#ws2

“Okay man. What can I do? Like actually because you’re starting to stress me out and I’m not the one getting married today.” Mack says, trying and failing to lighten the mood.

Will just stares at Mack through the mirror, not finding the situation funny. It’s his wedding day, he’s marrying you. His favorite person on the entire planet and his hair won’t sit right.

“I can go get Cat, she might be able to help. Or I’m sure your mom or sister can-“ Mack starts to offer, getting shut down immediately.

“They are all with Y/N. I don’t want to drag them away from her.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind helping her son fix his hair.” Mack comments, adjusting his tie a little bit.

“I know, but trust me, I love them but they would probably make it worse.”

“Oh!” Mack exclaims, his gummy smile over taking his face. “I didn’t know the groom had jokes!”

“Shut up!” Will exclaims, a small smile finally gracing his face.

“You could just have Y/N do it.” Mack says, filing it down to that being the absolute last solution.

“I can’t see her beforehand!”

“Well obviously you can’t. But you could just keep your eyes shut.” The amount of sarcasm dripping from Mack’s words made Will’s eyes roll. “Just stay here, and stop fidgeting. I’ve got a plan.”

“Mack- your plans freak me out. I can’t fix it I just need-“

“Nope. Too late! Stop touching it!” Mack yells, running out of the room before Will can hold him back.

You and Will picked an outdoor venue, choosing an old vineyard right on the ocean. Even with the San Jose sun beating down, the wind carried a cool breeze to keep everyone comfortable. So, Mack didn’t break a sweat jogging over to the ‘ladies side’ as the moms were calling it. He followed the sound of laughter, before coming to a closed set of doors.

Mack knocks, ignoring the buzzing of his phone which he was positive was Will threatening him.

Will’s mom opened the door, a bit of shock evident on her face as she took in Macklin.

“What are you doing? Is everything okay?” She asks right away, but quiet enough to not alarm anyone.

“Everything is okay, but can I come in? I want to talk to Y/N if I can.” He asks sheepishly, knowing it was probably weird, and a very tall order to ask to speak to the bride only an hour before the wedding.

Will’s mom moves her gaze back towards what Mack presumes is the women, before nodding her head and letting him in.

“Mack?” You ask, noting his presence as everyone turns to look.

“I know this is probably the most unconventional thing, but Will is having a grade A hair crisis.” Mack starts, trying to through some jokes in. “It’s not living up to his standards or whatever. He says you’re the only person who can do it right.” Mack says, taking in his best friend’s fiancé in a wedding dress.

Mack loved you like a little sister, even though you were only a few months younger than Will, which still made you older than Macklin. But, he treated you like a younger sister, and he had to admit you looked absolutely stunning, Will was going to pass out when he saw you.

Grace was the first person to laugh at Mack’s words. Mumbling something about her brother being helpless. But you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips before motioning down to your already dressed body.

“You know it’s supposedly bad luck for him to see me before the wedding right?” You ask Mack, but his eyes light up at the question.

“Oh don’t worry. I’ve got that figured out.”

“You know your plans freak me out.” You tell Mack, picking up your dress to start to follow him to where Will is.

“Will said the same thing! God you guys are perfect for each other.”

—

Will couldn’t stop touching his head. Honestly, he didn’t know why it was that big of a deal. It’s not like his hair looked bad, he just wanted it to look perfect. He wanted it to look perfect because he was marrying you. And you deserved nothing but perfect. You planned an entire wedding, you figured out everything until the very last detail, so Will would be damned if his hair wasn’t going to work.

A knock sounds, before Mack pokes his head into the room.

“Okay, time to suit up.” Mack says, walking over to Will with a tie.

“I’m already dressed what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact your future wife is standing outside that door. And your hair can only be fixed by her, who by the way is way out of your league.” Will scowls at that, but had to fight off a smile at the same time. “And, you can’t see her yet so I have graced us all with a solution.” Mack finishes, holding a tie up.

“A tie?” Will questions.

“A blindfold.” Mack says.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Now put this on so she’s not standing alone in the hallway where anyone can spot her.”

Will scoffs, taking the tie and covering his eyes, making sure it’s tight enough that he doesn’t have any peep holes.

“Can you see?” Mack asks, waving a hand in front of Will’s face.

