genre: domestic fluff, realistic family romance, slice-of-life.
warnings: mild pregnancy discomfort, very light parenting tension (resolved quickly and lovingly), zero angst.
summary: nhl forward will smith and you are raising ten-year-old twin boys, charles and theo, who both dream of going pro. will’s intensity on the ice has always been part of the package, but now that the boys are hitting the age where hockey starts to feel like work, his ‘hockey-dad mode’ is creating tiny cracks at home especially with a baby girl due any week. a quiet kitchen conversation after practice reminds everyone that love, not pressure, is what keeps a family (and a dream) alive.
fia’s note: ahh finally got to update another dad!will smith fic for you guys, i’ve genuinely missed being on here and just… yapping with everyone 😭 especially about dad!player thoughts you know, those ‘what if in another universe…’ kind of ideas that slowly turn into full-on storylines in my head at 2am, there’s just something about domestic, soft, slightly chaotic dad energy that i can’t let go of like the idea of him balancing hockey and fatherhood, being strict one minute and then the softest dad ever the next… yeah i think about that way too much. anyway!! if you ever wanna come talk, share ideas, scream about fics, or just yap in general, please don’t be shy 🫶 my anon ask box is always open and i really do love hearing from you guys it makes writing all of this feel even more special!! i missed you guys a lot, truly. thank you for sticking around and being so sweet and supportive, hope you enjoy this dad!will fic 💙
fia’s masterlist | pow-wow box
“You can’t be serious, Mom. Dad made us do bag skates again.”
Theo dropped his hockey bag on the kitchen floor with a thud, cheeks still flushed from the rink. At ten he was already the spitting image of Will. You shifted on the couch, one hand resting on the very round swell of your belly, and tried not to laugh at the sheer injustice painted across his face.
“Bag skates, huh?”
“Twice,”
Theo groaned, flopping sideways so his head landed in your lap like he was still five.
“Charles kept up, but I was dying. Dad kept yelling ‘You want the NHL? Then earn it!’ like we’re already in the draft or something.”
Charles wandered in behind him, quieter, cheeks just as red but mouth set in a determined line. He was the mirror twin same features, opposite energy. Where Theo exploded, Charles simmered. He set his own bag down more carefully and shrugged.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was so bad,” Theo muttered into your sweater.
“And Grandpa was there so Dad went full coach mode. I swear he smiled when I puked in the trash can.”
You ran your fingers through Theo’s sweaty hair, heart doing that familiar tug-of-war. Part of you wanted to defend Will, he was only trying to give them the head start he never had. The other part, the very pregnant, very tired part, ached at the thought that their favorite sport was starting to feel like a chore.
Before you could answer, the garage door rumbled open. Boots on tile, the familiar clink of keys in the bowl, and then Will’s voice, warm and a little winded, floated in.
“Boys! How we feeling after that session? Told you the second round would build character.”
Theo made a sound like a dying walrus and buried his face deeper into your side.
Will appeared in the doorway still in his Sharks hoodie, and the sight of him hit you the same way it had since the very first day you met him at a charity skate twelve years ago. Thirty now, two kids deep (three any minute), and somehow he still glowed. Fatherhood had only sharpened it, made it softer around the edges.
He clocked the scene immediately, Theo dramatically horizontal, Charles hovering like a referee waiting for a penalty call, and you trying to keep a straight face while rubbing slow circles on your belly.
“Rough one?”
Will asked, voice dropping into that gentle register he saved for home.
Theo lifted his head just enough to glare.
“You made us skate until I saw stars, Dad.”
Will’s eyebrows rose, but the smile never left. He crossed the room in three strides, dropped a kiss on your forehead, then ruffled both boys’ hair.
“Stars are good. Means you’re pushing. You said you wanted to play pro, right?”
“Yeah, but not today,” Theo mumbled.
Charles stayed quiet, but you caught the way his shoulders sagged just a fraction.
You reached up and squeezed Will’s wrist.
“Babe, can we talk after they shower and eat? I think the troops need a debrief.”
Will’s eyes met yours, the same look he gave you across the ice when he knew you were watching from the family box. He nodded once.
“Absolutely. Shower, dinner, then we’ll circle up. Sound good?”
The boys trudged upstairs, feet heavy on the steps. Will lingered, hand settling over yours on your belly. The baby girl inside gave a lazy kick right on cue.
“Hey, princess,” he whispered, leaning down so his forehead touched yours.
“Your brothers are dramatic tonight.”
“They’re ten,” you said softly.
“And their dad is kinda intense.”
He huffed a laugh, but there was a flicker of something uncertainty, maybe behind the easy charm.
“Intense is what got me here, babe.”
“I know.” You brushed a thumb across his cheek. “We’ll talk.”
Dinner was just like any others dinner, spaghetti, too much garlic bread, Charles reenacting a deke he pulled in practice while Theo stole meatballs off everyone’s plates. Will told stories from the road trip last week, hands flying like he was still on the ice. The boys laughed in all the right places, but you noticed Theo’s glances toward you, like he was waiting for backup.
After plates were cleared and teeth brushed, the twins climbed into their bunk beds, Charles on top because he liked the view out the window, Theo on bottom because he liked being closer to the door in case of ‘midnight snacks.’ Will read them one chapter of the hockey book they were on, doing the goofy voices that always cracked them up. By the time he closed the door, the house had settled into that rare, golden quiet that only happened after bedtime.
You were already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug of herbal tea when Will padded in, socks sliding on the tile.
He didn’t speak at first. Just wrapped his arms around you from behind, careful of your belly, and rested his chin on your shoulder. The familiar scent of his shampoo and the faint trace of rink ice clung to him.
“Alright,” he murmured against your neck.
“Lay it on me. I can tell you’ve been thinking since Theo face-planted in your lap.”
You turned in his arms so you could see his face. Up close, the tiny worry lines between his brows were new fatherhood lines, you liked to call them.
“Theo said you went pretty hard today,” you started gently.
“Bag skates twice. He puked.”
Will winced. “He told you that part.”
“He did. And Charles didn’t say much, but I saw his face. Will… they’re ten. They love hockey. They talk about playing in the NHL the same way they talk about ice cream for breakfast. But if it stops feeling like fun—”
“I know.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“I keep thinking about my own dad. He never pushed, but he also never had the chance to. I was the one who had to figure it out alone. I just… I look at them and I see so much potential. They’re fast, they’re smart, they’ve got hands. If they really want this, I want them ready. Every hockey dad I know starts the grind early. I figured ten was old enough to start building the habits.”
You reached up and smoothed the worry line with your thumb.
“I get it. I really do. And at first I thought the same thing, when they turned ten and started getting wild, a little structure felt right. But babe, there’s a difference between structure and… well, making them puke and then come home looking like someone kicked their puppy.”
Will’s shoulders dropped. He pulled you closer, one hand splayed protectively over your belly where the baby girl was doing slow somersaults.
“I don’t want them to hate it,” he said quietly.
“God, that’s the last thing I want. I just… I see the path, you know? The one that’s hard and long and full of kids who quit at fifteen because no one ever taught them how to grind. I thought if I started now, they’d thank me later.”
“They will thank you,” you said, “but maybe not for the puking part.”
A small laugh escaped him, warm against your hair.
“Fair.”
You stayed like that for a minute, the kitchen clock ticking softly, the baby doing her nightly dance between you.
“I’m not saying stop coaching them,” you continued.
