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@backtoboston271
intro!
she/her
sjs enthusiast
willmack + samisa
capitals season tickets
washington figure skating club (i skate at the same rink as the caps so i have some stories)
i tag all my actual writing under hockey rpf
don’t take anything here too seriously it’s all for fun!
And then you turned to me and stared into me deep And said “Well, maybe not, cause look at what I’ve got You might not be my love, but, baby, I doubt it” … Cause in your pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be
willmack x thoroughfare by Ethel Cain
i've been so fascinated by the colleen of it all, and i think i just cracked it...
colleen isn't a boy mom, she's a girl mom
she wanted two girls so she got two girls and she raised will the exact same way that she raised grace
it probably doesn't help that he seems to be surrounded by female cousins
it explains why i never picked up on that weird sexual undertone from her that boy moms usually have, she's the kind of overbearing a girl mom is
that is a mother daughter relationship, i bet will could relate to ladybird
it would explain her following him around the country, first during the NTDP and now at the sharks, that's her baby girl
it would explain the way will's ideas of hanging out and bonding are soooo girl coded, going for dinners, gossiping at coffee shops, the matching outfits
and his boy harem indulged him
i've said before that will is pretty and quirky enough to trigger the manic pixie dream girl effect in boys, which explains his boy harem, but being socialised like a girl adds so much to that
will smith hockey kinda filled the role of only girl in a boy friendgroup
he is his mothers male daughter
thank you will smith hockey for existing so i can project my religious discomfort and guilt onto you. oh and so i can make you kiss your boybestfriend. as god breathes against your neck and looks down on you.
when a pretty boy touches ur hand and u get so overwhelmed u gotta wiggle about it
Wsh is like a dog that was bred for its looks with no consideration for its quality of life
he’s not a regular dad he’s a cool dad
NCAA Frozen Four Championship | 04.13.24
rick celebrini following obama #thatsdada
will wearing 9 in juniors. leno wearing 9 at bc. will wearing 6 at bc. mack wearing 9 and then 96 at worlds. will wearing 43 with the ntdp. gabe wearing 34 at bc. will wearing 43 for worlds.
will wearing 2 in juniors. will wearing 2 in the nhl.
giving very much if you crack open my chest and dig around in my ribcage you will find a photograph of us asleep against each other in the back of my mom's car. very much it doesn't matter how far you drift away from me because a part of me is now a part of you, the version of me with baby teeth and a fear of the dark lives somewhere in the space between your collarbone and neck now and always will. giving very much i wish we were sixteen again and you meant me and me meant us and our lives didnt "overlap," they were stacked on top of each other like books on a shelf, like coasters on a table.
it’s just 9 and 43 and 2 and 6. but it’s also not. it’s also: i remember you like this. i remember you when you were still trying to figure out how to tape your stick right. i remember you before the agents and the media scrums and the drafted bys. it’s: you were there when i was still checking for beard hair. i was there when you missed home so bad you cried.
now it's 9 is mine but it still touches you. now it's 43 and 34 and 43 and 34 and sometimes i lay awake and look through old photos and imagine that we're still interchangeable. now it's somebody else is wearing pieces of us on his back, 96 out there with a decade of secret history streaking across the ice. now it's i was 2 once and i can be 2 again and i can leave and come back and leave and come back but 2 is right there waiting for me in the way that you used to.
omega will smith has hated his designation for as long as he can remember.
he was taught to hate it, all the way back in sunday school, when he was still young enough to sit cross-legged on a colorful rug with his hands folded in his lap and pray that god would be merciful enough to never make him something as sinful as a male omega.
but the prayers didn’t work, and the lessons didn't stop.
if anything, they only got worse after he presented in the ntdp, when suddenly everyone had something to say about what he was, who he was. they laughed at him, spat at him, made him skate bag skates when his heat was only hours away, when even will could barely stand the sweetness of his own scent and his thoughts had dissolved into something soft and hazy beneath the painful heat crawling up his cheeks, his chest, his stomach.
