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2022 nhl all-star - feb 4, 2022

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2025 IIHF Ice Hockey World Championship Canada vs France | May 13, 2025

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Macklin Celebrini reading the line-up for game against France 2025.05.13

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JOE BURROW & JA'MARR CHASE Offseason Workouts - Phase 2 | May 13, 2025

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OH MY GOD

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oooh for a fic what about something fluffy where mack gets flustered and shy every time will compliments him/calls him a pet name and will obviously picks up on this and starts doing it more to tease him

like mack isn’t used to non-hockey related compliments so he just blue screens 💀

yes!!! mack always deserves to be showered with compliments <3 will is more than happy to dish them out :) fic under the cut!🩵

It starts as a joke.

Will doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He’s just messing around—like always—when he tosses a wink over his shoulder in the locker room and says, “Nice shot today, sweetheart.”

Mack flinches like he’s been shot.

Which is wild, because this is the same guy who chirps vets without blinking, who throws reverse hits like he’s got a death wish, who once got into a shoving match with a defenseman twice his size just because the guy touched Will a little too hard behind the net.

But now he’s frozen mid-lace-up, ears going red.

Will turns fully around. “Did you just short-circuit?”

“No,” Mack mumbles, not looking at him.

“Oh my god.” Will grins. “You did.”

“I didn’t.” Mack’s tying his skates so fast now it’s like a safety hazard.

Will walks over, crouches next to the bench. “Hey.”

Mack glares at his own knee pads like they personally offended him.

Will leans in. “You okay, baby?”

Mack chokes.

“Okay,” Will laughs, “now I’m doing it on purpose.”

Mack shoves him. It’s half-hearted, all show. His face is so red it’s almost impressive.

Will tucks that reaction into his back pocket for later.

⸻

It becomes a game.

They’re best friends, after all. That’s what they tell everyone. Room together on the road, skate together in the offseason, finish each other’s sentences like some bizarre hockey romcom.

So Will starts sprinkling pet names into casual conversation. Nothing too wild—just little things, said sweet and offhand like he’s not waiting to see Mack fall apart every single time.

“Morning, angel,” he says when Mack stumbles into the kitchen with bedhead and one sock on.

“You’re unreal out there, babe,” he says after practice, smacking Mack’s butt with his glove.

“Pass me the tape, gorgeous?”

And every time, every time, Mack reacts like someone pulled the fire alarm in his brain.

He stammers. Trips over words. Avoids eye contact like it’s contagious.

Will lives for it.

“Why do you do this to me,” Mack mutters one day, head buried in his hands as Will chirps him for turning pink at “handsome.”

Will leans on the counter, sipping his coffee. “Because you’re cute when you malfunction.”

“I don’t malfunction.”

“You do, though. It’s endearing.”

Mack groans into his palms.

⸻

It’s not just the names.

Will starts giving real compliments too, casually dropped into conversation like they don’t mean anything.

“You looked so good in that pregame suit, by the way,” he says, scrolling through photos on his phone. “Your tie matched your eyes.”

Mack swallows. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

“You have really nice hands,” Will adds a few days later, watching Mack wrap a stick. “I noticed when you were braiding your sister’s hair. It was cute.”

Mack goes silent for a full ten seconds.

Will raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

Mack just nods, ears red, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“You know,” Will says, dropping his chin into his palm, “most guys say ‘thank you’ when someone compliments them.”

“I don’t know how,” Mack blurts, then immediately covers his face. “God. Forget I said that.”

Will pauses.

Then: “Wait. You really don’t?”

Mack shrugs helplessly, cheeks flaming. “I mean, people say stuff about my shot or my backcheck or whatever. But not—like—my hands or—my face or whatever it is you keep—saying.”

Will stares at him. “Mack.”

“What?”

“You’re telling me,” Will says, slow and disbelieving, “no one’s ever told you you’re beautiful before?”

Mack groans. “Stop.”

“No. No, I will not stop. This is a travesty. A crime. I’m calling the authorities.”

Mack tries to escape the conversation by throwing himself backward onto the couch and groaning into a pillow. Will follows him.

“Mack,” he says again, sing-song. “Beautiful, beautiful Macklin. The shyest menace alive.”

Mack doesn’t move. “I’m going to bury myself in the ice and never come out.”

Will flops on top of him. “Too late. I’m here now. Your official compliment dealer. You get, like, three a day minimum.”

“Help,” Mack mumbles into the cushion.

Will snickers, curling into his side. “You’re lucky I like you.”

And then Mack goes very still.

Will blinks.

“Oh,” he says, softly. “Uh. I mean like—like-like. You know. Besties. Buds. Bros.”

Mack shifts under him. “Yeah?”

Will’s heart stutters. “…Maybe.”

Mack rolls his head sideways. His face is still red, but he’s smiling now. Just a little.

“Will,” he says, voice quiet, warm, a little breathless.

Will raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Mack meets his eyes. “You’re beautiful too.”

Will blue screens.

Silence.

Then: “You’re not allowed to turn it around on me!”

Mack laughs—really laughs, face buried in Will’s neck, shaking with it.

And Will? He can’t even be mad.

He just smiles, heart fluttering, and thinks: damn.

