TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝔾𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔹𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤; 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕠𝕟 ℝ𝕖𝕖𝕕

It started with a harmless drill correction. Then two. Then ten. By Wednesday, Dean had to skate laps just because his jersey was wrinkled. At first, you thought he was overreacting, but by Friday, even you had to admit—it felt personal.

You sat next to him in the cafeteria, nudging your knee against his. "Dean... maybe he's not doing it to be a jerk. Maybe he's just trying to push you. He sees something in you."

Dean didn't look convinced. "He sees something, all right. Target practice."

You gave him a look. "Please don't do anything dumb."

"I won't," he said, and smiled way too sweetly. "Unless you count fighting back against injustice."

You narrowed your eyes. "Dean..."

He reached over and poked your side playfully. "Relax, Y/N. I'm not dragging anyone into anything."

You didn't believe him. Not for a second.

Later That Night...
You were sitting in the dorm common area, trying to focus on your homework, but you couldn't stop thinking about that look on Dean's face. That smug, mischievous gleam in his eye always meant trouble. And when Dean planned trouble, there was always one person he turned to.

You heard footsteps approaching and looked up.

Dean walked in, smiling like he just solved world hunger.

You sat up slowly, suspicion crawling up your spine. "Please tell me you did not drag Fulton into this."

Dean held up his hands innocently. "I did not drag Fulton into this."

Then came the knock.

Knock knock.

You blinked. "Who's that?"

Dean tilted his head, smirking. "I think you know."

You didn't even say a word—you just stood up, marched over to the door, and opened it.

There he was.

Fulton Reed. Black hoodie. Stealth face. Carrying a duffel bag that absolutely did not belong in a normal person's day.

You stepped aside, gesturing to both of them. "What. Did. You. Do."

Dean started, "So, you know how Orion always leaves his whistle and clipboard in his office? And how that weird little ventilation system runs through the whole coaching wing?"

"Oh my God," you breathed. "You're going to smoke him out or something, aren't you?"

Fulton unzipped the bag with way too much pride. "Glitter bombs. Four of them. One for each corner of the room. And a sardine under the desk."

You blinked. "Why the sardine?"

Dean grinned. "Symbolic. It smells like injustice."

You spun around, grabbing your phone. "No. Nope. I'm not watching you two get kicked off the team. I'm getting help."

"From who?" Dean called after you.

But you were already dialing.

Ken was walking back from the gym when you caught him outside the dorms.

"Ken!" you said, breathless. "Dean and Fulton are about to sabotage Coach Orion's office with fish and glitter."

Ken blinked, deadpan. "That's... oddly specific."

"Because it's real!"

He sighed. "I knew something was up. Dean asked me earlier how long it would take a fire alarm to reset itself."

"PLEASE help me stop them."

Ken gave you a long-suffering look and muttered, "Every time I think we've peaked, someone says glitter bombs."

The two of you sprinted through campus, past the rink and toward the back hallway where the coaches' offices were.

And that's when you smelled it.

Sardine.

Burning.

Followed by—

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

You rounded the corner and saw everything at once.

Dean and Fulton standing in a cloud of glitter fog. Glitter was everywhere—in their hair, on their faces, sticking to every inch of their clothes. A fan they must've rigged had short-circuited, sparking at the end of the hallway.

The sardine, for whatever reason, was now melting on an overturned space heater.

Fulton was frozen, blinking through sparkles. "This was not part of the plan."

Dean coughed. "Why does it smell like a fish funeral in here?!"

You stormed up, pointing a finger at Dean. "I told you this would backfire!"

Ken stood behind you, arms crossed. "Are you kidding me? I can see glitter on the ceiling."

Fulton tried wiping his face but only smeared it worse. "We were so close..."

Dean pointed toward the vent. "The fan backfired, okay? The glitter wasn't supposed to go that fast. And the sardine might've been too close to the heater—"

"Why was there a heater in the coach's office?!"

"To make it smell worse!"

"Oh my God!" you yelled. "This is not a prank anymore. This is arson with glitter."

Footsteps pounded down the hallway.

"Hide me," Dean whispered.

But it was too late.

Coach Orion turned the corner, eyes wide as he took in the scene—his now-glitter-coated hallway, the smell of burnt fish, and the boys standing there like busted Christmas decorations.

Nobody spoke.

You stepped forward.

"Hi, Coach," you said sweetly. "Would you like me to start explaining, or should I let Dean do it?"

Dean groaned. "Please don't."

Coach Orion looked like he aged ten years in that moment. "All of you. Office. Now. Except you," he added, pointing at you.

You stepped back, relieved but furious. "Dean, I begged you not to do anything."

Dean coughed again, still spitting glitter. "In hindsight, it was a flawed operation."

Fulton muttered, "You said it'd be a minor glitter puff."

"Well how was I supposed to know the fan would go nuclear?!"

Coach Orion's voice roared down the hall: "MOVE."

You and Ken exchanged a glance.

"I tried," you said.

"You really did," Ken agreed.

You shook your head and watched as Dean and Fulton trudged toward Orion's office, glitter trailing behind them like shameful sparkles of doom.

Ken smirked. "We should bring them soap. And probably therapy."

You sighed. "And a new heater."

𝕒/𝕟: 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕚 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕞𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕞 𝕠𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕠𝕟 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕠𝕟