Jul 7
lol how I have I not seen this pic of will before
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lol how I have I not seen this pic of will before
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will smith x reader where she needs him after an argument and he doesn’t answer and she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore?
𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭
pairing: will x reader
wc: 2k
note: i wrote this super late at night so i barely had time to edit it so please let me know if i have any typos !
it’s been five days since the argument between you and will had taken place and all you’ve gotten from his end is radio silence. it wasn’t that you didn’t try because god, you really did.
you tried so hard.
i´ve seen it ✫ will smith (hockey)
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ will smith x fem!reader. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, jealousy & unspoken feelings, angst, situationship. not revised & english is not my first language. if you’re ever in a situation like this… just RUN.
in which you’ve always been his person. the problem? you were just his best friend.
my main masterlist! ❀
You met Will Smith before anything in your life made sense. Before feelings became too complicated and choices meant losing something, before you learned that love could exist quietly for years without ever being named.
You had just moved to Lexington that summer and your parents made it sound easier than it felt. "They’re good people, you’ll like them", your mom had said one evening, smoothing down your hair before they walked you across the street for lunch.
They already knew his parents, something about old connections and timing lining up again, like this had all been decided before you had any say in it.
Grace was the first of the Smiths to talk to you. She was easy like that, bright and warm in a way that didn’t make you feel like an outsider, even though you felt like one.
She pulled you into conversation like you’d always been there, like you hadn’t just arrived with your whole life in, literally, boxes. Will was different. Quieter at first, a little more watchful, like he was trying to figure you out before deciding what to do with you.
It didn’t take long.
After that, he just… started showing up.
At first it was with his family, trailing behind his parents when they came over, sitting across from you at the table, stealing glances like he didn’t want to be obvious about it. Then it turned into afternoons: Grace asking if you wanted to come over to watch some new movie, Will already halfway out the door before you answered. And then, eventually, it stopped needing a reason at all. He’d knock once and walk in, like your house had quietly become his too.
It was just a slow accumulation of moments that became something permanent before you even realized it, but the first one you remember clearly is the night he knocked on your window.
You were eight, half-asleep and disoriented, pushing your curtains aside to find him standing in your backyard in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, his hockey stick still in his hand.
“Are you serious?” you whispered, pushing the window open just enough to look at him.
He grinned. “Come outside. I promise it’ll be fun.”
“It’s midnight.”
“So?”
“So I’m not allowed to just—” you gestured vaguely, “—leave my house. It’s past my bedtime.”
He tilted his head, like he was actually considering that, then shrugged. “Grace is asleep. My parents think I am too. It’s fair.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Just this once,” he said, softer now, like he knew that was what would convince you. “Then I’ll let you go.”
You stared at him for a second, already knowing you were going to say yes. You always did, even then, even before you understood why it felt easier to follow him than to stay where you were.
“If I get in trouble, I’m blaming you,” you muttered, already pulling on a hoodie.
“Deal,” he said immediately, like he’d accept any terms as long as you came outside.
High school didn’t arrive all at once. It wasn’t some clean break between who you were and who you were becoming. One day you were still kids running between houses without knocking, and the next you were standing in crowded hallways, lockers slamming and people looking at each other differently.
You and Grace stayed close. Although a bit older, she pulled you through the first weeks the same way she had when you first moved, introducing you her friends, looping your arm through hers in the hallways, making sure you never felt like you didn’t belong.
Will was there too, of course, just… differently. Hockey had already started to take up more of his life, practices running late, weekends filling with games, his schedule becoming something you learned instead of shared.
Still, he found his way back to you, like he always did.
“Wait,” he called one afternoon, jogging to catch up as you and Grace were heading out after school.
Grace smirked immediately. “I’m gonna go ahead,” she said under her breath to you, already stepping away. “He’s been looking for you all day.”
You barely had time to react before she disappeared into the crowd.
“You’re abandoning me?” you called after her.
“Love you!” she shouted back, not even turning around.
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling by the time Will reached you, slightly out of breath like he’d actually rushed.
“What?” you said, glancing at him. “You could’ve just texted.”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
“I was in class.”
“So was I.”
“And yet you survived!”
“Barely,” he said, falling into step beside you. “Where were you at lunch?”
“With Grace.”
“You always sit with me.”
You frowned slightly. “Since when is it assigned seating?”
He nudged your shoulder. “Since you decided it was, like, three years ago.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“You did. You just don’t remember because you weren’t paying attention.”
