The Winning Game Benny Weir x Reader
Warnings: None
Summary: Y/N gets invited to a hockey game and there’s a kiss cam
Word Count: 1757
I sat staring at my homework, the same dull assignments staring back at me. My brain felt sluggish, weighed down by the sheer monotony of equations and essay prompts. The clock on the wall ticked forward at a pace so agonizingly slow that even snails would have overtaken it by now. I absentmindedly chewed on the end of my pen, willing myself to muster the motivation to calculate the obtuse angles before me or craft some insightful commentary on The Great Gatsby. But inspiration was as absent as my enthusiasm, and all I could do was wait—wait for time to inch forward, wait for an idea to spark, wait for this endless night of homework to finally be over. I sighed, tapping my pen against my notebook, willing inspiration to strike. The silence stretched, broken only by the slow ticking of the clock—until suddenly, a sharp knock shattered the stillness.
At first, I ignored it, assuming it was just the wind rattling the door. But then—BANG! BANG! BANG! The knocks grew louder, more insistent, bursting with an urgency that sent a jolt through my tired limbs.
I sat up, my boredom replaced by curiosity. Whoever was on the other side of that door wasn’t just knocking—they were practically vibrating with excitement. I closed my math book, marking the page with my chewed pen and ran down the stairs, adjusting my unkempt sweater. To my surprise, Ethan was on the other side, smiling widely as he flashed four slips of paper in my face.
“Dude, you will not believe this!” he practically shouted, bouncing on his heels. “I got tickets. Front row!”
His excitement was infectious, his energy a sharp contrast to my previous drowsiness. My brain was still catching up, trying to process his words, but Ethan was already shoving the papers into my hands.
“Come on! Get your shoes—this is happening!"
My eyes drifted past the power lines flickering through the window, their steady rhythm matching the hum of my thoughts as we drove to pick up Sarah. Ethan was behind the wheel, Benny in the passenger seat next to him while I stayed in the back, my bag resting in my lap while I mindlessly toyed with the small keychain attached to it he gifted me last summer. He drummed his fingers against the dashboard, singing along to the rock song Ethan had put on the radio, his energy filling the car. Benny turned back, locking eyes with me as he lip-synced the words, a mischievous glint in his expression. Heat crept up my cheeks—I felt like the only girl in the world. His beautiful green eyes stayed locked on mine as the car slowed to a stop. Neither of us noticed the song had ended or that we’d arrived until Sarah opened the door. We both jumped at the sudden interruption, quickly looking away in opposite directions. As she got into the back seat with me, she raised a brow and gave me a slight smirk. I knew she could tell something was up but I figured I’d be able to tell her later.
“Did I miss something?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt.
“Nope.” My response was too quick, too sharp, and Benny didn’t help by stifling a laugh up front.
Sarah didn’t push, but the teasing glint in her eyes said she wasn’t letting this go anytime soon. Benny leaned back, his eyes meeting mine once more.
“Man, nothing beats a front-row seat to a good game. Gets the heart racing, keeps you on your toes... Some people just live for that kind of excitement." I noticed his eyes glance down at my lips, just for a second. Sarah’s smirk deepened. Ethan froze.
“Anyway—Sarah, you said you went to a game once, right? What was that like?" He stammered, too loudly, too fast, trying to redirect the conversation.
“Oh shoot, is that the time?” I said, glancing behind Benny, the clock on the radio clearly reading the game began in 30 minutes. Ethan turned and gasped, fumbling with the keys before shoving the car into drive.
—
The stadium filled with the roaring hyped up crowd waved like the sea during a tide. Every cheer rippled through the stands like a rolling wave, crashing into the next as flashing lights cut through the packed seats. Lights flashed around, the air smelled of popcorn and hotdogs. Every step on the concrete seemed to cling to the soles of our shoes, tacky with melted ice and syrup.
The scoreboard flickered—2-2.
The roar of the crowd swelled, voices clashing in waves of excitement and frustration as the puck sliced across the ice. The sharp scrape of skates echoed through the arena, cutting against the thundering bass of the stadium speakers.
"Come on, come on—" Ethan muttered under his breath, gripping his soda cup like it was about to shatter.
Across the rink, Benny lounged back, arms spread along the seatbacks like he had all the time in the world. Too relaxed. I narrowed my eyes.
A buzzer blared—someone had possession. The energy spiked.
The stadium was a clear split of red and blue.Jerseys, streaks of facepaint, and waving flags created a clear divide—two sides clashing in color, in energy, in sheer desperation to win. We were on the red side, looking like a wave of blood splattered onto the seats. As our team made a shot, Benny stood and cheered with Ethan, their screams filling Sarah and I’s ears. When Benny sat back down, his arm draped over my shoulder—casual, effortless, like it had always belonged there.