he remembers begging to go home, remembers swaying in a locker room with his full gear still on, trying to explain to coach that he needed to call his mom, that something was wrong, that he needed to leave, while leonard and perrault and fowler were nowhere near him to make it stop. coach had only laughed, rolled his eyes, reached up and caught the cage of will’s helmet in his hand and—
and will is older now.
he lets his hair grow out, goes to a church that doesn’t spend a week’s worth of homilies examining leviticus 20:13, and lets his lavender scent fill the locker room a little more now that he’s with the sharks.
now that he’s with macklin.
macklin is an alpha. mack smells like cedarwood and clean soap and the sharp edge of adrenaline after a game. he doesn’t wake up every morning and count out heat suppressants into his palm. he doesn’t have to wonder whether his body is going to betray him at the worst possible time. he gets to be an alpha without ever having to think about what that means.
sometimes will envies him so badly it hurts. but the envy is almost always swallowed by something worse, something softer, something that looks a lot like love.
it's almost terrifying, because mack loves him back, and will has never quite figured out what to do with that.
mack tells him he’s beautiful, tells him he’s strong, tells him he’s brave, and will nods like he believes him.
but he can't, not really, not when bravery, to will, still looks like standing in front of a coach in a navy team usa jacket with his head bowed and his hands clenched at his sides, waiting to be told what he’s allowed to do with his own body.
he remembers that feeling too well.
but mack tries. god, does mack try.
he never laughs at the sad little nest will has built in the corner of their shared apartment, never teases him when his shoulder aches badly enough that a pathetic whimper slips out while he’s making breakfast, never says anything when will steals one of his hoodies and wears it until he smells more like pine than lavender.
and when will can’t sleep, when the room feels too big and his skin feels wrong and his instincts won’t settle, mack just pulls him closer and lets will breathe him in until the world feels manageable again.
will is mack’s omega. or maybe he’s becoming mack’s omega, slowly, carefully, in all the little ways that matter.
it should feel good. it should feel like winning.
mack wants him around forever, wants him sleeping in his childhood bedroom when they visit vancouver, wants him arguing with his brothers over what movie to watch, wants to scent him every night and doesn’t even seem embarrassed about doing it in front of his dad.
sometimes will thinks this must be what being wanted is supposed to feel like.
and then mack introduces him to sidney crosby, the first omega in the league.
mack is smiling when he does it, rocking back and forth on his skates like he’s excited to be giving will something special, like this is an honor well-deserved, like he’s absolutely certain will belongs on the same sheet of ice as the man who changed the sport simply by existing in it.
crosby shakes his hand and smiles, warm and polite. but there’s something sharper behind his eyes that will catches anyway, and suddenly he feels small. less than.
crosby survived the league because he was good enough to force it to make room for him.
will survived because, years ago, macklin celebrini asked him if he wanted to do their rookie lap together.
and will said yes because that’s what he's always done. said yes.
yes to his parents. yes to priests. yes to teammates. yes to team usa. yes to every ntdp coach who ever told him to swallow his discomfort and keep skating. yes to boston college, to leonard, to perrault, to mike grier.
yes to macklin.
he learned it on a sunday morning, knees aching against the hardwood floor, head bowed while an alpha priest spoke about sin and obedience and the roles god had chosen for them. he learned that saying yes was easier.
so no, will is not crosby.
he will never be the omega who changes the league. he won’t break down doors or make history or become a name people use when they talk about how far the sport has come.
he’s macklin celebrini’s best friend, forever and always, somewhere between untouchable and a target, a guy you can shove into the boards if you can get past the youngest hockey canada olympian first, a guy you can dump into the penalty box to serve someone else’s time, provided mack doesn’t need him sitting beside him on the bench.
he’s second star only if it's a really good night, always (sometimes) the first assist, rarely the scorer.