You huffed out a laugh. “That sounds made up.”
“It’s not,” he said, but he was smiling too, easy and familiar, like nothing had changed.
And maybe, with him, it hadn’t.
A few years later, things looked like they had finally settled into place.
Grace leaving for college had shifted things more than you expected. At first, it was small but noticeable —quieter dinners, fewer interruptions, the absence of her easy laughter filling the space between you and Will.
She had always been the bridge without either of you realizing it, the one who softened silences and redirected conversations before they could become something heavier. Without her, there were moments that lingered a little too long, pauses that felt unfamiliar.
You found your own rhythm again, built something that felt steady. You had your own group of friends now, people who filled your days with noise and plans and the kind of laughter that made everything feel lighter. Your world had expanded beyond the small, familiar circle it used to be.
Will’s had too.
Between hockey, school, and his own friends, he was being pulled in more directions than before. His life felt bigger and more defined , like it was already starting to move toward something concrete.
You saw it in the way people talked about him, in the way his schedule filled up, in the way his future was no longer just something he talked about —it was something that was actually happening. And you felt really proud of him.
And somehow, despite all of that, the two of you stayed the same.
You still found each other without trying. Still ended up walking home together more often than not, your steps falling into sync like they always had.
Graduation, though, refused to stay in the background. It was close enough that everyone had started asking the question you’d been avoiding.
“What are you doing next year?”
Your friends asked it like it was simple. Like there was a right answer you were just waiting to say out loud.
“I don’t know,” you admitted one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the grass while they talked over each other, comparing campuses, programs, plans. “I mean it. I actually have no idea. I want to go somewhere near.”
“You should come to Boston College with us,” one of them said immediately, turning toward you. “It’s close, it’s a good school, and we’d all still be together.”
“Exactly,” another added. “You don’t even want to go far. This is kind of perfect for you.”
You hesitated, picking at the grass beneath your fingers.
There was something comforting about the idea of staying close, not having to start over somewhere unfamiliar, keeping at least part of your life exactly where it was.
“Maybe,” you said finally. “I’ll think about it.”
Later that week, you brought it up to him.
You were sitting on the hood of his car like you had a hundred times before, the metal still warm from the day, the evening settling around you in that quiet, familiar way that always made everything feel simpler when it was just the two of you.
“My friends are all thinking about going to Boston College,” you said, glancing at him. “They want me to go too.”
He nodded slowly, like he was turning the idea over in his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nudged his shoulder lightly. “What about you? Have you figured anything out yet?”
He exhaled, leaning back on his hands, gaze drifting somewhere past the streetlights.
“Not really.”
“Nothing?”
“I mean…” he hesitated, shrugging slightly, “it kind of depends.”
“On what?”
“Hockey,” he said simply. “Wherever that takes me.”
You studied him for a moment, searching his expression for something more certain.
“So you don’t have a plan?”
He glanced back at you, a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. “Since when do I ever have a plan?”
You rolled your eyes, but there was something unsettled in your chest. “That’s not reassuring.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said easily, like it wasn’t something that kept you up at night. “I always do.”
The next time your families got together, everything felt the way it always had.
The table was set near the lake, the water catching the last of the sunlight and reflecting it back in soft, shifting colors. Your parents and his were already deep in conversation, laughing, reminiscing, talking about things that blended into the background.
You sat across from him, barely noticing anything else.
You caught the way he laughed, head tilted back slightly, the way he leaned into his chair like he didn’t have a single thing weighing on him. It was so familiar it almost made you forget how close everything was to changing.
“So… we’ve been meaning to tell you all,” his mom said suddenly, her voice bright with something unmistakably proud. “Will’s probably heading to BC next year.”
Your head snapped up.
“What?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.
No one reacted to the shift in your tone.
“They’ve been in talks for a while,” his dad added, smiling. “The hockey program is a great fit for him. And he’s thinking of majoring in Communication Studies.”
You turned to look at him, expecting something. An explanation, a glance, any acknowledgment that this wasn’t the first time you were hearing it.
But he didn’t meet your eyes.
“That’s amazing,” your mom said warmly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Will shrugged, casual, like it didn’t carry weight. “It’s not official yet.”
“But still,” Coleen, his mom, insisted, “it’s basically decided.”
