#THIS IS NOT WHAT AN OLDER SIBLING SHOULD BE LIKE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missmaymay13 · 3 days ago

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Close To You - William Eklund

12k

w.eklund x OC | w.smith & m.celebrini x OC (platonic / sibling relationship)

Summary: the sharks have a new social media intern and immediately the two young rookies stake their claim on her as their "adopted older sister". the three were always attached at the hip. when william eklund meets the new girl, hes immediately smitten by her. the only issue? he's too shy to do anything about it.

Warnings: none! only that its my first story ive ever released and im still trying to find my writing style lol. theres lots of cute sibling banter with OC & will and macklin! and ofc lots of eky being shy... hehe

note: i did go a little crazy when i wrote this a few weeks ago and thanks to a looong manic episode lol so i do have a bunch of little one shots about this story just ready to be edited and uploaded. please lmk if anyone is interested in me releasing them (they are all mainly about will, macklin and OC)

ekys first sleep over

If June Johnson had any illusions about starting a calm, professional internship with the San Jose Sharks, they were completely shattered the moment she stepped into the dressing room. She wasn't new to social media—she had spent years running accounts for small businesses, university sports teams, and even a short stint with a junior hockey club. But this? This was different.

This was the NHL.

And the NHL, apparently, came with an unspoken initiation involving two overly energetic rookies and a locker room full of chaos. She had barely set foot inside before she was noticed.

"Wait, you're new." Macklin Celebrini, the Sharks' golden boy, stood in front of her with a curious expression, his practice jersey half on, his skates still untied. Before she could respond, another voice piped up.

"Yeah, dude, she literally just walked in," said Will Smith, his grin wide, blonde hair slightly damp from morning skate. June barely had time to introduce herself before Will and Macklin had already formed a huddle, whispering loudly enough for the entire room to hear.

"Alright, what's the bet?" Will muttered dramatically. "How long do we think before she quits?"

"Oh my god." June rolled her eyes. "I'm literally standing right here." Macklin hummed, rubbing his chin as if he were deep in thought. "I give her three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Will scoffed. "Nah, she looks tough. I say she lasts a month." June crossed her arms. "You guys do realize I control the social media accounts, right? I can absolutely mute you both from existence."

Macklin's eyes widened. "You wouldn't." Will gasped. "That's... I didn't think of that." June smirked. "Try me."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, as if she had passed some unspoken test, Macklin and Will immediately abandoned their "bet" and turned their attention to grilling her instead. "Alright, but for real," Macklin leaned against his stall, arms crossed. "You actually want to work here?"

June shot him a look. "Yes? Why, should I be concerned?" Will grinned. "Let's just say... we're a little much." June snorted. "Oh, I've noticed." That was when Mario Ferraro, one of the veteran defensemen, wandered over with a laugh. "You'll get used to them."

"Will I?" Mario patted her shoulder. "Probably not."

Despite Macklin and Will's warnings, June quickly settled into her role. Her first few days were a whirlwind of learning the ropes, familiarizing herself with the Sharks' social media strategy, and—most importantly—figuring out how to handle the absolute disaster that was the team's young core. It didn't take long for Macklin and Will to adopt her as one of their own. At some point, she had unknowingly become their unofficial babysitter. They followed her around like lost puppies, insisted on helping her gather content, and were constantly dragging her into their antics. By day three, she had already been roped into filming a TikTok where the two of them attempted a viral dance trend.

Spoiler: it did not go well.

"I swear, we had it perfect before you hit record," Will complained, shaking out his hands as Macklin groaned beside him. June snorted. "Sure you did." Macklin narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you going to be this sassy all season?"

"Oh, absolutely." Will grinned. "I like her."

But June quickly realized that handling these two was only part of the challenge—because the rest of the team wasn't any better. She had planned to ease into things, maybe take a few weeks before jumping headfirst into recording the "random question of the day" segment.

Yeah. That plan lasted all of five minutes.

The second Logan Couture spotted her with the team's media camera, he nudged Tomas Hertl. "Bet she asks something ridiculous." Tomas, grinning, turned to her. "First question, let's go."

June hesitated, flipping through her mental list of backup prompts before blurting out, "Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?" The room erupted.

"Oh, that's a good one."

"Wait, do we get weapons?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Absolutely taking the duck-sized horses."

"Are you crazy? The horse-sized duck would kill you."

June blinked as chaos ensued. "...So I take it this is a success?" Mario nodded solemnly. "You're going to fit in just fine."

By the end of her first week, June had established herself as more than just the new intern—she was officially part of the team's day-to-day chaos. She had already lost count of how many times Macklin and Will had dragged her into some ridiculous argument (the most recent one being about whether or not cereal counted as soup). She had also learned that Henry Thrun would agree to any TikTok challenge if you dared him, and that Noah Gregor was terrifyingly good at coming up with completely random, borderline unhinged facts about obscure animals.

Most importantly, she learned that despite their antics, these guys weren't just a team—they were a family. And as much as she had expected to feel like an outsider, June realized something as she sat in the locker room, laughing at yet another one of Will's dumb ideas: She was already part of it.

⸻By the time June's second week rolled around, she had fully accepted her fate. She wasn't just the Sharks' new social media intern. She was now the official (unofficial) babysitter of two NHL rookies who had way too much energy and way too little supervision. Her schedule? Completely dictated by Macklin and Will. Her daily tasks? Constantly interrupted by their antics. Her peace and sanity? Gone.

And the worst part? She didn't even mind.

June had just walked into the practice facility when she heard it. "Junie! HELP!"

She barely had time to process before Macklin came barreling toward her. She dodged out of the way just in time to see Will chasing after him, waving what looked like—was that a half-eaten protein bar?

"You're a menace to society!" Will shouted. "How do you not like peanut butter?!"

"It's disgusting!" Macklin yelled back, jumping behind June for cover. June, half-awake, pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's literally eight in the morning."

"He called peanut butter MID!" Will exclaimed, shoving the evidence (a protein bar wrapper) in her face. "This is a CRIME, June. A CRIME." Macklin peeked out from behind her. "Are you seriously telling me peanut butter is top-tier? Grow up."

"GROW UP?!" And just like that, they were arguing again. June sighed, stepping around them to grab her morning coffee from the media lounge. "I'm too tired for this." She had barely taken her first sip when Logan Couture walked by, shaking his head. "Still want the job?"

June took a long, dramatic sip of her coffee before deadpanning, "I've made my peace with it." Logan smirked. "Good answer."

The thing about Macklin and Will was that they had absolutely no chill. If June thought they had been bad the first week, she completely underestimated just how much worse it could get. They followed her everywhere. They never let her work in peace. They somehow managed to turn every single day into some kind of ridiculous event.

Exhibit A: June had been setting up a behind-the-scenes TikTok, casually filming players walking into practice, when Macklin and Will sprinted into the frame—dramatically sliding in on their socks like they were action movie stars. She barely had time to react before they started posing. "Mack, hit 'em with the Zoolander." Macklin turned to the camera and gave his best Blue Steel impression.

"Oh my god," June muttered. "We're naturals," Will declared, tossing an arm over Macklin's shoulder. "Should we be influencers?" June deadpanned. "Absolutely not."

"Okay, rude."

Exhibit B: June was setting up a mic for a player interview when she felt something land on her head. She immediately knew who was responsible. "Will," she said slowly, reaching up to remove the hockey tape ball that had just been thrown at her. Will, sitting across the room, looked way too innocent. "What?" he said, blinking at her. "That could've been anyone."

June narrowed her eyes. "Really?"

"Really." From beside him, Macklin was struggling not to laugh. "You're lucky I like my job," June muttered, tossing the paper back at him. Will caught it easily, grinning. "You love us." June rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. "Debatable."

It took approximately zero days for the rest of the team to notice just how much time Macklin and Will spent following June around. "They have imprinted on her," Henry Thrun declared during a team meeting. Mario Ferraro nodded solemnly. "She's like their pack leader now."

"I give it a week before she starts bringing them snacks like a hockey mom," Tyler Toffoli joked. The worst part was that June heard all of this.

"You guys are talking like I'm not right here," she pointed out, arms crossed. "Oh, we know," Logan said, smirking. "We just think it's funny." June rolled her eyes. "They're not that bad." That was when Macklin and Will—who had been wrestling over a Gatorade bottle like literal children—accidentally knocked over an entire stack of towels. Everyone turned to her.

June sighed. "Okay, fine, they're a little bad."

By the time practice ended, June was exhausted. Not from the work—no, she could handle that. She was exhausted from babysitting two grown hockey players. As she sat in the lounge, sipping on what had to be her third coffee of the day, she suddenly felt two shadows looming over her.

"Junie." She sighed. "What do you want now?"

Macklin plopped down beside her, grinning. "Just saying hi." Will flopped into the chair on her other side. "We missed you." June gave them a look. "I literally saw you guys an hour ago." Will shrugged. "Yeah, but still." June groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto the table. "I give up." Macklin patted her shoulder. "It's okay. We love you too."

And that's when it hit her. Somehow, without even trying, she had become one of them.

⸻June Johnson was used to chaos by now. She had accepted that working for the San Jose Sharks meant zero peace and infinite amounts of babysitting two overgrown children (Macklin and Will) on a daily basis. But what she hadn't accounted for?

William Eklund.

She had heard his name before—obviously. He was one of the team's top young players, constantly hyped up by the media, and apparently the "responsible" one out of all the rookies. That was a lie. Because when she finally met him? He was the opposite of put-together. In fact, he completely malfunctioned.

June was minding her own business, setting up a camera for a post-practice TikTok, when she felt it. The weirdest, most intense stare from across the room. At first, she ignored it, assuming it was just one of the guys zoning out. But then she heard a very distinct choking noise. She turned—only to find William Eklund standing a few feet away, frozen, wide-eyed, and looking like he had just forgotten how to breathe.

"...Uh," June blinked. "Are you okay?"

William made a sound that was definitely not human. Then, instead of speaking like a normal person, he just kept staring. Like, full-on deer-in-the-headlights staring. It was so bad that even Macklin noticed.

"Yo, Eky," Macklin called, waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Eky?"

William didn't respond. He just continued looking at June like she was a mythical creature. Macklin and Will exchanged glances. Then Will, ever the troublemaker, grinned.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "He's starstruck." Macklin's eyes widened. "No way."

June, completely lost, looked between them. "What?" Will beamed. "Oh, this is amazing." At that moment, William finally snapped out of his trance—only to immediately panic.

"Vad i helvete," he blurted out. June frowned. "What?" William visibly cringed. Then, because his brain was apparently not functioning, he started nervously rambling.

"Uh—I—hi," he stuttered. "You're—you're—um."

"Oh my god," Will whispered. "He's broken." Macklin gasped. "Did we just witness love at first sight?"

William immediately turned bright red. "Nej! Sluta!" June tilted her head. "I don't speak Swedish, but that sounded defensive." That only made him more flustered.

Macklin doubled over laughing. "He's panicking! He's literally panicking!" William looked so done. June, still completely out of the loop, crossed her arms. "Okay, can someone explain what's happening?" Will grinned. "Oh, nothing."

"Except that Eky," Macklin added, "is down bad." June raised an eyebrow. "Down bad?"

William groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Jag hatar det här." The second William left the room, Macklin and Will lost their minds.

"This is the best day of my life," Will announced. "I have never seen Eky lose his cool like that."

June, still confused, took a sip of her coffee. "So what you're telling me is..." She pointed toward the door William had just fled through. "That guy just had a meltdown because of me?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"A hundred percent."

June frowned. "But why?" Will grinned. "Because he's so in love with you." June choked on her coffee. "EXCUSE ME?"