Heat crept up my throat, slow, suffocating. My chest tightened first, then my legs, every muscle locking into place like the entire stadium had just shifted around me. I shot a glance at Sarah who just gave me a smirk again. It was like she knew something I didn’t.
A whistle cut through the stadium noise, sharp and final.
The players slowed, skates scraping against the ice as they drifted toward their benches. The scoreboard blinked—still tied.
The crowd buzzed with lingering adrenaline, some fans groaning at missed opportunities while others cheered for their team’s resilience. The stadium lights dimmed slightly, the shift signaling the break.
A voice boomed over the loudspeakers.
"Alright, folks, while our players catch their breath, you know what time it is—"
The crowd shifted, already anticipating what was coming.
"That’s right! It’s time for the KISS CAM!"
A wave of excited cheers and playful shouting rolled through the stands as the jumbo screen flickered to life, its familiar pink heart-shaped border flashing across the arena.
The first pair appeared—an older couple who laughed before sharing a sweet kiss. The next—two teens who hesitated before awkwardly leaning in, sending the crowd into amused whistles.
Then, the screen jumped again, for a second I thought I was seeing things. The jumbo screen flashed and suddenly-there we were. Benny and I.
My chest tightened. The noise of the stadium blurred, swallowed by the roaring heartbeat in my ears. Benny hadn't moved. Hadn't reacted. But I could feel the weight of his arm over my shoulders more now, like it had shifted from casual to something... else.
The chanting slammed into me, a wall of sound so strong it felt like it was shaking the seats beneath us.
It wasn’t just a few voices—it was everyone. The stadium had turned into one force, one demand, one impossible choice.
"DO IT. DO IT. DO IT."
Each pulse louder than the last. The words weren’t a chant anymore—they were an order.
I turned to face Benny, who was already looking at me. Watching. Waiting. When he leaned in, the space between us shrank, charged with something I wasn’t ready to name.
The fire in my stomach ignited, burning through my ribs, licking at my spine. He gave me a slight nod—asking.
I nodded back—answering.
This was happening.
My body moved on autopilot. My eyes shut, and then—his lips on mine.
Soft. Warmer than I expected. Then deeper, slow, languid, tasting like syrupy root beer and trouble. His mouth curled into a smile against mine, and I couldn’t help but smile too. I felt him shift, felt the heat of him—felt everything.
It was over as fast as it started.
We pulled apart, breathless, and the stadium erupted, a wall of deafening cheers that drowned out everything—except Benny. Except the fire still burning beneath my skin.
I wanted to melt into my seat. Butterflies crashed against my ribs. It hit me all at once.
I had just kissed Benny Weir.
And he had kissed me back.
The stadium was still roaring, the cheers so loud they felt like they might shake the ice itself.
We had won.
Ethan was screaming, nearly knocking over his soda in pure celebration. Benny, grinning like an idiot, let his arm stay exactly where it was—still lazily draped over my shoulders, like he had no intention of moving it any time soon.
But then—something was off.
The replay flashed across the jumbo screen.
"Wait…" Ethan leaned in, squinting at the footage. "Was that—"
There, in grainy stadium quality, was a blur of movement behind the players—a figure with messy blonde hair, skating in absolute chaos, trying not to slip.
And then—the puck nudged forward, barely noticeable, crossing the goal line just enough to count.
Benny inhaled sharply.
"Oh my God," Sarah muttered under her breath.
Rory.
Rory had snuck onto the ice.
Like he had planned this. Like he had decided the game needed a little supernatural assistance and just went for it.
I turned, scanning the crowd—then spotted him sitting innocently three rows back, sipping on a giant cherry slushie, like he hadn’t just altered the outcome of the game.
He waved.
"You’re welcome!"
Absolute mayhem erupted.
Coaches on both sides were shouting, refs were frantically reviewing footage, and Ethan was cackling so hard he had to lean against me for support.
Benny? Benny just laughed, shaking his head. Unbothered. Unapologetic.
His grip tightened slightly, just enough that I noticed.
I swallowed hard. The heat from earlier hadn’t faded.
"Guess we’re celebrating a little differently tonight, huh?" Benny mused, tilting his head, amusement sparking behind his eyes.
My stomach flipped.
He was still close, still effortlessly comfortable in the moment, like we had just unlocked something neither of us were ready to talk about yet.
But we both knew.
The game had ended.
And somehow, this—the weight of Benny’s arm, the warmth of his smile, the lingering burn in my chest—felt like the real win.