Something tightened in your chest, slow and unmistakable, not because of what he had chosen, but because of how you were finding out. Just a few months ago, sitting right next to him, you had asked him what he was going to do, and he had told you he didn’t know. You hadn’t expected a final answer back then, but you had expected honesty, or at least to be included in something that clearly wasn’t as uncertain as he had made it seem.
It wasn’t about Boston College. It wasn’t about his major.
It was about the fact that you hadn’t mattered enough to tell.
You pushed your chair back, the movement sharper than you intended. “I’m gonna go for a walk,” you muttered, not waiting for anyone to respond before stepping away from the table.
The air by the lake was cooler, quieter, the sound of the water soft and steady against the shore. You walked without direction at first, your thoughts louder than your footsteps, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite push down.
It didn’t take long for him to follow.
“Hey,” he called, catching up to you easily, his button-down slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up like he hadn’t bothered fixing them. “What was that?”
You didn’t slow down. “What was what?”
“You just left.”
“Yeah,” you said, staring straight ahead. “I needed some air.”
“You could’ve just said that.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Should I have announced it? ‘Hey everyone, I just found out something I definitely should’ve known already, so I’m gonna go process that for a second.’ Would that have been better?”
He frowned, confusion settling in. “What are you talking about?”
You stopped then, turning to face him fully. “BC. Communication Studies. Ringing any bells?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “It’s not a big deal. We’re literally going to the same place.”
“Not a big deal?” you repeated, disbelief creeping into your voice. “Will, I asked you about this. You told me you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I didn’t. Not then.”
“That was months ago.”
He exhaled, frustration flickering across his face. “For once, can you understand that things change? I don’t have to tell you everything.”
The words landed harder than he intended, and you saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted, like he realized it too late.
You shook your head slowly, hurt settling deeper now. “So you just didn’t think to tell me? You were going to what, wait until we ran into each other on campus?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He didn’t answer.
That silence said enough.
“You tell me everything,” you said, quieter now, but steadier. “Or at least that’s what I thought.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, stepping closer. “I do tell you everything.”
“No, you don’t,” you snapped, the frustration finally breaking through. “You tell me things when they’re easy, when they don’t matter. But this is your life, Will, and I had to hear it from your parents?”
“It’s not even final—”
“That’s not the point,” you cut in, your voice rising despite yourself.
He ran a hand through his hair, tension clear now. “Then what is the point? I´m not getting why you´re angry at me. After all, Grace is there, you and me as well. It isn´t that bad.”
You opened your mouth, and for a moment the truth was right there, simple and impossible to say out loud: that you´re andgry because you thought you mattered more, you thought you would be the first to know, not the last.
Instead, you forced your voice to steady. “I know all three of us are going there, but the point is that I asked you because I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing. Because I thought… I don’t know, I just thought you’d tell me.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t realized before. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he said more quietly. “We’re going to the same place. We’ll still see each other all the time. It’s not like anything’s changing.”
And that was the part that hurt the most.
Because to him, nothing was changing.
“Yeah,” you said, taking a small step back, the distance between you suddenly feeling necessary. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Standing there, with the lake stretching quietly behind you and him just a few feet away, it became clear in a way it never had before. He was moving forward with his life, naturally and easily, stepping into something that was already unfolding for him.
And you weren’t sure you were part of it in the way you had always assumed you would be.
After that night by the lake, nothing between you and Will broke in a way that anyone else could point to, but it shifted just enough that you felt it everywhere.
When you saw each other at school, there was always a second, brief but noticeable, where neither of you quite knew how to start, like you had both forgotten the rhythm you used to fall into so easily.
You still existed in the same orbit.
A week later, it was your friend’s party that brought everything into focus. It wasn’t anything special —just music too loud for the size of the house, people spilling from room to room, the kind of night that felt like an excuse more than an event. You almost didn’t go, but staying home felt worse and your friends insisted you to go with them.
You told yourself it didn’t matter if he was there... you told yourself a lot of things that stopped making sense the second you walked in and saw him.
He was in the living room, surrounded by a loose circle of people, laughing at something someone had said. It wasn’t unusual —he had always been easy like that, pulling people in without trying— but this time, your attention caught on something else.
Her, the blonde curly girl who, since being 9 years, had had a crush on Will.
She was standing close to him, closer than anyone else, her hand brushing his arm when she laughed, her body angled toward him like he was the center of everything in that moment. He leaned in slightly when she spoke, listening in a way that felt familiar in a way you didn’t want to think about.
And for a second, you just let yourself stand there, watching.
