only happens when two people who know each other's entire souls suddenly have to learn each other's new bodies. you shifted your weight, your sneakers crunching softly, and the motion made the white fabric of the sweatpants cling to your thigh.
will watched it, let out a low, rough breath, and finally shook his head. he cleared his throat again, rubbing the back of his neck as a flustered, breathless grin broke across his face—the lazy smirk that always meant he was trying to cover up how rattled he actually was.
he opened his arms wide, though his shoulders were stiff, a little formal in his hesitation.
"come here," he murmured, his voice slightly gravelly.
you stepped into his space, your front pressing flush against his broad torso.
the impact of the hug took the air right out of your lungs. will’s arms wrapped around you, engulfing you, but there was a distinct, tense to the way his hands settled. his right hand came up to the back of your head, his thick fingers tangling into the long waves of your hair, while his left arm locked around the small of your back. his palm rested right above the flare of your hips, and you could feel the sudden, rigid heat of his hand through the thin cotton of your tank top.
he held you tight, but your bodies were clumsy, your knees bumping against his thighs as you tried to find the old, familiar fit that wasn't there anymore. you could hear the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat right against your ear, fast and erratic, completely betraying how calm he was trying to look.
you buried your face in his neck, but the skin there was hot, and you felt a sudden spike of self-consciousness, your hands gripping the fabric of his shoulders instead of sliding around his waist like you used to.
will let out a long breath into your hair, before slowly letting you step back. he didn't let go completely though; his large hands stayed locked on the sides of your waist, his thumbs resting against the cotton of your sweatpants. his grip was a little too tight, his fingers practically sinking into the soft curve of your hips, before he realized what he was doing and loosened his hold, though he didn't drop his hands.
he looked down into your flushed face, his mouth twitching as he tried to find his footing, his eyes wide and full of a flustered confusion.
"who are you?" will teased softly, his voice dropping, though it cracked just a little bit at the end. he nudged your chin with his knuckle, his hand visibly trembling against your skin. "what did you do to my jv lineman, huh? where’d she go?"
your face was burning hot. you let out a dry, awkward laugh, your hands hovering near his chest. "she's still here, smitty. she just... stopped wearing her brother's garbage."
"clearly," will muttered, his eyes darting down to the tight white tank top, then back to your eyes, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths. he looked completely stressed out by how pretty you looked, his grip on your waist twitching again. "i mean... damn. you look... it's weird. you look weird."
"weird?" you countered, your defensive instincts flaring up to hide the fact that your heart was trying to escape your ribs. "thanks, smitty. glad to know the nhl hasn't changed your charm."
"no, not like—not bad weird," he stammered quickly, his ears turning bright red as he practically choked on his own tongue, his eyes wide with panic. "i just mean you don't look like a mechanic. you look like a... a girl. a real one."
"i've always been a real girl, you idiot," you mumbled, looking down at his chest because looking at his face was making you lightheaded.
"yeah, well," will muttered, his hands finally dropping from your waist like he’d just touched a hot stove, shoving them deep into his own pockets as he stepped back a full foot. he couldn't even look at you anymore, his gaze fixed firmly on the gravel between your shoes. "you didn't have all... all that going on in high school."
"hey rookie!" leo’s voice boomed from the civic, breaking the thick, suffocatingly awkward pocket of air around you as he hauled his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. "stop staring at the my little sister-brother and help me carry this alternator into the kitchen before it leaks on the grass!"
will snapped his head toward the driveway, his entire face flushing dark crimson. "carry your own junk!" he yelled back, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive, as he aggressively kicked a piece of loose gravel with his boot and refused to meet your eyes again.
(ok this took way too longGGGg IM SORRY 😞 college is fucking me hard rn but don't worry i'm still answering your requests and will be posting! i'm also gonna turn the end game mc71 x reader into a mini-series after this one per anon request. my requests are open but posting will just be a bit bit slower than usual. i'm thinking about starting an nsfw oneshots too (whachu guys thinkk lmk :•) ily all thank you so much for the support!))
a/n: post number twenty-one! 🩵 there's something about him captivating my whole womanhood in this interview, ANYWAYS enjoy the part three!
part one-> two-> three -> four -> five typing...
003. some junkie pal
the house of the smiths rattled at the front door before the gravel could even settle under your sneakers.
mrs. smith came scrambling her way out, the screen door slamming behind her with hollow wooden crack. she didn't care about the damp autumn air or the mud on the driveway; she just threw herself into will’s chest, breaking the suffocating silence that had been stretching between the two of you like a wire.
after she finished squeezing him, her hands slid down his arms and her head turned toward you.
you saw the exact moment the light from the porch caught your face. there was a sudden glint of shock in her eyes—the kind of look a mother gives a girl when she realizes the kid who used to have grease under her fingernails has suddenly turned into a woman. but right behind the surprise, there was something else. something warm and deeply proud.
she stepped toward you, her arms opening wide, and you leaned into her. she smelled like vanilla and the specific laundry detergent she’d used since you were seven.