“You’re incredible at it. They light up when you praise them. But maybe we ease up on the ‘every practice is a tryout’ vibe. Let them goof off sometimes. Let them remember why they fell in love with the game in the first place because it’s fun, because they get to be on the ice with their dad, because they get to come home and tell their very pregnant mom all about it.”
Will was quiet for a long beat, then nodded against you.
“I hear you. Loud and clear.”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, that same glowing, heart-stopping smile slowly returning.
“When did you get so wise?”
“Pregnancy hormones and ten years of watching you be the hottest dad on the planet,” you teased.
He grinned, the full Will Smith megawatt version that still made your stomach flip even at thirty weeks pregnant.
“Hottest, huh?”
“Objectively. The league’s official stats.”
He laughed, and kissed you, the kind of kiss that said thank you and I love you and we’ve got this all at once.
When he pulled away, his hands framed your face.
“Tomorrow I’ll take them to the rink early, just the three of us. No bag skates. We’ll do skill stuff, then I’ll let them challenge me to a shootout. Loser buys slushies. And I’ll tell them straight up that I got a little carried away. That I’m proud of them no matter what.”
“They’re gonna love that,” you whispered.
“And you,” he added, forehead to forehead again, “are gonna sit here with your feet up because my wife is growing our dream girl and she deserves a break from driving two feral hockey players everywhere.”
“Deal.”
He kissed the tip of your nose.
“I love you. More than I loved the game even on draft day.”
“I love you too. Even when you make our kids puke.”
He winced again, but this time it was playful.
“Too soon.”
You laughed, later, after Will had carried you upstairs (because “pregnant wife privileges”) and you were curled against him in bed, his hand resting on your belly, you felt the baby girl give one last strong kick.
“Think she’s gonna want to play hockey too?” Will murmured, half-asleep.
“Probably,” you whispered.
“But we’re starting her at zero bag skates until she’s at least… twelve.”
He chuckled, the vibration rumbling through his chest.
“Deal.”
In the morning the boys would wake up to a slightly less intense dad and a mom who had reminded him gently that sometimes the best way to build future pros was to let them stay kids a little longer. And Will Smith, NHL star, strict-but-learning dad, and still the most handsome man you’d ever seen held you like you were the real trophy. Just like the day you met. Just like always.
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warnings: extreme fluff, tiny child chaos, clingy toddler who refuses to be put down, soft dad will content, y/n being quietly in awe, and a very unserious post-game interview that turns into a full-on heart-melting moment
the game’s been over for maybe ten minutes.
the hallway by the locker rooms is busy -
players coming in and out, staff moving around, people talking over each other -
but it’s quieter than the rink.
muffled.
will’s leaning against the wall.
fully changed already.
sweats.
hoodie.
hair still a little damp.
he’s mid-interview.
answering something about the third period -
calm, easy, a little tired but still smiling.
a few feet away -
you’re standing with sienna on your hip.
she’s been good.
so good.
watching, quiet, playing with the sleeve of your sweatshirt -
until she sees him.
you feel it before it even happens.
the way she suddenly stills.
“…no,” you murmur softly, already knowing.
“dada.”
and then -
she’s moving.
“wait -” you try, shifting your hold, “baby -”
but she’s already twisting out of your arms.
“sienna -!”
too late.
little shoes hitting the floor -
fast, determined steps -
“dada!”
will’s head snaps up immediately.
mid-answer.
mid-play breakdown.
everything else drops.
“hey -”
she runs straight into him.
arms up.
he doesn’t even think.
just scoops her up instantly.
“hi, bug,” he breathes, smiling into her hair.
she clings.
tight.
like she hasn’t seen him in days instead of… a few hours.
you slow to a stop a few feet away.
half ready to apologize -
but no one looks annoyed.
if anything -
everyone’s smiling.
will shifts her onto his hip.
one arm secure around her.
“…sorry,” he says quickly, glancing back at drew and randy.
but sienna just buries her face into his shoulder.
refusing to let go.
you laugh softly under your breath.
shaking your head.
“she said no,” you call lightly.
will huffs a quiet laugh.
“yeah, i can tell."
“we can keep going,” drew says, clearly not minding at all.
will nods.
adjusts sienna slightly.
“okay,” he says, picking back up like nothing happened.
and he does.
answers questions.
talks through plays.
explains something about positioning -
all while holding her.
like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
and she just… stays.
one arm wrapped around his neck.
the other playing with the string of his hoodie.
you lean back against the wall now.
watching.
and it hits you all at once.
how easy it is.
how him it is.
he’s not even thinking about it.
not adjusting.
not overcompensating.
just… doing both.
talking.
holding her.
smiling when she mumbles something into his shoulder.
your chest tightens.
but soft.
“you did great tonight,” the randy says.
will nods once.
“yeah, it was a good team win -”
he pauses.
just for a second.
because sienna’s hand has reached up.
fingers brushing against his headset.
tilting it slightly.
“…hey,” he laughs softly, catching it before it slips too far.
she giggles.
completely unbothered.
“help.”
you actually laugh out loud this time.
randy loses it behind the camera, “oh my -”
will shakes his head.
smiling.
“you fixing it?” he murmurs to her.
she nods.
very serious.
“…okay,” he says, letting her.
she pats it once.
like that solves everything.
“good.”
there’s a collective awww from like -
everyone.
you cover your mouth.
smiling so hard it almost hurts.
he looks over at you then.
just for a second.
and the way his expression softens -
it knocks the air out of you a little.
like this is what he was meant for.
not just the game.
not just the wins.
this.
he glances back at drew and randy.
finishes answering the question.
but his hand is still rubbing slow circles on sienna’s back.
absent.
automatic.
she’s calmer now.
resting against him.
playing with the edge of his sleeve.
“last one,” randy says, smiling.
will nods.
answers it easily.
and then it’s over.
“thank you,” they say.
“yeah, thank you,” will replies.
the mic lowers.
the camera shifts away.
and immediately -
he turns fully toward you.
“she escaped?” he asks, amused.
you shrug.
“i tried.”
“didn’t try very hard.”
“she’s stronger than me.”
he laughs.
walks closer.
sienna lifts her head slightly.
reaches for you.
“mama.”
you step in.
brush her hair back gently.
“hi, baby.”
she smiles.
then immediately tucks herself back into will.
you snort.
“oh. okay.”
will grins, “i’m the favorite right now.”
“don’t get used to it.”
he leans in slightly.
quiet.
“…you were watching.”
you nod.
“…yeah.”
“what’d you think.”
you look at him.
really look at him.
sienna in his arms.
hoodie slightly crooked.
hair still messy.
and you smile.
soft.
a little in awe.
“…you’re really good at that.”
he glances down at sienna.
then back at you, “yeah?”
you nod again.
“…yeah.”
he smiles.
smaller this time.
quieter.
and presses a quick kiss to sienna’s head -
then looks back at you like he wants to say something else.
warnings: unwanted flirting (non-graphic), strong emotional themes, overprotective twins, soft husband!will, hockey dad pride, will being hot when he’s mad.
summary: as a dad, will’s always blended into the background at the twins’ games, cap low and presence quiet, it’s a shadow of love instead of a spotlight. but when a stranger crosses a line while will is away for the first time, the twins step up to protect their mom. and when will returns, he realizes it’s time to stop hiding the family he’s so damn proud of.
fia’s notes: the idea originally came from a post on fiakive (me), and after seeing a few anons and moots show interest in the concept of dad!will, i figured that why not write one? so here it is! i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed bringing it to life. also in this story, eli’s mom can be a hockey mom in this, but she’s never really been into hockey herself. maybe her husband is the fan, but she’s never been all that interested in the sport.
tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland
“Morning, gorgeous,” Will murmured,
“You ready to cheer our boys on without me?”