This shouldn’t have been new. You had seen him with other girls before, seen the way people gravitated toward him, the way he let them. But something about it felt different now, sharper, like the distance between you had stripped away whatever softness used to protect you from it.
So you walked out, the air being colder than earlier. You hadn’t meant to walk out, but your feet had carried you anyway, needing space, needing something that didn’t feel so crowded.
You heard him coming before he spoke: quicker steps, uneven, like he hadn’t decided if he was rushing or not. “Are you seriously just going to walk away?”
You didn’t turn right away. Your jaw tightened slightly, your fingers curling against your palms before you forced them to relax.
“Was I supposed to stay?” you said, your voice coming out flatter than you expected.
There was a beat of silence behind you, then his steps closing the distance until you could feel him there, close enough that you didn’t have to look to know exactly where he was.
“You didn’t even give me a chance to say hi,” he said, sharper now.
You turned then, the movement quick, almost abrupt. The low light caught the tension in his face. His brows were drawn together, his mouth set like he was holding something back.
“You had a chance,” you said. “You just didn’t take it.”
“That’s not—” he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before dropping it again. “You shut it down before I could even say anything.”
“I didn’t shut anything down,” you snapped, your shoulders lifting slightly. “You left.”
“I didn’t leave,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice tightening. “I´m just busy with my stuff.”
You let out a short laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. You looked away for a second, shaking your head, then back at him. “That’s kind of the point.”
He frowned, confusion flickering into irritation. “What is?”
“You always get pulled away,” you said, the words coming faster now, like they’d been sitting there waiting. “Every time something actually matters, something else comes up and you just— go.”
“That’s not true,” he said immediately.
You stepped back without thinking, your heel catching slightly on the uneven ground before you steadied yourself. “It is. You just don’t notice it.”
He stared at you for a second, his chest rising and falling a little faster now. “You’re making this into something it’s not.”
“Am I?” you asked, your voice quieter but tighter, like it was being held in place. “Because it doesn’t feel like that.”
The wind shifted slightly, carrying a burst of laughter from the house before it faded again, leaving the space between you too quiet.
“I came to talk to you,” he said, like that should fix it.
“After an hour,” you replied, your fingers tightening around themselves.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, something sharp settling there. “That’s not better.”
He huffed out a breath, pacing once, his hand dragging across the back of his neck before he stopped in front of you again.
“Then what do you want from me?” he asked, the frustration clearer now, rougher.
The question hit harder than you expected. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your throat tightening slightly before you forced the words out.
“I want to know where I stand in your life,” you said, tears that had accumulated starting to fall, but it didn’t waver. “I want to know why I’m the person you tell everything to, but somehow never the person you choose when it actually matters.”
He stilled, completely.
Like the words had landed somewhere he hadn’t expected them to.
“That’s not how it is,” he said after a second, but it came out slower this time.
“Then how is it?” you pressed, stepping forward now, closing the space he’d been trying to keep. “Because it feels like I’m just there when it’s easy. When nothing else is going on.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, but there was less edge to it now, more hesitation.
You shook your head, your gaze dropping briefly before snapping back up. “You didn’t tell me about Boston. You didn’t tell me about your major. Tonight you didn’t even look for me. And then we don´t talk as we used to.” Your voice breaking, tears staining your face. “And I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
“I said I was going to tell you,” he said, his voice rising again, like he needed you to believe it. “And I’m here now.”
“Yeah,” you said, softer, the word almost slipping out. “Now.”
He stopped moving. The space between you felt smaller, tighter, like there wasn’t enough air in it.
“That’s not what you think it is,” he said, quieter now, his eyes fixed on you. “You’re not just someone I talk to when it’s convenient.”
You held his gaze, your chest rising unevenly. “Then what am I?”
The question sat there between you, heavier than anything else you’d said. He looked at you like he was trying to find the answer somewhere on your face, like it might be easier to read it than to say it.
“You’re not like anyone else,” he said finally, his voice lower now.
Your fingers pressed into your palms again. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he insisted, stepping closer, close enough that you could see the way his expression shifted, something more uncertain underneath it. “It’s always been you.”
Your breath caught slightly, your body going still in a way you couldn’t control.
“Then what does that mean?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. His eyes dropped for just a second, then back to yours, like he was weighing something, like he knew saying it out loud would change everything.
“I think I—”
“Will!”
The voice cut through the moment, loud enough to make you both turn. The blonde girl was standing there, a few feet away, her hair slightly messy, her expression impatient but still light, like nothing about this felt serious to her.
