TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝔸 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕪 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪- 𝔸𝕝𝕝

All the little ducklings were now teenagers—and everyone knows what that means.

The once-sweet group of neighborhood kids who used to spend their summers chasing ducks at the pond, eating popsicles on front porches, and racing bikes down the hill by the fire station had morphed into something a little louder, a little taller, and a whole lot more complicated. They were growing into their own voices, opinions, and identities. Katie had swapped her pigtails for eyeliner and sarcasm. Jada always had a book under her arm but could still roast anyone in the group into silence. Blake was taller now, but still had that quiet protectiveness about him. Rodrigo had filled out with broad shoulders from all those years on the ice, Andrew wore his hoodie like it was armor, Emma was both sweetness and fire depending on the day, and Jack—well, Jack was still Jack, clumsy and lovable and always two seconds behind. AJ had traded his childhood timidity for confidence, and Gavin—he was the jokester of the bunch, never far from a prank or a punchline.

They had grown up together—sleepovers, hockey games, school projects, heartbreaks, and first crushes. And now, every day at lunch, they sat around their usual table in the far corner of the cafeteria like it was sacred territory. It wasn't much—just a scuffed-up table with peeling laminate—but it was theirs. The spot where gossip was shared, homework was "collaborated" on, and no one dared try to steal their seats.

"So you seriously didn't do the project?" Katie asked, taking a bite of her apple while raising an eyebrow at Jack.

"I meant to," Jack said defensively, "but then my dog threw up on my Chromebook."

"Nice try," Emma said, sipping her lemonade. "That excuse might've worked in sixth grade."

"It did work in sixth grade," Jack muttered. "Miss Harlow was terrified of vomit."

"Maybe if you stopped trying to play Mario Kart until 1 a.m., you'd have time to do your homework," Blake added.

"Oh, don't act like you don't race with us," Jack shot back.

"I race," Blake shrugged. "But I win."

"Oof," Gavin winced, biting into his sandwich. "Blake with the silent but deadly ego flex."

Andrew looked up from his sketchpad. "If I hear one more word about Jack's imaginary dog barf, I'm switching tables."

Emma bumped his arm. "Be nice. He's trying."

"No, you be nice. You're only nice to him because he lets you copy his bio notes."

"Excuse you," Emma said, mock-offended. "I take amazing notes. I just like comparing."

"She means stealing," Katie laughed.

Jack held up a hand. "For the record, I allow it. She says please."

"I threaten to expose your search history, actually," Emma corrected with a grin.

The table exploded with laughter.

AJ, who'd been quietly scrolling through his phone, glanced up. "Is anyone gonna go to the game on Friday? We're supposed to crush Eastside."

"Obviously," Rodrigo said. "Coach is making us show up early for warm-ups. He wants us to intimidate them during puck drop."

"I'll bring my death stare," Gavin offered.

"You have a death smirk," Blake replied. "It's more 'mischievous squirrel' than 'intimidating athlete.'"

"You wound me," Gavin said, dramatically clutching his chest.

Jada looked up from her book, smirking. "You're all clowns."