Okay I know you’re an Utah fan but hear me out…Vince Dunn is very attractive….Vince Dunn super pissed off is. Very very attractive. It’s only the first period and you’re about to see a VERY pissed Vince Dunn 🔥🔥
Do with that what you will..if anything 🙈
this because i've already written sm smut today. but if you wanna give me something less vague I'll be glad to do it. I've never written for him before soooo.
Also I’m not a SERIOUS fan of anything but the leafs. Love everyone equally (minus bruins)
Was imagining his face like this. I love this video his head is so empty
Vince slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the apartment. You flinched from your spot on the couch, clutching the remote like a lifeline. You’d watched the game, the loss, the high-stick that left a nasty gash on his cheek. You’d seen him seething at the guy who did it, jaw tight and words you didn’t need to hear to know they weren’t kind.
Now, as he stomped into the living room, his still-damp curls plastered to his forehead and his eyes flashing that vivid green, you braced yourself.
“Hey,” you said softly, standing. “Rough night?”
He didn’t answer, just dropped his bag with a loud thud and peeled off his jacket, wincing as the movement tugged at his cheek. The bandage was already half-dangling, the gash standing out.
“Vince—”
“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
You bit your lip, watching as he headed straight for the fridge and yanked it open, glaring at its contents like it personally offended him.
“I can make you something,” you offered. “Or grab you—”
“I said, I’m fine.”
His words stung more than you wanted to admit. You swallowed the hurt and turned away. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”
You hadn’t taken two steps toward the bedroom when his voice stopped you.
“Wait.”
It wasn’t sharp this time. It was soft. Smaller.
You turned back, and there he was, standing by the counter, his head lowered like he hated what he was about to say.
“Can you... can you clean it up? The cut. I don’t like how the medic did it.” His gaze flicked up to yours, and he added, almost too quiet to hear, “You always do it better.”
Your chest ached at the vulnerability in his voice. Still, you couldn’t resist a teasing smile. “Oh, so now you want my help?”
He sighed, rolling his eyes but not meeting yours. “Don’t make me beg, okay?”
Grinning, you grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom and came back to find him sitting on the couch, the anger from earlier melting into something closer to exhaustion.
“Alright, tough guy,” you said, standing in front of him and peeling the botched bandage off gently. “Try not to whine too much.”
“Funny,” he muttered, flinching as you dabbed at the cut with disinfectant.
“You’re such a baby,” you teased, fighting back a laugh.
“Yeah, well, you’re mean,” he shot back, but his lips twitched, betraying the ghost of a smile.
Satisfied with your work, you reached for the fresh bandage, but before you could press it into place, his hands found your waist, pulling you onto his lap.
“Vince—”
“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though his grin gave him away. “You’re already in the way. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile as his arms settled around you. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” he pointed out, smirking.
“Someone has to keep you in line,” you shot back, sticking the bandage onto his cheek with maybe a touch more force than necessary.
He winced dramatically. “See? Mean.”
Laughter bubbled out of you before you could stop it, and after a beat, his joined yours, filling the room with a warmth that pushed away the remnants of the night.
“I hate that you’re good at this,” he admitted, his voice soft now, his forehead resting against yours.
“Good at what?” you asked, your fingers threading through his curls.
“Making me forget how much everything sucks,” he murmured.
You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his uninjured cheek. “That’s what I’m here for.”
The elevator lurches hard enough that you nearly lose your footing.
You’re mid-sentence—something about travel schedules and a last-minute media request—when the floor jolts beneath you. The lights flicker, and your heel slips against the polished surface. Before you can fully tip forward, a solid arm wraps around your waist, steady and strong.
“Easy,” Vince says quietly.
Your hands land against his chest to catch yourself. Warm. Solid. You’re acutely aware of the way his jacket stretches over muscle, the way his fingers span almost entirely across your side.
Then the elevator goes still. Too still.
You both look toward the doors. But they don’t open. There’s a mechanical groan from somewhere above, and the overhead lights dim to a low, humming glow. The silence that follows feels louder than the jolt did.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathe.
Vince leans past you and presses the button for the lobby again. Nothing. He presses it harder, like that might intimidate the system into working. Still nothing.
“Seriously?” he mutters.
You’re hyperaware now—of the confined space, of how close he’s standing, of the faint scent of clean laundry and something woodsy clinging to him. The team hotel elevator was not built for this kind of tension.