“They’re looking for you,” she said, already stepping closer. “Come on, stop talking!”
Will didn’t move right away. His eyes flicked back to you, something tight in his expression now, like he hadn’t meant for it to stop there.
“Hold on,” he said, glancing back at her. “I just need a second.”
“It’ll take two seconds,” she replied, reaching for his arm without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around his sleeve. “Come on.”
He looked at you again. For a second, it felt like he might stay, like he might actually finish what he started.
Your chest tightened, your breath catching without you meaning it to, like your body was bracing for something you didn’t even fully understand yet.
He hesitated... and then he let her pull him.
“I’ll come find you,” he said quickly, almost over his shoulder, like he didn’t want to leave it like that.
But he still turned away.
His hand slipped out of yours without ever touching it, the space between you filling back in too quickly, like nothing had just happened.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t call after him.
You just stood there, the cold settling deeper into your skin, your fingers still curled slightly like they’d been holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore.
And this time, you didn’t try to tell yourself it didn’t matter. You´ve seen it before in movies, but never in real life. You´ve read it in books, but never applied to your life.
You had just realised that you were falling for your best friend.
Blind Date
Will Smith x Reader
wc: 1k
Summary: Your friend sets you up on a blind date and it ends up being the best thing that’s ever happened
You’re tempted to cancel. You’re standing in front of your mirror, turning in circles inspecting your outfit, and wondering if this is a good idea. You’re going on a blind date, set up by your friend who swears on her life that this man is “literally perfect for you.”
But “literally perfect” could mean literally anything. What if he’s ugly? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he won’t stop talking about bitcoin or how much he wants to suck Elon’s dick? Okay, dating in the Bay Area has scarred you.
You stare at your phone, already drafting the text to your friend in your head. Maybe you have a migraine. Or food poisoning. Maybe your car won’t start.
But instead you grab your purse. Because honestly, fine, whatever. If it’s awful, at least you’ll get a good story out of it.
Every Saturday | Will Smith Hockey
prompt: Will sees you at the weekly farmers market and thinks you might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen.
pairing: Will Smith x fem reader
content: meet cute, farmers market, so many flowers, fluff
wc: 1.7k
One of Will’s favorite things about Boston was the farmers markets in the summer. When home for the off season, he loved wandering through them to find new ingredients for his baking recipes. It had become a way to ground himself during the intense summer training regimens, and he had made it a habit to go every Saturday.
He kept telling himself that it wasn’t also because he saw you there. Without fail, he’d seen you every Saturday since he’d started going to the markets, and he couldn’t explain why, but he felt drawn to you.
From afar, he’d been admiring the way your hair hung down your back, always half tied up with a ribbon. He’d seen you wear long flowing skirts, cutoff jean shorts, even sweatpants one Saturday. You always had a fresh bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm while you browsed whatever stand you were in front of.
He thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
He’d even texted Mack about you, which is how he decided that he needed to talk to you. He couldn’t keep being a creeper and staring at you when you weren’t looking.
So, one Saturday, he arrived at the farmers market as soon as it opened. He’d dressed up, wearing green trim shorts and a cream linen shirt. He’d mussed his hair up just the way he liked it. And then he posed himself in front of the flower stall, trying to find the perfect flowers to make a bouquet.
Just a few minutes later, you appeared at his side. He tried not to stiffen, or glance too harshly at you from the corner of his eye. But the truth was that upon seeing you up close, he suddenly forgot how to be a normal, functioning human being.
Because you’d been beautiful from afar.
But he hadn’t been able to see the freckles dancing across your cheeks, or the depth of your eyes, or the exact pink of your lips.
You were gorgeous up close.
The lady working the flower stall recognized you, greeting you with a smile and a premade bouquet.
Before he could lose his nerve, Will opened his mouth.
“Are those your favorites?” He asked as you pulled a crumpled twenty dollar bill from your purse. You glanced up, pink lips parting. His eyes were drawn to the movement, noticing the shine of the lipgloss you were wearing.
You glanced at the bouquet in your arms. It was filled with tulips, lilies, daisies, and baby’s breath.
“Uh, yes,” you responded, suddenly overwhelmed by the boy in front of you.
Because he might have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen. And you had seen him before. In your past trips to the farmers market, you’d seen him browsing fruit and vegetable stalls, sampling pastries, walking with his hands tucked into his pockets.
