Mischief on ice

the end

Months had passed since the encounter with the witch, and life had slowly returned to normal—or as normal as it could be for Stiles Stilinski. Hockey had become his sanctuary, a place where he could focus and leave the supernatural chaos behind, at least for a while.

In the locker room, Stiles was lacing up his skates when he caught sight of Newt and Minho walking in together, hand in hand, their smiles as bright as ever. Stiles smirked, shaking his head fondly. "Finally," he muttered under his breath, amused by how long it had taken for the two to openly acknowledge their relationship.

As Stiles walked past them, Minho caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up. "You jealous, Stilinski?"

Stiles laughed, rolling his eyes. "Not in the slightest. You two deserve it."

Before the banter could continue, the coach's booming voice echoed through the locker room. "Alright, everyone! Get your gear on and hit the ice! Practice starts now, and I don't want to see any slacking!"

The team groaned collectively, but the energy was lighthearted as they hurried to finish getting ready. Stiles grabbed his stick and headed toward the rink, but he paused when he saw Derek standing by the entrance, leaning casually against the wall with that signature brooding look of his.

"Hey," Stiles said, walking over to him, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face.

Derek straightened up, his expression softening as Stiles approached. "Hey yourself. Ready to dominate the ice?"

Stiles shrugged playfully. "Always. You here to watch me show off, or is this a surprise check-in?"

Derek smirked. "Both. Thought I'd remind you not to get too cocky."

Stiles leaned in, standing on his tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Derek's lips. "Cocky? Never." He pulled back, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "You're lucky I don't trip over my own skates just thinking about you."

Derek chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Just have fun. And be careful."

"Always," Stiles said, giving Derek a wink before heading onto the ice.

As the team started their drills, Stiles glanced back at Derek, who was watching from the stands with a faint smile. He couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence. No matter what chaos life threw his way, moments like this reminded him that he had a team, a pack, and Derek by his side.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Practice had been running smoothly—at least until Coach decided to test the team's adaptability by adding a new player to the lineup. Stiles had barely exchanged pleasantries with the guy before things took a turn. It started subtle, a shove here, a little too much aggression there, but it quickly escalated.

Every time Stiles had the puck, the new guy zeroed in on him like a predator on prey. It wasn't just good defense—it was personal. The checks were hard, and the hits were relentless. At first, Stiles brushed it off, but the constant targeting became impossible to ignore.

In goal, Gally watched the situation unfold, his sharp eyes narrowing. Something wasn't right. He signaled to the rest of the team, a quick and subtle gesture they all understood: Protect Mischief.

Minho and Newt immediately adjusted their positions, trying to get closer to Stiles, but the new guy's tactics made it nearly impossible. Every time they moved in, he either slipped away or blocked them.

Fry was the first to try stepping in, skating hard and fast toward the confrontation, but the new guy saw him coming and body-slammed him with enough force to send him sprawling across the ice. Aries wasn't far behind, attempting to cut off the angle, but he, too, went down hard.