juliette 18
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will smith. san jose sharks. california. red hot chili peppers.
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juliette 18
menu my sharks fic rec account
will smith. san jose sharks. california. red hot chili peppers.
hockey. fluff. writing. snoopy. naps. snow. danish.
REQUESTS ARE OPEN! INBOX IS OPEN!
layout inspired by @mattssnoopy

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before i leave for a while, i want to say thank you for 100 followers 🩵🦈
i think i’m gonna take a small break and delete the app off my phone.
i genuinely have written so much over the past month, and i’m so tired.
thank you for everyone who’s requested things and interacted 🦈🩵.
to the anon who said i use ai,
first of all, if you wanna say some shit like that, get off anon.
second of all, not everything is ai! surprise surprise!! i’ve taken 10+ years of advanced writing class (so since i was 8).
i’ve literally never deliberately used an ai source for anything. it could just be rooted in me being paranoid of them watching me 😭.
so before you go to anyone else’s page saying some “just an fyi, you so obviously use ai”, think about the time and effort they put into their work.
biology class, featuring macklin celebrini
based off this request
The biology lab smells faintly like disinfectant and anxiety.
You stand at your workstation with a tray covered in gloves, pins, and something very un-frog-like under a paper towel that your teacher insists is “completely normal.” Across from you are two very familiar classmates who somehow make a frog dissection feel like a group project and a public event.
Will Smith leans back in his chair like he’s in control of the entire universe, even though he’s definitely never done this before in his life. Next to him, Macklin Celebrini is already tying his gloves with calm precision, like this is just another day and not… whatever this is.
“Okay,” Macklin says, glancing at the instructions. “We’re supposed to identify the external anatomy first.”
Will squints at the paper. “External anatomy. Right. That’s… that’s the frog part that’s outside, yeah?”
You try not to laugh. “That’s usually how ‘external’ works.”
Will turns to you immediately, grin lighting up. “See? She agrees with me. I like her. She’s logical.”
Macklin doesn’t look up. “You like everyone.”
“Not true,” Will says. Then, after a beat: “I like her more.”
Your pen freezes slightly over your worksheet.
Macklin finally looks up at that, expression unreadable but clearly entertained. “We have a frog to dissect, man.”
“I’m multitasking,” Will says seriously.
You shake your head, trying to focus. “Okay, can we just not get expelled today? Let’s start before I regret being assigned to this group.”
Macklin nods. “Good plan.”
Will leans closer to you as you pull on gloves. “If I faint, tell people I went down bravely.”
“You’re not fainting,” you say.
“That sounds like a challenge,” he replies.
Macklin slides the tray forward. “Nobody’s fainting. We’re cutting a frog.”
A pause.
Then Will: “That sentence is crazy out of context.”
You carefully lift the paper towel.
There it is.
Silence falls.
“…Oh,” you say.
“Yeah,” Macklin agrees.
Will leans in. “Okay, I expected… more frog energy.”
“It’s a preserved specimen,” Macklin says.
“It’s giving ‘retired,’” Will adds thoughtfully.
Despite yourself, you laugh. “Alright. External anatomy. Eyes, limbs, all that.”
Macklin points with a gloved finger. “Eyes are here. Nostrils there.”
Will immediately leans in closer than necessary, shoulder brushing yours. “And what are those?”
“That’s its head,” you say.
He nods slowly like he’s learning deep philosophy. “Frog head. Got it.”
“You’re doing amazing,” Macklin says dryly.
Will gasps. “That was sarcasm.”
“Correct.”
You pick up the scalpel carefully. “Okay, I’m starting the incision.”
Will suddenly gets very still. “Wait—hold on—are we sure I can’t just… emotionally support the frog instead?”
“It’s already preserved,” Macklin says.
“That’s worse,” Will mutters.
You make the first careful cut, focusing. The room feels quieter for a second.
Then Will softly, next to you: “You’re actually really steady with that.”
You glance at him briefly. “It’s a scalpel. Not a live grenade.”
“Still,” he says. “Impressive.”
Macklin, without looking up: “Don’t distract her, Romeo.”
“I’m not Romeo-ing,” Will says immediately.
A pause.