"you look beautiful, darling," she muttered against your ear, her soft fingers reaching up to brush the long, smooth waves of your hair away from your neck.
will, on the other hand, looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin. the sight of his mother looking at you with that knowing expression was too much for his brain to handle. he cleared his throat, the sound rough and loud in the quiet yard and immediately lunged toward the trunk of the car.
"i’ll, uh—i’ll help leo with the junk," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave as he practically hauled the heavy metal alternator out of your brother’s hands just to have an excuse to move away from the porch light.
thank god for your brother, honestly. if he hadn't started complaining about the weight of the car parts, you probably would have dissolved right into the gravel.
-----------------
dinner was a loud, comfortable blur of peace and chaos.
mrs. smith had set the kitchen table with the heavy ceramic plates that had chips in the edges, and the small house instantly filled with the rich, heavy scent of garlic and baked pasta. the conversation was fast yet clear—grace going on about her biology professor, mrs. smith asking about the dorm laundry, and the boys grunting between massive forks of food.
but beneath the noise, there was low-voltage currents humming under the table. every time you reached for the salt, every time your cardigan slid slightly off your shoulder to reveal the line of your collarbone, you could feel will's stare. he was sitting across from you, his massive shoulders making the kitchen chair look tiny, eating his food with a strange, intense focus. he barely spoke, his eyes shifting to your face every time you laughed, his jaw tight as he tried to reconcile the girl who used to steal his hockey tape with the girl sitting in front of him in a casual—just casual clothes.
it was the kind of tension that made you want the ground to open up and eat you alive.
when the table was finally cleared, grace and her mom moved into the small pantry to get the birthday dessert ready, leaving you, leo, and will alone at the heavy oak table. the silence came back instantly, thick and sticky.
leo sat back, his arms resting against his stomach, his eyes tracking the way you were quietly folding your napkin into perfect, neat squares. he’d noticed you’d been a bit quieter than usual—completely contrary to the rib-crushing hug you’d given him in the driveway.
he broke the tension with a low snort, his thick eyebrows wiggling as he gestured toward your outfit. "so, what happened to you?" he asked, his voice full of that annoying mockery. "what happened to my carhartts? please don't tell me you threw them away."
you let out a genuine laugh, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it, and shook your head. "i outgrew them, leo."
but the look on his face was too funny, so you leaned across the table, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as you pointed at the soft fabric of your top, "grace said she would literally lock me out of the dorm if she kept seeing me in those canvas pants. she basically forced me to buy a few of these."
leo nodded, laughing his loud, booming laugh, and just on cue, grace came sliding back into the kitchen with a stack of small plates. "what's funny?" she asked, her eyes darting between the three of you with instant suspicion.
"nothing, gracey," you muttered, your face burning as you stood up to help her before she could dig the hole any deeper.
-----------------
by eleven, the house had grown quiet but a bit of clanking and chugging of bottles were heard. your dad and mr. smith weren't home—they were both working the late shift down at the commercial docks, their trucks not expected back until dawn—so the house belonged entirely to the four of you while mrs. smith rested inside.
you had all agreed to take a few beers out to the porch. what started as a quiet evening had quickly devolved into a random, competitive challenge between will and leo about who had the tolerance of a "real man," their voices low and gravelly as they counted the empty bottles on the railing. you and grace just shook your heads, completely amused by the sheer, stubborn stupidity of it.
now, you were sitting on the top rail of the porch fence, your feet dangling out into the cool autumn air. you were holding your bottle of beer by the neck, swindling the dark glass in a slow, lazy circle, watching the way the orange porch light caught the amber liquid inside.
the wild laughter from the yard suddenly stopped. grace had just lost miserably to the boys in a lightning-round game of charades, her hands thrown up in mock defeat as she stomped up the wooden steps to grab a sweater from inside.
you looked down at the yard, and for a second, your heart felt so full it actually ached. it was a scary, contentfully peaceful feeling—realizing how much you had missed the smell of this wood, the sound of their voices, the absolute safety of being known.
leo walked up the steps heavily, his breath smelling faintly of hops and damp air. his words were slurring just a bit from the alcohol as he leaned his heavy bulk against your shoulder, his big arm coming around your neck to pull you into his side.
"why do you surprisingly look so girly now, kiddo?" he asked softly, his rough hand giving your shoulder a gentle shake.
you took a slow drink from the bottle dangling in your hand, your eyes tracking a dead leaf as it floated onto the grass. "just... you know. a change of preference, leo. people grow up."
the other two snuck up behind you before you could finish the thought. grace came out of the screen door, shivering slightly in her cardigan, while will moved silently through the shadows until he was leaning against the heavy wooden pillar right beside her.
jesus fucking christ, he looked good. the gray hoodie he’d thrown on made his eyes look darker, his broad chest cutting off the draft from the harbor perfectly.
you shifted against your brother, your own arm sliding around leo’s massive shoulders to keep your balance on the rail.
