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avatar-anna · 15 days

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Whipped

Hockey player! Harry x Figure skater! Y/n

there are references to a previous oneshot. read here for more context!

"You comin' out tonight, Captain?"

Harry shut his locker as he shrugged into his t-shirt, water droplets spraying as he shook out his freshly washed hair. Rubbing some of the stray droplets off his face, he said, "Not tonight, boys. It's date night."

His teammates groaned in protest, a regular occurrence when Harry declined to go out with them. He shook his head at their collective disappointment, amused because when he did go out they typically got too hammered or went off in search of someone to hook up with.

"You'll be fine without me, I promise," Harry assured as they walked out of the locker room together.

"It's the principle of the thing," one of his teammates, Matt, said. He was new to the team this year, a transfer from a different school. "You never come out with us."

"That's not true!"

It wasn't true, was it? Harry had opted out of the last couple parties, preferring to take his girlfriend on a date or have a night in with her. Y/n wasn't overly fond of parties, and rightfully so after what she'd experienced a couple years ago, but even then Harry had begun to prefer their quiet nights together over a rager on Greek Row.

"It is. You're always with your girlfriend," another teammate said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Watch it," Harry said, his voice clipped, not having much tolerance for anyone who spoke badly about Y/n.

"Speaking of," Niall said, nodding to where Y/n waited by her car, her head dipped as she typed something on her phone.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, a smile involuntarily finding its way onto his face. "So fucking whipped," Matt muttered as Harry walked over to Y/n, the rest agreeing, making their own jokes at their captain's expense. Harry merely flipped them off as he walked away from them, shaking as his head as he returned his focus back on his girl.

"What was that all about?" Y/n asked, looking over at Harry's teammates with a raised brow.

"Nothing, they're just giving me a hard time about not going out with them tonight," he explained, tossing his duffle bag in the back of Y/n's car.

"Oh," Y/n said. "Do you want to go out with them? We can take a raincheck for tonight."

That was what he loved about Y/n. What Harry's teammates didn't understand was that his girlfriend wasn't telling him not to go out. Y/n never got mad at him if he wanted to celebrate a win at a party , she knew his team was a close knit group. But Harry found himself preferring spending time with her than with the boys. Did that make him a shitty teammate? He didn't think so. Did it mean he was whipped? Maybe, but he didn't really see a problem with that. Not when being with Y/n made him so happy.

"Don't worry about them," Harry said, pulling Y/n as close as she could possibly get. "They're just jealous they don't get to spend the night with the hottest girl at our school."

Y/n started to laugh, but his mouth was already on hers, effectively ending the conversation.

*.*

Away games meant hours spent on a stuffy bus full of immature hockey players. When Harry was just a freshman, he was delegated to the back , forced to share seats with the other underclassmen while the juniors and seniors all stretched out across seats closer to the front of the bus, far, far away from the bathroom.

Now that Harry was both a senior and team captain, he got his pick of whatever row he wanted on the bus. He usually opted to sit up front, Zayn in the aisle across from him and Niall the one behind. In the hours leading up to arriving at their opponent's rink, Harry spent his time listening to music, getting himself in the zone to lead his team to victory. It was why he chose to sit in the first few rows of the bus closer to the coaches so he could focus.

Around hour two into their trip, Harry reached for the paper bag that had his lunch.

In the past, Harry went with a teammate or two to grab something to eat before getting on the bus, but after Harry had complained a couple times to Y/n that a burrito followed by an hours-long bus ride was a habitual mistake, she began to pack him a lunch. He didn't ask, and she never said anything about it. The first time he found a brown paper bag in their shared apartment, Y/n merely shrugged and said, "I already pack my own for competitions, it's no big deal."

"What'you got over there, Styles?"

But it was. It was her little ways of showing she cared. Harry learned early on in their relationship that Y/n had a hard time expressing herself with words, but she made up for it in gestures, like packing him an away game lunch and leaving little notes in them for him to find.

Harry perked up at the sound of his name to find one of his teammates standing in the aisle of the bus, eyes alight as he observed the brown paper bag in Harry's lap.

"What does it look like, Matt? It's a bag lunch," Zayn chimed in, having pulled one of his headphones off his ears.

"Please tell me Y/n isn't packing you lunch before games," Matt teased. "Is she your girlfriend or your mom?"