“…What does that even mean?” you ask.
“It means he’s flirting,” Macklin says.
Will points at him. “You’re supposed to be my wingman.”
“I am your wingman,” Macklin replies. “I’m helping you not get rejected in biology class.”
“I have not been rejected,” Will says.
You don’t look up from your work. “You also haven’t been accepted.”
Macklin makes a sound that is definitely a laugh.
Will puts a hand over his chest like he’s wounded. “Harsh.”
But when you glance up, he’s smiling.
The frog dissection continues in uneven progress—Macklin steady and efficient, Will alternating between helpful and completely distracted, and you trying very hard not to let either of them make you mess up your cuts.
At one point, Will carefully hands you a probe. “For precision.”
“You’re taking this very seriously now,” you note.
“I’m always serious,” he says.
Macklin immediately: “No he’s not.”
Will points at him again. “Stop undermining my character arc.”
You snort. “Character arc?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Quiet guy in biology class. Falls in love with science. And possibly—”
Macklin interrupts, deadpan: “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Will looks at you. “—frog anatomy.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” he says, a little softer now. “But I’m having fun.”
For a moment, it’s just the three of you, gloves on, messy lab table, frog dissection half-finished, laughter still hanging in the air.
And somehow, biology class doesn’t feel like biology class anymore.

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vertigo spell
based off this request
The room is loud in the way post-game gatherings always are—half celebration, half chaos. Teammates talking over each other, laughter bouncing off the walls, someone clapping Will on the shoulder like they still can’t believe the win.
You try to stay close enough to him without getting in the way.
You’ve gotten good at that in the last month.
But vertigo doesn’t really care about timing.
It starts small—just that familiar tilt, like the floor shifts half an inch out of place. You blink slowly, trying to ground yourself, fingers brushing the edge of a nearby counter.
Will notices almost immediately.
His smile fades just slightly. “Hey,” he says, quieter than before. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you lie, because it’s easier than explaining it again in a room like this.
But your grip on the counter tightens.
The noise feels further away now. Distant. Warped.
“Okay,” Will says, already moving closer. Not panicked—just focused, like he’s done this mental checklist before. “Hey, look at me.”
You try, but your vision doesn’t fully cooperate.
And then the world tips wrong.
Someone says your name—far away.
Will catches you before you hit the ground.
It’s instinct. Clean and immediate. One arm around your back, the other steadying your shoulder as your knees give out like they were never fully convinced to hold you up in the first place.
The room changes instantly.
“What happened?” someone asks.
“Give her space,” Will says, calm but firm. The kind of voice that doesn’t invite argument.
He lowers you carefully, guiding you down until you’re sitting against him and then fully supported, his arm still anchored around you like a brace.
You blink hard. “Sorry… I just—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in gently. Not sharp. Just certain. “You don’t need to apologize.”
His hand stays steady on your arm, thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles like he’s trying to remind your body where it is.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly.
You lean your head back against him, breathing slowly as the spinning starts to settle in uneven waves.
He doesn’t make it a spectacle. Doesn’t call attention to it more than necessary. Just keeps his body between you and the crowd, shielding you from the noise, from the staring, from anything that might make it worse.
A teammate steps closer. “Do you want medical—”
“I’m taking her somewhere quiet,” Will says immediately.
No hesitation. No debate.
He shifts carefully, helping you up slowly this time, like he’s learned your pace down to the second. One arm stays around your waist, firm but gentle.
As he guides you out of the room, he leans down just slightly so only you can hear him.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”
And somehow, with the noise fading behind you and his hand steady at your side, it starts to feel like the world is staying still again.
ice cream
based off this request
You don’t even bother turning all the lights on when you get home.
Just the hallway lamp. Just enough to see your shoes off, to drop your bag, to let the silence settle in properly.
The night out had been fine. Loud music, too many people talking over each other, forced laughs that didn’t feel like yours. But it wasn’t the night that followed you home.
It was the way one of your friendships had felt… off.
Like something had shifted and neither of you wanted to say it out loud.
You sit on the edge of the couch, staring at your phone without really seeing it.
A few seconds later, the front door opens.
Will.