"tsk, i don't believe that 'preference' crap," leo chuckled, his fingers nudging your ribs. "remember when you were fourteen? you came home from school and told me you had this massive, fat crush on some person—you really didn't point out the pronouns, you were so stressed—and you asked grace to give you a makeover so they’d notice you? and instead, she used that cheap blue eyeshadow and made you look like a total blueberry clown?"
he laughed, the sound vibrating against your ribs, and you flicked his forehead hard with your free hand, thoroughly annoyed. "oh shut up! that was four years ago."
grace let out a loud, cackling laugh from the doorway, her eyes gleaming with pure mischief. "please. she didn't change her palette for 'preference,' leo. she changed her whole style because of this gu—"
before the word could fully leave her mouth, you swung your foot out, your sneaker faintly kicking her shin with an aggressive, warning thud. "grace, i swear to god—"
but the damage was done.
will's posture changed instantly. the lazy sleepy look in his eyes vanished, his broad shoulders straightening against the wooden pillar as he stared directly at you through the dark. his brow furrowed a sharp tension locking his jaw into a hard line.
"a guy, huh?" will said, his voice dropping into a low, rough register that sounded entirely too heavy for a casual conversation on a porch. he took his hands out of his pockets, his knuckles white as he leaned forward slightly. "i know a lot of the guys at boston college, y/n. is it a senior, or is he in your year? or some random junkie pal?"
the silence that followed will’s question wasn't the fun teasing kind that usually bounced around the porch. it was thick with the smell of old wood and cold harbor air, and beers dropping between the two of you like a lead weight.
will didn't look like he was sober or straight or whatever, he looked exactly like a defenseman who had just seen someone take a run at his goalie— his jaw set so tight the muscle in his cheek was twitching, his eyes narrowed and completely fixed on your face.
"i asked you a question," he muttered, his voice dropping another octave, rough and steady. "who is he?"
you let out a dry laugh, though your stomach did a violent panicky flip against your ribs. you swung your legs back over the railing, your feet hitting the porch floorboards with a loud, definitive thud as you stood up to meet his stare. "none of your business, smitty. since when do you care about who's in my life?"
"i care when grace is implying you changed the way you look for some college idiot," will snapped, taking a step away from the pillar. he didn't even realize he was doing it, his massive six-foot frame naturally moving to crowd your space, blocking out the light from the screen door. "you didn't wear dresses in high school—not even tank tops. you didn't do whatever... whatever it is you did to your hair. now you go down to commonwealth ave for four months and suddenly you're dressing up for some guy?"
"i'm dressing up for myself!" you fired right back your voice rising. you stepped closer to him, your small cardigan-clad frame coming right up against his broad chest, your chin tilted up defiantly. "i am eighteen years old, will. i am allowed to look like a woman. i am allowed to wear whatever the hell i want without having to give you an itemized report on who looked at me in the quad!"
"woah, woah, hey—timeout, break it up," leo grunted, his heavy arm coming down between the two of you like a referee separating two linemen after the whistle. his slurred, relaxed mood evaporated instantly, his brow furrowing as he looked at will’s tense shoulders. "smitty, back off. what the hell is wrong with you? she's just talking about school."
"nothing is wrong with me," will muttered, though he didn't take his eyes off you, his chest rising and falling in short angry breaths. his hands were shoved so deep into his pockets his knuckles looked like they were going to tear through the gray fleece. "i'm just asking. she's acting weird."
"she's not acting weird, you are." grace chimed in quickly, her voice sharp as she stepped in front of you, putting her hands flat against will’s chest to push him back toward his pillar. "will, seriously, shut up. i was joking. nobody changed their palettes for a guy. we were just messing around because she used to look like a greasy mechanic and now she's gorgeous. you're ruining the vibe."
god help me. oh just how you wish grace was really telling the truth.
"i'm not ruining anything," will growled, but he let grace push him back half a step, his jaw still locked. he looked away from you for the first time in five minutes, his eyes staring blindly out into the dark yard, his ears a deep, furious crimson under the orange bulb. "i just... she didn't tell me about any guy over the phone."
"because there isn't a guy, will!" you yelled, your voice cracking with all the suffocating frustration. you pulled your cardigan tighter around your chest, feeling suddenly small and entirely too visible under the weight of his strange possessiveness. "and even if there was, why do you look like you're about to put him through the boards? we haven't seen each other in nineteen weeks, and the first thing you do when i come home is start a fight about my clothes?"
the words hit the porch with a final echo.
will snapped his head back toward you, the anger in his eyes suddenly flickering into something else—something clumsy, and entirely terrified. he looked at the your clothes then up at the smooth, long waves of your hair, his mouth parting slightly as if he wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat.
"alright, that's it, inside. everyone inside," leo ordered, his large hand settling on the back of your neck, gently but firmly guiding you toward the screen door. "we're done drinking. grace, go put the cake on the counter. smitty, go split some wood or something, clear your head."
"i don't need to split wood," will muttered quietly, his voice losing its sharp edge, turning into something small and frustrated.
"i don't care," leo said, opening the door for you. "inside, kiddo."
you didn't look back at will as you stepped into the kitchen, the screen door clicking shut behind you with that same hollow sound. your heart was hammering against your ribs, your skin still burning from the proximity of him, realizing a terrifying, breathless certainty that no matter how much you changed your palette, you were still completely helpless against the boy next door.