You turned in his arms, smiling up at him. “I’ll manage. But you owe me for doing this solo, Smith.”
He grinned, that boyish charm still as potent as the day you met.
“Name your price. Dinner out? Back rub? I’m at your mercy.”
You laughed, swatting his chest.
“Let’s start with you not being late for practice again. Coach was not happy last time.”
Will’s face fell, his blue eyes clouding with guilt.
“I hate missing their games. Charles and Theo are gonna be out there, probably pulling moves I taught them, and I’m stuck doing line drills.”
You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing his stubble.
“You’ll be there tomorrow, and they’ll light up when they see you. I’ve got this. I’m their loudest fan today.”
He leaned down, kissing you, the kind of kiss that reminded you why you’d said yes to him all those years ago.
“You’re the best, you know that?” he said, pulling back.
“Tell the boys I’m proud of them, win or lose. And…”
His tone shifted, taking on that serious dad edge he used before every game. “Make sure they remember the rules.”
You nodded, mimicking his stern voice.
“Enjoy the game, have fun, and be brothers on and off the ice. No rough stuff, just clean hockey.”
“Exactly,” he said, but his expression softened.
“And one more thing, tell them to look out for you. Protect Mom when I’m not there.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart warmed. “Will, it’s a middle school rink, not a war zone.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, stealing one last kiss.
“You’re my world, and they’re my boys. Gotta keep you safe.”
“Love you,” you called as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
“Love you more, babe.” he shot back, winking before the door clicked shut.
At 11, the twins were carbon copies of Will, tall for their age, with his sandy blond hair and blue eyes, though Charles had your smile and Theo had your quiet intensity but still they had a big love for hockey. They stumbled downstairs, already in their hockey mindset, their jerseys draped over chairs, Charles in #2, Theo in #43. Those numbers were Will’s from his USA Hockey days and his time with the Sharks, but the boys thought they were just his ‘weekend game’ numbers from pickup games with friends. You and Will had kept his NHL career under wraps, wanting them to grow up as regular kids, not as ‘Will Smith’s sons.’ or whatever nickname others people would gave them. Privacy was sacred, a shield against the media’s prying eyes.
In the car, the boys were a whirlwind of energy, their gear bags rattling in the trunk. Charles, the chattier one, leaned forward.
“I’m scoring at least two goals today, Mom. Watch.”
Theo, in the back, smirked.
“Only if I don’t block you first. My team’s defense is solid.”
You glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning.
“Okay, hotshots, what’s Dad’s rule?”
Charles groaned, flopping back. “Have fun, play clean, and be brothers on and off ice.”
“And don’t go too hard on each other. Oh and protect Mom when Dad’s not here.” Theo added, his voice softer but firm.
“Good,” you said.
“You’re on different teams, but you’re a team at home. Dad said he’s proud of you, no matter what.”
Charles puffed out his chest, his jersey crinkling.
“We’ve got you, Mom. Nobody’s gonna mess with us.”
“Yeah,” Theo said, his eyes narrowing. “We’re Smiths.”
You laughed, pulling into the school parking lot. The rink was a hive of activity, coaches barking last-minute instructions. The boys hopped out, hoisting their bags like pros.
“Go get ready,” you called. “Put your gear on, lace up, and I’ll meet you inside.”
They waved, disappearing into the crowd of jersey-clad kids. You parked, grabbed your jacket, and headed to the rink, you spotted Charles and Theo already in their warming up position, their names bold on their jerseys with number #2 SMITH and #43 SMITH. They skated with Will’s effortless grace, weaving through cones, firing pucks with precision. Charles flicked a playful shot at Theo, who blocked it with a grin. Just like their Dad, their focus unbreakable.
You found a seat in the front row, close enough to feel the thud of the puck. Lisa, the mom of Eli, Theo’s teammate, slid in beside you, her red scarf bright against the gray bleachers.
“Hey, girl!” she said, nudging you.
“Your boys look like they’re ready to run today game.”
“They’re hyped,” you said, grinning.
“Their dad gave them the full pep talk before he left for practice.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Will’s not here? That’s new. He’s usually glued to the glass, yelling like he’s coaching the Sharks.”
“Yeah, he’s got practice. He’ll be here tomorrow, though. The boys are counting on it.”
The game kicked off with a roar, the puck zipping across the ice. Charles, left wing for the Blue team, was a blur, dodging defenders and rifling a shot that hit the net five minutes in. The crowd erupted, and you leapt up, screaming,
“That’s my Charlie!”
Theo, right wing for the Red team, wasn’t about to let his brother steal the show. He snagged the puck, deked a defender with a move straight out of Will’s playbook, and snapped a wrist shot into the goal. You clapped wildly, your heart swelling.
“Go, Theo Smith! Go!”
Behind you, parents whisper, their voices a mix of awe and curiosity.
“Those Smith boys are unreal,” one dad said.
“That’s not just practice. They’ve got serious talent.”
“Look at that footwork,” a mom added. “Their dad must’ve been a hell of a player.”
Lisa leaned over, her eyes twinkling.
“That’s all Will’s doing, right? He’s got those boys skating like pros.”
You smiled, keeping your answer vague.
“He’s taught them a lot. They’ve been on skates since they were three.”
You never mentioned Will’s NHL career, not even to Lisa, who was as close as you got to a rink-side confidante. It was a promise you and Will made early on to keep the boys out of the spotlight, to let them be kids. The less people knew, the better.
The first half was a showcase of the twins’ skills. Charles threaded a no-look pass to a teammate, who scored. Theo blocked a shot, then set up a goal with a pinpoint assist. They were competitive but never crossing into dirty play, just as Will had drilled into them. You could see their personalities on the ice for Charles’s flair, Theo’s quiet intensity but they respected eachother, even as opponents.
At the break, you grabbed a hot chocolate drink, chatting with Lisa about the team’s playoff chances. That’s when a man approached, his smile a touch too warm. He was tall, with dark hair and a kid’s Blue team jersey slung over his shoulder, his son probably one of Charles’s teammates. His name tag read ‘Joseph.’
“Hey, you’re Charles and Theo’s mom, right?” he said, offering a handshake.
“I’m Joseph. My son, Max, plays with Charles.”
“Nice to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand out of courtesy.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Those boys are incredible out there,” he said, stepping closer.
“You must be so proud. Raising twins on your own must be a lot, though.”
You frowned, caught off guard.
“Oh, I’m not, my husband’s just at work today.”
He either didn’t hear or chose to ignore it.
“Still, you’re doing an amazing job. Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime, swap stories about the chaos of hockey parenting.”
His tone was unmistakably flirty, his eyes lingering a bit too long.
You’re already felt the discomfort. You hadn’t worn your wedding rings today, they were at the cleaner, and you’d left your engagement ring at home, worried about losing it in the chaos of the game. Maybe that’s why he’d misread the situation.
“Thanks, but I’m okay,” you said, stepping back.
“I need to get back for the second half.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, but his smile didn’t falter.
“Think about that coffee, though.”
The second half was just as intense, with Charles and Theo trading goals and assists. The game ended in a 3-3 tie, the kids spilling onto the ice in a flurry of high-fives and laughter. You stood, clapping, but your smile faded when you saw Charles and Theo skating toward you, their faces etched with concern.
“Mom, you okay?”
Charles asked, his helmet tucked under his arm, sweat matting his hair.
“That guy was weird,”
Theo said, his voice low and protective. He glared toward the stands, where Joseph was chatting with another parent.