Still in a hoodie, hair messy, like he’s just come back from practice or a late run. He pauses the second he sees your face.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
You try to shrug it off. It doesn’t work.
He doesn’t push. Just drops his keys, walks over, and sits beside you like he already knows the answer.
For a while, neither of you speak.
Then it all comes out in pieces—confusing texts, weird energy, the feeling of being left on the outside of something you used to be part of.
Will listens the way he always does. Not interrupting. Not rushing you. Just letting you talk until you run out of words.
When you finally stop, you let out a breath like you’ve been holding it all night.
He leans back against the couch.
“Friendships change,” he says after a moment. “Doesn’t always mean you did something wrong.”
“I know,” you mumble, but it still hurts.
He nods like that makes sense too.
Then he stands up without making a big deal out of it.
“I’ll be right back.”
You watch him disappear into the kitchen, hearing cabinets open, the quiet rustle of him moving around like he belongs there. A few minutes later he comes back holding a small bowl.
Ice cream.
Your favorite kind.
A little melted on the edges like he didn’t wait for it to be perfect, just quick.
He hands it to you and sits back down.
“You didn’t have to—” you start.
“I know,” he says simply.
You take a spoonful anyway. It’s cold and sweet and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed.
Will watches you for a second, then bumps your shoulder lightly.
“You don’t have to carry all of it at once, you know.”
That makes something in your chest loosen a little.
You glance at him. “Since when did you get wise?”
He smirks. “I play hockey. Lots of thinking time on planes.”
You laugh, quiet but real this time.
He doesn’t fix it. He doesn’t try to erase it.
He just sits there with you, ice cream between you, until the weight feels a little less sharp.
And somehow, that’s enough.
headcanons
based off this request
Will isn’t loud about being in love, but he’s consistent in it. He shows up in small, steady ways that you only really notice when you look back—texts that say “you home?” without needing context, remembering things you mentioned once in passing, showing up with food when you’ve had a long day and pretending it was “already on his way.”
He’s affectionate, but not performative about it. In public, it’s usually subtle—hand on your back guiding you through a crowd, fingers brushing yours without making a big deal out of it, leaning in just slightly when he talks to you like the rest of the world doesn’t matter that much.
In private, he’s softer. The kind of boyfriend who gravitates toward you without thinking—head on your shoulder while you’re watching something, pulling you closer just because there’s space, absentmindedly playing with your fingers when he’s tired.
He’s very much a “acts of service” person. If something breaks, he’s already trying to fix it. If you’re stressed, he’s suddenly in the kitchen making something simple and comforting like it’s his job. He’ll act casual about it, but he pays attention more than he lets on.
Will is competitive in everything except you. With you, he softens fast. He’ll still tease you, still challenge you to stupid little games, but if you’re genuinely upset, it’s like a switch flips and he gets quiet, focused on making sure you feel okay again.
He’s also a little clueless sometimes in a charming way. He won’t always say the perfect thing, but he’ll stay. Even if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or what to say next, he’s there anyway.
He gets clingy in the quietest ways after long travel days—showing up at your place and just wanting to exist near you, even if you’re both doing different things. He’ll pretend he’s “just tired,” but he’s definitely just not ready to leave your space yet.
And when he’s really comfortable, he gets a bit goofy. Random jokes, playful arguing, stealing your snacks and acting innocent about it like he didn’t absolutely do it on purpose.
same flight
based off this request
You’re already running late when you get to the airport—half-dragging your carry-on, hair a mess, coffee still too hot to drink properly. The terminal is a blur of announcements and rolling suitcases… until you spot him.
Curly blonde hair. Blue eyes. Sitting by the window like he’s trying to disappear into it.
He looks up at the exact wrong time.
Or the exact right one.
For a second, neither of you look away.
It’s nothing dramatic—no slow-motion, no music swelling—but something about it makes your steps hesitate. Like your brain briefly forgets where you were going.
You sit a few rows away, telling yourself it means nothing. Airports are full of people. People look at each other all the time.
But then you notice him again at the gate.
Same flight.
Same quiet, slightly awkward energy like he’s thinking too much about where to put his hands.
And when boarding is called, you end up in the same line.