(uh oh mad mad mad mad.... LMFAO thank u for all your support and the beautiful kindest comments and messsges ily all! your requests are seen by the one n only but pls bear with me if I'm posting it slow— i'm just a girl....)
a/n: post number twenty-two! 🩵 i did not proof read this please forgive me 💔 but do enjoy reading!
part one -> two -> three -> four -> five typing...
004. peace-be-with-us plan
the quiet that settled into the house after that porch night was suffocating kind that belongs solely to people who have known each other too long to lie well.
you had been in your room for three days. yes, three.
you knew it was dumb, but you were deeply hurt. you just couldn't grasp what the hell will’s problem was, completely blowing up over a simple tank top and those damn sweatpants that were currently sitting in the laundry basket right beside your bedroom door. why the hell did he care if you had a guy in your life? tsk. did he think you were that ugly, that you weren't even capable of being liked by someone? you thought and thought and thought until your head practically ached.
the night the porch fight happened, you had also completely surprised your dad—well, more like he surprised you. you and leo had been way too distracted by the residual tension to notice the front door opening, and your dad had burst inside. he was all smiles, fresh from his shift, and hell, he was getting old. but he was still handsome, exactly the same warm, grounding pops he had always been.
you really had to thank your dad for raising you the way you were right now. he was the one who always reminded you to be yourself, no matter what and no matter how. it’s always mind over matter, kiddo. but fuck—you couldn't exactly quote your way out of the mess that had happened with will.
on the fourth day of your so-called isolation, a soft knock rattled the wood. "hey kid, are you alright?" your dad asked, peeking his head through the crack. you nodded quickly, trying to look fine, but he pushed the door open anyway. leo was trailing right behind him, casually eating a thick slice of rye bread slathered with butter.
"i'm 'kay," you mumbled, shifting on your pillows. "you know, college stuff... i just need to rest and just—"
before you could even finish your sentence, they both walked right in. your dad sat heavily on the edge of your mattress, while leo claimed your desk chair, spinning it around backward to face you.
"your brother told me what happened," your dad said gently. he reached down, pulling the heavy blanket away from your face, and heaved a soft sigh. "how are you feeling?"
you swear your dad always chose the most random timing to drop his serious phrases, but you knew this wasn't about jokes anymore. he knew you were sad, mad, and completely overwhelmed. you didn't say anything; you just let out a heavy sigh, sat up, and buried your head straight into his chest, hugging him tightly.
your dad's rough hand caressed your hair, fixing the messy strands as you leaned into his flannel shirt. leo, watching from the desk chair, met your dad's eyes over your shoulder. oh, just how both of their hearts melted at the sight of their prime princess looking so small.
"i'm just mad, you know?" you mumbled against your dad's chest, your voice thick and frustrated. "smitty's words really hurt. i don't know if it was just the alcohol in his system or what, but it hurt me knowing how hard i've been trying to fit into that damned college, pops."
you weren't crying; you were just thoroughly exhausted. your dad let out a deep sigh, his large hands coming up to cup your face and pull you back slightly.
"oh, you poor prince princess," he joked softly, using his thumb to playfully wipe an imaginary saliva stain from the corner of your lips. your brother snorted, finally sliding off the desk chair to sit at the end of your bed.
"you know smitty, don't you?" leo asked. you just nodded mutely. "and you know he wouldn't say those things if it weren't for the sake of you? maybe okay, well—he completely overdid himself. he was a caveman. but you know he’s been with you ever since you guys were kids, right? he saw how those idiots bullied you back in middle school. maybe he just doesn't want that happening to you again."
your dad shifted on the mattress, wrapping one massive arm around leo on his left and the other around you on his right, pulling the two of you into his sides.
"pfft, as if i don't know what i'm doing," you heaved heavily, leaning your head on his shoulder. "and pa... do you ever think a guy would even like a girl like me? for fuck's sake..."
"yeah, i don't thi—" leo started to chime in, but your dad shot him a terrifying side-glance that made him immediately shut his mouth and swallow his bread.
"what i'm trying to say is, he’s worried," your dad added, his voice steady and warm. "he is in the nhl now, and he knows how these guys move. he has a lot of knowledge about the kind of crowds that hang around athletes and colleges. who knows, maybe he's just trying to protect you from those ugly idiots." he patted your head, standing up from the bed. "i missed you, kiddo. and it's a sunday—you can't just rot in this room forever. think about it, get ready, and we're heading to church, okay?"
he kissed the top of your head and grabbed leo by the neck on his way out aggressively shuffling his hair while leo resisted, looking thoroughly annoyed. you laughed at the sight and nodded. god, thank you for the best dad ever.
----------------------
it was 11:00 am by the time you finished getting ready. you had put on a soft baby-blue dress with a delicate white touch along the embroidery of the hems. sliding into a pair of sandals, you let your hair fall naturally down your back. looking in the mirror, your freckles were completely visible, and the cut of the dress complimented you perfectly.
