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.
♡