♡

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fussy princess and her new stick boy

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[231226 FIN VS. CAN] macklin celebrini watches a replay and calls goal; the officials confirm and team canada converges to celebrate their youngest member's first goal of the tournament

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hi!! would you be willing to write any more alpha will / omega mack?? i love all of your omegaverse fics, but reallly loved that one you wrote!

yes of course!! leaning into mack’s brattiness here lol, it’s on my mind after that video with his awards! alpha will’s the only one who can control it ;)🩵

The thing about Mack is—he’s not a bad omega.

He’s just bratty as hell.

Will figures it out about two weeks after they room together for prospect camp. They’re both rookies, new to the league, new to the Sharks, shoved into a hotel room and just enough space to barely tolerate each other.

Except Will does tolerate Mack. He likes him, even.

But Mack? Mack is a menace.

He slams cabinets when he’s annoyed. Picks fights at practice when drills run too long. Huffs and glares when people get in his space—and he’s mouthy, which is the worst part. He’s got this look, all narrowed eyes and defiant chin, and Will swears he only uses it when he knows it’ll get a rise out of him.

Which. Fine.

Will doesn’t mind the attitude.

He minds when Mack aims it at him.

Like now.

“You ate my protein bars,” Mack says, standing in the room in an old pair of sweats and a hoodie that may or may not be Will’s. His scent is high and sour with irritation.

Will, halfway through his third one, shrugs. “They were in our cupboard.”

“They were mine.”

Will lifts a brow. “You wanna fight about it?”

Mack steps closer. He’s small—smaller than Will, but he squares his shoulders like he isn’t. “Maybe I do.”

Will stares at him, chewing slowly. He can feel Mack’s brattiness bubbling, just below the surface. The way he’s scenting sharp and pissy. The way his cheeks are flushed, pupils a little wide.

This isn’t really about protein bars. It’s about whatever stressball is wound tight inside Mack’s chest today. Practice. Media. Coach snapping at him during film review.

Mack’s always been like this—louder when he’s overwhelmed, pricklier when he needs comfort.

Most alphas don’t get it.

Will does.

He tosses the wrapper, wipes his fingers on his sweatpants, and says, calm and even, “You gonna keep acting like this, little omega?”

Mack’s mouth drops open. “Don’t call me that.”

Will tilts his head. “Why not?”

“You know why,” Mack snaps.

Will steps forward. “No, I don’t think I do. Want to tell me, sweetheart?”

Mack makes a strangled noise. His scent spikes—clove and heat, heady and angry and deeply flustered.

Will smiles. “You’re being real loud for someone who’s one whiff away from being sweet again.”

“Fuck off,” Mack hisses.

And that’s when Will moves.

Not fast. Not aggressive.

Just close.

He crowds into Mack’s space until the kitchen counter is at Mack’s back and Will’s chest is at his front, and they’re breathing the same air. Mack bristles, stubborn as ever—but his bottom lip trembles, just for a second, and his scent shifts—still sharp, still bratty, but threaded now with need.

Will leans down, brushes the bridge of his nose along Mack’s jaw. Not touching anywhere else.

Just scent.

Just enough to remind Mack who he’s dealing with.

“You done yet?” Will murmurs.

Mack doesn’t answer.

So Will goes for the kill.

He presses his scent gland directly against Mack’s cheek, jaw flexed, breath warm, and lets out a slow exhale of pheromones—grounding, dominant, alpha.

Mack melts.

Not instantly—he fights it, of course he does—but Will’s scent hits him hard. Mack’s eyes flutter closed, his fists clench in Will’s hoodie, and his knees wobble just the tiniest bit.

“There it is,” Will whispers, amused.

Mack breathes in again, slower this time. His whole body softens. His scent quiets, rolling over into calm-spicy and pliant, like a switch flipped.

Will grins against his skin. “You gonna behave now, baby?”

Mack growls. It’s pathetic. Muffled. Half-hearted. “You’re such a smug asshole.”

Will noses into his hair. “You love it.”

Mack doesn’t respond.

Because his face is now pressed directly against Will’s neck, mouth just shy of the alpha scent gland, breathing deep like he needs it to survive. Which, honestly—he kind of does. Will’s scent has always worked on him like nothing else. The only one who can short-circuit Mack’s tantrums. The only one who can make him feel safe and settled and seen without saying much at all.

Will strokes a hand down Mack’s spine. “That’s better.”

Mack mumbles something into his hoodie.

“What was that?” Will teases.

“I said,” Mack lifts his head enough to glare weakly, “you’re so fuckin’ full of yourself.”

Will smirks. “You say that like you didn’t just bury your face in my neck like a little heat-drunk pup.”

Mack scowls. “Don’t call me—”

“Little omega,” Will says again, low and warm.

Mack swats at him, scent blooming with flustered heat, and Will catches his wrist easily, kisses the inside of it.

“You’re impossible,” Mack mutters.

“You love it,” Will says again, even softer.

Mack looks at him for a long moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. Quiet. Honest.

Will’s grin softens into something real. “Yeah,” he echoes, nuzzling close again. “I know.”

They stay like that for a while—Mack tucked into Will’s chest, scent mellow, the tension long gone.

And later, when they’re curled up on the couch and Will starts nosing into Mack’s hair again just to watch him blush and whine—

Mack only complains a little.

♡

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in the comments of the IIHF willmack tiktok

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#WHATISGOINGON

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yes i do, in fact, want to fucking die thanks for asking

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team canada in the house

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© Lachlan Cunningham

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i don’t even know what to say

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5 macks & 1 will