“He was talking to you all funny.”
You forced a smile, not wanting to worry them.
“It’s fine, boys. He was just being friendly. Let’s get your gear off and head home. Dad’s waiting”
They exchanged a look, more of Will’s look, all fierce protectiveness and skated to the locker room. You exhaled, relieved they didn’t push it further. On the drive home, the boys were back to their usual selves, dissecting every play and plotting strategies for tomorrow’s game. They didn’t mention about that guy, so you assumed they’d let it go.
When you pulled into the driveway, Will’s car was in its spot. The boys bolted inside, their gear bags thumping against the doorframe.
“Dad!”
They shouted, tackling Will as he stepped out of the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder.
“Whoa, slow down, champs!”
Will laughed, ruffling their hair. He was still in his practice sweats, his face flushed from a hard skate.
“How’d my superstars do?”
Before you could answer, Charles blurted,
“Some guy was talking to Mom, and she looked super uncomfortable.”
Theo nodded, his arms crossed.
“Yeah, he was all smiley and weird. We told him we had to go, and he backed off.”
Will’s eyebrows shot up, his gaze snapping to you. You saw the jealousy, but it was tempered by humor, his lips twitching into a smirk. He crouched to their level, his voice conspiratorial.
“Is that right? What’d you do, huh? Give me the play-by-play.”
Charles grinned, puffing up.
“We skated over after the game and said we had to leave. He looked like he was gonna run.”
“Good job, boys,” Will said, high-fiving them.
“You gotta protect Mom when I’m not there. No creepy guys allowed near my wife.”
“Will,” you said, rolling your eyes as you kicked off your shoes.
“It was nothing. Can we eat? I’m starving.”
Will stood, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
“Nothing, huh? We’ll talk later,”
He whispered, his tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity.
To the boys, he said, “Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Dinner was a lively affair, the kitchen table covered in takeout pizza and garlic bread. Charles and Theo recounted every goal, their voices overlapping in excitement.
“Dad, I used that spin move you showed us!” Theo said, waving his slice of pizza.
“The goalie didn’t even see it coming.”
“And I passed like you do in your games,” Charles added, mimicking Will’s wrist flick.
“It was so smooth.”
Will leaned back, his smile wide and proud.
“You guys had fun out there? That’s what matters. I’m so damn proud of you, you know that?”
“Dad, you said ‘damn,’” Theo pointed out, smirking.
Will laughed, holding up his hands.
“Oops. Don’t tell Mom I’m corrupting you.”
You shook your head, grinning. “Too late for that.”
After the boys went to bed, their gear bags neatly stowed for tomorrow, you and Will settled on the couch, a glass of wine in your hand and his arm around you. Will tilted his head, his voice low.
“So, this guy… what’s his deal? Hitting on my wife when I’m not around?”
You sighed, leaning into him.
“His name’s Joseph. He’s a dad on Charles’s team. I didn’t wear my rings today, they’re at the cleaner, and I left my engagement ring at home so I wouldn’t lose it at the rink… he probably thought I was a single mom. I shut it down, but the boys noticed. I feel bad for not wearing something to make it clear.”
Will’s jaw tightened, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.
“No rings? Babe, that’s like leaving the goal unguarded.” He kissed your temple, his voice softening.
“But seriously, you okay? He didn’t push too hard, did he?”
“No, it was just awkward,” you said.
“I was polite, but he mentioned coffee or something. The boys swooped in before it got weirder.”
Will chuckled, pulling you closer.
“That’s my boys. Got my back. But tomorrow? I’m coming with you, and we’re making sure that whole rink knows you’re mine. Charles and Theo’s mom, my beautiful wife, no question about it.”
You laughed, swatting his chest. “You’re ridiculous, Will Smith.”
“Ridiculous and crazy about you,” he said, kissing you deeply, his hand cradling your face.
“Nobody’s forgetting who you belong to.”
Sunday morning dawned bright and early, the alarm blaring at 6:00 a.m. You groaned, but Will was already up when you shuffled downstairs, wrapping your robe tighter.
Will glanced over, grinning. “Morning, Mrs. Smith. Ready to show that rink who’s boss?”
“You’re way too chipper for this hour,” you muttered, but you smiled, grabbing a coffee.
Will was in full dad mode, checking the boys’ gear with the precision of an NHL veteran. He sharpened Theo’s skates, tested Charles’s stick tape, and packed their water bottles with the same care he put into his own pre-game routine.
“Can’t have dull blades or sticky tape,” he said, more to himself than you.
You woke the boys, who stumbled down, rubbing their eyes but lighting up when they saw Will in his Sharks cap and hoodie.
“Dad’s coming!” Charles cheered, fist-bumping Theo.
“Gonna yell louder than Mom?” Theo teased, dodging Charles’s playful shove.
After a quick breakfast, Will drove, his hand resting on your thigh as the boys chattered in the back. At the school, you spotted Joseph near the entrance, talking to another parent. Theo nudged Charles.
“That’s the guy from yesterday.”
Charles nodded, his eyes narrowing. “The one who made Mom look all weird.”
Will’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he kept his cool, his jaw set.
“Don’t worry, boys. I’ve got this.”
Inside the rink, Will claimed a front-row seat by the glass, pulling you close and kissing your cheek for good measure.
“Gonna make sure everyone sees us,”
He whispered, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. You noticed Joseph a few rows back, his expression unreadable.
Will turned, his smile polite but razor-sharp.
“Hey, man, didn’t get to meet you yesterday. I’m Will, her husband. Play for the Sharks. Had practice yesterday, so she was flying solo. You a big hockey fan?”
Joseph’s face went white, and he stammered,
“Uh, yeah, I, uh, my son plays. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,”
Will said, his tone friendly but with an edge that said, Back off. He turned back to the ice, his arm around you, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing.
The game was a thriller. Will was on his feet the whole time, banging on the glass and shouting.
“Nice hustle, Charles! Keep your stick down, Theo!”
When Charles scored with a slick backhand, Will roared, “That’s my boy!” Theo answered with a goal, his shot a carbon copy of Will’s, and Will high-fived you, grinning like a kid.
Theo’s Red team won 2-1, but Charles skated over to hug his brother, their helmets clinking. After the game, kids swarmed Will, recognizing him from Sharks games on TV.
“Mr. Smith, can you sign my stick?”
One boy asked. Another shoved a phone at him for a selfie. Will obliged, his arm around you the whole time, while Charles and Theo stood nearby, confused.
“Dad, why do they know you?” Theo asked, his brow furrowed.
Lisa, Eli’s mom, laughed as she approached.
“No wonder your boys are so good. They’ve got an NHL dad coaching them at home.”
You and Will exchanged a look. It was time. That night, over pizza and root beer, Will sat the boys down.
“Guys, I play hockey for a job. That’s why I’m at practice a lot, why I travel for games. I’m with the San Jose Sharks.”
Charles’s eyes widened. “Like, the real Sharks? On TV?”
“Yup,” Will said, grinning.
“But you two? You’re already better than me. Got your mom’s heart and my moves.”
Theo smirked. “Cool. But we’re still gonna beat you in the backyard rink.”
Will laughed, pulling you into his side.
“That’s my boys. Now, who’s up for ice cream?”