"what took you so long, jv lineman, for christ's sa—oh."
your brother busted through your door, stopping dead in his tracks when he looked at you. "wow you look nice. you actually showered, right? you didn't just put that on with a stinky body?" he teased, pointing a finger at the fabric. you threw a pillow straight at his head and followed him out into the hall.
----------------------
the drive to the church wasn't far—a good ten minutes filled with your usual bickering and your dad loudly shouting from the front seat to just shut the both of you up.
the church was a beautiful, serene building covered in fresh white paint that felt completely peaceful against the autumn sky. you swore you could almost feel the second coming of christ—but then grace approached you on the steps, and you realized hell was standing just three feet away.
will was right beside her.
his hair was neatly tidied up, completely free of the usual messy hockey helmet look, and he was wearing a crisp blue polo with white trousers. he looked devastatingly handsome.
"hey—how are you? i-i'm so sorry for will—" grace started quickly, her eyes wide with apology. before she could even finish her sentence, you threw your arms around her, hugging her tightly and pulling her straight inside the church foyer. your dad greeted mr. and mrs. smith with a warm chuckle, following the two of you into the pews.
the mass was a peaceful, quiet time—or it was supposed to be. with will standing just a few feet away, peaceful was the absolute last thing on your mind. leo had deliberately slid into the middle of the two of you, acting like a massive human shield, but the arrangement did nothing to stop your hyper-awareness.
your thoughts were suddenly cut off by the pastor's voice booming during the homily.
"love is what showed god that he was helping us, brothers and sisters," the pastor announced, raising his hands toward the congregation. "as we gather here for our loving father, we must remember that he is the strength of our bodies, the one who cleanses us from our sins. but love also requires us to swallow our pride. we cannot let stubbornness build walls between us and the ones we care about. when we let anger fester, when we snap at each other out of fear or jealousy, we are failing the people who share our burdens. love your enemies, yes, but learn to extend grace to the fools close to you who don't know how to use their words."
you swear to god, the homily was a bit too true to what you and will were currently experiencing. you wished you could just bury yourself alive and meet christ himself right then and there, but you were just a young girl trying to survive a sunday. from the corner of your eye, you saw will clear his throat roughly and fix his composure, adjusting the collar of his blue polo. you just snickered under your breath and glared at the side of his face. he tried to look over at you, but you kept your eyes fixed rigidly on the altar.
suddenly, leo leaned over and nudged your arm. "i gotta go," he whispered. you immediately grabbed the fabric of his shirt, tugging him back and begging him with your eyes not to leave. he just slapped your hand away playfully, giving you a goofy grin. "the rye bread made my stomach ache, kiddo. i'll be right back."
you could have punched your brother right in his face as he slid out of the row. and now, there was an empty space between you and will.
and just on cue, the pastor spoke. "let us offer each other the sign of peace."
when you were kids, the sign of peace was the ultimate joke. you used to use it to tease grace and leo because they had accidentally kissed each other during a game of tag once; both of them had been so thoroughly disgusted by it that you and will had laughed until your stomachs hurt. it had been an inside joke ever since.
but now, you were stuck standing right next to him.
it was so awkward. you turned, placing a soft, quick cheek-to-cheek with your dad, then grace, and then mrs. smith. and then you turned around, and there stood will.
fuck it—fuck it. you both just stood frozen in the aisle, the silence between you thick and heavy.
"peace be with you," he muttered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register.
you just nodded, your throat dry. "peace be with you," you mumbled, trying to sit right back down to escape the proximity.
"how about smitty, y/n? you guys used to hug each other every time!" mrs. smith said happily, wrapping her arms around mr. smith's arm as she beamed at the two of you.
when will this end?
you had no choice but to stand back up, facing will. you leaned in, giving him a quick, stiff side-hug. will wrapped his broad arm around your shoulders, but he didn't entirely place his hand flat against your back, his fingers hovering awkwardly against the baby-blue fabric as if he was afraid to touch you. your heart did a dizzying lap against your ribs before you both broke away and sat down, staring straight ahead.
you're going to kill leo. you just knew that.
-----------------------
the end of the mass was quick and chaotic. the second the final hymn concluded, you quickly made your way out into the side courtyard, excusing yourself early before will could catch up to you. standing near the brick arches, you patted down your hair and checked your reflection in the glass of a small window, trying to calm your breathing.
"hey."
"what the fuck!" you yelled, jumping slightly as you whirled around. your heart completely skipped a beat.
will was scratching the back of his neck, his ears turning a bright red under his neat hair. you cleared your throat quickly, smoothing down the front of your dress to hide how rattled you were by his presence.
" 'm sorry."
the words were a tiny whisper, a muffled mumble that barely carried over the wind.
"what?" you asked, crossing your arms and glaring at him, forcing him to say it properly.
"i said i'm sorry," he repeated a little louder, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours, completely wide and full of a raw, flustered sincerity.
you let out a slow sigh, looking at him. standing there, one thing you know two things for certain: one, you were absolutely going to forgive him. two, he had no right to look that damn good in a simple blue polo. you felt your stomach flip all over again, a sudden heat rushing into your cheeks.