“Row 18?” he says suddenly, glancing at your boarding pass.
You nod.
He smiles a little like he didn’t expect that.
“Me too.”
On the plane, you end up beside each other.
There’s the polite “sorry” when your elbows bump, the shared silence of takeoff, the pretending-you’re-not-aware-of-each-other that lasts exactly five minutes.
Then he breaks it.
“I’m Will.”
It’s simple. Casual. Like he hasn’t just changed the entire mood of your flight.
You tell him your name.
He repeats it softly, like he’s trying it on.
Outside the window, the clouds stretch endless and white. Inside, time starts to feel a little less linear.
He tells you he plays hockey. Something about San Jose. Something about travel and seasons and life always being in motion.
You tease him about looking too calm for someone who probably gets checked into walls for a living.
He laughs—real, surprised.
And just like that, the flight gets shorter.
When the plane lands, people start standing, reaching for bags, returning to reality.
But neither of you moves right away.
“Guess this is where we—” you start.
“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
A pause.
Then, softer:
“What if I didn’t want it to end here?”
Outside, the airport is already waiting to swallow you both back into separate directions.
But for the first time all day, neither of you is in a hurry.
timing
based off of this
The first time you met Macklin Celebrini, he was trying—and failing—to convince a decorative shrub that it was his Uber.
“Mack,” one of his friends groaned from somewhere behind him, “that’s a bush.”
“It moved,” he argued.
“It’s a bush.”
You had been on your way out of your friend’s graduation party when you spotted the scene unfolding near the curb.
The guy in question looked completely serious despite being very, very drunk.
“You good?” you asked, stopping a few feet away.
His head snapped toward you.
For a second, he just stared.
Then he pointed.
“There you are.”
You blinked.
“…Do I know you?”
“No,” he said confidently. “But you seem trustworthy.”
His friend burst out laughing.
“You’ve known her for three seconds.”
“Exactly,” Macklin replied. “Trustworthy.”
You ended up helping him into a cab fifteen minutes later after determining that he absolutely should not be allowed to order his own ride.
He’d tried three times.
One attempt was somehow for a pizza.
“You got everything?” you asked as he slumped against the seat.
He squinted up at you.
“No.”
You sighed.
“What are you missing?”
“Your number.”
His friend nearly fell over laughing.
Even you couldn’t help smiling.
“You’re drunk.”
“Correct.”
“Very drunk.”
“Also correct.”
“Ask me again when you’re sober.”
To your surprise, he actually did.
Two days later, your phone buzzed.
Unknown Number
Hi. This is Mack.
I have been informed I embarrassed myself.
You
That’s one way to put it.
Mack
I would like to formally apologize for attempting to befriend landscaping.
That was how it started.
Not with sparks.
Not with romance.
Just friendship.
Months passed.
Texts turned into phone calls.
Phone calls turned into coffee runs whenever he was back home.
You learned quickly that sober Macklin wasn’t all that different from drunk Macklin.
Still funny.
Still stubborn.
Still capable of making you laugh when you least expected it.
By the time winter arrived, both of you were in relationships.
You with your boyfriend of nearly a year.
Macklin with a girlfriend he’d been seeing for several months.
And honestly?
It seemed fine.
You were happy.
He seemed happy.
Life moved forward.
The friendship stayed exactly where it belonged.
Mostly.
Sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling too long at one of his texts.
Sometimes he’d call just to tell you about something ridiculous that happened at practice.
Sometimes there would be little pauses in conversations that felt bigger than they should.
But neither of you crossed the line.
Neither of you would.
Because you weren’t those people.
Then everything fell apart.
It happened on a random Tuesday.
The kind of Tuesday that’s supposed to be forgettable.
Instead, it became the day your entire life flipped upside down.
Your boyfriend sat across from you looking pale.
Guilty.
Avoiding eye contact.
You knew before he even spoke.
Some instinct deep in your chest already knew.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Your stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
The silence lasted too long.
Then—
“I cheated.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
For a moment you couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t process anything beyond the ringing in your ears.
“Who?”
His expression somehow got worse.
And suddenly you knew that answer wasn’t going to make anything easier.
When he finally said her name, the room tilted.