He hits the emergency button. After a few seconds, a distant voice answers, calm and detached, informing you that maintenance is on the way.
“How long?” you ask.
“Hard to say,” the voice replies. “Shouldn’t be too long.”
Shouldn’t. The line clicks off.
You blow out a breath and lean back against the wall. “This is so on brand for my week.”
He glances at you, brow lifting slightly. “Yeah?”
“I handle every crisis for this team,” you say dryly. “Flight delays. Equipment mix-ups. Media chaos. And now I’m stuck in an elevator. With a defenseman.”
He snorts softly. “Wow. You make it sound like I’m the worst part of this.”
You glance at him. “I didn’t say that.” But you don’t elaborate.
Working for the team means you’re used to keeping a professional distance. You coordinate schedules, handle communications, smooth over issues before they become headlines. You do not develop feelings for players. Especially not players who look at you the way Vince does when he thinks you’re not paying attention.
The elevator feels smaller by the second. He shifts slightly, and your shoulders brush. Neither of you move away.
“Guess we sit?” he suggests.
You nod and slide down the wall to the floor, grateful for something to do. He follows, long legs stretching out in front of him. His knee ends up pressed against yours. It would be so easy to shift an inch to the side. You don’t.
The silence settles between you. Not awkward, exactly. Just charged.
You’re acutely aware of your perfume—something light and subtle you’d spritzed on that morning without thinking. You’re aware of how close he is, how the warmth of his body radiates in the small space.
He inhales slightly. You notice.
He hesitates, jaw tightening like he’s debating something. And then, softly—
“This might be a bad time to mention it, but i really like your perfume.”
For a second, you think you misheard him.
“My what?”
He huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. The movement pulls his sleeve up slightly, revealing the strong line of his forearm. “Your perfume,” he repeats, a little sheepish now. “I noticed it earlier. In the hallway. And now we’re stuck in here and it’s kinda impossible not to notice.”
Heat floods your face.
“You’re unbelievable,” you murmur, staring straight ahead at the elevator doors. “We’re trapped between floors.”
“I know.”
“And that’s what you choose to say?”
He shrugs lightly, though there’s tension in his shoulders. “Didn’t exactly plan it.”
You risk a glance at him.
He’s not smirking. Not teasing. He looks almost… nervous.
“It smells really good,” he adds quietly. “On you.”
Your heart stutters.
This is dangerous territory. You work for the team. You know the policies. You know the unspoken rules. You know how complicated this could get.
“You’re making this weird,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction.
“I think it was already weird,” he replies gently.
You swallow.
He shifts slightly, turning toward you more fully. His knee presses more firmly against yours now, deliberate. His shoulder brushes yours again.
“You make it hard,” he says after a moment.
“To do my job?” you ask, trying for lightness.
He shakes his head faintly. “To pretend I don’t feel anything.”
The air leaves your lungs.
“Vince…”
“I know,” he says quickly. “You work for us. I get it. I’m not trying to make this complicated.” His voice lowers. “But I notice you. All the time. The way you run around fixing everything. The way you bite your lip when you’re stressed. The way you smell when you walk past me.”
Your pulse is racing now.
“You shouldn’t be noticing that,” you whisper.
“Probably not.”
The elevator hums softly, suspended in place. The world feels narrowed to this small metal box and the inches between you.
His hand shifts on the floor, brushing against yours. He stills, giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t. Your fingers remain there, barely touching. His thumb moves slightly, testing, then gently threads between your fingers. The contact is electric.
“We can pretend this never happened when those doors open,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”
The thought makes your chest ache unexpectedly.
“And if it’s not?” you ask.
His eyes meet yours, steady and searching. “Then we figure it out.”
Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. You should pull away. You should remind him of the rules, of the risks. Instead, you squeeze his hand.
The elevator jolts suddenly, making you both tense. The lights brighten as the mechanism whirs back to life. The car begins to move again, slow and steady.
You don’t let go.
The doors slide open to the lobby, bright and normal and full of the world you’re supposed to exist in—professional, composed, careful.
For a split second, neither of you move. Then Vince stands, still holding your hand, and gently pulls you up with him. As you step out of the elevator together, his fingers brush yours one last time before releasing—subtle, fleeting, like a secret. But the look he gives you isn’t fleeting at all.