Macklin nodded seriously. "It's true." Will gestured toward the hallway. "I mean, did you see that? You literally broke him Junie."

"That was not normal behavior," Macklin agreed. "Oh," Macklin said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "This is gonna be fun."

⸻William was dying.

He had locked himself in the players' lounge, pacing back and forth like a man on the verge of a crisis. Which, to be fair, he was. He had completely embarrassed himself. He had made a fool of himself in front of June. He was never going to live this down. And the worst part? He still hadn't said an actual sentence to her. Instead, he had just... malfunctioned. Because apparently, his brain stopped working whenever June was around. This was a disaster. A complete, total disaster. And William had no idea how he was going to survive the rest of the season.

⸻June Johnson wasn't the type to take things personally. She had thick skin, a sharp sense of humour, and enough patience to deal with Macklin and Will on a daily basis. But even she had her limits. And right now? She was absolutely convinced that William Eklund hated her. It started immediately after their first meeting. At first, she chalked it up to coincidence. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe he had a lot on his mind.

But by the third day? She noticed. Because every time she set up her camera for a TikTok, William suddenly disappeared. And it wasn't subtle. It was full-on, "I see June and immediately turn and walk in the opposite direction" avoidance.

Like today. She had just finished setting up her phone for a new round of "Question of the Day" when she spotted William across the room. She raised a hand to wave. His eyes went wide. And then? He turned and booked it. Like, actual Olympic-level sprinting.

June blinked. "...Did he just run away from me?" Will, standing beside her, cackled. "Oh yeah," he said, grinning. "He totally did." June frowned. "Okay, what is his deal?" Macklin, sitting nearby, hummed in amusement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," June gestured vaguely toward the door William had just escaped through, "he keeps avoiding me." Will snorted. "Yeah. And?"

"And—!" June huffed. "What did I do?" Macklin and Will exchanged glances. Then they grinned. "Oh," Macklin said innocently. "I'm sure it's nothing."

It wasn't just the dodging. No, because apparently whenever William couldn't escape in time, he had another reaction. He turned bright red. It happened constantly.

The first time, June had genuinely thought he was overheating. She had run into him near the locker room, and the second they made eye contact, his entire face flushed. She had even been concerned for a second.

"Are you okay?" she had asked.

William, visibly struggling, had muttered something under his breath and immediately turned on his heel and left. At first, June didn't think much of it. But then it happened again.

And again.

And AGAIN.

Any time their eyes met? Boom. Red. And yet, somehow, she was the only one confused about it. Macklin and Will? They were having the time of their lives.

"Oh my god, this is so funny," Will had whispered after William once again fled the scene. Macklin nodded. "He's actually suffering."

June, arms crossed, frowned. "Do you guys know something I don't?" Will just smirked. "Maybe." June narrowed her eyes. "I don't trust you." Will patted her shoulder. "That's fair."

By the time a full week had passed, June was convinced she had done something wrong. Because who avoids someone this hard if they don't hate them? She finally snapped during morning skate. She had been setting up her camera when William walked into the room—only to immediately turn around and leave.

June had had enough.

"Okay," she said, turning to Macklin and Will. "Be honest. Does he hate me?" Macklin choked on his water. "What?" Will, looking way too entertained, laughed. "Oh, June." June crossed her arms. "No, seriously. Did I do something?"

Macklin wiped his mouth, still grinning. "You really think Eky hates you?"

"Yes?" June threw up her hands. "He literally refuses to be in the same room as me!" Will, barely containing his laughter, shook his head. "Oh, Junie. You're so, so wrong." June frowned. "Then what is it?" Macklin grinned. "Oh, he doesn't hate you," he said. "Not at all." Will smirked. "If anything, it's the opposite." June blinked. "What?"

Macklin leaned back in his seat, looking way too smug. "June," he said slowly, like he was explaining something obvious. "The guy has a huge crush on you."

June froze.

She stared at them. "What? Absolutely not. You're lying." Will nodded. "Oh yeah." Macklin shrugged. "It's actually kind of pathetic."

"...Wait." She shook her head. "You're telling me that he's been avoiding me because he likes me?" Will beamed. "Exactly." June frowned. "That makes no sense." Macklin snorted. "No, it makes perfect sense."

Will nudged her. "Think about it. He literally panicked when he first met you." Macklin nodded. "And he turns bright red whenever you look at him." Will wiggled his eyebrows. "He's smitten."

June, suddenly replaying every single interaction she had with William, felt her stomach drop. No. That can't be it. This is just Mack and Will pulling on her leg. Shoving Macklin and Will away, she walked away, mumbling about how they're a bunch of idiots that don't know what they're talking about. ⸻William Eklund had one goal today. Survive.

Media day was supposed to be easy. It was literally just a few hours of posing for headshots, recording promo videos, and answering basic questions for the Sharks' social team. Simple. Routine. No stress. Except for one problem.

June was there. And not just there. She was practically running the entire thing. Which meant William was now trapped in a room with her for hours, forced to interact, unable to escape like he usually did. He was so screwed.

The media room was buzzing with activity. Bright studio lights were set up along the far wall, cameras positioned at different angles, with a backdrop featuring the Sharks logo. A handful of team staff were already filtering through, prepping the players for their photos and coordinating the shoot schedule.

And in the center of it all?

June.

She was checking over the camera setup, giving quick instructions to the photographer, her clipboard tucked under one arm. Completely in her element. William watched from a safe distance, praying she wouldn't notice him. He had almost convinced himself that he could get through this without incident—until he made the mistake of glancing toward the schedule board.

PLAYER ORDER: 1. Logan Couture 2. Henry Thrun 3. Mario Ferraro 4. William Eklund

William Eklund.

FOURTH? NO TIME TO PREPARE. His stomach dropped. "William!"

His head snapped up just in time to see June waving him over. Oh.

Oh no.

She was smiling at him. Why was she smiling at him? Why did she have to be so effortlessly cool and put-together and—

"Come on," June said, gesturing toward the backdrop. "You're up next."

William's feet refused to move. He was frozen—fully paralyzed—as his brain scrambled for an escape plan that didn't exist. June tilted her head, confused. "You good?" He nodded way too fast.

"Y-yeah! Yes! Of course! I am—good. Very good." Oh my god. What was that? What kind of response was that? He sounded like a robot. June blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. "Okay... cool. Just step into the frame, and we'll get started."

William swallowed hard. This was a nightmare. He forced himself forward, his legs moving stiffly as he positioned himself in front of the camera. "Alright," June said, adjusting the lighting. "Just look straight ahead."

William tried. He really did. But the problem? June was standing right next to the camera. Which meant that every time he looked forward, he was also looking directly at her. And holy shit. That was not helping.

He could feel it happening. The dreaded blush. It started creeping up his neck, warming his face, and no matter how hard he tried to fight it, it just kept getting worse.

He was going to die.

Meanwhile, June—completely unaware of his suffering—was focused on her job. "Alright, now turn a little to your left," she instructed. William nodded too fast again. "Okay. Yes. Left. I can do that."

Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.

He adjusted his pose, feeling like an actual idiot. "Perfect," June said, tapping something on the screen. "Now just relax your shoulders a bit."

Relax? Relax?!

How was he supposed to relax when she was literally standing right there, looking at him, analyzing him, judging his every movement— "Eklund," June interrupted, giving him a look. "Breathe."

Oh.

Right.

Breathing.

That was a thing he should probably do.

He forced himself to inhale, feeling like a malfunctioning robot. After what felt like years, the photographer finally finished. William was seconds away from sprinting out of the room when June held up a hand. "Wait," she said. "One more thing."

He froze. "What?" She handed him a mic. "You need to record a quick intro for the season promo."

...Oh no.

Oh no.

Talking? In front of June?! This was worse. This was so much worse. But he had no choice. So he took the mic, cleared his throat, and—

"Hi. I mean—hello. I'm William Eklund. And you're watching—" He stuttered. "No. Wait. That's Disney Channel. That's not right."

OH MY GOD.

A beat of silence.

Then—

June snorted. Like, actually snorted.

"Dude," she said, trying (and failing) to hold back laughter. "Are you okay?"

William felt himself combusting. "I—uh—I don't know?"

And then, because his embarrassment reached an all-time high, he did the worst thing possible. He cursed in Swedish.

Loudly.

June immediately caught it. "That was Swedish," she said, grinning. "What did you just say?"

William's soul left his body. "Nothing!" he blurted. "It was nothing! I—uh—I should go." And before she could stop him, he turned and speed-walked out of the room. The second he escaped, he slumped against the nearest wall, running a hand through his hair.

That was a disaster.

An absolute disaster.

He could not handle this girl.

Not her smile. Not her teasing. Not the way she effortlessly made him look like an idiot. He was so doomed.

And the worst part? He still had to see her every single day. There was no way he was making it through the season in one piece.

⸻ June Johnson had watched NHL games before. She had grown up watching them on TV, sometimes in the stands, cheering alongside packed crowds. But standing on the ice, just feet away from the players, camera in hand, feeling the energy of the arena before puck drop?

This was different.

This was insane.

And, for the first time since starting this job, she fully grasped the magnitude of what she had walked into.

The arena was electric. The SAP was packed, fans decked out in teal and black, waving rally towels as the pre-game light show illuminated the ice. The music boomed through the speakers, matching the pulse of the anticipation hanging in the air. From ice level, it felt ten times louder.

June had her phone in one hand, her camera in the other, capturing clips for TikTok and Instagram. Players skated by, locked in, the sound of their blades carving through the ice mixing with the deep bass of the arena soundtrack. She turned, scanning the crowd through her lens, before shifting her focus back to the bench.

And that's when she saw them. Macklin and Will.

They were standing by the boards, both trying (and failing) to act like they weren't completely freaking out.

It was their first NHL game.

The real deal.

And June, despite all her focus on capturing the perfect shot, could see the nerves written all over them. She lowered her camera and walked over, nudging Will's shoulder. "You good?"

Will grinned way too fast. "Yeah! Totally! Super fine! Not nervous at all!" Macklin, standing beside him, snorted. "He's lying." Will shot him a look. "Dude, you're literally shaking."

"I am not."

"You so are."

June rolled her eyes. "Okay, both of you need to chill." Macklin exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I mean... it's a lot, right? The lights, the crowd, the pressure." Will nodded. "Kinda feels like I might throw up." Macklin grimaced. "Yeah, please don't do that."

June, watching them closely, softened. She had been so focused on the media side of things, she had almost forgotten that this was just as much a huge moment for them as it was for the fans.

Their first NHL game. Their first time skating out to their names being announced in front of thousands. Their first real taste of the league they had dreamed of playing in since they were kids.

And the fact that they got to do it together? That made it even more special.

June shifted, nudging Macklin first, then Will. "You guys know you belong here, right?"

Will blinked. "Huh?"

"I mean it," she said, looking between them. "You guys worked your asses off to get here. And yeah, it's scary, but you're not alone. You've got each other. And," she added with a smirk, "you've got me."

Macklin snorted. "Oh, lucky us." Will grinned. "Yeah, what would we do without you?" June crossed her arms. "Exactly. Now stop freaking out and just play. You'll be fine."

They didn't say anything for a moment, just exchanged a glance—one of those silent, best friend conversations where nothing needed to be said.

Then Macklin smirked. "Alright. Let's do this."

Will nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

Before heading toward the ice, they both turned back at the same time and, without warning, pulled June into a quick hug. It was so fast she barely had time to react before they let go and skated off, leaving her standing there, completely caught off guard.

She blinked, watching them go. Then, with a small smile, she raised her camera and hit record.

This?

This was going to be a hell of a season.

