hi guys, im cam and im from chicago! im very passionate about hockey and sports in general. i love the bears and the cubs. i love music, reading, and writing. i love a lot of minnesota + bay area sports because i have family there hehe. i also love umich sports because fam went there and i grew up going to my lake house in mich every summer.
my fav hockey players! : jason robertson, nick schmaltz, porter martone, connor bedard, macklin celebrini, patrick kane, cole caufield, evan bouchard, anton frondell, nick suzuki, matt boldy, hughes (all) lots more
my fav teams!: hawks, habs, sharks. (i also love utah and dallas, just not a fan!)
other fav teams!: min frost, chi bears, chi cubs, min timberwolves, umich (all sports)
this is mostly a hockey account but i will post random other stuff occasionally! i write x reader fics only because i believe that ones where you ship players are weird. please dni if you ship willmack or any ship regarding two nhl players. i will write smut only if requested. i will not write smut for any player not 21+. please keep your requests civil and don’t make it overly freaked out. thank you! 💗
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.
synopsis: with everything going on with connor, you're feeling stressed. luckily, he's one to know a thing or two about stress relief.
warnings: none
wc: 517
After a long week dealing first with Connor’s injury, then with his surgery, saying you were tired was an understatement. You were caught up in a whirlwind of back-to-back medical appointments, driving him there and back and there again. It was exhausting trying to stay calm for him, to be the rock holding him down in such a stressful time. Everything was happening so fast, and you just wanted to numb your mind for once.
It happened in Vancouver: an awkward fall on his shoulder against the boards. You immediately had to fly back to Chicago, completely disrupting your summer plans. Then the calls with the team came, and the appointments were scheduled. His unsigned contract left on the kitchen counter right next to the open bottle of painkillers. It was all too much for you. The stress was eating you alive.
“Hey, babe?” he calls out from his spot on the sofa, sitting right up on doctor’s orders to prevent pulling on his shoulder joint.
“Yeah?” You call back from the kitchen. You were trying to get some work done while eating a snack. You had been glued to your seat at the island for an hour. Or two. Time flew by too fast to count the hours. You hesitated as you stood up and walked over. Injured boyfriend needs.
“Literally just come here. I swear to god, you’ve been at it for three hours. I know how fucking stressed you are, baby, so let me take care of you.” He took your hand in his. Large and warm.
“Con, you’re the one with the fucked up shoulder. I should be taking care of you.” You argued.
“Wow, thanks for reminding me.” He rolled his eyes, “That doesn’t matter right now, Y/N. You mean so much more to me than my stupid shoulder ever will. I love you, and I want you to be happy. If you’re stressed, I’m stressed. That’s what we’re all about. So, Y/N, my love, the light of my life: forget about my stupid shoulder and please give me a kiss. You’re so fucking strong, baby.” He squeezes your hand.
You release his hand from your grip, careful not to disturb his left shoulder (currently in a sling, cryotherapy unit attached) as you leaned in. You cupped his face, staring into his deep blue eyes, gaze turned on the stupid smirk on his face. Finally, you kissed him, eyes fluttering close. As you did, all the stress and tension building up inside of you seemed to have disappeared. All the thoughts racing through your mind went away. Everything numbed, and the only thing in your brain was Connor. His weird hockey player scent filled your nostrils, and everything was Connor. You were completely enthralled by him. The kiss deepened, and as it finally ended, you felt strangely lighter.
You looked into his eyes once again, and then glanced at his shoulder, letting out a small giggle. There was too much going on there, with the sling and cryotherapy unit.
hi guys this is not hockey related but GOD am I devastated about the bears loss today. I HAD HOPE 💔
i just really needed to get that off my chest lol. ALSO PLEASE SEND REQUESTS GUYS I LOWKEY CANNOT THINK OF ANYTHING. horrible writers block rn, don't be afraid to request..
i wanted to request something with will smith hockey where reader surprises him at a game after being away for a couple of weeks? thank uuu
i am great! thank you so much for asking! also, i love this idea so ofc i had to write it. i hope you loveeee!! 💘
surprising him at his game || ws2
warnings: none!
wc: 687
You hadn’t seen Will in weeks. You were a well-known model, and this month was a particularly busy one for you. Everyday was another shoot. From New York to Milan, one thing had been set straight. You totally missed your boyfriend. And he missed you too. You’d only seen his face through video calls and pictures, and you yearned to be able to feel the warmth of his arms around your waist after he won a game. You missed giving him good luck kisses before games, and all you could think about between each shoot was the touch of his lips on yours. But your job is your job, and when duty calls, you must answer. Even if the duty is a stupid photoshoot in the ugliest outfit imagined.
Finally, after what felt like months of constant travel and endless photoshoots, you decided to book a flight back home in San Jose. You were supposed to be back a few days later, but one of your shoots was canceled (thank god) and you were planning on surprising Will. Scrolling through your phone at flights, you found one for tonight. Perfect!
As soon as you hit the purchase button, you grinned, excited to see Will again. You decided not to tell him you were coming back so soon because what’s more fun than a little surprise? You decided you’d go to his home game tomorrow night. You’d wear his jersey, and his favorite lipstick. The plan was set, and you spent the rest of the day you had before the flight giggling and thinking about how he would react. Maybe he’d play better knowing you were in the stands. He’d texted you every time he had a game, complaining how he played worse knowing you weren’t there watching him, even though you had tried your best watching every game on the TV. Maybe your smile, your lips red with his favorite lipstick, and the jersey on your back, his name on it, would fuel him. Maybe they’d win after a streak of losses Will credits to you not being there. One could only hope.
The next day, you got dressed in your room. Pulling his jersey over your head and paring it with your jeans, you looked at yourself in the full body mirror. You knew Will would love seeing you in his jersey. He always did. It was a reminder that you were his, and not anyone else’s. His last name, his number, on your back. Not Mack’s, not Eky’s, not anyone else’s. His.
You did your makeup, applied your red lipstick, the one he loved because it left marks on his face, and you curled your long hair. You were so excited to see him again, and you knew he would be excited too.
As soon as you entered SAP Center, you felt the energy from the thousands of Sharks fans in the arena. You were so ecstatic for this game, and you knew as soon as Will saw you, he’d play better than ever. The game started, and surprisingly, Will had gone the whole first period without noticing you were there. You noticed the grave expression in his face, knowing as soon as he noticed you it would light up.
During the second half, your gazes met. His expression immediately brightened, and the look in his eyes brought the biggest smile to your face. You cheered for him as he scored a goal, knowing it was because he saw you in the stands, wearing his jersey with a grin on your face.
The Sharks ended up winning that day, and as soon as he saw you after the game, he ran up to you and hugged you.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.” He mumbled, with his face in the crook of your neck.
“That was kinda the point, babe.” He immediately lifted his head at that last word. Babe. You know how crazy it made him when you said that, hence why you added that last bit.
“Oh, when we get home just know I am going to ruin you.” He smirked.