“They’re beautiful,” Will added, cheeks turning pink under your gaze.
You smiled softly, trying your best to not appear flustered as you looked down at the bouquet. “I think so too.” Your brain scrambled for something else to say, because now that he was in front of you, you couldn’t let him slip away. “I get one every week.”
“Every week?” He repeated.
You nodded, shrugging. “It’s kind of my thing.”
The woman behind the stall laughed, shaking the two of you out of the bubble you had found yourself in.
“She’s my best customer!” She said, taking the twenty from your outstretched hand. “Never misses a Saturday.”
Heat crept into your cheeks as you watched her slip the bill into her cash box. “You make me sound obsessed.”
“Aren’t you?” The woman teased.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.
And Will couldn’t stop staring.
The way your eyes crinkled. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear. The way you looked so comfortable here, surrounded by flowers and fresh produce and the summer sun.
He thought you looked like you belonged in a painting.
If he could paint, he would have painted it.
“What about you?” You asked suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts.
His head snapped up. “Huh?”
“You’ve been standing here for, like,” you glanced down at your phone, “at least three minutes and haven’t picked anything.”
“Oh.” Will wanted to kick himself. Oh? He sounded like an idiot.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t actually know anything about flowers.” He shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets, the same way you’d seen him many times before.
His confession made you laugh, and he decided right then and there that he would embarrass himself a million times over if it meant hearing you laugh again.
“So why are you here?”
He looked at the hundreds of flowers sorted into buckets, ready to be made into custom bouquets.
Because I wanted an excuse to talk to you.
Because I’ve been seeing you here every week and thinking you’re beautiful.
Because I might be insane.
Instead, he said, “Because I wanted to buy some.”
His delivery wasn’t very convincing.
“For…” You prompted, your smile softening.
His brain short-circuited. He should have thought this through.
“Uh… my mom?” The words coming from his mouth sounded more like a question than a secure answer.
“Your mom?”
“Yup,” Will nodded, popping the “p” as if that would make this entire exchange more convincing.
“On a random Saturday in July?”
“Yup,” he said again, nodding with uncertainty. “She likes flowers.”
You laughed softly.
Will was doomed, because it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.
“I think you’re lying,” you told him, one eyebrow raised.
Will sighed, looking towards the ground. “I think you’re right,” he mumbled.
Your other eyebrow lifted now as well, surprise etching itself onto your face.
“Who are the flowers for?”
He looked at you for a long moment, causing you to swallow.
The market life was rushing around you, people walking everywhere to survey the produce. A guitar was being strummed somewhere down the aisle. A child passing by was crying. But you heard none of this. All you could focus on was the way his eyes had locked onto yours.
Then, Will did something very brave. Or possibly very stupid, depending on how this went.
“What if I said they were for you?”
Your breath caught, your lips parting once more. “For me?”
Will’s face turned pink.
“I’ve been noticing you here every week buying flowers and and I know it’s weird and that I probably sound crazy but I just…” he brushed a hand through his hair, swallowing. “You’re beautiful and I’ve been working up the courage to say hi.”
You stared at him, mouth falling open even further. But then, a smile split your face.
“You’ve noticed me?” Your voice was soft, tentative, despite the clear excitement coursing through you.
Will shrugged, his own beautiful smiling taking your breath away. “Kind of hard not to.”
To his surprise, your cheeks turned pink too.
“That’s funny,” you said softly, shaking your head while glancing down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy.
“Why?” He asked, leaning closer, wanting to do anything so that you would look at him again.
And when you did look up, it felt like a reward.
“Because I’ve noticed you too.”
The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon together, wandering slowly through the farmers market as the sun grew higher in the sky. You helped him pick out the perfect peaches for a pie recipe he wanted to try. He bought a carton of strawberries that the two of you shared while walking. You talked about anything and everything, and you were shocked at how easy it felt.
When you had finished, you realized you’d never felt more carefree in your life.
“Can I get your number?” He asked, a basket of fruit ticked under one arm. You nodded happily, smiling as you fished your phone from your purse and handed it to him. He typed his number in before shooting himself a text.
“I want to see you again,” you said before your nerves could get the best of you.
Will smiled, and the sight was brilliant.
“How does dinner on Wednesday sound?”
The next few days drifted by, and you couldn’t stop looking forward to Wednesday evening.
When you walked into the restaurant that night, Will was already there, holding a bouquet of tulips, lilies, daisies, and baby’s breath. You were smiling before you even reached the table. Somehow, you weren’t surprised to see the flowers at all.