Because you recognized it immediately.
Macklin’s girlfriend.
For several seconds neither of you spoke.
You just stared.
Certain you’d heard wrong.
“You mean…”
He nodded.
And somehow that hurt even more.
Not just because he’d cheated.
Not just because the relationship was over.
But because somewhere, hundreds of miles away, one of your closest friends was about to have his heart broken too.
The second your ex left, your hands were already shaking as you reached for your phone.
You didn’t know what to say.
How do you even start that conversation?
Before you could figure it out, your screen lit up.
Mack.
The timing made your chest ache.
You answered immediately.
“Hey.”
Silence.
Then a quiet laugh.
Not a happy one.
“Guessing you know?”
You closed your eyes.
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“Did he tell you?”
“He did.”
“Mine finally admitted it too.”
Neither of you spoke for a second.
The weight of it sat heavily between you.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
Macklin exhaled.
“No.”
The honesty nearly broke your heart.
“Me neither.”
For a long moment, all you could hear was his breathing through the phone.
Then—
“Can I tell you something selfish?”
“Always.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.
“I think part of me is relieved.”
You frowned.
“Relieved?”
“Not because of this.”
His laugh sounded nervous now.
“Because I’ve spent almost two years trying not to want something I couldn’t have.”
Your heart stopped.
Completely.
“I told myself I was over it.”
Your grip tightened around the phone.
“Mack…”
“But every time you called,” he continued softly, “every time you laughed at something stupid I said, every time we hung out…”
He sighed.
“I wasn’t over it.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too warm.
Too quiet.
“Macklin.”
“Yeah?”
You swallowed.
Hard.
Because the truth was sitting in your chest too.
Had been there longer than you wanted to admit.
“I don’t think I was either.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It wasn’t uncomfortable.
It felt like standing at the edge of something huge.
Something both of you had spent years avoiding.
And for the first time—
Neither of you had a reason to walk away from it anymore.

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bigger than the cup
The final horn sounded, and the arena exploded.
White towels spun through the air. The bench emptied. Somewhere, gloves and sticks were abandoned on the ice as the San Jose Sharks rushed together in a pile of ecstatic bodies.
Will Smith could barely hear anything over the roar.
Twenty-one years old.
Stanley Cup champion.
The words didn’t even feel real yet.
Someone slammed into his shoulder in celebration. Another teammate wrapped him in a hug. Cameras flashed from every angle as silver confetti began drifting down from the rafters.
He laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
They’d done it.
They’d actually done it.
The Cup was making its way around the team, but Will’s eyes weren’t on the trophy.
They were searching the crowd.
Searching for one person.
Well.
Two people.
The second he spotted you standing against the glass near the family section, his entire face lit up.
“There they are.”
Without waiting for anything else, he took off.
“Smith!” someone yelled after him.
“Later!”
He hopped the boards and jogged around the edge of the rink, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
You saw him coming and immediately started laughing.
“Will—”
He was already pulling you into a hug.
A messy, breathless, emotional hug that nearly lifted you off your feet.
“We won,” he said into your hair.
“I know.”
“We actually won.”
“I know.”
He pulled back, eyes shining.
Then his attention immediately dropped to the tiny bundle in your arms.
His smile somehow got even softer.
“Hey, buddy.”
Lucas was only a few weeks old and completely unaware that twenty thousand people were screaming around him.
He slept peacefully, wrapped in a little Sharks blanket.
Will stared at him for a second.
Then another.
Like he still couldn’t believe he was real.
His son.
His newborn son.
The kid he’d spent every road trip showing off photos of.
The kid whose birth announcement had made half the locker room emotional.
The kid who had somehow become more important than hockey overnight.
Will carefully reached out.
“Can I?”
You handed Lucas over.
The Stanley Cup Final MVP—covered in sweat, confetti, and ice shavings—held his son like he was made of glass.
The noise of the arena seemed to disappear.
His expression completely changed.
Not the excited grin he’d worn all game.
Something quieter.
Something awestruck.
“Hey, Lucas.”
The baby’s tiny hand escaped the blanket and curled around one of Will’s fingers.
Will laughed immediately.