he failed to make 2c on a pacific division team, and yet mack looks at him like he’s hung the moon, and will doesn’t know how to tell him that he isn’t even brave enough to reach for the sky. he can't risk that, not when plymouth, michigan and lexington, massachusetts are still waiting for him somewhere behind his eyes.
but mack talks about trade clauses like they’re promises, talks about bonding and stanley cups, a house somewhere warm, kids someday. and will listens like always, but sometimes he wants to grab mack by the shoulders and shake him until he understands.
sometimes he wants to confess that buried somewhere inside all the love he has for him is a tiny, ugly piece of jealousy.
because mack was born an alpha. mack got to grow up believing the world was built to accommodate him. and will learned early that his place was at his right hand, on his right wing.
some days, he feels like he’s only waiting for the inevitable, waiting until every soft, sweet part of him finally comes undone in front of the league’s next generational talent, waiting until all the things he has spent his entire life keeping buried crawl up his throat and spill across mack’s custom ccm skates with the whole team watching.
but he’ll wait anyway, like he’s been waiting for change since he was born and baptized, since those youth group nights when he was supposed to be listening to scripture but was too busy wondering why their alpha priest smelled so good to him.
he was taught that something inside him was wrong, that wanting was dangerous, that obedience was holy.
so maybe he is a monster, maybe he always has been.
mack loves him anyway, and will thinks that might be the cruelest thing of all.
headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet
thinking about misa learning to cook for when he moves in with sam, and he’s still not that good. a few dishes here, and pasta’s easy, the grill is easy, and the dish misa has seen his mom cook his entire childhood but always thinks tastes off when he makes it. sam doesn’t know how to feel about it, watching misa in their kitchen blanch green beans, and simmer chicken cacciatore, while listening to sam’s playlist.
most of their relationship is sam taking care of misa and that’s how he likes it, ensures that he’s needed and is doing a good job, and misa who is kind and clueless and doesn’t complain is well taken care of. the first time it happens, misa peeks his head into sam’s room and asks if he’s hungry. sam’s already swiped open doordash when misa follows up with i made dinner, it’s kinda mid though. it’s more than shocking, especially when sam comes out to find out that dinner is some chicken stew thing and a homemade salad. it’s good, better than mid, sam would say but not exactly anything he would write home about, except for the fact misa cooked for him. and that it keeps happening.
misa doesn’t ask what sam wants to eat ever, unless it’s something like we have green beans or broccoli, which one? mostly it’s because misa has a very limited selection of meals he can make and the variation solely relies on what side of vegetables is going to go with it. sam likes all of it because he’s not a picky eater, and misa’s cooking for him. they still order in a lot because they’re lazy, and have full schedules, and misa hasn’t figured out meal prepping quite yet. but sometimes sam comes home from the gym, or hanging out with the guys, and misa’s stood in front of the stove heating up tortillas for tacos. and sometimes misa will ask sam to grill while he does something else. and sometimes misa asks sam to order chipper, and also we need a new pan.
sam has a lot of complicated emotions on the matter, watching misa take care of something for the both of them, and always asking if it’s any good, and playing sam’s music while he moves around the kitchen. the guys laugh at them when sam says misa’s been the one cooking, and laugh harder when misa says they can’t come over for dinner because he isn’t any good yet. sam thinks he’s good, he’s not a chef, or cat, or smitty with a good recipe, but sam likes everything he makes, even when the green beans are a little squeaky. he likes it even though it makes sam feel like he’s doing a bad job of caring for misa. to counteract, sam does the dishes, and sits at the counter to watch misa cook while he djs. on occasion sam packs misa’s leftovers into tupperware for them to bring to practice. sam shows off his chicken stew thermos to delly who looks mildly appreciative, graf who says nice, will and mack who don’t care, toff who looks genuinely surprised it’s edible, and anyone else nearby. look what misa made! dude, hands off, this was made specially for me! misa is normally next to him smiling.