"i was just out of my mind, and the words just slipped," he stammered, the explanation pouring out all at once as he took a step closer, his broad frame cutting off the draft from the street. "i was just scared, you know? you know how guys move, and i see how things are now that i'm in the nhl. i know how bad grace's ex-boyfriend was, and i just—i didn't want some idiot..."
"it's okay, smitty," you cut him off gently, reaching up to playfully shuffle his perfectly tidied hair just to break his panicked rhythm. you let out a soft sigh, a small smile finally touching your lips. "i forgive you."
"and just like god's miracale, drum roll please....! they reconciled, thank you jesus! whacha think, grace, how did our plan work?"
you both snapped your heads around. leo was standing by the walkway, grace right by his side, both of them grinning like absolute idiots.
"what plan?" you and will synced perfectly, your eyebrows raising in identical looks of pure suspicion.
"the peace-be-with-us plan," leo chuckled, thoroughly proud of himself as he high-fived grace.
"i knew it! you don't have a stomach ache from the damn rye bread! you're immune to that shit!" you yelled, your old tomboy instinct flaring up in a split second. you lunged straight at your brother, your sandals clicking against the stone as you started aggressively slapping his arm and his chest.
will let out a low, ragged sigh of relief, and a second later, your parents emerged from the church doors, watching the three of you cause a scene and laughing quietly. the afternoon quickly transitioned into a loud, comfortable sunday brunch at the local diner, the table filled with the smell of coffee, pancakes, and a few familiar jokes.
-----------------------
by the time the afternoon began to wind down, everyone drifted out into the diner's gravel parking lot. your dad and mr. smith were deep in a conversation about the upcoming freight schedules at the pier, and grace was helping mrs. smith carry a box of leftover pastries to their truck, leaving you and will walking a few paces behind the rest of the family.
the autumn sun was high now, casting long, crisp shadows across the gravel.
will was walking close to you—so close that his broad shoulder brushed against yours with every step. the loud anger from the porch was completely gone, replaced by a strange, quiet shyness that made the space between you feel entirely fragile.
"so," will murmured, his hands shoved deep into his white trousers, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of his boots. "baby blue, huh?"
"what about it?" you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers twisting the edge of your small cardigan.
"nothing," he muttered, his jaw twitching as a faint smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth. he cleared his throat, his neck turning that familiar shade of pink as his eyes flicked down to trace the clean, feminine line of your collarbone before quickly snapping back to the horizon. "just... it looks better than leo's old hoodies. a lot better, y/n."
your heart did a sudden erratic thud against your ribs. you looked away, your cheeks flushing warm as you tried to hold onto your steady, independent composure. "thanks, smitty. glad to know i have your stamp of approval."
"yeah, well," he mumbled, his pace slowing down until the two of you were lagging a full twenty feet behind your parents. he stopped near the side of your dad's truck, turning his massive frame fully toward you. he reached out, his thick fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before he gently caught the hem of your cardigan between his thumb and index finger, tugging it just enough to keep you from stepping up onto the running board.
you froze, your breath hitching in your throat.
will stepped closer, crowding your space until the clean scent of the wind and his expensive soap completely filled your senses. he didn't say anything. he just stared down at you, his pupils wide and intense, holding your gaze with a unblinking focus that made the sounds of the parking lot completely fade away. his hand stayed clamped on the fabric of your sweater, his knuckles warm against your hip, his jaw tight as if he was fighting a massive urge he couldn't put into words.
there was something humming beneath his expression—something hidden so deep it made your knees go entirely weak. it was different from before. he wasn't just the boy next door anymore or will from the porch night.
he leaned down slightly, his mouth hovering just inches from your ear, his breath warm against your cold skin.
"i have to fly back out for the road trip tomorrow morning," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, low tone that sent a shiver straight down your spine. his thumb rubbed a slow, heavy circle against the fabric of your sweater, his grip tightening just a bit. "but you're coming back down to the city for the weekend game, right? tell me you're coming."
you looked up into his waiting eyes, the silence between your mouths stretching out until it felt terrifyingly dangerous, leaving the answer hanging in the crisp harbor air.
(GAHAHAHAHHS im dead ts so trash, but would you like the chapters longer or no, lmk! thank you all for your kindest comments and support, thank you!!)
summary: jack scores the golden goal and everything after is chaos, noise, and finding each other in the middle of it.
word count: 1.5k
You don’t remember the exact second the puck went in.
Not clearly, anyway.
It’s more like flashes. The shot. The way everyone froze for half a heartbeat. Then the net moving and the sound just… exploding.
Overtime.
Gold.
Jack.
The arena loses it. People are screaming, jumping, grabbing whoever’s closest. You get pulled into a hug by someone you don’t even know and you’re laughing, half in shock, half trying to keep up with what just happened.
Because it doesn’t feel real yet.
It was supposed to be tense. Careful. One mistake ends it.
Instead, it’s over in a second.
You push your way down as fast as you can, barely aware of anything except the fact that you need to get closer. Closer to the ice, to the tunnel, to him.
By the time you get there, it’s chaos.