“Oh, that’s it? That’s all it takes?”
You smiled.
“I think you’re his favorite.”
“As I should be.”
“You met him three weeks ago.”
“And?”
He looked down at Lucas again.
The little hand remained stubbornly wrapped around his finger.
Will’s eyes got suspiciously bright.
“You know,” he said softly, “I spent my whole life dreaming about winning the Stanley Cup.”
You leaned closer.
He glanced up at you.
“Turns out this is way better.”
You laughed.
“You’re holding the Cup in ten minutes and saying that?”
“Yep.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Lucas made a tiny sleepy noise.
Will’s entire focus immediately snapped back to him.
“There he is.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“I know.”
The Stanley Cup finally appeared behind him as teammates began shouting his name.
“SMITH!”
“GET OVER HERE!”
“WE NEED THE ROOKIE!”
Will groaned dramatically.
“They want me.”
“Shocking.”
He looked between the Cup and Lucas.
Then back to Lucas.
Then the Cup.
The decision lasted approximately half a second.
He shifted the baby slightly and turned toward the photographers.
“Can somebody bring the Cup over here?”
His teammates immediately started laughing.
“He’s already a dad.”
“Guy’s gone.”
“Completely cooked.”
Will ignored them.
A few moments later, the Stanley Cup was carefully positioned beside him.
One arm around you.
Lucas cradled securely against his chest.
The most famous trophy in hockey gleaming beside them.
The cameras erupted.
Thousands of photos captured the moment.
But Will wasn’t looking at the cameras.
He was looking down at his son.
Smiling like he’d just won something even bigger.
still the same boy
based off this request
You don’t really remember the exact moment Will Smith started acting different around you.
Not different in a loud, obvious way—he’s still the same kid who used to trip over his own skates in warmups and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world—but somewhere between late high school and the draft, something shifted. Or maybe it didn’t shift at all. Maybe you just finally started noticing it.
You’ve known Grace Smith since you were both still figuring out how to survive high school without losing your minds. She’s the kind of person who makes friends easily, the kind who drags you into conversations you didn’t ask to be part of and somehow makes them feel like home. Through her, you met Will.
He was younger than you by two years—still awkward in that lanky, half-grown way when you first met him. A hockey stick always in his hand, a grin always threatening to break through even when he tried to act cool about it. Back then, you just thought he was “Grace’s little brother who plays hockey.”
But Will… didn’t think of you that way.
You notice it in small things first.
The way he goes quiet when you’re in the room, even when he’s loud with everyone else. The way he always seems to end up sitting near you, even if there’s a whole couch empty somewhere else. The way he laughs a little too hard at your jokes, like he’s trying to prove he gets them.
Grace notices before you do.
“Stop doing that,” she says once, elbowing him when you’re in the kitchen grabbing drinks.
“Doing what?” he asks, too fast.
“That thing where you act like you forgot how to speak English around her.”
He turns red immediately. You don’t hear the rest, but you catch the tail end of Grace whispering something like, “Just talk to her like a normal person, idiot.”
It doesn’t really work.
Because Will doesn’t talk to you like a normal person.
He talks to you like you’re something delicate he’s afraid of breaking just by looking at too hard.
Years pass like that. Games, practices, summer breaks where he comes back taller, stronger, a little more confident on the ice—but still somehow the same around you. Still glancing at you like he’s checking whether you’re real.
And you? You don’t think too much about it. Not at first.
Then he gets drafted.
Everything changes for him overnight. Interviews, training camps, flights across the country. Suddenly, he’s not just “Grace’s little brother who plays hockey.” He’s Will Smith, prospect, future something, someone people start recognizing.
But when he comes back for a short break after the draft, he still finds you the same way he always did.
Like he never left.
You’re sitting on the back steps when he shows up, still in his travel hoodie, hair messy from the flight. He stops like he’s not sure he’s allowed to just walk into your space anymore.
“You’re staring,” you say without looking up from your drink.
“I’m not,” he says immediately.
You finally glance over at him.
He’s absolutely staring.
His ears go pink. “Okay, I am. Sorry.”
You snort. “What’s wrong with you?”