As you watched them bicker over chocolate versus vanilla, you leaned into Will, his warmth your anchor. He was the best dad, the best husband, and your boys were growing up just like him, protective, passionate, with ice in their veins and love in their hearts. On the rink and off, they were yours, and you wouldn’t trade this life for anything.
pair: dad!will smith x mom!reader ; will smith x f!reader
genre: fluff, family, domestic comedy, established relationship
warnings: excessive cuteness, very mild language from nine-year-olds
summary: the boys, charles and theo have recently discovered the art of roasting their dad, and they’re terrifyingly good at it. tonight the whole smith clan is gathering at the smith’s house for salmon, smashed potatoes, the usual chit chat here and there. between travel plans to italy, hockey fights on the playground, and theo’s very loud opinions about his father’s equipment bag, one thing is clear that will might be a pro on the ice, but at home he’s happily outnumbered and lovingly destroyed by the three people he loves most.
fia’s note: i just had this random thought that will would be absolutely hilarious getting roasted by his own kids. he’s always so soft with them, not in the ‘treating them like little princes’ way, but in the ‘these are my tiny best buddies’ way so of course the boys adore him. but sometimes they just need to mess with their dad for fun. idk, watching his interviews just gives me that vibe… the ultimate soft dad energy. anyway, that’s it. hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. also, i kinda miss those yapping sessions with my moots!!
tagging team fia ! — @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique
fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic
“Dad, your hair is doing that thing again,”
Charles said from the backseat the second Will pulled the Tahoe away from the elementary school curb.
Will glanced in the rear-view mirror. “What thing?”
“It’s running away,”
Theo supplied helpfully, kicking his feet against Charles’s seat. “Like it’s scared of your forehead.”
You snorted so hard you nearly dropped your phone. Will’s hand found your thigh and squeezed in fake betrayal.
“Thanks, bud,” he said dryly.
“Love the support from my own blood.”
“Technically we’re only half your blood,”
Charles corrected, pushing his glasses up his nose exactly the way Will does when he’s pretending to be serious.
“The other half is Mom’s, and her hair is perfect.”
“Facts,” you said, twisting around to offer both boys a fist bump. They lunged forward to meet it, seatbelts straining.
Will sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who knows he’s about to be tag-teamed for the next twenty minutes.
“You two been saving these up all day or what?”
“Since Monday,” Theo said proudly.
“Coach made us run laps ‘cause Charles told Aiden his slapshot looked like a dying pigeon.”
“It did look like a dying pigeon,” Charles muttered.
Will’s parents only lived half an hour from school, but the twins treated every car ride like open-mic night when their dad was the only target. You settled back in your seat, phone forgotten, because to be honest this was so much better than any podcast.
“Also,”
Theo continued, leaning forward as far as the seatbelt allowed, “your gear bag is trying to kill us. It smells like sad onions, Dad.”
“Sad onions,” you repeated under your breath, wheezing.
“I febreezed it!” Will protested.
“Dad. Febreeze ran away screaming,” Charles said.
“We saw it. It jumped out the garage window.”
Will looked at you for rescue. You just patted his arm sympathetically.
“They’re not wrong, babe. That bag needs to be burned with fire.”
“Traitor,” he mouthed.
You blew him a kiss.
By the time Will pulled into his parents’ driveway, the twins had moved on to ranking their father’s bald-spot progression ‘like Pokémon evolutions.’ Will took it like a champ, laughing even while he threatened to leave them on the curb if they didn’t zip it before Grandma opened the door.
Colleen opened it anyway, arms already out.
“There they are! My favorite little comedians!”
“Grandma!” both boys yelled, launching themselves at her like missiles.
Will’s dad, Bill, appeared behind her holding a dish towel, grinning.
“Heard the material on the baby monitor you’ve got in the car, Will. Solid stuff. Nine out of ten.”
“Thanks, Dad. Really feeling the love tonight.”
Grace, Will’s older sister, leaned in the doorway sipping wine.
“I give it a ten. The sad-onions line killed me.”
You hugged everyone hello while the boys raced inside to claim their spots at the kids’ end of the big dining table that Colleen only broke out for family nights. The house smelled like lemon, rosemary, and the Atlantic salmon Bill had been perfecting on the grill for the last hour.
Will’s hand stayed at the small of your back as you moved into the kitchen, a habit he’d had since the day you started dating. Somethings never changed, even when your lives had added two loud, hockey-obsessed boys and one very stinky equipment bag.
Colleen handed you a glass of Sauvignon Blanc the second you crossed the threshold.
“You survive the ride over?”
“Barely,” you laughed. “They’ve entered their roast era. It’s brutal.”
“Good,” she said, eyes twinkling.
“Keeps him humble.”
Dinner was loud… well in the best way. Bill carried in the cedar-plank salmon like it was the Stanley Cup. Smashed red potatoes with too much butter. Roasted sprouts that the boys actually ate because Grandpa bribed them with extra dessert. Grace sat across from you telling everyone about the two-week girls’ trip to the Amalfi Coast she’d finally booked.
“I’m calling it the Divorce Diet Tour,” she announced, raising her glass.
“Except I’m not divorced, just exhausted by my siblings’ children.”
“Hey,” Will and the twins said in unison.
You nearly choked on a sprout.
Will and his dad fell into their usual easy hockey talk about how the Sharks power play was looking, whether Mario Ferraro’s beard was entering playoff form early, if Will’s recent hip twinge was anything to worry about. You half-listened while Colleen topped off your wine and asked about summer plans.
“We’re trying to pick between Maui and Italy,” you told her quietly.
“Will’s got that long break in July after development camp. I want the boys to see the world a little, you know? Not just hockey rinks.”
Colleen smiled the soft way she did whenever she remembered her son had somehow turned into this steady, ridiculous family man.
“Take them to Italy. They’ll eat gelato for breakfast and never shut up about it. You’ll love it.”
At the other end of the table, the twins were retelling the day’s playground drama.
“So Aiden says my wrist shot’s weak,”
Charles said around a mouthful of potatoes, “and I said ‘at least I don’t skate like a shopping cart with one bad wheel.’”
“Language,” you and Will said automatically.
“Then he pushed me,” Charles continued, undeterred, “so I was gonna drop gloves-”
“Charles,” you warned.
“… but Theo came in like bam!” Charles slammed his fork down for emphasis.
“Told Aiden if he touched me again he’d regret it, then he stole the puck and scored. Top cheese.”
“Top cheese,” Theo confirmed, nodding solemnly.
Bill was laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “That’s my boys. Protect eachother.”
Will looked unfairly proud. You kicked him lightly under the table.
Later, when the plates were mostly empty and the boys were arguing over who got the corner piece of salmon skin *both claimed it was the crispiest*, Will leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair the way he did when he was tired.
“I swear the hairline’s moving faster now,” he said, mostly to his dad.
“Too young to start planning my future as a bald guy.”
Theo’s head snapped up. He saw an opening and took it like a breakaway.
Grace wheezed. Colleen had to put her wine down. Even Bill looked like he might need medical attention.
Theo’s head snapped up. He saw an opening and took it like a breakaway.
“That’s because all your power went into your beard, Dad,” he said.
“Your head’s like, ‘we can’t compete with that, we’re out.’”
Will pointed a finger at Theo. “You’re grounded until you’re thirty.”
“You can’t ground me, you’re going bald,”
Theo shot back, then turned to his grandfather with the most betrayed expression a nine-year-old could produce.
“Grandpa, why does Dad’s gear bag smell like a dead whale? I opened it yesterday and the smell slapped me. I saw stars.”
Charles nodded vigorously. “We think it’s gaining sentience.”
Bill lost it.
You felt Will’s hand find yours under the table again, his thumb tracing your ring while he tried to look stern and failed spectacularly.
Theo wasn’t done. He looked straight at you, eyes wide and deadly serious.
