#willmack fic

masterlist

a/n: im done linking all the parts to ts guys I'm sorry,😓

warnings: suggestive, swearing

part one

** please note the order has no meaning. i am NOT rating fics!

** you'd think i bookmarked fics by the order i've read them, alas i am a mess who forgets to bookmark stuff and is trying to be better about it, so that's why the order might not make sense lol but this list will help me keep track so yay!

multi-chapter fics:

baby, spare me all the rest by somewereroses — 3 chapters, explicit

something tells me by pnwren — 10 chapters, explicit

bad idea by dalsy — 2 chapters, mature

shoot your shot by haroldslouis — 3 chapters, explicit

safe bet by loganes — 2 chapters, explicit

break my heart and start a fire (you got me overnight) by cryproudly99 — 4 chapters, explicit

i get what i want (and last i checked, it's you) by cryproudly99 — 2 chapters, explicit

one-shots:

born for this by dalsy — mature

best friends and better halves by breakfasts — teen and up audiences

hands off by dalsy — explicit

Dead Reckoning by tanlines — explicit

puppy love by dalsy — general audiences

god is real (he was sleepin' in my bed last night) by beyondearths — explicit (omegaverse)

fueling the fire by beyondearths — explicit (omegaverse)

jaws by dalsy — explicit

alone together by dalsy — explicit

Milk and Honey by tanlines — explicit

golden boy by dalsy — explicit

warm blanket by allthespoons — explicit

spring tides by somewereroses — explicit

test drive by dalsy — explicit

Violent Delights by Anonymous — explicit (omegaverse)

sounds like trouble by dalsy — explicit

i scratched, you won by allthespoons — explicit

sidelined by dalsy — explicit

buckle on your belt by litaf1101 — mature

Black lagoon, call me a swamp monster by mcjesuswept — explicit

Pacify by tanlines — explicit

bloodsport by dalsy — explicit

the front door barely clicks shut behind him before you're off the couch and in front of him.

will's still clad in team-issued sweats, sling strapped tight around his chest. the faint bruise peeking out from his collar is already turning a deep, ugly purple.

you swallow.

"hey," he says softly.

the pittsburgh game feels like it happened a year ago, not two days. you watched him get driven into the boards. your mind hadn't stopped replaying it yet.

you step forward slowly, like any sudden movement might send a new shock of pain through his bruised shoulder. you reach for his bag before he can get his shoes off and guide him inside, then toe the door shut with your foot so he doesn’t have to twist.

"don't carry that."

PLEASE READ

last updated - 24 June, 2026

requests: open :)

Total number of works: girl idk, i stopped counting (52, not counting indv chapters)

All of these should be considered one-shots/stand-alones unless otherwise stated!

Angst - ★ Fluff - ✿ Smut - ❤︎⁠ Headcanons/blurbs - ✦

Please do not reupload any of these works on any website

Before the house keys. Before September. Before the letter.

But when it finally happens, it happens all at once.

They move into the new place just as the air starts to shift toward fall, boxes half-unpacked and sunlight spilling across hardwood floors that still don’t quite feel like theirs yet. Mack laughs it off, but Will can already feel it building. The season, the expectations, the weight of something just out of reach but inevitable.

And then the C is stitched onto Mack’s chest.

It’s quiet when it happens. No grand announcement between them, no big reaction. Just Will standing there, tracing the letter with his fingertips, and knowing that everything is about to change.

The requests start trickling in before the season even properly begins. Team dinners. Appearances. Charity events. Community outreach. Media days that stretch too long and leave Mack blinking under bright lights, answering the same questions in slightly different ways. Playoff talk starts early this year, hovering over everything like a promise or a threat.

Mack takes it all in with quiet determination, like he always does. Back straight, jaw set, like he’s bracing for the eve of battle. In front of the team, he smiles, nods, and shows up.

But Will sees what lingers. The way his shoulders hold tension longer than they used to. The way his laugh comes a second too late some days.

So Will steps in.

It’s not a conversation. Not really. Just something he does.

One night, Mack falls asleep on the couch with the game tape still playing softly in the background, and Will opens his laptop at the kitchen island. He builds a spreadsheet. Then another. Then another. By the end of the week there are twenty tabs, everything color-coded, cross-referenced, dated down to the hour. Events, requests, follow-ups, logistics. It becomes a system. Something controlled. Something manageable.

He texts Cat and Felicia, again and again, until they finally give in and add him to the WAG group chat. He scrolls through months of messages, learning the rhythms, the expectations, the unspoken rules. He inserts himself where needed. Volunteers without making it obvious.

He takes the late-night calls so Mack doesn’t have to. Answers emails over morning coffee. Coordinates dinners, confirms guest lists, tracks RSVPs. Spends an entire afternoon hunched over fabric samples, redesigning the team jacket until it feels right.

By December, their house isn’t just theirs anymore. It’s full. Laughter, music, games, people moving in and out of rooms, voices overlapping. Will is in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, carefully frosting a giant teal Sharks cake while someone shouts his name from the living room.

Everything runs smoothly.

Everyone is happy.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, something small begins to slip.