A few teammates who had been listening laughed and joined in on ribbing their captain, but Harry merely rolled his eyes. Matt had had a lot to say about his relationship recently. Nothing overly rude or offensive, but it was often enough that it was starting to become a "thing," and that Harry definitely didn't want.

"Y/n made you lunch? Can she make me one next time? What's in it?" Niall asked, who had previously been dozing against the window.

Ignoring Matt, Harry showed Niall the lunch Y/n made—a chicken wrap on a whole wheat tortilla, trail mix, a banana, hummus and pita bread, and a drink with electrolytes. The contents varied each time, but it was always healthy and filling, and Harry honestly felt better as he got off the bus than he used to.

"That a note?" Niall murmured so Matt wouldn't hear, having moved onto another topic toward the middle of the bus.

Harry reached for the folded piece of paper scattered among the food in his lap, trying to be discreet. "Good luck today, bub! xoxoxo" it read, and Harry quickly folded it back up and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

"How things have changed since you first met," Niall said with a chuckle, punching Harry's arm lightly.

"I'm not so sure. I think she likes to embarrass me more than anything else with this stuff. It's definitely working."

"Matt's an idiot, ignore him," Niall said, and Harry was inclined to agree. "You gonna eat that pita bread?"

Later that night, Harry trudged through the apartment, his duffle bag sliding off his arm in a heap by the front door. "Baby?" Harry called, noting the lights on in the apartment but no girlfriend. "You in the shower?"

Harry swatted his friend's hand away before he could snatch his lunch.

*.*

"Over here!" she said, her voice coming from their shared bedroom.

Harry loosened his tie as he walked down the hall toward his room, ready to be rid of his game-day clothes. He never understood why the team had to wear suits before and after games, especially after. The very last thing he wanted to do after playing a hockey game was wear a dress shirt and slacks.

Not paying attention, Harry began undressing, shedding his suit jacket first, carefully hanging it up the way he knew his girlfriend would appreciate. When he turned around, he finally noticed her.

"What's this?" he asked, eyes roaming Y/n's bare legs appreciatively. She laid on the bed in just his home jersey, the hem hiked up high enough that Harry could see a hint of lace from her underwear.

"Just a little something for your big win," Y/n said, a grin that said she could read every ounce of desire on his face.

She started to stand up on her knees, to go to him, Harry assumed, but he stopped her. "Wait. Stay right there."

He could feel Y/n's eye roll as Harry whipped his phone out of his back pocket, fumbling around until he had his camera pulled up. As he focused his phone on her, she didn't look amused, but there was a glint in her eye that told him she thought he was an idiot.

"You do this every time I surprise you in bed," she remarked, flipping Harry off when he started moving around for better angles

"Need a new screensaver," he said by way of explanation, doing just that before he set his phone down.

"Get over here before I decide to put pants on."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, quick to ditch his own trousers before joining his girlfriend on the bed.

*.*

A couple weeks later, Harry was finally at a party. His teammates were there, along with Y/n and a couple of her friends. Y/n, who still got tense at large house parties, stayed close to Harry's side the whole night, not eager to venture anywhere without him. He didn't mind, of course, in fact quite the opposite. As they sat around a bonfire in the house's backyard, Y/n sat on Harry's lap, his arms circled protectively around her waist. She had been perfectly fine with sitting beside him, but he'd pulled her onto his lap before she could.

"How are you always so warm?" he murmured, nuzzling his nose past her hair and against the skin of her neck. "Hm? You're like a little furnace."

"Stop that! Pay attention to the game," Y/n said, still leaning into his touch.

Her hands rested over his, warming his skin caused by the chilly autumn air. Harry was in a chunky cable knit sweater, but the cold still pierced his skin, making him squeeze his girlfriend tighter. That and the pleased giggle that came out of her mouth when he kissed the back of her neck.

"Hey, lovebirds! Feel like rejoining us anytime soon?"

Harry peeked out from behind Y/n, grinning cheekily at his friends, who were also sitting around the bonfire. Before he could say anything, Niall shouted from his seat over the music, "You guys are so in love it's gross."

The lighting outside was dim, the fire casting an orange glow over everything, but Harry could tell Y/n was blushing as the rest of their friends teased them playfully. It was no secret to Harry how his girlfriend felt, but she was more reserved than he was, and he knew it was a lot for everything to be out in the open, even so far down the line.