That makes him laugh, soft and breathy, like he didn’t expect you to be the same either. Like part of him thought you’d changed while he was gone. “Nothing. I just… forgot how loud you are in person.”
“I’m not loud.”
“You are,” he says, and there’s a grin trying to hide in his voice. “It’s kind of your thing.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling anyway. “So how’s the big NHL life treating you?”
At that, he shifts like he always does when the conversation turns to him. He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, even though it obviously is. “It’s good. Weird. A lot. Everyone’s older than me.”
“You’re fine,” you say. “You’re basically a baby deer on skates, but you’re fine.”
He laughs harder at that than he should. His shoulders shake, and he looks down like he’s trying to physically contain it.
You notice something then.
He still does that thing.
The thing where he looks at you like he can’t quite believe you’re talking to him.
It hits differently now, though. Because he’s not a kid anymore. Not really. He’s built, confident on the ice, spoken about in scouting reports and interviews.
And yet here he is, standing in your backyard, laughing like you just said something life-changing.
“You’re still weird,” he says finally, quieter now.
“So are you.”
“I know,” he admits, and scratches the back of his neck. “Grace says I got worse.”
“Grace says a lot of things.”
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “She also says I’m obvious.”
That makes you pause.
You look at him properly this time.
He’s not joking anymore.
He’s still smiling, but it’s different now—smaller, uncertain, like he’s testing whether it’s safe to say what he’s thinking out loud.
“Oh,” you say carefully.
He immediately panics. “Not like— I mean—she didn’t mean it like that—”
You cut him off. “Will.”
He stops.
You’ve seen him take hits on the ice without flinching. You’ve seen him get shoved into the boards and bounce back up laughing.
But right now, he looks like he’s bracing for impact anyway.
You tilt your head. “Are you nervous right now?”
He lets out a breath that turns into a laugh halfway out. “Yeah.”
That honesty sits between you for a second.
Then he adds, softer, “I always am with you.”
It should feel like a big moment. It kind of is.
But mostly, it just feels like something you’ve both been circling for years finally stopping pretending it’s not there.
“You’re kind of terrible at this,” you tell him.
“I know,” he says again, immediately.
There’s a pause.
Then, very quietly, he asks, “Do you want me to stop being terrible at it?”
You don’t answer right away.
Because the truth is, you’ve known him long enough to recognize this version of him—the one who’s trying so hard it makes him shaky, the one who still looks at you like you’re something he never thought he’d actually get to keep.
“No,” you say finally. “Just… don’t run away mid-conversation.”
His whole face changes at that. Relief, confusion, and something warm and bright all at once.
“I won’t,” he says quickly. Then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, “I mean— I’ll try not to. I might still be weird.”
“You are weird,” you remind him.
He laughs again, softer this time, and this time it doesn’t feel like he’s holding anything back.
“Yeah,” he says. “But I think I’m your kind of weird.”
i’m posting 8 fics tonight throughout every hour.
since i’m exhausted, i decided to not add little “authors notes”. i might add them, but i just really, truly am so tired. i spent 8 hours doing yard work 😓.
i also love how the text looks with the small feature so i’m not gonna spend 20 minutes each fic just highlighting each line.
(this not this.)
thank you for your patience 🩵🦈.
Hi love 🫶
Can I get a headcannon on Will as a boyfriend?
ohh of courseee!! i love a good headcannon🤩🤩
You have vertigo so you can’t stand very long and are dizzy all the time. Will your bf of a month knows about this and is always understand. At a post game gathering with the team, you faint.
okayyy i see you!! i get really bad vertigo, so i love this 🤩.
i will do the layout of all 6 (thank you to everyone who asked for one) requests tonight!
thank you!! 🦈🩵

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inspired by experience 🥲 (minus the boyfriend, lol)
(will smith x gf! reader)
you come home from a night out and feel that one of your friendships is not working out. will is there to listen to and help you through the girl drama and offer his advice. reader is feeling down about it but of course he is able to take the weight off of her shoulders and help ease her mind
hi hello i love this!!!!
i’m gonna incorporate a little sweet treat like ice cream into it because i’m craving a little sweet treat right now. 😅🩵🦈
i’m gonna try to post these tonight!!
yikes.