It’s not noticeable at first. Just a missed afternoon here, a delayed plan there. The easy, aimless hours they used to fall into without thinking start disappearing, replaced by schedules and obligations and exhaustion that settles deep into their bones.

They used to spend entire evenings outside, shirtless by the pool, half-drunk on High Noons, making up ridiculous games just to have an excuse to touch. Sting pong bruises blooming across their skin like proof of it all, cold hands pressed to warm bodies, laughter spilling out of them. The world reduced to something small, contained, and entirely their own.

Now, when they finally get a moment alone, it feels borrowed.

They collapse into bed more than they climb into it. Barely speak some nights. Just press their foreheads together, eyes closed, breathing in sync like it’s the only way to steady everything else.

One night, Mack’s voice breaks the quiet.

“I hate what me being captain has done to you.”

Will lets out a tired breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be stupid. You love everything I do for your sake.”

But Mack doesn’t rise to it. He just shifts closer, buries his face into Will’s neck, voice softer now.

“Not when what you do for me takes you away from me.”

The words land heavier than anything else has.

Will’s hand moves automatically, threading into Mack’s hair, holding him there. He doesn’t answer. Because there isn’t anything he could say that would make it simpler.

He doesn’t say that he’d do all of this again. That he already has, in his head, a hundred times over. That every spreadsheet, every call, every late night is worth it if it means Mack carries even a little less.

If it means seeing that easy, unguarded smile a few more times. The one that’s been showing up less and less lately.

Mack’s breathing slows, steadying into sleep.

Will stares at the ceiling a little longer.

Yeah, he thinks, I’d run myself into the ground just to keep pace with how fast your world is spinning.

And somewhere in that half-space between waking and sleep, Mack shifts closer, like instinct, like gravity, a quiet pull neither of them ever fights.

pov: your camera roll if you were dating will smith

he’s working the opening shift on a saturday morning, kneading dough in the backroom when he hears the chime on the front door. at first he thinks, who the fuck is up and at ‘em at 6:30 on a saturday, but all of those thoughts vanish when he comes face to face with the prettiest boy he’s ever seen in his life. he’s got floppy brown hair and the brightest green eyes and will might be drooling a little bit as he takes his order (a sugar-free latte and a veggie quiche. will is absolutely appalled). when the guy goes to find a seat, will nearly chokes on his own spit. he’s wearing a pair of short running shorts that hug his ass and thighs so perfectly, it makes will dizzy. he doesn’t realize until after he’s delivered the guy’s food to his table that he’s got flour smeared all over his apron and somehow, his cheek. great - it’s not even 7am and he’s made a fool of himself. oh well, it’s not like he’ll see the dude again.

except he comes back the very next day. will even manages to get his name this time (macklin. what an interesting name). it starts to happen like clockwork. everyday, macklin comes in at the same time, orders the same breakfast, and sits at the same table facing the counter (will swears he caught him looking once). he’s always wearing these workout clothes that are absolutely torturous and frankly, should be outlawed in public. will starts serving his lattes with very poor excuses for foam art on top. he starts with a standard leaf, then graduates to more complex designs. the letter ‘m’. a bunny rabbit. a shark. it takes about a week and a half before will’s reserve shatters completely.

one morning, when he brings macklin’s breakfast to the table, he includes a small slice of chocolate chip banana bread.

“i’m testing out a new recipe,” he tells macklin. “i need some feedback on it.”

that’s not entirely true. he’s actually made the banana bread countless times. could make it in his sleep, probably.

“oh, i’m uh- i’m on kind of a strict meal plan,” macklin says, giving will one of those what can you do looks.

“god, no wonder you look so good.”

mack flushes. will watches as it spreads along his jaw and down the strong column of his throat.

“i mean, shit. i didn’t mean to say it like that.”

mack raises his eyebrows.

“not that it’s not true! you do! uh, look good, i mean. really good.”

will should just die. end it all right here. he’s lived a pretty good life so far. it would be fine.

but then mack giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“yeah?”

his smile is toothy, but shy. he’s got a little gap between his teeth that will desperately wants to trace with his tongue.

“yeah.”

mack beams. he glances down at the banana bread, still warm on the plate in front of him.

“i guess i could try it,” he says, breaking off a corner of the slice.

will holds his breath as mack brings the bite to his lips. tries not to stare as he sticks his tongue out as a landing pad for the bread.

“oh. my. god.”

mack literally moans. today, will’s thankful for his messy apron, because the sound goes straight to his dick.

“you like it?”

mack immediately breaks off another chunk of the banana bread, shoveling it into his mouth.

“holy shit. it’s insane.”

will grins, then lowers his voice to a whisper.

“the secret is browned butter.”

he barely hears what mack says next, because he’s licking a bit of smeared chocolate off his thumb. god really does give his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.

“i don’t know what that means, but it’s fucking good. might be the best thing i’ve ever tasted.”

the words are out before will has time to consider them.

“you should come over to mine sometime. i’m a pretty good cook, too.”

he almost slaps a hand over his own mouth. what the fuck? he’s going to think you’re a serial killer. but then, miraculously, mack is smiling up at him with pink cheeks.

“i think i’d like that.”