TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪: r20124020

I never minded the cold. There was something peaceful about it, how it quieted the world, softened every sharp edge, and turned the streets into something out of a dream. But tonight, standing on Dean's porch, bundled in his oversized hoodie with a steaming cup of cocoa in my hands, the cold was the last thing on my mind.

Dean was inside, struggling to get the fire going. I could hear him cursing under his breath as the logs refused to catch.

"You better not burn the house down!" I called through the door, biting back a grin.

Dean's head popped out, his dark hair a little disheveled, his expression unimpressed. "Wow. The faith you have in me is truly inspiring."

I laughed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me. The cabin smelled like pinewood and cinnamon, a mix of the candles I'd lit earlier and the fresh winter air still clinging to my clothes. Dean had insisted on bringing me here for the weekend, promising a peaceful getaway. Of course, he failed to mention the blizzard that would trap us inside.

Not that I was complaining.

Dean gave up on the fire and flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. "Okay, fire's a lost cause. We should just accept our fate and freeze to death."

Rolling my eyes, I set my cocoa down and walked over. "Oh, please. Move over."

He raised a brow but scooted aside, watching as I crouched in front of the fireplace. A few minutes later, flames finally crackled to life, spreading warmth through the room. I turned, smug. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it's done."

Dean just stared. "Alright, show-off. You got lucky."

I stuck my tongue out at him before grabbing a blanket and plopping down beside him on the couch. "Admit it, I saved us."

Dean exhaled dramatically, throwing an arm around me. "Fine. You saved us. My hero."

I leaned into him, soaking in his warmth. His hoodie was ridiculously soft, and it smelled like him—cologne, a hint of woodsmoke, and something undeniably Dean. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on my arm, a habit of his when we were close like this.

"You know," he said, voice quieter now, "I kind of like being snowed in with you."

I smiled, tilting my head up to look at him. "Yeah?"

He nodded, his gaze soft. "Yeah. No distractions. Just us."

My heart did that stupid fluttery thing it always did when he looked at me like that, like I was the only person in the world.

"Guess we'll just have to make the most of it," I murmured, my fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie.

Dean smirked, leaning in. "Oh, I intend to."

And with that, he kissed me—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Outside, the snow kept falling, but in that moment, I didn't feel cold at all.

Just warm. Completely and utterly warm.