After that, every Saturday, Will appeared at your door with a bouquet, and when he moved back to San Jose for the hockey season, he began having them delivered.
Months later, when he was home for Thanksgiving, you woke up that Saturday to a knock at your door. You opened it to see Will standing in the hallway of your apartment building, a bouquet of flowers in one hand.
You smiled, reaching out to grab them from him.
“You know, you don’t have to keep buying these. I’m already in love with you.”
He smiled, stepping past you and into the apartment. “I know.”
You lifted the flowers to your nose, their familiar and comforting scent something you now associated with Will. “Then why do you?”
He shrugged. “Because every Saturday I saw you carrying flowers and thought you were the prettiest girl ever. Now when I see them, I think of you.”
You couldn’t help yourself from rising into your tiptoes to kiss him.
The next summer, after moving to San Jose and into an apartment with Will, you wandered into the kitchen one morning to find a fresh bouquet waiting on the counter.
“You know,” you began, smiling as you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Will from behind. “I think you’re single-handedly keeping flower shops in business.”
He laughed–your favorite sound in the world–and turned in your arms. “Worth it.”
You looked at the bouquet, feeling your face warm as you smiled.
Tulips, lilies, daisies, and baby’s breath.
Some things, you hoped, would never change.
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HE’S AN EAST COAST, JEANS ROLLED, NO COMMUNICATION. SHE’S A WELCOME SIGN. ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ
summary: in which… hockey captain will smith and you seem like a crazy match, mainly because you’re his best friend’s ex—but he proves everyone wrong by being the perfect guy for you OR the 3 times everybody was confused about you and will + the one time he finally shut them up about it
warnings: suggestive + cursing
♡ author’s note: hellooo ppl! new will smith au time 🤭 this has been in my drafts for soo long but college has had your girl busy & i finally had time to finish it!! please please send in any ideas or just some thoughts on how you feel about this au but this is one of the installments of it so far!
1. It was the third week after your very public and humiliating breakup with your ex boyfriend, Macklin. Word had traveled like wildfire—Mack, the hockey egomaniac and prodigy of your college, had told you right in the middle of your dining hall meal that he needed to focus on hockey and less on… you.
You had disappeared for a while after that, keeping your head low with the help of your sorority sisters who made sure you were still eating and well… functioning.
So when you came messy haired into the dining hall with Will Smiths’ hockey hoodie on out of all hoodies you could’ve picked, all heads turned. You sat down with your tray, unbothered, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands.
Can do you a marathon sex will smith fic
Hours - WS2
Will Smith Hockey x girlfriend!reader
Warnings: smut, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, unprotected vaginal sex
Word Count: 2.2k
You'd been waiting for this day for what felt like forever. It was the first time in the last two weeks that Will had the full day off and would actually be able to spend the whole day with you. He'd been away on a road trip for the last few days and didn't get home until hours after you fell asleep last night.
Now, the morning sun was shining through the curtains, warming the soft skin of Will's bare chest, where your head rested. He was still half asleep, but his hand was already under your shirt, caressing your back. When he felt your body shift against him, he kissed your forehead.
hey I love your writing! can you please write something with will smith x reader where they are out together at a party or bar and even though he is usually chill and level headed, some guy says or does something very disrespectful to reader and he snaps. he fights for her and to protect her. his teammates break it up after the initial surprise of seeing him in a fight and he winds up with some very minor injuries. reader isn’t mad at him at all for fighting for her but she is worried about him being injured and she gets him home and then takes care of his injuries and its very fluffy. then when they finally go out again he is extra protective of her and he basically refuses to leave her side or let go of her. she thinks it’s unnecessary but also very cute and his teammates poke fun at him for it but will does not care at all. thx!
Hold onto me
summary: A night out with Will turns tense when a stranger crosses a line and disrespects his girlfriend. Usually calm and collected, Will loses control trying to protect her, ending the night with a few minor injuries and a very worried girlfriend taking care of him. Afterward, his protective side only gets worse — in the sweetest way — as he refuses to leave her side the next time they go out.
wc: 3.4k
warnings: Protective boyfriend, bar setting, alcohol mention, harassment from a stranger, disrespectful language toward reader, brief physical fight, minor injuries, blood/split lip, worried reader, fluffy aftercare, teasing teammates, overprotective Will.
masterlist// imagines masterlist