⸻ June Johnson was not prepared for how emotional this game was going to make her. She had spent the past few weeks fully settling into her role with the Sharks, getting used to the chaos, the media responsibilities, and—most of all—her new dynamic with Macklin and Will. She knew how much this night meant to them. But standing here, watching it all unfold in real time, she realized she had drastically underestimated just how much it meant to her too.

The hug wasn't planned. It had been impulsive, a quick, wordless exchange that lasted no more than a few seconds before Macklin and Will skated off, leaving June stunned on the bench.

But apparently? Everyone noticed. Not even five minutes later, her phone buzzed with a notification.

@/SharksMedia: A special moment between our three "rookies" before puck drop. 🦈💙

She clicked the video, watching the moment play back in real-time. The clip wasn't even high quality—just a quick, shaky recording taken by a the other social media crew. But that almost made it better. The three of them huddled together, Will grinning, Macklin looking focused but excited, June laughing as she nudged them before they pulled her in for a fast, almost instinctive hug.

It was so small, so simple—but it had everyone melting. The replies were already flooded with comments.

@/freshprinceofchestnuthill02: STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE 😭 @/miami101: not the sharks making me emotional before the game even starts @/willmack7102: the way they just pulled her in like it was nothing 🥺

June groaned. "Oh my god." Then, it was time. The lights dimmed. The music swelled. The energy in the arena built to a fever pitch.

And then—

"Starting at center, making his NHL debut... MACKLIN CELEBRINI!" The crowd exploded.

June felt her chest tighten with pride as Macklin took the ice, his first NHL solo lap, carving through the rink with ease, the lights reflecting off his jersey.

Then came—

"Starting at forward, making his NHL debut... WILL SMITH!"

Another huge roar from the crowd. Will skated out, grinning ear to ear, pumping his fist as he took his lap. And June? She was so damn proud.

Her boys. Her stupid, chaotic, lovable little brothers were in the NHL.

She held up her phone, capturing every second. She wanted to remember this. She wanted them to remember this. The game itself was a blur of fast-paced action, adrenaline, and a ridiculous amount of yelling from the bench. But the moment that would live in her brain forever?

Macklin's first goal.

She had barely processed what happened.

One second, the puck was dropped. The next? Macklin had it. And before anyone could react—

HE SCORED.

On his first shot. The puck hit the back of the net, and the entire arena erupted. The goal horn blared. The bench exploded. Macklin threw his arms up in disbelief, eyes wide before he was immediately swarmed by his teammates.

June? June was losing her entire mind. She practically shoved her phone into the air, recording as she jumped up and down, screaming.

"Oh my god! OH MY GOD! MACKLIN!" She didn't even care if it was professional or not—she was screaming her lungs out. The guys on the bench were laughing at her, but she didn't care.

She could feel her eyes watering, could barely hold the camera steady, but she kept recording, capturing the pure, unfiltered joy on Macklin's face as he skated past the bench. When he spotted her?

He pointed.

Directly at her.

Like he knew she was freaking out. Like he knew this meant just as much to her as it did to him. She covered her mouth, grinning like an idiot, heart bursting with pride.

June barely remembered the final buzzer, too wrapped up in the chaos of celebration, but the moment the game ended, she was already on the move. She didn't care about decorum, didn't care about looking professional—she just sprinted down the tunnel, camera forgotten, shoving past staff and players until she finally found them.

"MACKLIN!"

Macklin barely had time to turn before June crashed into him, throwing her arms around him in the biggest hug imaginable. Will, laughing, barely had time to react before she grabbed him too.She held onto both of them way too tight, face buried in Macklin's shoulder, because she was so proud she didn't even have words.

"You guys," she choked out, voice muffled. "You guys are—ugh! I'm so proud of you!" Macklin laughed, squeezing her back. "June, you're literally crying." She pulled back just enough to wipe at her eyes, sniffling. "Shut up, I'm not."

Will smirked. "Oh, she totally is." Macklin nodded. "Big time." June groaned. "I hate you both." Will grinned. "Love you too."

Macklin slung an arm around her shoulder, still smiling. "Thanks for being here, Junie." June sniffed, rolling her eyes. "Where else would I be?"

Because honestly?

There was nowhere else she'd rather be.

⸻ William Eklund was already down bad. But after tonight?

It was getting worse.

William was still coming down from the high of their first win when he took a moment to breathe, slumping back against the bench as the final cheers from the crowd echoed through the arena. That's when he saw her. June.

She was still in the tunnel, grinning like an idiot, her arms wrapped around Macklin and Will like they had just won the Stanley Cup. The way she smothered them, pulling them in, eyes bright with pride—it was so genuine, so soft, so full of love that it actually made his chest ache.

And the worst part? The look on their faces.

Macklin and Will—who normally acted like two little menaces—completely melted.

Macklin let himself be squeezed half to death, grinning through it. Will actually laughed into her shoulder, nudging her playfully but not pulling away.

They just... let her love them.

And William? William realized he wanted that too.

He wanted her looking at him like that. He wanted her throwing her arms around him, laughing, telling him she was proud.

God, he was so screwed.

Later, in the locker room, Macklin leaned against his stall, arms crossed. "Okay," he said, tilting his head toward William. "We need to do something." Will, peeling off his tape, raised an eyebrow. "About what?" Macklin scoffed. "Are you serious?"

Will followed his gaze toward where William was sitting, fully staring at June from across the room, looking like a lovesick puppy. Will smirked. "Oh. That."

Macklin rolled his eyes. "Dude, it's getting embarrassing." William was barely trying to be subtle. June was just talking to Ferraro, completely oblivious, but William was staring at her, practically drooling.

"I mean, come on," Macklin continued, nudging Will. "Look at him. He's helpless." Will snorted. "I bet if she even looked in his direction right now, he'd combust."

Macklin smirked. "Wanna test that theory?" Will grinned. "Oh, absolutely."

"Okay, hear me out," Will said, leaning in. "We make him jealous." Macklin raised an eyebrow. "You think that'll work?" Will nodded. "Dude. He's already in the deep end. We just gotta make him feel like he's actually losing her."

Macklin hummed, considering. "And how do we do that?" Will grinned. "I'll flirt with her."

Macklin immediately started laughing. "Oh, that's evil."

Will shrugged. "Gotta do what we gotta do." Macklin smirked. "Alright, let's see if this works." _

The next morning, June was walking through the facility, minding her business, when Will suddenly appeared beside her.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he said smoothly.

June almost tripped. "...What." Will grinned. "Just appreciating beauty when I see it."

June narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," Will said way too innocently. "Can't a guy just compliment his favorite person?"

Okay.

Weird.

But this was Will. So instead of overthinking it, June just rolled her eyes. "Right. Sure."

Will patted her shoulder. "Looking forward to spending the day with you, sweetheart."

And then he just... walked off.

June blinked.

What.

The.

Hell.

William witnessed the entire thing. And immediately malfunctioned. Will had barely touched her, had just thrown a few dumb compliments, and yet William felt actual, physical heat crawling up his neck.

Why was Will talking to her like that? Why was June smiling at him like it was normal? WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

He was so busy panicking that he didn't even realize Macklin had been watching him the whole time.

Macklin smirked. "Something wrong, Eky?" William blinked, still staring after June and Will. "Huh?"

Macklin grinned. "You look... distracted." William scowled. "Shut up."

Macklin snorted. Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun. If William Eklund thought things couldn't get worse, he was very, very wrong. Because Will Smith was escalating.

And William? William was losing his mind.

It started the second June walked into the practice facility. She had barely taken two steps before Will was right there, flashing his biggest, most ridiculous grin.

"Junie," he greeted smoothly. "You're glowing today."

June, already skeptical, blinked. "I... what?"

Will placed a hand over his heart. "It's true. You brighten this entire place."

Okay. What the hell was going on? June narrowed her eyes. "Alright. What do you want?" Will gasped, offended. "I'm just being nice!"

"You're being weird."

"I'm being appreciative." June sighed. "Of what?" Will smirked. "Of you, obviously." June stared at him for a solid five seconds.

Then?

She just shook her head and walked away.

Weird. But again—this was Will. So she didn't think much of it.

William, however? William was dying. He had been right there, watching the whole thing, and holy shit. Will was so obvious.

The way he tilted his head just right, the stupid smooth tone of his voice, the way he just kept smiling at her like she was the best thing in the world— William was going to explode.

And the worst part? June didn't even seem fazed. She just rolled her eyes and kept moving, like Will flirting with her was normal. Like she was used to it.

William hated that. Macklin, standing beside him, smirked. "You good, bud?" William gritted his teeth. "I'm fine."

Macklin snorted. "Right. Totally believe that." Macklin just patted his shoulder. "Whenever you're ready to, you know, actually do something about this, let us know."

William groaned, running a hand through his hair. Yeah. That wasn't happening anytime soon. If William thought Will was done for the day, he was so wrong. Because later, when they were in the gym, stretching before practice, Will decided to take things a step further.

June was standing by the benches, scrolling through her phone, completely minding her own business.

And Will? Will casually walked over, plucked her phone out of her hand, and sat beside her. "Hey," he said, grinning. "You look a little tense." June frowned. "What—"

And then? Will reached out and started massaging her shoulders.

William almost had a stroke. June froze. Then, slowly, painfully, turned her head to look at him.

"...What are you doing." Will, completely unbothered, kept massaging. "Just helping you relax."

June stared at him. "Dude."

"What?"

"This is weird."

Will sighed dramatically. "See? You never let yourself be taken care of." June pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh my god."

But she didn't immediately push him away, just let out a long, exhausted sigh before finally grabbing his wrists and prying his hands off.

"Okay. Enough." Will smirked. "You love me."

"I tolerate you." Will winked. "Close enough."

William Eklund needed help. William had been watching all of this from across the room, barely holding it together. He felt like his brain was on fire.

What was Will doing?! Why was June letting him?! WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING IN FRONT OF HIM?!

His jaw was so tight he thought his teeth might crack. He didn't even realize how tense he looked until Ferraro passed by and gave him a knowing look.

"Something wrong, Eky?" he asked, amused.

William, glaring at Will, muttered, "Jag ska döda honom." Ferraro snorted. "Don't need to speak Swedish to know what that means."

William groaned, dropping his head back against the bench. He was never going to survive this.

⸻June Johnson had way too much in her hands.

She had one camera bag slung over her shoulder, a stack of memory cards tucked in her arm, and an iced coffee balancing precariously in her grasp.

She was one wrong move away from disaster. And, of course, that's exactly what happened.

She had been power-walking down the hallway toward the media room, fully convinced she could make it without incident. And then?

She bumped into someone. Her elbow knocked against them just hard enough, and—

One of the memory cards slipped from her grip, tumbling toward the floor. She cursed under her breath and immediately went to grab it. What she didn't realize was that the person she had bumped into—William Eklund—had done the exact same thing.

And just like that—

Their hands collided.

It was barely anything.

Just a quick brush of fingertips, warm skin against warm skin, but it lingered for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. June barely had time to process it before William yanked his hand back like he'd been electrocuted.

Her brow furrowed. "Woah." William, visibly flustered, refused to look at her. "Sorry."

June grabbed the memory card and straightened, eyeing him. "It's fine. You okay?"

William cleared his throat, still avoiding eye contact. "Yes. Fine. Totally fine."

June narrowed her eyes.

Weird.

So weird.

But before she could push it further, William mumbled another quick apology and walked away. She watched him go, shifting the equipment in her arms.

"...Alright."

She had no idea what just happened. But one thing was becoming very clear.

William Eklund was acting really, really weird around her. And for the first time, she actually wanted to figure out why.

⸻ William Eklund had a problem.