“Nothing.” Will confirms. He can hear Mack’s footsteps going towards the door, before he opens it and a clicking of heels echos in the room.

Will’s breath catches. He can’t even see her, can’t sense how far away she is, but he knows she’s standing there, likely staring at him in his suit.

—

“My god. I really have made a wonderful choice haven’t I?” You question as you take him in. The black suit fitting his body perfectly.

“Yeah, yeah. Flirt later, fix hair now.” Mack says, laughing as he leads you over to Will.

“I need help.” Will says to you, and when you finally make your way into his space his breath catches yet again.

“William!” You exclaim. “Can you see me?”

“No!” He fires out quickly.

“You stopped breathing for a second.” You accuse.

“That’s just because I know you’re there. Trust me love, I want nothing more than to rip this stupid fucking tie off and look at you. Just the thought of you standing there in your dress - fuck.” He says, and you both can hear Mack giggle slightly in the background.

“Sit down baby, I’ll fix you up. Yeah?”

“Please, love.” He says, sitting down with your guidance.

You’re glad for a million reasons he can’t see you. But you’re glad he can’t see the blush that still coats your cheeks every time he calls you ‘love’ which is his preferred nickname for you. You’re glad he can’t see how your hands shake slightly styling his hair, and not from wedding nerves, but from seeing him like this.

He looked like a god, and your gaze caught Mack in the mirror. His phone out and facing the both of you. But you didn’t say anything, you only smiled and shook your head as you continued styling his hair.

He didn’t talk the entire time, and neither did you. He let you work, savoring the feeling of you running your fingers through his curls, smelling the sweetness of the perfume you’re wearing.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” He confesses, finally breaking the silence.

Your heart clenches, and you smile so big at his confession.

“Good thing we’ve got less than an hour.” You say, finishing up the last touches to his hair.

“Less than an hour until you’re my wife.” He says, smiling, wishing more than anything he could see through this stupid blindfold.

“Less than an hour until I marry the love of my life.” You whisper into his ear, and you can see the hair standup on the back of his neck. “You’re all fixed.” You say a little louder, catching Mack’s attention now too.

Will so gently pats around his hair, marveling at the feeling of how it always is.

“How did you manage to fix it?”

“I’m about to be your wife, I figure I’ll be fixing and playing with your hair the rest of my life. It was about time to study how to get it like you always do.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Will says, in awe.

“I just fixed it, I didn’t build a coliseum or anything.” You say, planting a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s get married right now. I can’t wait-“

“47 minutes?” Mack answers.

You laugh at Will, before kissing his cheek once more.

“You can wait 46 more minutes.” You say, taking a step back.

“No, I really can’t. It’s killing me not being able to see you.” He says, standing up and keeping his blindfold in tack.

“You’ll see me at the end of the aisle, and the you’ll see me everyday after.”

“That’s not soon enough.”

“My god you guys are such saps. Y/N, let me get you back before the women come murder me for having you away this long.” Mack says, and you nod.

“I will see you in 45 minutes.” You say, stepping further away from him.

“I love you.” He says, and even though you know he can’t see you, he clocks where you are. Even without sight he can tell, that’s how drawn he is to you.

If you knew one person who hated pda in front of others, it was your boyfriend, Will.

At home it was one story. The second the front door clicked shut behind you, he’d be on you; arms wrapping around your waist from behind, chin hooking over your shoulder while you tried to kick off your shoes, lips brushing the side of your neck like he couldn’t wait another second.

He’d pull you down onto the couch with him, long legs tangling with yours, hands sliding under your hoodie to rest warm against your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles until you laughed and squirmed.

He’d kiss you slow and deep like he was making up for every minute you’d spent apart, murmuring against your mouth how much he’d missed you, how pretty you looked even in sweatpants and his hoodie that swallowed you whole.

He’d cuddle into your side during movie nights, head on your chest, one hand always finding yours to lace your fingers together, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Sometimes he’d just hold you from behind while you cooked, swaying slightly like it was a slow dance, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade whenever you reached for something on the counter.

He hated the thought of having his hands off you.

But the moment you stepped outside; it was a completely different story.

In public, Will kept it subtle. Always touching, but never made it obvious. A hand resting low on your back as you walked through a crowded bar. Fingers brushing yours when he passed you a drink. His knee pressed lightly against yours under the table at dinner with teammates.