“Mom. Real question. Why did you marry him? The bag is a war crime.”
The entire table went silent for half a second, waiting for your answer.
You set your fork down, leaned forward, and looked right at your little chaos goblin.
“Because,” you said, letting your voice go soft and sweet.
“Every single time your dad laces up those stinky skates, he’s doing it so he can give you two the world. And because when I was terrified, he held my hand in a hospital room and promised he’d never leave. And because everynight, no matter how many bruises he’s got or how many overtime periods he’s played, he still crawls into bed and kisses me like it’s the first time. And because he sings off-key to Taylor Swift in the car with you monsters and thinks I don’t notice him tearing up at ‘Never Grow Up.’ That’s why I married him, Theo. The bag’s gross, but the man carrying it? He’s the best person I know.”
You finished and realized the entire table had gone quiet. Grace pretended to wipe a tear. Colleen definitely wasn’t pretending. Bill reached over and squeezed Will’s shoulder.
Will just stared at you, in that way that still made your chest tight after all these years.
Theo considered your answer very seriously, then shrugged.
“Okay. But we’re still burning the bag.”
Charles nodded. “Ceremonial fire. Viking funeral.”
Will laughed, and pulled you halfway into his lap right there at the dinner table because personal space was never a thing in the Smith family. He kissed your temple, then turned to the boys.
“Tell you what. You two help me clean the bag tomorrow, I mean proper clean, no whining and I’ll take us all to the rink after. Full ice, just us. You can roast me in person while I let you score fifty goals.”
“Deal!” they shouted, already planning trash-talk strategies.
Later, when the dishes were done and the boys were sprawled on the living room carpet playing NHL 25 on the PlayStation with their grandpa who insisted on being the Sharks everytime because ‘family loyalty’, Will found you on the back patio breathing in the cool December air.
He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.
“You didn’t have to say all that stuff in there,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I did,” you said, leaning back into him.
“Someone has to remind those little gremlins their dad’s a superhero. Even if his gear bag is a biohazard.”
He laughed quietly. “I love you.”
“I know,” you said, turning in his arms so you could kiss him properly.
“Stinky bag and all.”
From inside, you heard Charles yell,
“Theo, look! They’re kissing again!”
Theo fake gagged loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
warnings: fluff overload, hallway crowd chaos, excessive clinginess, soft teasing, and a boyfriend who refuses to respect personal space (in the cutest way possible)
the hallway is packed.
like shoulder-to-shoulder, end-of-day, everyone-talking-at-once kind of packed.
you’re trying to get to your locker.
trying.
“move - sorry - wait -” you squeeze between two people, nearly getting taken out by someone’s backpack.
“…i hate this place,” you mumble under your breath.
“hi, pretty girl.”
you freeze.
turn your head -
and there he is.
leaning against your locker.
like he owns it.
arms crossed.
smug smile already there.
“…you’re in my way,” you say.
“missed you too.”
you try to open your locker.
he doesn’t move.
you glance at him.
“…will.”
“yeah?”
“move.”
he tilts his head.
pretends to think about it.
“no.”
you stare at him, “i have practice.”
“i know.”
“then why are you here.”
“because you have practice.”
you blink, “that doesn’t make sense.”
“i wanted to see you before you left.”
and there it is.
just dropped like it’s nothing.
your expression softens for half a second.
you try to hide it.
“…you saw me in science.”
“not enough.”
you roll your eyes.
but your lips twitch.
“you’re so annoying.”
“yeah.”
he finally moves.
just enough for you to open your locker.
you start grabbing your stuff.
trying to focus.
he doesn’t go anywhere.
just stands way too close.
"you’re hovering,” you say.
“i’m standing.”
"you’re breathing on me.”
“that’s kind of necessary.”
you shove a book into your bag.
a little harder than needed.
he reaches out grabbing the strap before you can sling it over your shoulder.
you pause.
“…what.”
he just looks at you.
for a second.
then-
his hand slides from your bag strap to your wrist.
light.
gentle.
and he tugs you forward.
just a little.
you stumble half a step.
ending up right in front of him.
“…hi,” he says.
you blink.
“…hi.”
there’s people everywhere.
still loud.
still chaotic.
but somehow -
it feels quieter right here.
his hand is still around your wrist.
not tight.
just… there.
“i'm gonna be late,” you mumble.
“worth it.”
you try to hold eye contact.
fail.
look down.
he notices.
of course he does.
his other hand comes up.
hooks lightly at your waist.
“will -” you whisper, glancing around, “people -”
“i don’t care.”
your face heats up.
“…i do.”
he smiles.
soft.
not teasing this time.
“just for a second,” he murmurs.
you hesitate.
then -
you don’t pull away.
his thumb brushes lightly over your wrist.
back and forth.
absent.
“you good?” he asks quietly.
you nod.
“…yeah.”
“promise?”
you glance up at him, “…yeah.”
he studies you for a second.
like he’s actually checking.
then nods.
“okay.”
he lets go of your wrist.
but not your waist.
you should step back.
you don’t.
“…i should go,” you say.
“yeah.”
neither of you move.
“…you’re still holding me,” you point out.
“i know.”
you huff a small laugh.
“…you’re ridiculous.”
“you like it.”
you don’t answer.
he grins.
then finally -
he leans in.
quick.
soft.
he presses a kiss just barely to the side of your head.
and pulls back like nothing happened.
“go,” he says.
you stare at him.
“you’re insane.”
“probably.”
you shake your head.
but you’re smiling now.
“…bye.”
“bye.”
you turn.
start walking.
get maybe five steps -
“hey!”
you turn back.
he’s still standing there.
watching you.
“…yeah?”
he shrugs, “nothing.”
you narrow your eyes.
“…you’re so weird.”
“and you’re still looking at me.”
you roll your eyes.
turn back around.
but your smile doesn’t go away the whole way down the hall.
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warnings: uncle gabe and uncle ryan make their first appearance!!
the airport is loud, but everything feels a little quieter in your own little bubble.
sienna is tucked against your chest in a soft wrap, her tiny body warm and impossibly small, her head resting just under your chin.
she had been in and out of sleep the whole flight, one little hand curled into the fabric of your hoodie like she knows exactly where she belongs.
will walks beside you through the crowded areas, one hand on your back, the other gripping your bag, eyes flicking down to sienna every few seconds like he still can’t believe she’s real.
“she okay?” he asks softly.
you nod, adjusting the wrap just a little, “she’s perfect.”
he smiles at that, something soft and a little overwhelmed flickering across his face.
it’s been a long few months.
his rookie season in san jose.
you at home with a newborn.
late-night calls, missed moments, trying to figure out how to be parents while everything else is moving too fast.
and now -
now you’re here.
back in boston.
back with the people who knew you before everything changed.
---
gabe is the first one to spot you.
you don’t even see him at first, too focused on keeping sienna settled, but suddenly there’s a voice -
“no way.”
you look up.
and there he is.
gabe freezes mid-step, eyes locked on the tiny bundle against your chest like he’s trying to process what he’s seeing.
ryan is right behind him, and he has almost the exact same expression.
“…that’s her,” will says quietly, a small, proud smile pulling at his lips.
gabe lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair.
“that’s -” he stops, shaking his head, “that’s crazy.”
ryan steps a little closer, slower, like he doesn’t want to startle her.
“…she’s so small,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.
you smile, carefully shifting the wrap so they can see her better.
“this is sienna,” you say gently.
like they don’t already know.
like they haven’t been waiting for this.
gabe crouches down slightly, trying to get closer to her level.