it’s not sam’s fault either that misa looks cute connecting to his italian ukrainian roots or whatever. he keeps his hands on misa’s hips as he checks his phone seven times over for the the third variation of meat and cabbage he likes. the sweet and sour cabbage stuff, sam could do without, but misa likes it and so whatever, sam’s not picky. still cuddles with misa on the couch when he smells like cabbage. still likes him when he burns the bottom of the pan.
part 2 of your omega will x oblivious mack thing WHEN?
part 1!
things were going suspiciously well for macklin.
not always, of course, as the sharks were still the sharks, which meant that there were plenty of nights where they let in goals they absolutely shouldn’t have, made mistakes that caused his scent to spike with shame, and found increasingly creative ways to make him want to pull his hair out. but mack was doing well individually most nights, scoring goals, making headlines. he’d done this before, with canada and at bu, been the best sailor on a sinking ship. but this time, he wasn’t watching will smith don the gold medal or hold the trophy from across the ice.
will was right by his side. literally. all the time.
the two had become best friends, which was funny, considering that a year ago mack distinctly remembered threatening to print out a picture of him and put it on a dartboard, earning a firm reminder from rick about showing respect toward omegas.
not that that was something mack struggled with now. he prided himself on being a great teammate to will, always making sure he wasn’t pushing himself too hard during practice, that he wasn’t too overwhelmed in a crowded locker room full of alphas, that his glands weren’t too inflamed after a brutal game, that he wasn’t too hot when he and mack snuggled together on plane rides so they could both sleep easier, or that he wasn’t uncomfortable when some creepy fan who stunk of alpha started staring at him all weirdly at a coffee shop.
god. some people needed to learn to mind their own business.
he’d even introduced will to sid, and tried and failed not to blush when sid gave him an approving nod afterward, because yeah, mack was a really good best friend for including his american teammate in stuff like this. plus, a small part of him was glad sid liked will too. maybe he could invite will to train with them in canada during the summer.
maybe will would like that.
still, there was this deep feeling in mack’s chest that he wasn’t doing enough.
there were moments when he’d see will’s gold curls peeking out from beneath his helmet and feel like he’d been winded, or when he’d be so stressed before a game he could cry and will would scent him with a warm smile and a nod, never making a scene as he filled mack’s senses with fresh florals and pastries. will could calm him down better than even dada, maybe. he listened. he never shouted back. he tolerated mack even at his worst.
will always stayed.
so mack owed him more than just assists on his goals, because will was perfect.
really, truly, perfect.
he was mack’s other half, maybe. they matched each other’s stubbornness and loyalty and passion. they liked the same movies, the same five-inch inseam shorts, laughed at the same dumb tiktoks, and would both rather share a hotel room than get a whole suite to themselves.
because mack wouldn’t want will to be lonely, obviously.
yeah.
that would suck.
so he started trying to go above and beyond for his— for will.
he offered to tape his stick for him. he scented him before they went out for drinks with the guys, just in case any alphas at the bar got the wrong idea about approaching him. he did research, too, tons of it, the tabs on his laptop turning from the sharks’ shameful turnover stats to wikihow articles about supporting an omega in a new pack.
but he still felt like he was missing something.
like he wasn’t doing enough for will, for his will, who didn’t mind when mack was being bratty, put up with his white noise every night, and smelled so strongly sometimes that mack thought he was going crazy when no one else seemed to notice.
so he called aiden.
will was out picking them up dinner, and mack was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and fidgeting with the crochet blanket will had bought him at a farmer’s market they’d gone to together, sheepishly explaining to his brother that he didn’t think he was doing enough to make will understand just how much he appreciated him.
aiden was quiet for an odd moment before speaking strangely softly—was he in the room while acacia was sleeping or something?—and explaining that if mack “really wanted to do this right” (which was an odd way to phrase something as simple as showing appreciation, but mack wasn’t interested in annoying aiden about it right now), he should start giving will his clothes, his accessories, things that had his scent on them for will to take back to his nest.
mack pointed out that he’d already been invited into will’s nest plenty of times and that it was pretty full of boston stuff and random sharks gear already. aiden went silent for a weirdly long minute before urging him to leave clothes around anyway.
