Hockey Camp - Auston Matthews (Part 4)
Auston Matthews x Reader
Word Count: 1760
Warnings: Some swearing
A/N: Wow! First of all, I’d like to personally thank everyone who’s liked this story, I just started writing it one day at work while I was bored and decided the other afternoon to post it, and never thought I’d get a response, let alone a positive one - so thank you!
I honestly had so much fun writing this chapter, it made me nostalgic for hockey practices with my teammates when we used to fool around and try and get each other in trouble. (I miss playing so much).
Hope you enjoy!
Practice gets off to a hectic start. Firstly, you can’t find your neck guard while getting dressed (it’s stuck to the inside of your jersey, which you didn’t notice until after you put it on and felt something weird touching your ribs). Because of this, you’re late getting on the ice, and miss your chance to warm up before the coach calls everybody over to explain the first drill. One of your favourite parts of practice is having a nice long warm up skate to stretch out and loosen your muscles from the day before.
You try not to let it frazzle you, but you can’t seem to focus properly. You keep losing the puck and making bad passes, and your entire body feels tight and uncomfortable. Steph notices, and skates over to you while you wait for your turn in a passing drill.
“Hey, everything alright?”
“Not really,” you confess. “My muscles are all super sore and I missed warm-up because I couldn’t find my neck guard in time.”
“Relax. Everyone has an off day. Plus, it’s only day two. They understand that we’re all still adjusting to how hard the camp is on our bodies.”
You nod, actually trying to take in what Steph is saying instead of denying it and having a negative attitude like you always do. “Thanks, Steph.”
The coach blows his whistle, and you grab a puck, racing around the circle. You take a wristshot, nailing the top left hand corner. It’s the first time you’ve scored all practice.
But there’s no time to celebrate - the drill isn’t over yet. You stop in front of the net, fighting for position with the defenseman and trying to block the goalie from seeing the puck. You manage to shift to just the right spot and create an effective screen, as you hear the puck fired by your defenseman hit the back of the net. Two for two.
You maintain your screen as your forward partner rounds the other circle and takes the shot. He snaps it quickly with his stick, sneaking it past the goalie’s outstretched pad and hitting the lower left corner of the net.
“Breakout, breakout!” The centre yells. He’s been waiting off to the side until the first part of the drill was over. He picks up another puck. You and the other winger switch lanes, and the centre sends the puck hurtling hard towards you.
But you’re ready.
You receive the pass with soft hands and look up to see a defender already on top of you. Normally, most people would panic, but you know you’re faster. You flick your head to the right, faking the defender out, and then chip the puck off the boards to the left, skating around her before picking up the puck.
With a quick look, you make a saucer pass over the other defender’s stick to your centre. He receives it and dekes the goalie out, neatly tucking it in the top right corner. Four for four.
“Nice one!” the centre skates over to you and gives you a high-five. You’re surprised by how youthful he looks. He must be around six feet tall, but his gangly build and pre-pubescent face make him look like an adorable oversized puppy.
“Thank-you,” you say, smiling at him. “Nice shot you’ve got there.”
“Thanks!” he replies brightly, his positive energy contagious. “You’ve got some great passing skills. I’m Mitch, by the way.”
“Y/N.” You nod your head by way of greeting.
Mitch opens his mouth to say something else, but is cut off by the coach blowing the whistle. “Two laps, then take a break for water!”
Everyone abandons the drill and begins to skate hard around the perimeter of the rink. You finish your two laps, among the leaders of the pack, and cruise over to the bench to grab some water.
You’re about to pick up your bottle when somebody nudges you.
You turn and look up to see Mitch’s smiling face.
“Oh hey! We meet once more.” You pour some water into your mouth, and Mitch does the same.
“Practice is real tough today, huh?”
“Yeah,” you agree, nodding. “And it’s only day two. Next thing you know, they’ll be making us bag skate.”
Mitch’s eyes widen, horrified. “Don’t say that too loudly, or they’ll get ideas.”
“I thought I was fit before I came here. My, did I have a rude awakening yesterday. The only person I know that isn’t dying right now is him.” Mitch points to a tall guy with his back turned to you. “Total hotshot,” he says sarcastically, and proceeds to poke the blade of his stick into the guy’s armpit.
“What the-!” the guy yelps, turning around. “Mitch, what the fuck, dude?”
Mitch laughs and you take a closer look at the guy. Of course.
“Oh, hey Y/N,” Auston says, his eyes lighting up. He smiles at you and your heart jumps a little.
“You two have met?”
“Yeah,” you explain quickly. “We’re acquainted.” You immediately want to slap yourself. Who even says ‘we’re acquainted’? You sound like a grandmother.