“…hi sienna,” he says, like she might answer him.
she stirs just a little, her tiny face scrunching for a second before relaxing again, still half asleep.
ryan exhales softly, “…she’s real.”
will lets out a quiet laugh, “yeah. she’s real.”
there’s something in his voice.
something proud.
something a little disbelieving.
---
it doesn’t take long before they’re all walking out together, the conversation a mix of chaos and awe.
“i still can’t believe you guys have a baby,” gabe says, shaking his head.
“we can’t either,” you admit, smiling softly.
“no, like actually,” ryan adds, glancing at will, “you’re someone’s dad.”
will rolls his eyes a little, but he’s smiling, “yeah, i got that part.”
“that’s insane,” gabe says.
“you’re insane,” will shoots back.
---
later, back at the house they shared as freshman, everything slows down.
sienna is finally awake, blinking up at the new space, her tiny hands stretching as she makes soft little noises.
you sit on the couch with her, carefully holding her while the boys hover nearby like they don’t know what to do with themselves.
“you can hold her,” you say gently.
gabe’s eyes widen immediately, “oh, no.”
“yes,” you laugh softly.
ryan looks just as unsure, “…what if i drop her?”
“you won’t drop her,” will says.
“how do you know?”
“because i trust you,” he replies simply.
that’s what gets them.
---
gabe goes first.
very carefully.
like she’s made of glass.
you guide her into his arms, adjusting his hold, making sure her head is supported.
“…like this?” he asks, barely breathing.
“like that,” you confirm.
he looks down at her, completely still.
and then -
something in his expression shifts.
softens.
“…hi,” he whispers again.
sienna blinks up at him, eyes wide, curious, completely unaware of how big this moment is.
gabe lets out the smallest laugh, “she’s looking at me.”
“yeah,” ryan says quietly, “she is.”
---
ryan doesn’t wait long after that.
“okay, my turn,” he says, already moving closer.
gabe glares at him, “i just got her.”
“and now it’s my turn.”
you laugh, carefully passing sienna over again.
ryan holds her just as carefully, maybe even more nervous, his hands steady but his expression completely overwhelmed.
“…hey,” he says softly.
she makes a tiny noise, her hand curling slightly against his shirt.
he freezes.
“…she grabbed me,” he says, eyes wide.
will laughs quietly from across the room, “yeah, she does that.”
ryan looks down at her like she just did something incredible.
“that’s crazy,” he whispers.
you watch all of it from the couch, your heart full in that overwhelming, quiet way.
this -
this is what you wanted.
your worlds coming together.
the people who matter most, all in one place.
will sits beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.
“they love her,” he murmurs.
you glance at him, smiling softly.
“of course they do.”
he looks at sienna, then at them, something warm settling in his chest.
“…she’s got a lot of people,” he says.
“she does,” you agree.
---
across the room, gabe and ryan are still arguing quietly about whose turn it is.
“you’ve had her longer,” gabe says.
“no, i haven’t,” ryan argues.
“you have.”
“i haven’t.”
sienna makes a soft little sound between them.
both of them immediately go quiet.
“…hi,” they say at the same time.
you laugh softly, leaning into will just a little.
everything feels full.
complete.
like even with all the distance, all the change, all the growing up too fast -
the bell above the salon door chimes softly when will pushes it open, and sienna pauses immediately at his side.
her small hand tightens in his, fingers curling into his like she might disappear if she lets go.
it’s not loud in here, not overwhelming, just the low hum of blow dryers, quiet conversation, the occasional laugh. still, it’s enough to make her hesitate.
she leans just a little closer into will’s leg.
“hey,” he murmurs, crouching down beside her, voice soft enough that it feels like it’s just for her, “you okay, bug?”
she nods, but it’s small. her eyes flick around the room, catching the mirrors, the chairs, the other stylists moving around.
“…they’re looking,” she whispers.
will glances up for a second, then back at her, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.
“yeah,” he says gently, “they are.”
her grip tightens.
he reaches up, brushing his thumb softly across the back of her hand, “you know why?”
she shakes her head.
“because you’re the prettiest girl in here,” he says simply.
she blinks up at him, considering that.
“and,” he adds, lowering his voice just a little, “because your mommy works here. that makes you pretty important.”
that gets a small reaction. her shoulders relax just a little.
“…okay,” she says quietly.
he smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before standing again, “c’mon. let’s go find her.”
and then you look up.
you’re in the middle of wiping down your station when you see them, and your entire face softens instantly.
it’s immediate.
like everything else fades for a second.
“hi, my girl,” you say, already walking toward them, hands open.
sienna doesn’t even hesitate this time. she lets go of will and runs straight to you.
“mommy!”
you laugh softly, catching her and lifting her up against your hip, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then another just because you can, “hi, baby. i missed you.”
“i missed you too,” she mumbles, suddenly a little shy now that she’s close, her face tucking into your shoulder.
you sway with her gently, one hand smoothing over her back, grounding her, keeping her close, “you came to see me at work today?”
she nods against you.
“and it’s haircut day,” will adds from behind you, stepping a little closer, hands in his hoodie pocket.
you glance at him, smiling, something soft passing between you, “is it?”
he nods.
“it is.”
you shift sienna slightly, pulling back just enough to look at her, “are we doing a big girl trim today?”
she nods again, a little more confident now, fingers still curled lightly into your shirt.
you grin, “okay. let’s get you set up.”
---
you settle her into your chair, lifting her carefully and spinning her just a little as you do.
she lets out a tiny giggle, her shoulders lifting with it.
“again,” she says immediately.
you laugh, steadying the chair, “after the haircut, i promise.”
she nods, satisfied with that deal.
you drape the cape over her, making sure it’s not too tight, your fingers gentle as you adjust it around her shoulders, tucking her in like it’s second nature.
“comfortable?”
“mhm.”
will shifts a little closer, leaning against the counter, not too far, never too far.
you start sectioning her hair, your hands moving automatically, carefully, like you’ve done this a thousand times. her soft, dark coils spring under your fingers, full and healthy and perfect.
“look at these curls,” you murmur, a little in awe even now.
will watches through the mirror, his expression softening.
“yeah,” he says quietly, “she definitely didn’t get those from me.”
you glance over at him with a smile.
“nope. all me.”
sienna perks up instantly, “from mommy?”
“from mommy,” you confirm, nodding.
she beams at her reflection, shoulders lifting slightly with pride, her smile wide and unfiltered.
will’s gaze lingers on her a second longer.
like he’s memorizing it.
---
“okay,” you say gently, picking up your scissors, “just a trim, alright?”
she watches you carefully through the mirror, serious now.
“just a trim,” she repeats.
will snorts quietly.
you shoot him a look over her head, “don’t laugh.”
“i’m not laughing,” he says, though his grin gives him away.
“this is very important,” you whisper dramatically.
sienna nods in agreement, “very important.”
he holds his hands up in surrender, “i know, i know.”
---
you start trimming slowly, explaining each step as you go.
“just taking a little off the ends,” you say, letting her see the tiny pieces fall, “see? nothing crazy.”
she watches closely, then nods, “okay.”
after a few minutes, she relaxes into the chair, her feet swinging gently, the initial nerves gone.
“mommy?”
“yeah, baby?”
“can i have a lollipop after?”
you smile, “of course you can.”
“two?”
will laughs under his breath.
you raise an eyebrow, “we’ll start with one.”
she considers that, lips pressing together.
“…okay.”