huh. brothers were so weird.
but mack listened, really willing to do anything to make will happy. he started leaving his beanies in will’s car, shedding his layers the second he walked through the marleau’s door, offering him his favorite number 71 hoodies whenever will looked even slightly cold.
he was doing well, he thought, when he started spotting some of his “forgotten” things in will’s nest, little pieces of mack that will had apparently decided were worth keeping.
he was doing really well.
and then it all fell apart one night after a fairly good game, a rare win.
will was driving them home, cheeks flushed and lips pink from the late-night cold, when a small smile touched his lips as he noticed mack tossing his beanie into the backseat and shaking out his hair.
“do you do this with all your friends?”
“hm? do what?” mack asked, trying to play it cool despite the gummy grin threatening to give him away.
will rolled his eyes, laughing softly. “you know. the clothes thing.”
“nope,” mack said, popping the p, pleased with himself. “just omegas.”
something flickered across will’s expression. his eyes stayed on the road, though, so mack assumed he was just focusing on driving.
“yeah?”
“yeah.” mack nodded, completely missing the way will’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “i mean, it’s important for omegas to have a good nest. especially during the season. they sleep better, they recover better, they play better.”
he loved helping will, helping will play better hockey just like dada helped him improve all the time. but will’s smile disappeared.
“so that’s why you’ve been doing all of this?”
mack frowned. “doing what?”
“the clothes. the scenting. everything.”
“oh.” mack shrugged, still not understanding why will suddenly sounded so strange. “yeah, i mean... obviously.”
will went quiet, and mack waited for him to laugh, to at least say something, but he just stared at the road.
“i thought...” will starts, then stops.
mack tilted his head. “you thought what?”
“nothing.”
there was something wrong with his voice, so mack opened his mouth to ask if he truly felt okay after playing all those minutes, but will spoke first.
“so you don't actually want me to have your stuff?”
“what? no, i do.”
will's eyebrows pulled together. “but because i'm an omega.”
mack blinked. “well... yeah.”
the words landed wrong. very wrong. mack could tell immediately from the way will's shoulders went stiff, but he couldn't figure out why. he'd only told the truth. he'd spent weeks researching this. he'd been trying so hard to make sure will was comfortable, healthy, and playing his best. he didn't understand why that seemed to upset him.
“so all of this was for hockey?”
“i mean...” mack thought about it. “mostly?”
it was will. it was mack. everything in their lives came back to hockey, didn’t it…?
but will flicked on the turn signal far too sharply and he didn't speak for the rest of the drive.
mack watched him pull into his driveway, waiting for the usual smile, the usual invitation inside for milk and cookies, but will just unlocked the door and waited for him to get out.
“night,” will muttered.
“night?”
the door shut before mack could say anything else, and he stood on the curb and watched will's car disappear down the street, completely baffled.
maybe will was tired. they'd just played a game, so that had to be it.
except will didn't answer his texts the next morning about getting breakfast. weird.
mack sent him an instagram reel about the patriots at ten, because obviously that would make everything better. will read it, and yet didn't respond or even like it. really weird.
and when will didn't show up to their weekly golf session, mack felt his stomach sink.
something was wrong. there was no way will just didn't want to see him.
…right?
mack acting like will has nose to spare… that boy already can’t breathe
mack cornering rj the day before will lands in vancouver (they’re both vibrating with excitement the way a child would on xmas eve) like Listen. smit did not grow up with brothers who whaled on him nonstop so you can’t be rough with him. even as a joke. no idc that you’re 5’2 it doesn’t matter he’s still not used to that. and be careful with his shoulder. it’s not funny stop laughing. stop being a dick i’ll kick your ass. NO I’M NOT GOING TO WIGGLE FOR HIM. don’t fucking tell him i wiggle when i get excited he doesn’t need to know that. because the wiggling stays at home there’s no wiggling in san jose. go fuck yourself that’s why