He’d drape an arm across the back of your chair, thumb occasionally grazing your shoulder, but nothing that screamed couple in the way other couples did: sloppy kisses, loud declarations, hands everywhere like they were staking claim in neon.

And you were fine with it. You’d been together a little over a year now, long enough that you’d learned his rhythm. You weren’t big on pda either, you didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. The way he looked at you when no one else was watching, the way his eyes softened the second you walked into a room, the things he’d whisper to you when it was just the two of you was enough.

He wasn’t embarrassed of you. If anything, he loved showing you off in his own way. He’d introduce you to new people with his arm casually looped around your shoulders, proud smile tugging at his lips every time someone complimented how good you looked together.

He’d text you links to articles or tiktoks with captions like “Us” and half of them were disgustingly couple-y. He just didn’t want other people seeing the parts of him that belonged only to you. The greedy way he held you at home, the way he’d bury his face in your neck and breathe you in like you were oxygen.

Tonight you and Will went out with a few of his teammates to the bar a couple blocks from the rink that had become your unofficial spot. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something you all learned to enjoy going to. You’d dressed like you always did for a place like this: nothing too revealing, nothing too casual.

Will included you in every conversation like he always did. He’d lean in when Macklin was ranting about a bad call from the last game, repeating the punchline so you could laugh too, or he’d nudge you gently and say, “Babe, tell them what you said about that hit exactly.” His voice easy, and his eyes stayed on you longer than usual.

When the bartender came over, Will ordered your usual without asking and then slid it toward you with a small.

A little while later, you moved on the barstool. “I’ll be right back,” you murmured, slipping your hand from his.

Will nodded once, but as you stood, he reached over and tugged your glass closer to his spot, fingers brushing the condensation like he was guarding it. His other hand lingered in the air for half a second where yours had been before dropping back to the bar.

Once you came back from the bathroom after quickly fixing your lip combo in the mirror light, touching up the gloss that had faded from sipping your drink, you found Will still perched on his barstool, facing his teammates.

If you’d gone straight back to your own seat next to him, his broad back would’ve been turned to you the whole time. But the second he caught sight of you weaving through the crowd, his arm reached out without hesitation.

His fingers found yours, locking tight, and he tugged you gently toward him instead of letting you slide back onto your stool. “C’mere,” he murmured.

You let him pull you in, stepping right between his spread thighs until your hips brushed the edge of the stool. Your hands landed on his chest for balance, as he looked up at you.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, even though he knew.

“Bathroom,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “Took longer than I thought, someone was hogging the mirror.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and then he leaned in. The kiss was slow, sweet, nothing rushed or sloppy. Just his lips pressing to yours like it was the most normal thing in the world, his one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other stayed locked with yours at his side.

Your breath caught. Will almost never kissed you in public, not where anyone could see. For a heartbeat you froze, surprised, but then you melted into it, leaning forward until your forehead brushed his when he finally pulled back.

He didn’t say anything about it. Just handed you your unfinished vodka soda with a small, crooked smile.

You turned with him so you were facing the group again, your back settling against his chest. His arm came across your front, forearm resting easy over your collarbone, fingers splayed loose but possessive against your shoulder. His other hand found your waist, every few minutes he’d tug you closer, like he couldn’t quite get enough, even though you were already pressed flush against him.

Macklin raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You finally figure out how arms work tonight?”

Will just tightened his hold a little, chin dipping to rest lightly on your shoulder as he shot Macklin a lazy look. “Shut up, Mack,” he said a little amused.

You stayed like that for a while, cocooned against him, his heartbeat steady against your back. His fingers kept moving in small, absent strokes along your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your ribs every now and then.

Eventually your heels started screaming. Standing this long in them, even leaning into him, made your calves burn.

You tilted your head back just enough to murmur against his jaw, “My legs are killing me.”

Will’s arm loosened instantly. “Sit,” he said softly, kissing the shell of your ear before letting you go.

For the rest of the night, Will didn’t let the space between you grow. He kept one hand on you at all times: resting on your thigh when you were back on your stool, thumb drawing slow, mindless patterns over the denim; sliding up to play with the ends of your hair when you laughed at something one of the guys said; brushing your lower back.

Every few minutes he’d press a quick kiss to your temple, or drop his chin to your shoulder just to murmur something dumb and sweet.