The coach blows his whistle sharply. “Auston, Mitch, and Y/N. Since you are all obviously more concerned with chatting than listening like everybody else, perhaps you three would like to demonstrate the next drill?”
“Sure coach!” Mitch says enthusiastically. You and Auston exchange a look.
The coach frowns. “Get yourselves in positions,” he barks. “I don’t care who’s normally centre or left wing or whatever. Decide fast. I want you guys to break out of the zone quick, weave at least twice before you hit the red line. Then you can worry about stickhandling around the defender. This drill is all about passing, positioning, and teamwork.” He turns back to the group of players kneeling on the ice. “If only two out of three forwards touches the puck in this drill, you can forget about shooting. There is no excuse for not being able to make at least three passes before you get to the offensive zone. Got it?”
Everyone else nods.
“I need an answer.”
“Yes!” the group responds.
“Alright.” The coach blows his whistle loudly. “Y/N, Auston, Mitch. Take it away.”
Since you and Auston both shoot left-handed and Mitch shoots right, Mitch moves over to right wing, while you take your regular left wing position, and Auston gets centre.
Without any hesitation, Auston picks up a puck, loops around the net, and fires it over to Mitch, who’s already picked up a considerable amount of speed. Shit, they’re really fast.
You hustle over towards the centre of the ice, and Mitch does the same. You get so close to each other, for a split second you think you’re going to crash, but then Mitch side-steps an inch to the left and makes a drop pass. You pick it up with ease, and in no more than a second, you’re on the right wing, ready to pass it to Auston. You fire the puck low and flat across the ice as hard as you can, but Auston receives it so softly, he makes your pass look weaker than it is.
He and Mitch weave in and out with each other, appearing completely at ease. The way they’re so aware of each other’s position on the ice without having to look makes it obvious that they have played together for a while.
You end up with the puck as you cross the blue line. You consider taking a shot, but the goalie’s far out in his crease, making for an easy save.
Then you get an idea.
You pick up speed, pretending like you’re going in to shoot. The goalie backs into his crease correspondingly, covering less of the net. You wind up but then stop halfway, quickly using your backhand to drop pass it back to Auston, who you know is directly behind you. You barely have a second to jump away before Auston wires a slapshot into the right side of the net.
“Yeah baby!” Mitch whoops, bringing you and Auston in for a celebratory group hug. His long arms wrap around both your shoulders. “Great job team.”
You smile widely and Auston rolls his eyes.
“Mitch, please stop touching me. Your gloves stink and the smell is gonna make me puke.”
Mitch feigns obliviousness. “What, my gloves?” He shoves both his hands in Auston’s face. “They smell like roses!”
Auston smacks Mitch’s hands away, but Mitch immediately tries to shove them in his face again. The two begin play-fighting, and much to your amusement, Mitch manages to get Auston in a headlock, trapping the taller and stronger boy under his birdlike arms. Eventually they end up on the ground, laughing so hard they can’t move anymore.
You stare down at them, shaking your head. “You guys are idiots.”
Mitch scrambles to his feet, pushing his helmet back down on his head. A goofy grin is plastered across his face. “Why thank-you. I take pride in being an idiot.”
As Auston stands up, he reaches over and smacks Mitch on the back of the head.
Mitch turns around to face him. “You wanna go again bro? You wanna fight? Huh? Come at me,” Mitch taunts Auston, throwing his gloves down to the ice. When Auston doesn’t respond, he shoves his chest. “You scared? Why’re you so scared of me, huh?”
You all turn your heads to look at the coach.
“Why are your gloves off? Stop fucking around and get back in line, or you’ll be doing laps after practice!” He glares at the three of you and mutters to himself before turning around.
“Yes sir!” Mitch grabs his gloves and salutes the coach’s back.
“Ooh, someone got in trouble,” Auston teases.
“You started it.”
“Your gloves started it, actually. If you washed them for once in your life, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“But washing your equipment is bad luck!”
“Guys, c’mon,” you beg, laughing. “I don’t really feel like doing any more laps today.”
“Yeah,” Auston agrees. He elbows Mitch in the ribs.
“Listen to the girl, she’s got a point.”
“‘Listen to the girl, she’s got a point’” Mitch mocks Auston. “You’re just saying that because you li-”
Mitch is cut off as Auston clamps his glove over Mitch’s mouth, muffling his words.
“I swear to god Marner, if one more word comes out of that big mouth of yours I’ll-”
“Alright, that’s it!” the coach bellows. “You three - I want 10 laps, now! Everyone else is free to leave.”
You glare at the both of them. “Way to go guys.”