And that problem?

June Johnson.

Because somehow, without realizing it, he had spent the entire night keeping an eye on her. The night had started like any other team outing. The Sharks were in Canada, celebrating a win in one of the liveliest bars in the city. The place was packed, the music loud, drinks flowing, and the energy electric.

June had arrived with Macklin and Will, just like always, falling into her usual spot between them like they were an inseparable trio. And William? William shouldn't have cared. He should have been focused on his own night, drinking, laughing with the guys, letting loose after a good game.

Instead?

His gaze kept drifting. Not intentionally—at least, not at first. But every time she laughed at something, every time she leaned against Macklin's shoulder, every time she flashed that stupid, perfect smile, his brain short-circuited. And then, when Macklin and Will got distracted, when she was off talking to someone else, he found himself checking on her.

Was she okay? Was she having fun?

Who was she talking to?

He had no reason to be watching her this much. No reason at all. And yet, there he was.

Sitting at the table, barely hearing what Ferraro was saying, because he was too busy making sure June was good.

And that? That's how he noticed.

He had been watching her—not intentionally, just subconsciously, scanning the bar like always—when he saw it.

A guy.

Too close.

June tense.

William sat up, spine snapping straight. At first, it was just mild concern.

Maybe she knew him. Maybe she was fine.

Then—

The guy reached for her.

Something in William's chest snapped. Before he even thought about it—before he even processed what he was doing—he was moving. It was pure instinct.

One second, he was at the table. The next?

He was right there.

His hand landed on June's wrist, and in a flash, he pulled her behind him. The second he did it—the second he put himself between her and the guy—his brain switched off.

No nerves. No hesitation. No overthinking.

Just pure, protective instinct. And for the first time ever, he wasn't flustered around her.

Because right now? She needed him. And that? That was the only thing that mattered.

"Back off." His voice was low, sharp, and dangerously calm.

The guy, clearly drunk, scoffed. "Relax, man. We're just talking."

William didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't budge an inch.

"She's not interested," he said coolly. "Walk away."

The guy rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but after a moment, he made the right choice and left.

It wasn't until the guy was gone that William's brain started functioning again. And that's when he realized—

He still had his hand on June.

Oh.

Oh no.

The protective instinct that had taken over? Gone.

Now?

All that was left was panic.

He turned to check on her, his heartbeat still racing, and the moment their eyes met, it hit him all at once.

How close they were. How his hand was still gripping her wrist. How she was looking up at him with wide, unreadable eyes.

His brain completely melted.

Before he could let go, apologize, or run away forever, June suddenly smiled.

Soft.

Grateful.

And then?

She kissed his cheek.

William stopped breathing.

It was so fast—barely a second, just a light press of her lips to his skin—but it destroyed him.

The warmth. The softness. The casual, effortless way she did it—

William was dead.

Actually, physically deceased. And then? She just patted his chest, smiled like nothing happened, and said—

"Thanks, Eky." Then she walked back to the table like it was nothing. He stood there, completely frozen, hand still hovering in midair like an idiot.

His face was on fire. His brain was empty.

And then—

"Ohhh my god."

A voice.

A voice that sent pure fear down his spine.

William turned, and—

Macklin and Will. Watching the whole thing. And losing their minds.

Will was gasping for air. Macklin was halfway to the floor, wheezing. "Oh my god," Will repeated. "DID SHE JUST—"

"Oh, he's so gone," Macklin choked out. "Look at him. LOOK AT HIM."

William's ears were ringing.

He needed to leave.

Right now.

Immediately.

But he couldn't.

Because he was still standing there, still feeling the ghost of her lips on his cheek, still trying to process that June Johnson had just kissed him.

And worst of all?

He had no idea what it meant.

⸻ June Johnson had made one mistake tonight. And that mistake? Thinking she could get through the rest of the night without being interrogated.

By now, it was common knowledge around the team that Will, Macklin, and June always shared a hotel room.

It was ridiculous—they were literal NHL rookies, not kids at summer camp. But somehow, every single road trip, they managed to convince the team staff to let them bunk together.

Why? Because they couldn't function without each other. (Also because Will and Macklin were man-children who needed supervision, but June wouldn't admit that out loud.)

So when they got back to the hotel after the bar, she should have known what was coming.

The moment June walked in, Will threw himself onto the bed, dramatically sprawling out like he had just run a marathon. Macklin, meanwhile, plopped onto the couch, cracking open a water bottle.

And then—at the exact same time—they both turned to her. And grinned.

June froze. "What." Will wiggled his eyebrows. "Sooo..." Macklin smirked. "How's Eky?"

June's stomach dropped.

Oh, god.

They knew.

She forced herself to act casual, dropping her bag by the dresser. "Uh... fine?"

Will snorted. "That's all you're gonna say?"

June narrowed her eyes. "What are you two getting at?"

Macklin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Oh, I don't know," he said casually. "Maybe the fact that you kissed him."

June instantly turned red. "It wasn't a kiss."

Will gasped, clutching his chest. "IT WAS A KISS."

June groaned. "It was barely anything. It was on the cheek."

Macklin smirked. "Did your lips touch his skin?"

June hesitated. "...Yes?"

Will sat up straight. "DID HE TURN BRIGHT RED AFTER?"

She huffed. "Obviously."

Macklin grinned. "Then it counts."

June covered her face. "Oh my god, you guys are so annoying." Will kicked his feet like an excited child. "So, tell us everything. How was it? How did it feel? Was it soft? Did he smell good? Did he—"

"STOP," June groaned. "It wasn't a big deal."

Macklin scoffed. "Oh, it was a huge deal."

Will nodded aggressively. "Eky's probably still in shock. You fried his entire brain."

June sighed, throwing herself onto the bed. "You guys are making this so much bigger than it was."

Macklin raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you just go around kissing people on the cheek all the time?"

June glared. "I WAS THANKING HIM."

Will grinned. "Sure. Sure."

Macklin smirked. "You know he's in love with you, right?"

June froze. Her stomach did something weird. She sat up quickly. "He is not."

Macklin and Will exchanged a look. "Oh, she's in denial," Will whispered.

Macklin nodded. "Big time."

June crossed her arms. "He doesn't like me like that. He's just... shy."

Will snorted. "Junie. He literally worships the ground you walk on."

June's face heated up.

Macklin shrugged. "Honestly, I'm kinda impressed with you." She frowned. "What?"

Macklin smirked. "You broke him. I've never seen Eky that flustered before. He might actually be in a coma right now."

June groaned. "You guys are the worst."

Will flopped back onto the pillows, grinning. "Face it, Junie," he said. "You're in trouble."

And, for the first time, June was starting to think he might be right.

⸻ Tyler Toffoli had played in the NHL for a long time. He had seen a lot. He had been on championship teams, endured chaotic locker rooms, and witnessed some of the most ridiculous bets ever made between teammates.

But somehow?

Somehow, this might be the dumbest one yet.

They were on the road, heading into Buffalo for the next game on their trip. The usual post-practice bus chatter filled the air—guys talking about dinner plans, chirping each other about bad drills, and overall just keeping the mood light. Tyler was sitting near the middle, scrolling through his phone, when a voice from behind him made him pause.

"Alright," Will Smith said, loud enough for half the bus to hear. "Let's make things interesting."

Tyler sighed. It was never good when Will started sentences like that. Henry Thrun, sitting near the front, barely turned around. "This ought to be good."

Will grinned. "If Mack, Toff, and I all score against Buffalo, then Toff has to—" He turned dramatically. "Join our legendary sleepover."

Tyler blinked. "...Your what?"

Macklin Celebrini smirked. "Oh, he doesn't know." Mario Ferraro snorted. "Dude, they have a whole routine."

Tyler, confused, looked between them. "You guys still do sleepovers?"

Will grinned proudly. "Hell yeah, we do."

"I—" Tyler shook his head. "Why?"

June, sitting two rows ahead, barely glanced up from her phone. "They're codependent." Will ignored her. "It's tradition. And you can't really talk, you're a part of it."

Tyler rubbed his temples. "Okay, but why me?"

Macklin smirked. "Because we need to test your loyalty." Tyler scoffed. "And what are the chances all three of us actually score?"

Will shrugged. "Low."

Macklin nodded. "But if it happens, you're in."

Tyler rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Not gonna happen anyway."

It did, in fact, happen. Will scored in the first period, skating past the bench with a cocky grin, pointing at Tyler. Then Macklin tipped one in on the power play. And then, because the universe hated him, Tyler sniped one in the third.

The bench erupted.

But instead of normal goal celebrations, Tyler was met with immediate chirping. "Ohhh, Toff," Thrun teased. "You're in trouble now."

Will and Macklin bounced on the bench screaming "Sleepover! Sleepover!!" Tyler groaned. "Oh my god."

By the time they got back to the hotel, Tyler was praying everyone had forgotten.

They did not. Because the coaching staff got involved.

David Quinn, standing in the hallway post-game, grinned when he saw Tyler. "So, Toffoli," he smirked. "You ready for your sleepover?"

Tyler stared. "Coach, please." Mario Ferraro walked by, dying of laughter. "Gotta follow through, bud."

And just like that?

Tyler had no way out.

When Tyler finally showed up to their hotel room, dragging a stupid rollaway cot behind him, he had one thought.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

Because what he expected was a normal setup.

What he got was a full-fledged system. • Will and June were in one bed. • Macklin was in the other. • There was a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk on the bedside table. • And a stupid spot was set up at the foot of both beds for his cot.

Tyler blinked. "You guys are unreal."

Will beamed. "Welcome to the fam, Toff."

Macklin smirked. "Did you actually think we were joking?"

Tyler exhaled. "I was hoping."

June, casually scrolling on her phone, snorted. "Well, you're here now."

"Okay," Will said, pulling out his phone. "Photo time."

Tyler groaned. "Is this really necessary?"

Macklin grinned. "Oh, 100%."

They took the stupidest, most ridiculous photo possible—Tyler lying stiff on his cot, looking miserable, June and Will grinning like gremlins, and Macklin flashing a peace sign from his bed.

June shook her head. "This is absurd."

Will grinned. "It's tradition."

At first, Tyler thought, Okay. Fine. We'll go to sleep now. It was 3am, what else were you supposed to do.

Wrong.

Because Macklin and Will would. Not. Shut. Up.

They talked about everything. The game. The best goal celebrations. Some random inside joke that made zero sense.

June?

She just sat there on her phone, occasionally chiming in like this was completely normal. Tyler turned to her. "How are you just... ignoring this?"

June shrugged. "You get used to it."

Tyler sighed. "I don't think I will."

And then—

Mid-sentence, Will just stopped talking. Tyler frowned. "What the—"

He looked up—Will was just... asleep. Out. Like a light.

Macklin didn't even react.

June, without missing a beat, just sat up, pulled the covers over Will, then rolled over and fell asleep too.

Tyler stared. "What," he whispered. "The hell just happened?"

Macklin yawned. "It's just how it is."

Tyler frowned. "What do you mean?"

Macklin shrugged. "Will has a hard time sleeping alone. He started bunking with June because it helped. And somewhere along the way, I joined too."

Tyler stared.

Slowly, it started to make sense. It wasn't just some dumb rookie sleepover.

It was... routine. A weird, chaotic, ridiculously wholesome routine. And June? She wasn't just their friend. She was their person. Their family. Their everything.

The one who made everything easier, lighter, better.

Tyler shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

This was insane.

But also?

Kind of perfect.

Before turning over to sleep, Tyler pulled out his phone. He stared at the stupid photo they had taken earlier. Then, before he could overthink it, he posted it to his Instagram.