Players are pouring off the ice in waves, yelling over each other, sticks clattering, equipment half off. Staff are trying to direct traffic and failing. Media is already packed in, cameras up, lights too bright for how overwhelming everything already feels.
You hang back just enough to not get shoved out of the way, eyes locked on the entrance.
Quinn comes through first, helmet gone, hair a mess, yelling something at a camera with a grin that looks almost identical to Jack’s.
You scan past him.
Still not there.
More players. More noise.
Then finally…
Jack.
He’s slower getting in, caught up in the aftermath, talking to someone over his shoulder, still half on the ice mentally. His helmet’s off, hair damp, face flushed from the cold and the adrenaline.
And yeah, there’s blood.
Not a ton. Just enough to notice. Split lip, a smear along his chin, two teeth definitely missing when he smiles at something someone says.
It looks bad in a normal setting.
Right now, he looks like he just won a war.
He turns his head, searching without really trying to make it obvious.
Then he finds you.
Everything about him shifts.
It’s small, but it’s there. His shoulders drop a little, the noise around him stops mattering as much.
He makes his way over, slipping past people, ignoring a couple attempts to grab his attention.
“Hey,” he says when he gets to you, like this isn’t insane, like he didn’t just win Olympic gold in overtime.
You stare at him for half a second. “Hey? Seriously?”
He huffs out a laugh, a little breathless. “I don’t know what else to say right now.”
“You just won the Olympics,” you say. “That seems like something you could start with.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding once, still looking at you like he’s grounding himself. “Yeah, that happened.”
Up close, you can see it better. The cut, the dried blood, the way his lip’s still a little swollen.
“You’re bleeding,” you point out.
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m fine.”
“You’re missing teeth.”
“Temporary problem.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling anyway. “You’re so annoying.”
“Worked out though,” he says, grinning again, not even caring.
It’s a mess of a grin. A little bloody, a little uneven.
You think you might actually like it more like this.
There’s a second where neither of you says anything. Everything around you is still loud, still moving, but it feels a little quieter right here.
“You saw it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “You made it look easy.”
“It was not easy.”
“I know.”
He nods, like that’s enough explanation.
Then, without overthinking it, he leans in.
It’s quick, a little clumsy because he’s still in half his gear, gloves bumping awkwardly against your side, but it’s him. Warm, a little shaky, still running on adrenaline.
And yeah, there’s blood.
You feel it more than see it at first. A faint smear where his lip brushes yours, not enough to be gross, just real enough to remind you what this actually cost.
He pulls back just slightly, like he realizes it a second too late. “Sorry—”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off, laughing a little. “I think I’ll survive.”
“You sure?” he asks, glancing at your mouth.
“Yeah, Hughes. I’m not dying because you scored a goal.”
“Best way to go though,” he says.
You shove his shoulder lightly. “Oh my god.”
He laughs, more relaxed now, like the moment finally caught up to him.
“I didn’t even see it go in,” he admits. “I just shot and then everyone jumped me.”
“I saw,” you say. “You disappeared.”
“Yeah, that checks out.”
Someone calls his name again from across the tunnel. Louder this time. More urgent.
He ignores it for a second longer, eyes still on you.
“You staying?” he asks.
“Obviously.”
“Okay,” he says, like that actually matters to him more than everything else happening right now. “Good.”
Another voice. Closer now.
He sighs, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you.
“I’ve gotta—”
“I know.”
He hesitates, then leans in again, quicker this time, like he doesn’t want to get pulled away mid-second.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he says.
“I won’t.”
He nods, satisfied, then finally turns, getting dragged back into the chaos. Cameras, teammates, questions he probably won’t remember answering.
You watch him go, hand coming up to your mouth without thinking.
There’s a faint smear of red when you pull it back.
You shake your head a little, smiling to yourself.
summary: when Quinn Hughes sends Team USA to the Olympic medal final with an overtime winner, you are right there for every second of it.
word count: 1.6k
The arena doesn’t feel real.
It’s too loud, too bright, too everything. The kind of moment people talk about for years, the kind you know you’ll replay in your head later and still not fully believe you lived through.
And somehow, you’re standing right in the middle of it.
Your hands are freezing even inside your gloves as you grip the railing, eyes locked on the ice. The score glows above the rink.
1–1. Overtime.
One goal decides everything.
You barely register the announcer’s voice echoing through the building in Milan. All you can focus on is the way Quinn hops over the boards again, helmet tilted slightly, jaw set in that quiet, locked-in way you’ve come to recognize.
He looks calm.
Too calm.
Like this isn’t the biggest game of his life.
You shake your head under your breath. “You’re insane,” you mumble, though there’s a smile pulling at your lips.
Because of course he is.
That’s just… him.
The play starts messy.
A scramble along the boards, sticks clashing, bodies colliding. The kind of hockey that feels more like survival than skill.
Then suddenly, the puck kicks free.
Right to him.
Quinn.
And everything slows.
You swear it does. Like the entire arena inhales and just… waits.
He pulls the puck in clean, gliding toward the top of the slot. One defender tries to close the gap, but Quinn shifts slightly, just enough. It’s subtle, almost nothing, but it’s everything.