You were happy for it. The warmth of his palm against your skin felt like nice in public. The guys ribbed him lightly but Will just shrugged it off with a smile and never pulled away.

By the time you both said goodbyes and stepped out into the cool night air, your cheeks were flushed from the bar’s heat and from the way his hand had stayed tangled with yours the whole walk to the car.

When you got home, the apartment was quiet, you kicked the door shut behind you, already reaching to slip off your heels, but Will beat you to it.

He dropped to one knee right there at the edge of the bed, fingers gentle around your ankle as he lifted your foot and eased the first heel off. Then the second, thumbs pressed into the arch of your foot for a second, massaging away the ache without being asked.

You watched him, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did with him. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” you asked quietly.

He glanced up, brows lifting like he had no idea what you meant. “What? I always do this.” He asked setting your foot down and standing.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “No, I mean.. being so touchy in front of everyone, kissing me like that. You never do that.”

He paused, then took your hand in both of his. Slowly he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. “Can’t a guy show how much he loves his girlfriend?”

You laughed softly. “You never do it like that.”

He tilted his head, mock offended. “What? I always show everyone how much I love you.”

“Yeah,” you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, “but not in a way that makes Macklin tease you for ten straight minutes.”

Will’s expression softened. You pulled him down to you, as he started crawling over you until his weight settled warm and solid, knees sinking into the comforter on either side of your hips.

He braced himself on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing you, but close enough that you could feel every breath he took.

“I love you,” he said simply, as if it was the easiest truth in the world. His forehead rested against yours for a second before he kissed you, the kind of kiss he usually saved for when the door was locked and the lights were off. “I just.. wanted to be close to you tonight. Didn’t want to wait until we got home to touch you the way I always want to.”

His hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I like when we keep things private. But sometimes..” He exhaled. “Sometimes I look at you laughing with the guys, or just sitting there looking like mine, and I want everyone to know.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his chest pressed to yours. “That’s sweet,” you whispered against his mouth. “I liked tonight a lot.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “Me too.”

His hands found yours, fingers lacing tight as he settled more of his weight over you, like he was trying to memorize every inch of how you fit together.

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you don't answer.

the apartment is quiet except for the soft rustle of you settling in. mack stands there for a minute, jaw tight, arms crossed. he hates losing arguments, hates feeling misunderstood more.

but what he hates most? the silence.

he lasts about five minutes in the bedroom before he exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. he replays everything in his head -- your expression, the way your voice wavered at the end. he's good at reading plays developing on the ice, but he'd not always as quick at reading emotions.

still, he tries.

when he walks into the living room, you're already half-asleep, curled up on the couch, blanket barely covering you. you look smaller somehow. not stubborn, not dramatic, just hurt. his chest tightens at the sight of you.

"hey," he says softly, kneeling beside the couch.

you don't move.

he sighs, guilt finally outweighing pride. "i'm sorry, okay? i shouldn't have snapped at you. i just-" he pauses, searching for words like he's searching for an opening. "i don't ever want you thinking hockey matters more than you. it doesn't."

your eyes flutter open, glassy with sleep. "you could've just said that," you mumble.

"i know." he gives you that crooked, sheepish grin -- the one he's caught using all the time when he knows he's messed up. "i'm still working on the whole communication thing."

he gently tugs the blanket higher around your shoulders. "come back to bed?"

you hesitate for a second.

and that's when he does something very earnest, and direct. he rests his forehead against yours lightly. "i don't like sleeping without you," he admits quietly. "it feels wrong."

the sincerity in his voice melts the last of your resistance. for all his competitiveness, for all his intensity, when it comes to you? he chooses you every time.

WILL SMITH

you don't mean to fall asleep. you told yourself you were just going to lie down on the couch for a minute -- just until the sting of the argument fades, just until the tight feeling in your chest loosens. the tv is off, the apartment is too quiet. you hug one of the throw pillows to your chest and stare at nothing.

you hear the bedroom door open down the hall. will doesn't slam doors. he never has, even when he's frustrated, he's always controlled. intense, but controlled.

his footsteps pause when he sees you. he stands there for a moment, arms folded over, replaying the argument in his head. the stubborn back and forth, both of you refusing to give up. will hates unresolved tension. on the ice, problems are solved fast -- once the short shift's over, move on. but this? this lingers.