---
halfway through, she starts talking more, her words spilling out in little bursts.
about something she saw earlier.
about a story she made up.
about something that doesn’t quite make sense but matters anyway.
you listen to every word, humming softly, asking little questions, your attention fully on her.
your hands never stop moving.
will just watches.
the way you lean in when she talks.
the way you nod like every word matters.
the way sienna lights up under it.
it settles in his chest quietly.
deep.
that this.
this is everything.
---
“i look pretty,” sienna says suddenly, tilting her head at her reflection.
you don’t even pause, “you always look pretty.”
will nods, “the prettiest.”
she grins, ducking her head just a little, pleased in that soft, shy way.
---
when you finish, you take a step back, fluffing her curls lightly, letting them fall into place around her face.
you adjust one piece, then another, stepping back again like you’re checking your work.
“okay,” you say softly, “all done.”
she tilts her head, examining herself from one side to the other, very serious about it.
“…i like it,” she decides.
you laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, “good. i’m glad.”
will pushes off the counter and walks over, crouching in front of her, “can i see?”
she turns toward him dramatically, like she’s been waiting for this moment.
he pretends to gasp, hand over his mouth, “wow. who is that?”
she giggles instantly, “daddy!”
“that can’t be my kid,” he continues. “she’s way too pretty.”
she squeals, and he lifts her out of the chair, holding her close, like he can’t help himself.
“what am i gonna do with you?”
“keep me,” she says simply, like it’s obvious.
his expression softens immediately, something deeper settling in his eyes.
“always,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then another.
she curls into him easily, like she belongs there.
---
you clean up your station, brushing away the tiny curls, but your eyes keep drifting back to them.
to sienna in his arms.
to the way she plays with the strings of his hoodie.
to the way he looks at her like she’s everything.
like she’s yours.
like this is yours.
you walk back over, reaching up to gently fix one last curl near her face, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“my girl,” you murmur.
she smiles at you, then leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.
“thank you, mommy.”
your heart melts instantly, something warm spreading through your chest.
“anytime, baby.”
will looks at you over her shoulder.
and it’s quiet.
no teasing.
no joking.
just something full.
steady.
real.
you reach out without thinking, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm.
warnings: heavy themes, unplanned pregnancy, emotional overwhelm
a/n: this is one of those quiet, heavy ones. please read with care 🤍
it’s late april, but it doesn’t feel like spring. not really. the air through the cracked window is still cool, carrying that leftover bite from winter, and everything feels stuck somewhere in between - like nothing has fully moved on yet.
it’s been a few weeks since the national championship.
a few weeks since the loss.
and even now, it still lingers in the room in quiet ways -
the way will’s gear hasn’t been fully put away, the way his schedule suddenly feels empty, the way everything that used to be so structured now just - isn’t.
there’s too much space.
too much time to think.
---
you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, hands in your lap, staring at nothing.
the test is on his desk.
you don’t look at it.
you already did.
twice.
three times.
it didn’t change.
---
“maybe it’s wrong,” you say quietly, your voice barely there, like if you say it too loud it’ll settle into something permanent.
will doesn’t answer right away.
he’s standing across the room, one hand braced against the wall, the other dragging slowly through his hair like he’s trying to ground himself.
“we can take another one,” you add quickly, “like - there’s probably something wrong with it. maybe it’s just -”
you stop, because you don’t believe that. not even a little.
“they’re usually right,” he says finally, soft, careful.
it lands heavy.
you nod once, then again, like agreeing will make it easier.
it doesn’t.
“okay,” you whisper, but the word feels empty.
okay what?
okay how?
the room falls quiet again, thick and suffocating.
outside, somewhere down the street, someone laughs.
it feels distant.
like it belongs to a different world.
---
“i don’t -” you start, and your voice cracks immediately. you press your lips together, shaking your head like you can stop it before it gets worse. you can’t.
“i don’t know what to do,” you whisper, and it’s the most honest thing you’ve said all day.
will’s head drops for a second.
just a second.
but you see it.
he pushes off the wall and crosses the room slowly, like every step takes effort, like the space between you suddenly feels too big. he sits in front of you, knees brushing yours, his hands hovering before they settle over yours.
they’re warm. steady. even if he’s not.
“hey,” he says quietly.
you don’t look at him.
you can’t.
“look at me,” he murmurs.
you shake your head immediately, “i can’t.”
your chest feels tight, your breathing uneven, everything too much all at once.
“i can’t do this,” you say, your voice breaking.
“i can’t, will, i don’t - i don’t know how to do this.”
he swallows hard, because he doesn’t know either.
not really.
but he can’t say that right now.
---
“we’ll figure it out,” he says, automatic, instinct.
you shake your head faster, “don’t say that.”
he stills, “why?”
“because you don’t know that,” you say, finally looking at him, tears spilling over now.
“you don’t know anything right now and neither do i and i’m scared and i don’t -” your voice breaks completely.
he feels it in his chest, sharp.
---
“hey,” he says quickly, his hands tightening around yours, “hey, it’s okay -”
“no, it’s not,” you choke out, “this isn’t okay.”
that lands.
because it’s true.
he exhales slowly, his grip loosening just slightly before his hand shifts to your arm instead.
“i know,” he says quietly.
this time, it’s honest. not fixing it. not softening it. just sitting in it with you.
you let out a shaky breath, your shoulders starting to tremble.
“everything was already messed up,” you whisper.
he frowns slightly, “…what do you mean?”
you laugh, but it’s small and broken.
“the season,” you say.
“you losing. everything being over. you don’t even know what you’re doing next year and now this just -” you gesture weakly toward the desk, “this just gets added on top of it.”
your voice cracks again, “like we didn’t even get a second to figure anything out.”
he looks down for a second, jaw tightening. because you’re right.
everything already felt uncertain.
this just… made it real.
---
“i’m eighteen,” you whisper suddenly, like it’s hitting you all over again.
your voice is small, almost disbelieving, “i’m literally eighteen.”
his chest tightens.
“we're freshman,” you continue, tears slipping faster now. “like… we just got to school, we don’t even know what we're doing yet and now we're supposed to -” you shake your head, overwhelmed.
“how are we supposed to be someone’s parents when we still feel like kids?”
---
he doesn’t have an answer.
no one does.
---
“hey,” he says softly, his hand coming up to your cheek, wiping at your tears, “hey, look at me.”
you do.
barely.
his expression is steady, but there’s something underneath it now, something cracked open, something scared that he’s trying so hard to hold together for you.
“you’re not doing this alone,” he says.
your lip trembles, “you don’t know that.”
he nods slightly, “pretty i know.”
and it’s honest.
it makes your chest ache more.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he adds, quieter now, steadier, like this is the one thing he can promise in a moment where nothing else feels certain.
you search his face.
“…promise?”
his jaw tightens for just a second.
then he nods, “promise.”
---
you break again, softer this time, your forehead pressing into his shoulder as your hands grip his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
he wraps his arms around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm against your back, like if he holds you tight enough, none of this will completely fall apart.
because he’s scared too.
he just won’t say it yet.
---
he presses his cheek against your hair, eyes closing briefly before he steadies himself again.
for you.
---
“we’ll take it one step at a time,” he murmurs.
not fixing it.
not solving it.
just surviving this moment.
you nod against him, even though you don’t believe it yet.
the test is still sitting on the desk.
unchanged.
unforgiving.
real.
and the room feels smaller than it did before.
like everything shifted in a way you can’t undo.
like the future you thought you had just - slipped out from under you.
but his arms are still around you.
your hands are still holding onto him.
and for right now -
that’s the only thing keeping either of you from completely falling apart.