Caption: "Reporting for duty 🫡"

He tossed his phone on the nightstand and settled in.

Yeah.

This team?

This team was something special.

⸻ William Eklund had survived a lot in his career.

Gruelling practices. Hard-fought games. The relentless chirping of his teammates.

But this? This was worse than all of that combined. Because June Johnson was flirting with him.

And she was doing it on purpose.

William had been suffering in silence for months, convinced that June saw him as nothing more than a teammate, a coworker, a friend of a friend.

He had resigned himself to his quiet, torturous little crush. And then, out of nowhere, everything changed. It was like a switch flipped. Because suddenly, overnight, June started acting... different.

Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But he noticed.

At first, he thought he was imagining it. The way she started standing closer to him in conversations. The way her fingers would brush his wrist when she handed him something. The way she'd lean in, just slightly, when they were talking, like she was completely comfortable in his space.

And then came the comments. The too-casual, too-smooth compliments that made his entire brain malfunction.

"Looking good today, Eky," she had tossed out casually, winking as she walked past.

Or worse—after practice, when she'd toss him a water bottle and say, "Stay hydrated, pretty boy."

PRETTY BOY.

William had fully choked on his own spit.

Ferraro had had to thump him on the back to save him.

June?

She had just grinned and walked away. She was doing this on purpose. He was sure of it now. And it was killing him.

Unfortunately, William was not subtle.

The team picked up on it immediately. They watched as June slowly turned up the heat, adding more teasing, more touches, more deliberate moments that left William looking completely fried.

And the guys?

They were thriving off his suffering.

"Eky, man," Hertl grinned one day. "You look stressed."

"Yeah," Ferraro added. "Everything okay? You seem a little... distracted."

William, completely red, grumbled, "I'm fine."

The worst part?

June had heard the whole thing. And instead of saving him, she had just smirked. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

It finally reached critical levels one afternoon after practice. William had spent the entire day dodging her, avoiding eye contact, trying to survive.

And then—

She cornered him.

It was just the two of them in the media room, the door clicking shut behind them.

William's heart was already racing, just from being alone with her.

And then—

She leaned against the table, crossed her arms, and smirked.

"So," she said casually. "When are you going to ask me out on a date?"

He stopped breathing.

His brain shut down.

She just— She actually—

WHAT.

She was looking at him, waiting for an answer, and oh my god.

She knew.

She had known this whole time.

And now?

Now she was messing with him.

William opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

His face was so red, he could actually feel the heat in his skin.

June tilted her head, amused. "Eky?" she teased. "You good?"

No.

No, he was absolutely not good.

He was broken.

And June was loving it.

⸻ William Eklund had been barely holding himself together for weeks.

But this?

This was a new level of suffering. And it all started with a movie night ambush.

William had no idea what he was walking into. Will and Macklin had texted him earlier:

Will: Movie night at ours. Get here ASAP. Macklin: We got snacks.

William, thinking it was just the three of them, didn't hesitate. But when he walked in, he realized immediately—

He had been set up.

Because sitting on the couch, curled up in the coziest, most unfairly cute outfit imaginable, was June.

William was done for.

She wasn't in her usual media attire. She wasn't wearing her Sharks press pass, or running around with cameras, or giving him heart attacks by casually calling him "pretty boy."

No.

She was wearing sweats, an oversized Sharks hoodie (probably Will or Macklin's), huge glasses, and a messy bun.

And William?

William short-circuited on the spot.

She looked so soft. So effortless. So perfect. She looked so different from the sharp, witty, always-in-control June he was used to. And somehow, that made it so much worse.

She looked like she belonged here.

William could not stop staring.

"Eky," June greeted, smiling up at him. "Didn't know you were coming." William forgot how to speak.

Because her voice was so soft. And she was hugging a pillow to her chest. And she was wearing glasses.

And oh god.

He was in so much trouble. Will and Macklin, of course, noticed immediately. Will barely suppressed a grin. "Yeah, we... forgot to mention June was here."

Macklin smirked. "Hope that's cool."

William, still completely malfunctioning, just nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, totally. Cool. Fine."

Will snorted. "You sure, bud?"

William forced himself to sit down, taking the safest possible spot—the chair across from the couch, as far from June as possible.

Macklin and Will exchanged a look.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

The next night, the team had a bonding event planned. Bowling. Which should have been normal, fun, low-stress. But of course, that was before June decided to completely ruin William's life.

"Alright," Couture called out. "Pair up, let's get the teams set."

Before William could even think about what was happening, June appeared right next to him. She looped her arm through his, looked up at him with a sweet, innocent smile, and said,

"Me and Eky are a team." William's brain immediately malfunctioned. The guys immediately noticed.

"Ohhh," Toff grinned. "Interesting choice."

Will, barely containing his excitement, leaned over to Macklin. "This is gonna be so good."

Macklin nodded. "Eky's gonna combust."

And honestly?

They weren't wrong.

It started small.

She made little touches—brushing her fingers against his when she grabbed the bowling ball, nudging him when she laughed.

Then, it got worse.

She fixed the collar of his hoodie, totally casual, completely unaware of how William's soul left his body.

And then, when he went up to take his turn—

She stood way too close behind him. She leaned in and whispered, "No pressure, but I expect a strike."

And William?

William bowled the worst shot of his life.

The ball went straight into the gutter.

And the team?

Lost their minds.

"Oh my god," Will howled, actually falling onto the seats.

"Eky," Mario teased. "What the hell was that?"

William had no words. He just turned, fully red, looking at June. She was smirking. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And then, like she hadn't just completely ruined his night—

She patted his back and said, "You'll get 'em next time, pretty boy."

William wanted to scream.

At this point, William was barely hanging on. And Macklin and Will? Decided to help. Which, of course, made it so much worse.

They started pushing William toward June at random moments. They wingmanned him so hard it was embarrassing.

"Oh, you guys look good together," Macklin said loudly.

"Right?" Will grinned. "Power couple."

William wanted to die.

June?

June just laughed and played along.

"Oh, totally," she smirked. "We make a great team." William was one second away from actually combusting.

⸻William Eklund had reached his breaking point. For weeks, he had been tortured. June had been flirting relentlessly, finding every possible excuse to touch him, tease him, ruin his entire existence.

And worst of all? She knew exactly what she was doing.

Then, the other night, she had straight-up asked him when he was going to ask her out.

And William?

William had said nothing. He had just stood there buffering like a broken computer.

Pathetic.

Which is why, today, he was done. "What if I mess up?" William asked, pacing back and forth in the locker room.

Zetterlund leaned against his stall, arms crossed. "Eky, buddy, you've already messed up."

William groaned. "Okay, but—"

"No. No more 'but,'" Zetterlund cut in. "You're asking her out today."

William ran a hand through his hair. "I had a plan." Zetterlund raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" William nodded. "I was going to wait for the perfect moment."

Zetterlund sighed. "Dude, you had the perfect moment. She literally asked you when you were going to do it."

William groaned again, covering his face. "I KNOW."

Zetterlund clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me, okay? Just keep it simple. 'June, go out with me.' That's it."

William took a deep breath. He could do that.

Right?

The plan was simple. June did her "Question of the Day" segments every morning. All he had to do was wait until she finished, walk up, and ask her out.

He had it all rehearsed—every word planned out perfectly in his head.

But then...

He saw her.

She was standing in the hallway, smiling, laughing, looking unfairly beautiful, and—

His brain turned to static.

Before he even knew what was happening, he was walking toward her.

And then—

Words started falling out of his mouth.

"H—hey, um, I was wondering if, uh—well, you see—what I meant was—um—if you, like—wanted, um—go, uh, eat—dinner? With—me? Or something? At some point. Maybe. I don't know. No—I mean, I do know. I mean—I want to. Do you want to?"

Silence.

Absolute.

Painful.

Silence.

June just stared at him.

William wanted to jump into the nearest trash can.

Then—

She smiled.

And oh god.

She was blushing.

"Are you asking me out, Eky?" she asked, tilting her head. William, fully malfunctioning, just nodded.

June's smile grew.

"Then yes," she said softly.

William stopped breathing.

Then, as if she hadn't just completely ruined his life, she leaned in—

And pressed a kiss to his cheek.

But not just anywhere. Dangerously close to his lips.

William was dead.

June pulled away, grinning at his stunned expression. "Pick me up at seven?" she asked.

William, still not functioning as a human being, just nodded wordlessly. June gave him one last teasing look before walking away. Leaving William standing there, completely frozen.

That's when he felt two hands clap onto his shoulders. "Ohhh buddy," Macklin wheezed.

Will, barely holding it together, patted his back. "You okay, champ?"

William said nothing. He just stared into the void.

Macklin and Will looked at each other. Then—they burst out laughing. "Oh, this is too good," Will gasped.

Macklin shook his head. "She broke him."

William, still completely stunned, just whispered "What just happened?"

Will grinned. "You got a date, Eky." Macklin smirked. "And a near-kiss." Will waggled his eyebrows. "She's bold, huh?"

William was still buffering. Macklin clapped him on the back. "You're so screwed, dude."

And honestly?

He was.

⸻ William Eklund had never been this nervous in his entire life.

Not for his NHL debut. Not for a shootout attempt. Not even for post-game interviews where he had to answer questions in English instead of Swedish.

This?

This was worse than all of that combined.

Because tonight? He was taking June Johnson on a date.

When William pulled up to June's place, he felt like he was going to be sick. His hands were clammy, his heart was pounding, and he could already feel the team's chirps echoing in his brain.

But then—

She stepped outside.

And William?

William almost forgot how to breathe.

She looked stunning. Her hair was in natural curls, bouncing with every step she took. Her eyes were bright, glowing, filled with excitement. And her smile?

Her smile was going to kill him.

She was wearing something simple—jeans, sneakers, a cozy sweater—but she had never looked prettier.

William actually felt his jaw drop.

"Oh," he blurted before he could stop himself.

June raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh?"

William, still short-circuiting, cleared his throat aggressively. "You look—uh—really, really, really—"

Stop saying 'really'—

"—really pretty."

June laughed, eyes crinkling. "Thanks, William."

Then—as if she hadn't just melted his entire brain—she stepped forward and hugged him.

And to make things so much worse for him?

She kissed his cheek.

Again.

William fully blacked out.

June pulled away, grinning. "Are we ready?" William, still struggling to recover, just nodded. "Yeah. Uh. Yep."

He quickly thrust the bouquet of daisies toward her. "These are for you."

June's face softened immediately. "Daisies?" she murmured. William rubbed the back of his neck. "They're your favorite, right?"

June blinked.

Then—to his complete horror—her eyes started glistening.

"I can't believe you remembered that," she whispered. William panicked. "Did I do something wrong?" June laughed, blinking away tears. "No, you idiot. You just did something really sweet."

William, already red, opened the car door for her. "You deserve sweet things."

June stared at him. William immediately felt like he said too much. But before he could freak out completely, June smiled, slipping into the car. Then—just as he was about to close the door—she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"William..." He froze.

June squeezed his fingers gently. "You don't have to be so nervous," she said softly. "I like you, okay? A lot. And I'm glad we're going on a date. Let's just focus on that."

William's chest tightened.

How was she so effortless?

How was she so easy to be around?

He swallowed, nodding. "Okay."

She smiled. "Good."

And just like that, he felt himself relax.

⸻ By the time they got to the arcade, William felt significantly less like he was about to throw up. And after about ten minutes, he was actually having fun.

Because June? June was competitive.

"I hope you're ready to lose, Eky," she said, cracking her knuckles as they approached the basketball hoops. William smirked. "I play hockey, not basketball. You should win this one." June grinned. "We'll see."

The timer started.

Balls flew.