"c'mon," he says softly, stepping closer. "you're gonna wreck your neck out here."

you stir on the couch, still refusing to wake. his expression shifts completely then -- the frustration from earlier melting away completely. the steady, dependable energy he always carried with himself at the rink slips into place here. he kneels beside the couch and brushes your hair away from your face.

"i don't like fighting with you," he admits quietly, even though you can't hear him. "you know that."

when you shiver slightly, he doesn't hesitate anymore. he slides one arm under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you easily. he's careful with you, like you're something precious he doesn't want to mishandle.

you blink awake halfway down the hall. "will...?"

"yeah," he murmurs. "i've got you."

you bury your face into his shoulder automatically. he sets you down on the bed instead of retreating to his side. he sits beside you, thumb brushing slow circles against your arm.

"we can be mad," he says quietly. "but don't sleep out there."

there's no sense of ego in his voice, just sincerity. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

"we'll figure out everything in the morning. together."

FRASER MINTEN

the apartment is quiet in that heavy, stubborn way that only happens after an argument. you're curled up on the couch, wrapped in the throw blanket you always steal from his side of the bed. the lights are low, and you'd told yourself you didn't care if he noticed you weren't in bed.

you absolutely care.

the bedroom door opens softly down the hall. you hear his footsteps -- slow, and hesitant. fraser isn't the type to slam doors or raise his voice, even during the argument. he'd just stay frustratingly calm, hands on his hips, jaw tight.

now he stands at the edge of the living room, taking you in.

knowing he was staring at you, you don't turn over to look at him. "i'm fine."

there's a pause. you can practically feel him thinking. he runs a hand through his hair -- he always does that when he's trying to figure out what he needs to do.

"you're not fine," he says quietly. "you're on the couch."

you shrug. "didn't want to bother you."

that makes him sigh in a soft and controlled manner, but still hurt. he walks over and crouches beside the couch so he's eye level with you. his voice loses its edge.

"you don't bother me. ever."

you finally glance at him. his expression isn't angry anymore, it's worried. fraser's steady like that -- he cools down fast, but he hates the distance. he hates feeling like there's a space between you.

"i don't like fighting with you," he admits. "but i like you out here by yourself and uncomfortable even less."

you swallow. "you were mad."

"i was frustrated," he correct gently. "there's a difference."

his hand brushes yours, tentative at first, then firmer when you don't pull away. reassuring in a quiet way that was warm and solid.

"come back to bed," he murmurs. "we can still be annoyed at each other. we just don't have to do it in different rooms."

a tiny smile pulls at your lips despite yourself. "that's your solution?"

"it's a good one," he says, almost defensive, but softer now. "we're a team. teams don't split up over one bad moment."

that does it. you sit up slowly, and he immediately stands, holding the blanket out like it's part of the negotiation. when you step into his space, he wraps his arms around you without hesitation, resting his chin on your head.

"i'm sorry," his whispers.

you nod against his chest.

he presses a small kiss to your hair. "next time, you're not allowed to sleep on the couch otherwise i'll just follow you out here."

CONNOR BEDARD

the argument had been stupid. you both knew it. it started over something small -- him being late again with practice running long, and his phone dying. it built into something bigger. you'd crossed your arms. he'd gone quiet, eyes distant like he was replaying a moment he wished he could redo.

now you're curled up on the couch, blanket half-draped over you. you don't hear him at first. connor moves quietly, almost cautiously. he stands there for a second, just looking at you.

you look uncomfortable. your neck bent at an awkward angle, one hand tucked under your cheek. he exhales through his nose. "really?" he mutters softly to himself.

he disappears down the hall, and for a second you think he's just going to leave you there. he comes back with your favourite hoodie of his, and another blanket. he drapes them over you carefully, trying not to wake you.

you stir anyway.

"go to bed," you mumble, eyes barely open.

he rubs the back of his neck. "i was going to tell you the same thing."

silence lingers. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other -- nervous energy, and a restless movement.

"i hate it when we fight," he says finally, voice quieter than usual. "i'm not...great at it."

you sit up slightly, the blanket falling into your lap. "you kind of shut down."

"yeah." he gives a small, sheepish huff. "i know. i just- when things get heated, i don't wanna say something stupid. so i don't say anything. which is...also stupid."

despite yourself, you almost smile. he closes the space between you, meeting your eyes. there's something earnest about him, something genuine and sincere.