You’ve seen that move a hundred times.
At home. At games. Late-night replays he pretends not to care about.
But this is different.
This is the Olympics.
This is everything.
“Shoot it,” you whisper, barely audible even to yourself.
He already is.
The puck leaves his stick in a flash. A sharp, clean release.
For a split second, you lose it.
Then—
Ping.
Off the post.
And in.
You don’t remember screaming.
But suddenly you are.
Everyone is.
The arena explodes, sound crashing over you like a wave as Quinn throws his head back slightly, arms lifting just a little before his teammates swarm him.
Red, white, and blue everywhere.
Gloves in the air. Sticks banging. Bodies piling into him.
And you…
You’re crying.
You don’t even realize it until your vision blurs and your chest tightens in that overwhelming, can’t-breathe kind of way.
Because he did it.
He actually did it.
An overtime goal. In the Olympics. To send his team to the medal final.
You press your hand to your mouth, laughing through it, shaking your head like that might somehow make it less real.
It doesn’t.
Later, you’ll hear people talk about it like it was inevitable.
Like of course it was Quinn Hughes. Of course he stepped up. Of course he delivered.
They’ll talk about how he scored that overtime winner against Sweden to push Team USA forward in the tournament .
They’ll talk about his calm, his vision, the way he controls a game from the blue line.
They’ll make it sound simple.
It wasn’t.
You saw the way his shoulders tensed earlier in the game. The way he kept rolling his neck between shifts. The quiet focus that wasn’t nerves exactly, but something close.
You saw all of it.
And now you’re watching him pull away from the pile, helmet slightly askew, cheeks flushed, eyes scanning—
Until they find you.
It’s quick.
Most people wouldn’t notice.
But you do.
Because his whole expression shifts.
Just a little.
That same soft look he gets when it’s just the two of you, when hockey isn’t the center of the universe for once.
Like for half a second, it’s not about the game.
It’s about you being there.
You press your hand against the glass without thinking.
He skates past, tapping it once with his glove.
It’s small.
But it means everything.
The team celebration drags on, the crowd refusing to quiet down, chants echoing through the arena as players circle, hugging, shouting, laughing.
You barely hear any of it.
Your heart is still racing too fast, your mind replaying the goal over and over again.
The shot.
The sound.
The moment it went in.
You don’t think that feeling will ever leave your body.
By the time you make it down to the tunnel, it’s chaos.
Media everywhere. Staff rushing back and forth. Players still buzzing with adrenaline.
You wait off to the side, shifting your weight, trying not to get in the way.
And then—
“There you are.”
You turn.
Quinn’s already pulling his helmet off, hair damp and messy, sticking up in every direction. His face is still flushed, eyes bright in a way that makes your chest ache.
You don’t even think.
You just walk straight into him.
Your arms wrap around his shoulders, his gear cold against you, but he doesn’t hesitate. He drops his gloves somewhere behind him and pulls you in just as tight.
“You’re insane,” you say into his shoulder, your voice still shaky.
You feel him laugh softly. “Yeah?”
“Quinn—” you pull back just enough to look at him, hands still gripping his jersey, “that was—”
You can’t even finish it.
There aren’t words for it.
He just looks at you for a second, like he gets it anyway.
Like he always does.
“Felt good,” he says, simple, understated. Of course.
You let out a breath that turns into a laugh. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
He shrugs a little, but there’s a grin tugging at his mouth now. “I mean… we’re not done yet.”
Right.
The final.
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You just sent your team to the Olympic final and you’re already thinking about the next game.”
“That’s kind of how it works,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
There’s noise around you. Teammates shouting, someone calling his name, cameras clicking somewhere down the hall.
But for a second, it feels quiet again.
Like the world shrinks down to just the two of you.
You reach up, brushing a piece of damp hair back from his forehead. “I’m proud of you,” you say softly.
That gets him.
You can see it.
Not the goal. Not the crowd. Not the win.
That.
His expression softens, something real and unguarded slipping through. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He nods once, like he’s trying to play it cool, but his hand tightens slightly at your waist.
“Glad you were here,” he says.
Your chest tightens again, but this time it’s quieter. Warmer.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Someone yells his name again, louder this time.
Reality snaps back in.
He sighs lightly, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you. “I gotta go.”
“I know.”
Neither of you move right away.
Then he leans in quickly, pressing a short, firm kiss to your forehead.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s not for anyone else.
It’s just his.
“I’ll see you after,” he says.
You nod. “Go.”
He takes a step back, grabbing his gloves, already shifting back into that focused, game-ready version of himself.
But before he disappears down the hall, he looks back one more time.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
The arena is still buzzing when you make your way back out.
People are already talking about the goal like it’s history.
And maybe it is.
An overtime winner.
A ticket to the Olympic medal final.
A moment that’s going to follow him for the rest of his career.
But for you, it’s something else too.
It’s the look on his face when he found you in the crowd.
The way his voice softened when he said he was glad you were there.
The quiet, steady version of him underneath all the noise.
And as the replay flashes across the big screen again, the puck hitting the post and sliding in, the crowd erupting all over again—
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