And to William's surprise—

June was actually good.

Like, weirdly good.

"Okay, what the hell," he muttered, watching as she sunk shot after shot with perfect form. June laughed. "You didn't know I played in high school?"

"No!" William gawked. "You were actually an athlete?" June smirked. "What, did you just think I was some media nerd?"

William grinned. "Yes." June gasped, feigning offense. "You take that back."

William laughed.

And for the first time all night, he felt like himself.

⸻ The rest of the night was filled with games, teasing, and ridiculous bets. William beat her at air hockey. June destroyed him at Dance Dance Revolution. He got way too competitive during Mario Kart. She giggled every time he muttered Swedish curses under his breath when he lost.

And somewhere along the way?

June realized something.

She was so, so smitten.

Because William Eklund?

Was the absolute sweetest.

He was a gentleman—opening doors, making sure she was warm, letting her pick the games. He was hilarious—constantly chirping her, making her laugh until her stomach hurt. And most of all?

He was so, so easy to be around.

This wasn't just a date. This was fun. June didn't want it to end.

As they left the arcade, June nudged him. "So," she teased. "Was this so bad?"

William grinned. "No." She smiled. "Good."

They reached the car. And then—

Before William could open the door for her, June turned and tugged on his hoodie.

William froze.

"William?" she murmured.

His pulse skyrocketed. "Yeah?"

She looked up at him, eyes soft. "I had fun tonight," she said.

William swallowed. "Me too." June bit her lip. "We should do it again."

William's stomach flipped. "Yeah?" he asked. June smiled. "Yeah."

Then—because she clearly wasn't done torturing him—

She leaned in. And kissed his cheek.

Again.

But this time? It lasted just a second longer. And it was way too close to his lips.

William actually forgot how to breathe. By the time he snapped out of it, June was already grinning at him.

Oh, yeah.

He was so in trouble.

⸻William Eklund had never felt this happy in his entire life.

As he drove home from June's house, his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his heart still racing, his mind replaying every second of the night.

The laughs. The way she looked at him. The way she kissed his cheek—so close, so soft, like she was waiting for him to do something.

And suddenly—

He couldn't take it anymore. His pulse skyrocketed as a wave of pure confidence rushed through him. Without even thinking, he slammed the brakes, threw the car into reverse, and sped back toward her place.

June had barely made it inside when the doorbell rang. She frowned.

Who the hell—

When she opened the door, she was met with William. Breathless. Wild-eyed. Looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire world.

"William?" she blinked, confused.

He didn't answer.

Didn't hesitate.

Didn't think.

He just moved.

One second, she was standing there, trying to process what was happening.

The next?

His hands were cupping her face, his body was stepping forward, and his lips were crashing into hers.

June was frozen for a second.

But then—

She melted.

The kiss.

It was desperate. All of tension unraveling in a single moment.

His hands were firm, holding her like he was afraid she'd disappear. His lips were soft, warm, urgent against hers. And his body—

God.

His body was pressed so close, she could feel his heartbeat racing as fast as hers. She barely had time to react before she was gripping his hoodie, pulling him closer, kissing him back with everything she had.

Because this?

This was what she had been waiting for. And the way William was kissing her? Like he had been dying to do this. Like he had been waiting just as long. It sent shivers down her spine.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. June, still gripping his hoodie, stared up at him. William, face flushed, chest heaving, stared back.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to. Because in that moment? Everything was finally clear.

William exhaled a laugh, still looking at her like she was unreal. "I, uh..." He swallowed. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

June's lips curled into a soft, dazed smile.

"Good," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

William closed his eyes, breathing her in.

Relief.

That's what this was. This was finally happening.

And neither of them were running from it anymore.

ekys first sleepover

#will smith hockey #will smith hockey imagine #will smith hockey x reader #macklin celebrini #macklin celebrini imagine #macklin celebrini x reader #william eklund #william eklund imagine #william eklund x reader #san jose sharks #san jose sharks imagine #nhl #hockey

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supernotnatural2005 · 1 day ago

Text

ahahaha, well that's just the thing, the smut is the compensation!! 😂

Stop it! How dare you! With the pretty descriptions of the sky and the ambience. I’m just joking, of course it was lovely 😍

You know I gotta sweeten the pot with the sky details, who doesn't love a dreamy sky!? 😂

I just love all the little details in their traditions that they have, even down to Dean being made to set the table. What about Sam? Huh, Ellen? Speaking of, she’s something else. I think I’ve said this before, but I haven’t read that many fics set in the earlier seasons - what can I say, an older Dean and the bunker, just works lol - so I don’t get to see Ellen all that often, but I love how you’ve nailed her! And then the little bit about her mixer gift. I love that even though they’re not blood related, they’re close - beautiful ❤️

Aww thank you Beth, I'm glad you picked up on it! ☺️ I had to make Sam the 'get away with everything' sibling, because I feel like that was always the case, and it just transitioned well here lol. And I absolutely loved Ellen's character, and Jo's, I wish they had more screen time or didn't go out like they did 😭.. Thank you, thank you, thank you 🙏❤️

There’s history there. Gosh it’s so damn sweet that they sit next to each other every year. And their special spot in the salvage yard. Don’t get me started on the record and the necklace, though I’m surprised and marvel at how they both kept that secret so long.

They can be adorable when they need to be right? 🥹 And that's most likely due to the serial sex brain they have atm 😂

😂😂😂 I guess she can cook when she’s been around longer. Ahhh - I’m trying to be nice, but this is another “what’s her name with the dog”

😂 No I get you, tbh I'm not a fan of Mary post season 12, I tend to base her more off what we saw in 'What is and should never be' episode. You know, when she acts like a mother 🥲

Gosh darn it! Lisa though? Are you kidding me?? Ahhhhh - I can’t wait, but I really hope that there’s no date or anything romantic between her and Dean. Fingers crossed the Impala sex is heading them in the right direction finally, though I do still recommend a dip in the pool - very different to shower sex lol

I know, I had to throw a lil drama into the mix 🫣, I won't spoil anything but, it packs a punch 🥊 I can't wait to share the rest of this story.

Thank you so much for reading Mate and your lovely words! I appreciate them so much ❤️

The Arrangement - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Christmas has arrived and the annual holiday chaos ensues. Although with an exchanging of gifts comes a surprising shift. (I'm a poet and I didn't know it 👀🤣)

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings/tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY) fluff, swearing, mentions of death non-cannon.

AN: Okay this one is a rollercoaster of emotions so I apologise in advance! 🥲

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

Christmas had arrived, and the chaos was already in full swing.

The night before, you’d made another one of those pecan upside-down cakes—only after getting the green light from the self-proclaimed dessert connoisseur. Dean.

With it, you’d packed up all of yours and Dean’s presents, hauling them over to your family home while he went to pick up his folks, Sam and Jess. His dad’s truck was still at the shop, waiting on a new part, which meant Dean was stuck playing chauffeur.

That left you arriving first. A mistake.

The moment you stepped over the threshold, you walked straight into a war zone.

Ellen was already in full commander mode, barking orders in the kitchen while Jo stood at the counter, aggressively stirring something with the enthusiasm of a hostage. The second Jo spotted you, her eyes lit up with desperation, and she silently mouthed, help me.

You had half a mind to backpedal right out of there.

The house smelled incredible—roasting turkey, buttered rolls, a vary of herbs and spices—but the warm, festive aroma was nearly overpowered by the thick tension of Ellen’s military-grade organisation.

You barely had time to drop your gifts under the tree—a large Douglas fir standing proudly in the corner, dressed in colourful lights, tinsel, and a mix of store-bought and handmade ornaments, including the lumpy crafts you and Jo had made as kids—before Ellen’s sharp voice rang out.

“Where the hell have you been? Jo’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”

Jo let out an offended squawk. “I am standing right here.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Ellen shot her a look, hands on her hips.

You bit back a laugh. Even your father—tough, grizzled old Bobby—was keeping his head down at the kitchen table, nursing his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him safe. He caught your eye and gave you a look that clearly said, don’t make any sudden moves, kid.

“Bobby, taste this,” Ellen demanded, shoving a wooden spoon dangerously close to his face.

Bobby sighed, grumbling something under his breath, but ultimately took the spoon. He chewed, swallowed, and muttered, “Needs salt.”

“Damn right it does.” Ellen shot Jo another look—clearly, she’d been involved in its preparation—and was already moving to fix it.

Jo seized the opportunity to edge closer to you. “I swear to God, if she makes me redo one more thing, I’m ‘accidentally’ dumping the whole salt shaker in.” You snickered, a little too loudly.

“You two better not be conspiring,” Ellen called over her shoulder, because of course, she had a sixth sense for mischief.

It was a half-hour later before Bobby was greeting the Winchesters and Jess at the door, the men exchanging firm pats on the back as everyone piled into the house, shaking off the winter chill.

Mary was the first to pull you and Jo into warm hugs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before heading straight for the kitchen, already offering her help. John and Sam followed, both of them pulling you into equally drowning hugs.

Jess gave her own cheerful greeting, before linking her arm with Jo’s as they disappeared into the bustling heart of the house, like she’d always belonged.

Meanwhile, the men took exactly three seconds to gravitate toward the living room. Bobby cracked open a beer, passing one to John, who took it with a grateful smirk. Sam and Dean flopped onto the couch, their eyes drifting toward the TV where a football game was already playing.

Dean stretched out with a satisfied sigh, sinking comfortably into the cushions, looking as if he had just pulled off the greatest heist in history—sneaking in without being assigned a single task.

That cocky grin of his was still in place when he caught your eye across the room. You lifted a brow, giving him a look that clearly said, Really?

Dean just winked at you, smug as ever, thinking he’d truly gotten away with something.

Big mistake.

“Dean,” Ellen’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the warm hum of conversation like a blade. “Be useful and set the damn table, would ya?”

Dean froze mid-smirk, the slow realisation creeping over his face like a deer caught in headlights. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“What? You thought you could just sit there looking pretty?” she snarked, one hand on her hip, an unimpressed brow arched.

Dean gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“Everything you need’s in the garage,” she added, already moving on to the next task. “Might be a little buried under Bobby’s clutter, but I think you’ll manage.”

She shot him a mockingly sweet smile before turning back to her work.

Dean groaned dramatically as he stood, glancing longingly toward the couch where John, Bobby, and Sam were already settling in, beers in hand. His gaze flickered back to you just in time to catch the way you were absolutely beaming at his suffering.

His eyes narrowed. Betrayal.

You just shrugged, biting back a grin. You should’ve known better.

With another exaggerated sigh, Dean trudged toward the garage, muttering something under his breath as he did.

Bobby, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with quiet amusement, caught your eye and shook his head with a chuckle.

“I don’t know why he thinks he’s gonna get away with it every year,” Bobby mused, taking a sip of his beer.

“Because every year, he tries,” you replied, laughter bubbling in your chest. “And every year, Ellen shuts that shit down.”

Bobby let out a warm chuckle, shaking his head again as the familiar hustle and bustle filled the house—the football game playing in the background, the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, Jo and Jess giggling as they tackled another one of Ellen’s relentless tasks, and the muffled curses coming from the garage as Dean rummaged through the mess.

It was chaotic. It was loud. But It was home.

By the time dinner was ready, the madness of the day melted into something warm and familiar as everyone gathered around the table. The scent of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and Ellen’s signature stuffing filled the air, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

You took your usual seat beside Dean, the space between you non-existent as his leg brushed against yours under the table. Subtle, but deliberate. A quiet little reminder that he was there—always there. The warmth of it spread through you, making your chest feel a little lighter, a little fuller.

As plates were filled, glasses raised, and the room settled, John cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. He did this every year, it was a tradition of sorts.

“Before we dig in,” he started, looking around the table, “I just wanna say how damn grateful I am to be sitting here with all of you. And I couldn’t be prouder of the people in it.” His eyes flickered toward Jess, who flushed under the attention, a shy but happy smile on her face as Sam squeezed her hand.

“We’re lucky to have you, Jess. And Ellen—” he turned toward the woman who had undoubtedly done most of the work, “I don’t know how you do it, but this spread looks incredible. So, from all of us—thank you.”

Ellen scoffed but the corners of her mouth twitched, a hint of pride in her expression.

“Alright, alright,” she waved him off. “Enough talkin’. Eat before it gets cold.”

And with that, everyone dug in, passing plates, stealing bites before things even made it around the table, the warm chatter of conversation bubbling up again.

Sam talked about applying for law school in the new year, a small spark of excitement in his voice despite his usual modesty. Jess shared how she’d be going for her master’s in nursing, and the pride in Sam’s eyes was impossible to miss.

John and Bobby fell into easy conversation about the shop, both gruffly pleased with how business had been steady, even picking up in the last few months.

Meanwhile, Jo chimed in with stories from the police academy, her excitement shining through as she recounted her latest training exercises. “They had us do a pursuit drill last week,” she said, eyes alight. “I swear, some of these guys wouldn’t catch a cold in winter.”

Ellen snorted, shaking her head with a smirk. “Good. Let ’em sweat a little.” Though her tone was gruff, the glint of pride in her eyes was unmistakable. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with showin’ ‘em up if they’re too damn slow. Maybe they’ll actually learn a thing or two from you.”

Grinning, you raised your beer in agreement. “Heck yeah!” Jo laughed, clinking the neck of her bottle against yours.

And with that, more laughter rang through the air. A warmth settled deep in your chest; the kind that only came from being surrounded by people who felt like home.

These were your people—your family. And yet, as you took it all in, a quiet pang tugged at your heart, an unshakable thread of guilt winding itself around the joy in your chest.

You hated to let your mind wander there, but it was impossible not to. Your mom should be here. It was silly—fleeting, even—but in moments like these, it only made you realise just how much you missed her.

Before the ache could settle too deep, a familiar weight pressed against your thigh—a warm, calloused hand, grounding and steady. You looked over to find Dean already watching you, his green eyes soft, knowing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. He just knew.

And for that, you were so incredibly grateful.

So, without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently. His fingers curled around yours, solid and sure, and just like that, the hollow ache in your chest eased, even if only for a little while.

Once your stomachs were full, buttons popped open on jeans to accommodate the swell of well-fed bellies, even more so after Mary’s delectable apple pie and your added addition of the pecan upside down cake, which received high praises all around as well as the demands to make it again.

Everyone gathered in the living room, drinks in hand, ready to fully unwind as the last part of the evening commenced—the opening of gifts.

Laughter and playful banter filled the air as presents were exchanged. Mary smiled warmly as she unwrapped a beautifully scented perfume set, followed by a delicate silver necklace from Sam, who had clearly put thought into his gift. John, ever the traditionalist, gifted her a pair of elegant earrings that had her gasping and gripping his arm in surprise.

Jo, with her usual sharp eye, had gotten Bobby a brand-new cap to replace his old, withered one—the fabric of which had seen better days. Bobby grunted something about his old cap being just fine, but the way he ran his fingers over the brim of the new one gave away his appreciation.

For Ellen, you had gone all out, knowing how frustrated she’d been when her trusty old mixer finally gave out. The moment she unwrapped the sleek new one, her eyes lit up, and she threw you a look that was equal parts gratitude and mock disapproval.

"Now, why'd you go and do that, kid?" she huffed, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Then came Dean’s gift to Sam.

Sam tore through the wrapping, only to pause, his face deadpan as he held up a can of shaving foam and a razor. The room erupted into laughter - Mary shaking her head in a mix of disapproval and amusement, Jo outright cackling along with Jess and John’s booming laugh.

"What?" Dean said, feigning innocence. "You’re a grown man now, Sammy. Figured it was about time you learned how to shave."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the fond smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He couldn’t even be mad—especially after the stunt he pulled last year, gifting Dean some weird off-brand gas station soda and a pack of vegan condoms. Their ongoing prank war of who could give the worst gift was practically tradition at this point.

Finally, the last gift of the night remained. Dean’s.

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little nervous as you reached for the wrapped package tucked under the tree. This wasn’t just some random gift—it was personal. Deeply so.

Dean took the square-shaped gift from your hands, his brows furrowing slightly at your sudden shift in demeanour. "What’s this?" he asked, assessing it’s unique shape.

"Just open it, Winchester," you teased, though there was a quiet anticipation in your voice.

Dean ripped the paper away, his movements slowing as he uncovered the unmistakable cover of Led Zeppelin II. But not just any copy. The original pressing—the very one he had lost in the house fire all those years ago.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared, fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover. The room, which had been filled with chatter seconds ago, fell silent as everyone watched the two of you with knowing smiles.

When he finally looked up at you, there was something raw in his eyes. Something unspoken, but so deeply understood between the two of you.

"How—?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, trying to play it off lightly. "Charlie helped me track it down. Took forever, but…it was worth it."

Dean swallowed hard, his jaw working as he blinked down at the album, running a hand over his mouth like he wasn’t sure what to say. You could tell it had touched him, and you took it as a good sign you’d done something right.

"This is…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn, Singer. This is-” He breathed out, like he couldn’t quite comprehend the words. He then pulled you into a hug. From your spot on the floor, it made it a little awkward, but you melted into his embrace.

When you pulled away, there was a look in his eye, you couldn’t quite place, but it made your heart flutter and cheeks warm. But the moment was fleeting, and just as quickly, your attention was on John as he asked to take a look at the record.

"Man," he said with a distant grin, "this brings back some memories." His voice faded into his own nostalgia.

But Dean's focus remained on you. His chest tightened with a sharp pulse as he watched you talk, your hands moving animatedly as you explained where you’d found the record and divulged your own fond memories of it. The world around him seemed to blur, all the noise fading into the background as his eyes stayed locked on you.

You really were something else.

His fingers twitched in his pocket, where his real gift for you sat. The important one. He’d already gotten you some of your favourite perfume and a new work bag, but this one... this one was special, and one he felt was best to give you without an audience.

It was nearing midnight when everyone began bidding their goodnights and retreating to their rooms for the annual stay over. John and Mary took the spare room, while you’d offered Sam and Jess yours, leaving you to bunk with Jo and Dean to claim the couch.

Before turning in for the night, you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. The winter chill bit at the skin beneath the thin material of your tights as you wandered further into the yard, your boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground. Eventually, you perched yourself on the familiar hood of one of the old, hollowed-out shells, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself and tucking your legs up on the bumper.

Despite the cold, the sight before you brought an undeniable sense of peace. The sky stretched wide, an endless inky canvas scattered with stars, each one burning brilliantly against the dark. Growing up far from the city’s glow, nights like these had always felt like a gift—an uninterrupted glimpse at something vast and timeless.

You’d spent countless evenings like this as a kid, staring up, dreaming about all the places you’d go, all the things you’d do. And sometimes, you liked to believe your mom was up there too, watching over you with that same twinkle.

The soft crunch of gravel behind you pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey.”

You turned toward the deep, familiar voice, finding Dean making his way over. He was bundled in his leather jacket, but what caught your eye was the thick, dark blue scarf wrapped snugly around his neck—the one Mary had given him for Christmas. It was endearingly uncharacteristic, and the sight made you smile.

He hopped up onto the hood beside you, the old metal groaning under the added weight. Only then did you realise just how cold you were, his warmth seeping into you from his proximity. Without thinking, you shifted slightly closer.

“Knew I’d find you out here,” he murmured, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to say more—this spot held years of memories. The two of you had spent so many nights just like this, staring up at the sky until Bobby hollered for you to come inside.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. But after a moment, Dean cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

“I, uh… I got somethin’ for you.”

You turned to him, brows knitting in curiosity as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, terribly wrapped package—newspaper and duct tape, classic Dean.

Tilting your head, you took it from him, turning it over in your hands. “How come you’re giving this to me now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice before a slow, teasing smirk curled your lips. “Is it something dirty?”

Dean let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that.” But then his amusement faded, replaced by a nervous energy as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… personal. Didn’t think you’d wanna open it in front of everyone.”

That made your stomach flip, and you glanced down at the package, peeling away the layers carefully. Beneath the mess of tape and newspaper was a small, unbranded white box—the kind that usually held jewellery. The weight of Dean’s gaze made you nervous, his tension almost palpable.

And then you opened it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Nestled inside, resting on a cushion of velvet, was your mother’s locket.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. You had lost it years ago, back when you and Dean were just kids, playing in this very yard. It had devastated you, left you inconsolable for weeks until you had no choice but to let it go.

But here it was.

Dean shifted beside you; his voice softer now. “Found it a few months ago when I was helpin’ Dad and Bobby move one of the old cars. It was in rough shape, so I had it cleaned up, got a new chain put on.” His voice dipped even lower. “Figured you might wanna have it back.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as your trembling fingers lifted the locket. Slowly, you opened it, revealing the tiny, worn photograph inside—your mother’s smiling face beside your own youthful one.

“Dean…” It was barely a whisper, your voice stolen by the sheer weight of the moment.

Dean swallowed hard, his own eyes a little glassy. “Can’t believe it was still out here after all this time,” he said, trying for nonchalance, but you could hear the emotion laced beneath his words.

You clenched the locket in your fist before turning to him, overwhelmed. And then, without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, holding him tight as a sob broke free from your throat.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He wrapped you up just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you as sobs wracked your body.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice rough but gentle. “I gotcha.”

And you believed him. Because he always had.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, held together by the strength of his arms, but eventually, the storm inside you began to settle. When you finally pulled away, you let out a shaky, humourless laugh, swiping at your tear-streaked face. “God, I’m a mess.”

Dean’s lips curled into something small but fond, his eyes flicking between yours. “Yeah, well… you wear it well.”

You huffed out a breath of laughter, glancing down at the locket in your palm, the delicate chain glinting in the moonlight. It felt heavier than it should, like it carried not just memories but something deeper—something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time. And Dean… he had given it back to you.

That same warmth spread through your chest, tightening around your ribs. You swallowed thickly and looked back up at him, trying to find the words that could match what you felt.

“Really had to outdo me on the sentimental gifts, huh?” you teased, because teasing was easy. It was safer than the emotions threatening to crack you wide open.

Dean let out a deep, full laugh, one that sent a flutter through your stomach. “You know me, Singer. Can’t have you winning all the time.” He nudged your shoulder playfully, and for a second, it felt like it always had—like the easy, unspoken thing that had existed between you for years.

But tonight, it felt like something more.

You studied him in the quiet, the way the moonlight softened the sharp edges of his face, the way his green eyes held something warm, something unguarded.

You held the locket out to him. “Help me put it on?”

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded. You turned your back to him, lifting your hair off your neck, and the moment stretched between you.

His fingers brushed against your skin as he fumbled with the clasp, his touch light but lingering. You bit your lip, trying not to react, but then you felt the warmth of his breath ghost over your shoulder, and a shiver ran through you.

When you turned back, your breath caught. He hadn’t moved away. He was still close—so close you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his gaze flickered down to where the locket rested just above your collarbone before rising to meet yours.

His fingers reached out, barely grazing the metal before his touch lingered. “Beautiful,” he murmured. His eyes still on you.

The space between you felt smaller, charged with something neither of you dared to name. Your pulse quickened, but this time, it wasn’t from the familiar rush of lust and desire. This wasn’t about chasing a high.

This was about you and him.

And for once, neither of you seemed in a hurry.

Slowly, you leaned in. Your foreheads touched first, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand came up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, his touch tender and warming you from the outside in.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you meant it.

Dean swallowed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but instead, his other hand came up, cupping your cheek. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow and reverent, and then finally, he closed the distance.

His lips met yours, soft at first, tentative, as if savouring the moment. You sighed into him, your fingers sliding up and around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as you let the world slip away.

Beneath you, the rusted hood of the old scrap car was cool against you, a stark contrast to the warmth of him, the steady burn of his touch. And then that familiar heat flickered to life, but this time, it didn’t crash over you in a reckless wave. It didn’t burn wild and consuming like it always had. Instead, it soldered—slow, steady, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be stoked.

Then you licked into his mouth, and Dean groaned—low and deep, the sound vibrating through you. His fingers curled at your waist, gripping tighter, and suddenly, the space between you wasn’t enough.

You shifted, pressing closer, deepening the kiss, and he met you without hesitation. His hands moved—one sliding up the curve of your back, the other bracing against the hood beside you, keeping you steady as the car groaned softly under your combined weight.

Your fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to draw another sound from him—this time rougher, needier. It sent a thrill through you, and before you could stop yourself, you shifted again, knees brushing against his thighs as you tried to get closer.

Dean’s breath hitched, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding down to grip your hips beneath your coat, fingers pressing into nylon covering your thigh and warm skin beneath.

The old car beneath you creaked with the movement, but neither of you cared. Not when his mouth left yours to skim along your jaw, not when his breath was hot against your skin before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear.

You gasped, tilting your head to give him more, and he took it—his lips dragging down the column of your throat, lingering, teasing, tasting.

This wasn’t just lust.

It wasn’t rushed or reckless, fuelled by adrenaline like it had been so many other times.

This was something else entirely. Something heavier. Something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had let yourselves admit.

And maybe that should’ve terrified you.

But then Dean’s hands flexed at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his mouth found yours again, capturing you in a kiss that left no space for second thoughts.

"God, I want you," you mumbled against his lips, your words tumbling out between kisses, desperate and unfiltered.

Dean groaned, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breaths coming hard and uneven. His eyes flickered around the scrapyard—the rusted metal beneath you, the cold night air nipping at your skin. This wasn’t ideal. He wanted you warm, comfortable, spread out beneath him with nothing between you.

And then an idea hit him.

“C’mon.” He stood, pulling you with him, and you followed eagerly, heart hammering as he led you toward the Impala. The familiar sound of his keys jingling had you biting back a grin. Of course. The house was full, and neither of you had an empty room to escape to. This was the best option.

And honestly? It felt right.

Dean opened the back door, and you glanced at him with a knowing smile. He smirked back, before capturing your lips in another kiss, slower this time.

You pulled away to shove at his leather jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Taking the hint, he shrugged it the rest of the way off and then unwrapped the scarf around his neck, while you shimmied out of your own coat. You set them aside carefully in the backseat, then slid inside, Dean following right after, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the latch clicked; he was on you again.

His hands framed your face as he kissed you with newfound hunger, the metal walls of the car closing you in, making everything feel headier, safe. His fingers trailed down your sides, gripping at the thick fabric of your sweater dress, bunching it in his fists like he wanted to rip it off you.

You arched into him, hands roaming over his chest, pushing his flannel off his shoulders. He helped you, shrugging it off in a swift motion before his hands were back on you, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers brushed against your thighs, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

Dean pulled back just enough to meet your gaze; his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands fisted the fabric at your waist, and with one slow, deliberate movement, he peeled your dress up and over your head, tossing it aside.

His breath hitched as he took you in. It was a sight that blew him away, every. Single. Time. No matter how many times you did this dance. The glowing light from the moon above softly illuminated your skin. His fingers traced up your sides, thumbs grazing the swell of your breasts before he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

You let out a soft sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as his mouth travelled lower. He reached behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, slipping the straps down your arms. The moment they were free, he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples before his mouth replaced them.

Heat pooled low in your stomach as he kissed and sucked at the newly exposed skin, his tongue circling, teasing, until you were arching against him, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he rasped, his breath warm against your skin. "Every damn time… you get more perfect."

Your stomach flipped at his words, and then he was kissing lower, dragging his lips down the centre of your stomach, pressing reverent kisses along the way.

He nudged you back until you were lying against the seat, your legs falling open naturally. You quickly kicked off your boots before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your tights, dragging them down slow, teasing, before slipping off your underwear along with them.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, spread out beneath him, chest rising and falling in anticipation.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head in awe, still not quite believing he could have you like this. Then he kissed his way up the inside of your thigh, his breath hot and teasing against sensitive skin, sending a fresh wave of need coursing through you.

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer, settling himself between your legs. And then his mouth was on you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He groaned at the taste, gripping your thighs tighter as he did it again, this time flicking his tongue against your clit just to hear the way your breath hitched.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending pleasure sparking up your spine.

"Fuck," you breathed, your head falling back against the leather seat as he worked you over with devastating precision—slow, unhurried, savouring every little reaction.

Dean licked into you, his tongue circling your clit before sucking softly, drawing a sharp cry from you. He kept going, never rushing, never letting up, letting the pleasure build in slow, teasing waves.

Your thighs trembled as heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Dean could feel it—feel the way you tensed beneath him, feel the way your grip on his hair tightened.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice low and rough, the vibrations making you whimper. He flicked his tongue just right, pressing two fingers inside you at the same time, curling them, stroking that perfect spot—

And then you were gone.

A strangled moan tore from your throat as pleasure crashed over you, waves rolling through you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Dean didn’t stop, didn’t pull away—he worked you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you had to give, drawing out every last tremor until you were nothing but a boneless, panting mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled back, pressing one last lingering kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you with a wicked smirk, his lips glistening.

“Every time,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction, “you taste even sweeter.”

You bit your lip, amusement flickering in your eyes despite the heat still coursing through your veins. But you weren’t done—not even close. Curling a single finger in a slow, teasing come hither motion, you smirked.

“Get over here, Winchester.”

His smirk widened, something dark and hungry flashing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he crawled up your body, moving with that same effortless confidence that always made your stomach flip. His gaze never left yours, heated and intent, the weight of it alone making you shiver in anticipation.

The moment he was close enough, you reached up, hand curling around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that was all heat and desperation, tongues tangling, breaths mingling, the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips. He groaned into your mouth, his hands framing your face, fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you deeper, like he never wanted to come up for air.

Sparks reignited instantly, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding down the hard planes of his body until they reached his belt. You made quick work of it, unbuckling it with practiced ease, fingers moving to the button of his jeans, undoing them in a swift motion.

Dean groaned, resting his forehead against yours as you worked him free, helping him slide the denim down his hips. He kicked them off the rest of the way, the fabric landing somewhere on the floor of the car, long forgotten.

Your breath hitched as your eyes dropped to him—all of him. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, touched him like this, it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs. He was a masterpiece, all firm muscle and golden skin, every inch of him devastatingly beautiful.

Dean swallowed hard as you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. His breath stuttered, a low groan slipping from his lips as his head dropped forward.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough with want.

You watched him, your stomach twisting in pleasure at the way his jaw clenched, his brows furrowing as your fingers teased along his length, exploring every ridge, every sensitive spot you knew would drive him crazy. Pride swelled in your chest as his hips twitched slightly, completely at your mercy.

His hands flexed beside your head, fingers digging into the leather as he fought to keep control. His eyes flickered open, locking onto yours, blown dark with lust.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you whispered, voice dripping with need, but there was more to it than that. It wasn’t just lust. It was longing. A raw, desperate ache to be close—to feel him in a way that went beyond just bodies colliding.

Dean swallowed hard, his breath coming rough and uneven as his hands trailed up your sides, tracing the curves of your body once more with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

He didn’t need to say anything. You knew he understood. You saw it in the way his expression softened, in the way he dipped his head, pressing his lips to your temple before shifting to settle between your thighs.

He exhaled shakily as he rocked his hips forward, dragging the thick length of his cock through the slick seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness. The slow glide sent a shudder through you both, your breath hitching, his jaw going tight as he let himself savour it—this anticipation, this moment.

A moan tumbled from your lips when he did it again, the head of his cock catching against your clit just enough to make your hips jerk, your fingers tightening around his biceps. Dean groaned, the deep, gravelly sound vibrating against your throat as he dropped a kiss there, his movements deliberate, teasing.

Then, finally, finally, he pushed in.

Agonisingly slow, he stretched you open, inch by inch, filling you completely, letting you feel all of him. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat at the overwhelming sensation of him sinking deep, deeper—until there was no space left between you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you, and still, you wanted more.

A soft whimper left your lips, your body arching to press closer, needing to feel every part of him. Dean cursed under his breath, dropping his forehead to yours as he bottomed out, his chest heaving, his body trembling from the effort of holding back.

“Holy… Fuck,” he stuttered, voice strained, like the words were being dragged straight from his soul. He kissed you then, slow and deep, as he began to move, his thrusts measured, drawn out—like he wanted this to last, like he was memorising every gasp, every shiver, every way your body reacted to him.

Your hands roamed over him, greedy and restless, mapping the broad expanse of his back, tracing the curve of his spine, the dip of his waist. Every inch of him was hot and solid beneath your touch, his muscles flexing with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

It was different this time. It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic. It was more. The way he moved, the way he held you—it was deeper, heavier, laced with something neither of you dared to name but both felt down to your bones.

“Dean,” you breathed, your voice breaking around his name as pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, building with every stroke.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped, his lips dragging along your jaw, his hands gripping your hips just a little tighter. “I got you.”

And he did. He always did.

Your bodies moved together in perfect sync, every slow, precise thrust pulling you higher, closer to that edge, until the pleasure became unbearable. You were drowning in it, in him, your fingers tangling in his hair, your nails scraping down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as the pleasure crested and crashed over you.

Dean groaned your name, his rhythm faltering as your walls clenched tight around him, dragging him down with you, pulling him under until he was right there with you, his release hitting with just as much intensity.

His arms trembled as he held himself over you, his breath warm against your skin, his body still pressed tightly to yours as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through you both. Neither of you moved for a long moment, tangled together, limbs heavy, hearts hammering in unison.

And then, he kissed you—soft, lingering. As if he wanted to seal this moment between you, to hold onto it for as long as possible.

Because this time, it was different.

Dean knew it deep in his bones.

He’d finally come to the earth shattering conclusion of his admittance.

He was hopelessly, undeniably, and completely in love with you.

AN: I mean this was expected right!? But finally! Dean can admit it. Wether he has the guts to say it, is another story... more to come next week 👀

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Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @fangirlingfromdownunder @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

Next Time...

Four drinks in, and you were feeling the perfect buzz—light, warm, and just uninhibited enough to let loose. You’d spent the night bouncing between your friends, sipping your drink, and genuinely enjoying yourself. Even Dean, who had been hovering around you all evening, had somehow managed to pull you onto the dance floor for a little friendly—or maybe not-so-friendly—dancing. His hands had settled on your hips, his breath warm near your ear as you moved together in a way that felt entirely too natural. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you had finally let yourself stop overthinking for once, but you’d melted into him. Your body responded to every little shift of his, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe he felt it too. But the moment passed, and now here you were, walking toward the bar with Dean at your side, your skin still tingling from where his hands had rested. Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humour, as you were walking, someone bumped into him, severing your connection with his hand on your waist. “Lisa?”

#the arrangement series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader smut #spn #spn fanfic #spnfamily #jensen ackles #lovely mutuals

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