"you sleeping out here isn't fixing anything," he says gently. "if you're mad, be mad at me in our bed. don't freeze yourself out here."

he reaches for your hand, squeezing it. his grip is warm and steady.

"i'll try to be better at talking," he adds. "you deserve that."

and the way he looks at you -- focused and determined, like you're the only thing that matters -- you know he means it.

The front door to his apartment slammed behind you with a sound that should’ve woken the neighbours. Will’s mouth was on yours before the lock clicked, his hands fumbling with the knot of your bikini top as you backed toward the stairs.

The hallway wall hit your shoulder blades hard enough to knock a gasp loose, but Will swallowed it with his mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip as his fingers tugged at the knot of your bikini top. The fabric gave way with a wet snap, saltwater dripping between your breasts as he palmed one, his thumb brushing over your nipple with a roughness that made your knees buckle. You fumbled with the button of his trunks, laughing against his mouth when it refused to budge. "Fuck—" Will groaned, breaking away just long enough to shove the fabric down his hips himself, kicking it off somewhere near the staircase.

The banister dug into your back as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel him—hard and hot against your stomach—as he carried you up the stairs, his grip slipping once when your wet skin slid against his. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, nearly tripping over the last step, but you were already pulling him down the hall, your fingers tangled in his hair as you backed into your bedroom door. It creaked open under your weight, and suddenly you were falling, the mattress hitting the back of your thighs as Will followed you down, his body covering yours with a weight that stole your breath.

His mouth trailed down your neck, sucking at the salt still drying on your skin, and you arched into him, your hands scrabbling at his shoulders.

"Off," he demanded, tugging at the knot of your bottoms.

The thought flickered through your hazy mind—how lucky you were that the apartment was empty, that no one would hear the way the bedframe groaned as Will shifted his weight, his hips pressing yours into the mattress. (you really didn’t want a repeat of last time when Mack had to listen to you go at it like rabbits and then help you two fix Will’s bed.) His fingers fumbled with the drawer of his nightstand, knocking against the lamp, and you could hear the crinkle of foil before he even pulled the condom out. You reached for his wrist before he could tear the wrapper open. "Don't," you breathed, your voice already wrecked, and Will froze, his pupils blown wide. "Will, please. I need you now."

"But—"

"You know I'm on the pill, Will, please just fuck me. Please."

The moment Will’s tip skimmed your slit, dragging through the wetness there, you swore your vision whited out. His touch was deliberate, teasing—the bastard knew exactly what he was doing, circling your entrance with the tip of his cock but never pushing in, just letting the heat of him hover there while you whimpered into the crook of his elbow. "Will," you gasped, your hips bucking uselessly against his restraint, "stop being such a fucking—ah—"

His laugh was dark, uneven, as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds again, smearing your slick between you. "Such a what?" he murmured, his breath hot against your jaw. "Say it."

You could feel him grinning against your skin, the cocky bastard, and you dug your nails into his shoulders hard enough to make him hiss. "Tease," you spat, but it came out half-moaned, your voice cracking as he finally, finally pressed the tip inside—just enough to stretch you, just enough to make your back arch off the mattress.

Will groaned, his forehead dropping to your collarbone as he inched deeper, his hips rolling in slow, torturous circles. Every drag of him sent sparks up your spine, your thighs trembling around his waist as he bottomed out with a curse. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice ragged, "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—"

Will groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as he rocked deeper, the drag of him so slow it bordered on cruel. "You feel—" he started, but the words dissolved into a hissed curse as you clenched around him, your nails biting into his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, keep doing that and I'm not gonna last."

You laughed, breathless and unsteady, but it caught in your throat when Will pulled out almost entirely, the head of his cock just barely inside you before he pushed back in with a sharp thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. "Asshole," you gasped, but your hips arched up to meet him anyway, your body betraying you with every ragged breath.

Will grinned down at you, his hair damp with sweat and saltwater, his eyes dark with something hungrier than you'd ever seen. "You love it," he murmured, dragging his cock through your folds again just to hear you whimper. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your thighs shaking, and you nearly sobbed when he slid back into you—this time with no hesitation, no teasing, just one smooth stroke that buried him to the hilt.

