TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝔸 𝕊𝕝𝕒𝕡𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕠 ℝ𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣; 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕠𝕟 ℝ𝕖𝕖𝕕

Fulton stood in the middle of the backyard, squinting up at the banner he'd just strung across the porch: "Quack Attack Reunion!" It fluttered lightly in the breeze, the bold yellow letters standing out against the blue sky. He took a step back, arms crossed, surveying his work with a nod. An hour. Just one more hour and the yard would be full of old teammates, old stories, and old laughter.

A shriek of excitement broke his concentration.

"Daddy! Daddy, look! I found the duck plates!"

Five-year-old Hayleigh came tearing around the side of the house, her little arms struggling to carry the stack of novelty paper plates shaped like ducks. Her fiery red curls flew behind her as she ran, her green eyes bright with excitement.

Fulton turned, laughing as he crouched down. "Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, champ! You don't want to trip and go flying like one of those Mighty Ducks on skates, do ya?"

Hayleigh giggled, stumbling a little but catching herself. "I won't! I'm a fast skater! Remember what you said? I got your hockey legs."

Fulton grinned, taking the plates from her hands. "Yeah, you sure do. And maybe my stubborn streak, too."

"I'm not stubborn," she said matter-of-factly, then paused and frowned. "Wait—what does stubborn mean again?"

"It means you never give up," he replied with a wink, brushing a curl from her forehead. "Even when your dad says it's time for bed."

Hayleigh scrunched up her nose. "That's not being stubborn. That's being right."

Fulton burst out laughing and ruffled her hair. "Touché, little Duck."

She puffed out her chest proudly. "I helped with the streamers, and I made the sign for the table, and I found the plates, so... I think I'm in charge now."

"Oh really?" he said, raising a brow as he stood. "Well, if you're in charge, what's the plan next, boss?"

"Balloons!" she shouted, already turning on her heel and running toward the helium tank. "We need so many! Like, a bajillion!"

Fulton chuckled, following after her with a sigh that was all affection. "A bajillion, huh? That's a lot of balloons for two people."

"We can do it," she said confidently. "We're Mighty Ducks!"

He knelt beside her and helped secure the first balloon to a long string. "That we are, Hay. That we are."

They worked side by side, Hayleigh humming to herself while tying the ends of the balloons — sometimes successfully, sometimes in a tangle of fingers and squeals. Fulton glanced at her from time to time, his chest swelling with something warm and proud. She was growing up fast, full of life and heart and that unstoppable spirit he used to see in the rink every day.

"Do you think the other kids will be here soon?" she asked suddenly, her tone a bit quieter as she held out another balloon.

"Yeah," Fulton said gently, tying it for her. "In about an hour."

"Will Uncle Dean be here?" she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

Fulton smiled. "Yep, he'll be here. He texted me this morning. He's bringing Blake too."

Hayleigh gasped, her whole face lighting up. "Blake's coming?! Yes! We're gonna play goalie and I'm gonna score on him five hundred times!"

"Oh, you've got a game plan already?" Fulton teased.

"Yup!" she said, popping the 'p' proudly. "He always lets me score like twice, but I've been practicing."

"Well, I wouldn't want to be on the other side of that slapshot," Fulton said, tying off another balloon. "Blake better bring his A-game."