The sound you made was obscene, half-moan, half-scream, and Will's hips stuttered like he hadn't expected it either. He choked out a moan, his grip on your hips tightening as he set a brutal pace, each thrust punching a broken noise from your throat. The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his movements, the rhythm so relentless you could barely catch your breath between gasps.

And then it was gone. 

"Will," you whined, your voice cracking on the single syllable, and his smirk was downright sinful as he traced your entrance again, the tip of his cock catching on your folds just enough to make you sob. "God, you're dripping," he murmured, his voice thick with awe, and the way he said it—like he was discovering something sacred—sent heat crawling up your neck.

His thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles, and you nearly screamed, as he pushed back in, your nails raking down his back hard enough to leave raised red lines in their wake. Will hissed but didn’t pull away, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm that had you seeing stars.

The sound ripped from your throat before you could stop it—a guttural, desperate moan that didn’t even sound like you, raw and unfiltered in a way that made Will’s hips stutter mid-thrust. His breath hitched, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he stared down at you, eyes wide like he’d just discovered something earth-shattering. “Jesus Christ,” he choked out, his voice wrecked, and you barely had time to process the awe in his tone before he was moving again, deeper this time, his cock dragging against some spot inside you that made your vision blur.

You were close—so close you could taste it, the heat coiling tight in your belly—but the second Will’s rhythm faltered, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck, you slapped a hand against his chest. “Wait—wait—” The word came out slurred, your fingers twisting in his sweat-damp hair as you pushed him back just enough to roll your hips beneath him. Will groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening as you flipped him onto his back in one clumsy, drunken motion, the mattress creaking in protest beneath you.

The moment you straddled him, sinking down onto his cock with a gasp, his hands flew to your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head dropping back against the pillows as you rocked against him, slow at first, then faster, your nails scraping down his chest just to watch his abs clench under your touch. His throat was flushed pink, sweat glistening in the hollow of his collarbone, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to drag your teeth over the sensitive skin there, sucking until his groan vibrated against your lips.

Will’s thumb found your clit again without hesitation, his touch rough and uncoordinated in the best way, and you nearly sobbed at the contact, your thighs trembling around him. His words dissolved into a groan as you clenched around him, your hips rolling in desperate little circles that had his fingers twitching against your skin. The pressure built like a storm, every nerve in your body alight, and when Will’s breath hitched, his grip on your hips turning bruising, you knew he was close.

The sound that tore from your throat was raw—something between a gasp and a sob, pitched higher than you’d ever heard yourself before. Will’s hips jerked beneath you like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in your skin. “Fuck,” he choked out, his voice shattered, and you could feel the way his cock twitched inside you, pulsing with every ragged breath he took. “’M gonna cum.”

You didn’t recognize yourself—the way your body moved, the noises you made, the sheer need that had you grinding down on him like you were trying to fuse your bones together. Will’s hands slid up your sides, rough and desperate, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before settling on your hips again, guiding you into a rhythm that had your vision spotting at the edges.

The words left your lips before you could stop them—raw, ragged, barely recognizable as your own voice. "Inside, please—Will, I want—" Your plea dissolved into a moan as his hips snapped up into yours, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that made your thighs tremble. You could feel him twitching, pulsing, his breath coming in uneven gasps against your neck.

Will groaned, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "You—you're sure?" His voice was wrecked, strained with the effort of holding back, and you nodded frantically, your nails scraping down his chest. "Yes, yes—Will,please— inside, inside, inside!"

Will didn’t need to be told twice. His hips jerked up once, twice—then he buried himself deep with a groan that sounded ripped from his chest, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your waist as he came. You could feel it—the hot pulse of him inside you, the way his cock twitched with every throb, the sharp exhale that ghosted over your collarbone like a prayer.

The sensation hit you like a lightning strike—sharp, sudden, inescapable—as Will pulsed inside you, his release triggering your own with brutal efficiency. Your body clenched around him in erratic waves, your nails digging crescents into his chest as pleasure ripped through you with a force that left you gasping, shaking, your thighs quivering against his hips. The orgasm tore through you until you collapsed against his chest with a sob, your forehead pressing into the sweat-slick hollow of his throat.

Will’s hands slid up your back, slow and reverent, his fingertips tracing the ridges of your spine like he was memorizing them. His breath was still ragged against your temple, his chest rising and falling beneath you in uneven hitches. “Holy shit,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, and you could feel the way his laugh vibrated through you, warm and disbelieving. 

"Why did it take so long for us to do that?"

The end-of-season team gathering was at your brother, Tyler Toffoli’s house.

It was loud, warm, and full of laughter—typical post-season vibes with half the roster sprawled across the backyard and living room.

You’d been staying with your brother for the semester while finishing up classes at a nearby university, and no one suspected a thing about you and Will Smith.

Twenty and twenty-one, sneaking around like teenagers even though you were both technically adults. The secret made everything hotter.

You slipped away first, claiming you needed the bathroom upstairs. Will followed two minutes later, locking the door behind him with a soft click that sent heat straight between your legs.

He didn’t waste time. The second the lock turned, his mouth was on yours, hands shoving your little sundress up around your waist. “Been thinking about you all night,” he muttered against your lips, spinning you around and bending you over the marble counter. Your palms slapped against the cool sink as he yanked your panties down your thighs.

“Will—fuck—” you gasped as he pushed in with one smooth thrust, stretching you open. He was thick, hard, and already breathing heavy. One hand fisted tight in your hair, pulling your head back so you had to watch yourself in the mirror—flushed cheeks, parted lips, tits bouncing under the thin fabric with every snap of his hips.

He fucked you hard, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tiles. Your thighs trembled, slick dripping down his shaft with every stroke. “So fucking tight for me, baby,” he groaned, tugging your hair harder. “Missed this pussy all week.”

You were close already, moaning into your hand to try and stay quiet, when the door handle rattled.

Even though Will had locked the door, it opened anyway—Macklin Celebrini stepping in, phone in hand, clearly not paying attention, before he froze.

“Shit—sorry.” But then his eyes went wide, and they didn’t exactly leave you right away. He took in the scene: you bent over the sink, dress bunched up, Will’s cock still buried deep, hips rolling slow and lazy even as he turned his head toward the intruder.

Will’s fist stayed locked in your hair. He didn’t pull out. Just kept grinding into you in shallow thrusts while he panted, “Mack… little busy here.”

Your thighs shook violently. You were dripping down Will’s balls, embarrassed heat flooding your face, but the way he kept moving—slow, filthy circles—made your eyes flutter.

Mack swallowed, still staring a second too long. “Dude… Ty’s gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, well,” Will grunted, rolling his hips again, dragging a broken whimper out of you, “not if you get the fuck out.”

Mack blinked, finally snapping out of it. “Right. Yeah. I’ll, uh… let you guys get back to it.” He backed out, closing the door with a quiet click.

The second the latch caught, Will slammed back into you hard. “Fuck, I can't believe Mack walked in,” he laughed breathlessly, pounding you faster. “You liked that? Liked him seeing how well you take my cock?”

You came seconds later with a muffled cry, clenching around him so tight he cursed and followed right after, spilling deep inside you with a low groan, hips stuttering.

You cleaned up as best you could, legs still shaky, and slipped back into the party separately. Mack was in the kitchen grabbing another beer. He caught your eye and gave you the smuggest little smirk, raising his bottle in a silent toast. Will walked past him and shoved his shoulder lightly, both of them chuckling like idiots.

Later, when most people had left, the remaining crew sat around the backyard bonfire. You were tucked against Tyler’s side on the big outdoor couch, his arm slung protectively around your shoulders like always. Big-brother mode fully engaged.

Someone made a dumb joke about how quiet you’d been all night—“Probably studying too hard, huh?”—and Mack, a little buzzed and grinning, laughed.

“Haha, ask Will about that.”

The group chuckled, confused. You froze. Will’s face dropped.

You blinked. “What?”

Mack, still laughing, kept going. “Well, I walked in on Y/N and Will—”

Tyler’s arm tightened around you. “What?”

The fire crackled. Everyone went dead silent.

Mack’s smile faded fast as he realized what he’d just said. “Uh… yeah. Bathroom. They were… definitely not studying.”

Tyler’s head snapped toward Will, then to you. His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re fucking my little sister?”

You buried your face in your hands as chaos erupted—half the guys laughing, half looking like they wanted to disappear, Tyler standing up with that protective big-brother glare locked on Will.

Will just rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks red, but his eyes found yours across the fire with a tiny, secret smirk that said: worth it.