"He's fucking whipped, is what he is!"

Harry heard Matt's voice scattered throughout the others, and he could hear the slight edge to his tone. He wasn't quite sure what his teammate's problem was, or why he felt the need to comment on Harry's relationship all of a sudden, but it was starting to get on Harry's nerves.

Not having heard the bite that Harry did, his friends laughed. Y/n didn't, though, merely smiling at him as she squeezed his hand affectionately. "Don't let them get to you, bub," she murmured before standing up from his lap. He felt the loss of her warmth immediately, but didn't pull her back down to him. "I'm gonna head inside to go to the bathroom."

He didn't know if she actually had to, but Harry saw the offer to escape for what it was and took it. "I'll go with you," he said, standing up himself and taking her hand in his. They were almost to the sliding door that would lead them back to the house when Matt spoke, his voice rising above the rest and making them both stop.

"Seriously? You can't be alone for five minutes? For God's sake, let him off his leash, Y/n."

Anger coursed through Harry's veins immediately, but he did his best to push it aside to focus on his girlfriend, whose face was carefully blank.

"Sorry, what was that?" Y/n asked, slowly turning around to face him. Harry instantly read the look on her face. It was the same one she wore when he forgot to switch out his laundry or wash the dishes.

Matt stupidly doubled down instead of backing off. Niall and a couple of Harry's friends tried to stop him, understanding Y/n's anxiety about being left alone at parties, but he didn't listen.

"Never in a million years did I think our team captain would be so whipped for some—some—"

"Stop before you embarrass yourself," Y/n said, her voice not wavering once. "Maybe if your head wasn't so far up your own ass, you'd know I don't make Harry do anything, like you seem to believe. If he doesn't want to hang out with you, then that's his business, but honestly I don't blame him. You kind of suck."

Matt looked at Y/n in disbelief, mouth open but no words came out. Then he looked at Harry, as if his captain would offer some assistance, but Harry didn't do anything of the sort.

"Don't look at him, you're dealing with me now," Y/n said, stepping toward Matt. "And before you make some stupid fucking-ass comment about him being a bitch letting me fight his battles, save your breath. You started this, I'm ending it. Suck a dick and keep my name out of your mouth."

That's when Harry stepped in. He loved that Y/n was defending him on his behalf, but Matt was a good two heads taller than her, and his teammate had had a few. He didn't think Matt would get physical, but Harry was starting to realize Matt wasn't really a stand up guy.

Then, Matt muttered, "Fuck this," before storming back inside the house. The backyard was uncomfortably quiet for a moment, no one quite knowing what to say. That was until Niall said, "Well, that went about how I expected."

Harry let out a relieved chuckle, his free hand running through his hair. When everyone went back to their own conversations, he focused his attention back on his girlfriend, who hadn't said a word since Matt left.

He knew it took a lot for her to do that, that as confident as she was, Y/n still got anxious, especially in a setting like this. Squeezing her hand once, which had begun to tremble just slightly, Harry murmured quietly in her ear, "Let's go home, baby."

With a stiff nod, Y/n agreed, letting him lead her from the group and back into the house. When they were in the car, Y/n finally said, "Sorry if I made things uncomfortable. Matt's a dick but he's still your teammate."

"Don't apologize," Harry replied immediately. "He got what was coming to him."

They let the conversation end there, driving back to their apartment in silence, save the music playing through the car's speakers.

It wasn't until they were both in the comfort of their own bed that Y/n brought it up again. Nestling under the covers and into Harry's side, she said, "You're totally whipped, you know that, right?"

Harry sighed and kissed the top of her head. "I know."

#harry styles #hockey player!harry styles #hockeyrry #figure skater!reader #figure skater!yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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moonstruckme · 6 months

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helloooo, i have a request if its possible♡

since we got figure skater! Sirius..... Do you think we could get hockey player! James x figure skater! reader? Maybe they go to the same place but the place where they practice its kinda shitty so its literally kinda like an across the hallway situation where the hockey practice happens on one ice rink and when you leave you can walk thru the ice rink of the figure skaters that its on another section of the place IDK I'M NOT AN ARCHITECT SORRY

BUT THE POINT ITS, that one day James leaves practice later than usual and he's walking to get out but he heards his favorite song playing and he goes to see whats up because its his favorite song ever! and goes to the other ice rink and sees the reader practicing and inmediatly he has the biggest crush ever and its almost dreaming about a house and three kids with that cute girl

idk i think i explained myself like sht but hope you like the idea! cause i think it would be soo cute

Hi lovely, you explained yourself perfectly! Thanks for being so patient with me, I hope this is alright <3

hockey player!James x figure skater!reader ♡ 718 words

James’ entire body is pleasantly sore, and he’s very much looking forward to going home to a nice, hot shower.

“Do you and Moony want to go get breakfast tomorrow morning?” he asks Sirius as they leave the locker room. The two of them had taken longer than usual changing out of their gear, Sirius filling him in on the absolute hell week Remus had at his new job. To hear Sirius talk about it, all the other professors are simply jealous of Remus. James is sure that’s partly true, but he’d bet they need less reason than that. Somehow, James had thought leaving school would mean emerging into a more mature world, but adults seem just as petty as teenagers. Maybe pancakes and a good, uplifting chat would do something to take the sting out of Remus’ first week and help prepare him for the next.

Sirius cuts James a sideways look, gray eyes narrowed. “Breakfast at what time?”

“I was thinking six, six thirty.” Sirius scoffs, and James grins. “Only joking. How’s eleven?”

“Still too early,” Sirius grumbles, “but we’ll go.”

James bobs his head, pleased to have a course of action for helping his friend. “Ask Moons where he feels like going, and just…” He hears a faint, familiar melody. “...just let me know.”

“Sounds good.” Sirius pushes open the door, but James has stopped. He’s looking back towards the rink, intrigued. “Coming?”

James waves him off. “In a bit. See you tomorrow.”

Sirius makes an amused sound, not unused to James’ diversions, and goes.

James follows the sound of his favorite song, unabashed about bopping his head to the beat as he approaches the rink. He knows figure skaters sometimes use the rink after his hockey practice has wrapped up, and he absolutely has to see who’s choreographed a routine to this. He comes to a stop near the edge of the bleachers, and watches through the tempered glass as one lone skater launches into a turn.

This wouldn’t be the track James would have thought of for a figure skating routine, but frankly, you’re doing it justice. Your movements are springy and nimble as you glance across the ice, one complicated-looking move to the next to the next. It seems like both skates are never touching the ground for more than half a second. There’s a lot to be said, probably, about your skill, your technique, but James is a philistine. All he can think about is how pretty you look.

You’re gorgeous. Stunning. Graceful in your movements and seraphim in your countenance. A wisp of hair has freed itself from the confines of the rest and whips about your face, but you don’t seem to notice it, your gaze steady and lips just slightly pursed in concentration.

James would never tell his friends because they’d mock him to hell and back, but he does believe in love at first sight. Only under particular circumstances, though. The sight has to be good enough—meaning, he has to see some aspect of who that person is behind a pretty face. You certainly do have a pretty face, and you’re dancing to his favorite song, and James doesn’t understand how he could ever be expected to not be totally enamored with you after this one spectacular look. He worries that if you glance over, you’ll see him with giant cartoon hearts boinging out of his eyes on springs.

The song ends, and you spin to a stop. James’ breathing stops, too, as your gaze lands on a point not ten feet to his right. He wonders if he’s being creepy. It’s not like this is a private rink, and James wouldn’t be weirded out if he spotted someone watching him running drills or something (actually, if it were you he’d be over the moon about it), but he’s been told not everyone feels like he does about that stuff. And though he hardly thinks of himself as intimidating, James is also a big guy. He wants to woo you, not spook you.

You skate to the edge of the rink to restart your music, and James slips out. He hears it blaring softly behind him, and he probably looks like a total idiot when he grins and dances out the front door. An idiot in love.

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t00hight0die · 2 years

Text

in the locker room

18+ (MINORS DNI)

james gets a little thank you for helping a figure skater after a failed trick.

warnings/contains: bj, cursing, minx!reader (?), james and reader get caught, shitty writing, first piece of work after a long slump, silly movie reference, pretty much it

pairing: hockey player!james potter x fem!figure skater!reader

'she' is used once and only other description is having hair long enough to be in a ponytail

wc: 371 (little blurb)

James groaned, the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock making him shudder. He glanced at you as you sat on your knees on the locker room floor, skates on the floor next to you and your hair held in a ponytail by James’s hand.

As he felt himself get closer to release, James used the hand he had in your hair to push you down to the base of his cock, loosening his grip to allow you to bob your head up and down. Paying extra attention to the tip, you moved your hand to wrap around his cock, stroking what wasn’t in your mouth.

The sounds of your hand moving up and down James’s saliva-covered cock and his moans echoed through the locker room, soon joined by the chatter of James’s teammates, Sirius and Remus. Their conversation, however, quickly stopped as they got close enough to see what James was doing.

A bright red flush covered James’s entire body, embarrassment flooding his brain as he realized he was only wearing the upper half of his hockey gear. Despite the less than ideal situation, you were determined to not stop until James had reached his climax, which both you and James knew would be soon. This only prompted you to pump your hand faster and wrap your lips tighter around the head of his cock.

“Whatchya up to Jamie boy?” Sirius asked in a teasing voice, a smirk crossing his lips.

“T-three guesses,” James stuttered out, his words interrupted by a moan as he came into your mouth.

You lifted your mouth off his cock with a pop, the sound echoing through the near-silent locker room as you stood up and swallowed his cum. You picked up your skates and, with a deviant smirk, pressed a kiss on James’s red cheek.

“Thanks for your help, James,” You said, gently dragging your nails against James’s sensitive cock as the boys in the locker room seemed to stare in amazement.

“Anytime…” He murmured in response, his eyes following you as you walked out of the locker room.

“Swallowed like a fucking champ, didn’t she, Prongsie?” Remus commented, still facing the door you had exited from moments ago.

“You have no fucking idea.”

#james potter #james potter smut #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #marauders au #hp au #hockeyplayer!james x reader #hockeyplayer!marauders x reader #remus x reader #sirius x reader #marauders #figure skater!reader #hockeyplayer!james potter #fem!reader #x reader

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

Text

Higher Love: Part 8

The door shut with a soft click, the room was covered in darkness that came from the empty space and closed curtains. Though there were slivers of light coming from the slips between the cracks that hadn’t been pulled tight, the room-darkening curtains had effectively blocked out as much sunlight as possible.

Without turning on the light, you’d dropped your bag to the floor by your desk and stumbled forward, first sitting on the edge of the bed in order to kick off your shoes, and then your back met the mattress with a heavy thud. You lay still until you had the gumption to shift onto your side and curl in on yourself with your hand tucked under your chin.

There was nothing you’d have liked more than to sleep and sleep for days, however the weight of a few papers you’d have to write about the history of symbolism in fashion and fiction, the two topics integral. It was a pivotal portion of your degree that would aid you in creating your line of figure skating costumes, an attempt to make it easier for other skaters to find something that wouldn’t have cost thousands of dollars.

With the expectation that you would be tasked with handing in a paper you hadn’t started yet, you should have pulled yourself from bed and centred yourself in front of your desk to work. And yet the longer you’d laid in bed with your hands tucked under your chin and your legs pulled close to your chest, the last few tendrils of your motivation had dissipated like a slow rolling fog that had come and gone.

You lay there, in the silence of your darkened room, unmotivated and unwilling to task yourself with creating your paper. Rather, you had laid on your bed and let your mind escape you, your eyes fixated on your roommates bed and the fading scent of Johnny Storm that had once been clinging to the blankets. Even if you had wanted to pull yourself from the bed, even if you had all the motivation in the world to start typing away at your computer, you felt bogged down. It was as if there was a blanket weighted by heady lead draped over you, or if your muscle fibres were being replaced with solid steel and copper until your entire body had become artificial.

The feeling of being weighed down hadn’t just affected your physical being, but your mental state as well. Your mind was running on its own, only to return to you when you focused your thoughts on the practice you’d finished with Coach Tucker. It wasn’t the practice that had become a jumbled mess of thought and memories that betrayed you, it was as if time itself had betrayed you with an endless and dense haze that obstructed the minutes, hours and days of your week.

When was the party? When had you gotten drunk and had been taken home by Ari? How long had it been since you and Ari spent the weekend together? How much time had passed since you slept together that weekend? Had Ari already filed the necessary paperwork to cement your relationship together as alpha and omega?

Johnny and Lucas told you that he had, that it was official but could you even trust yourself? Could you trust what you’d been told or was it another quick ploy by your mind fabricating memories?

The door opened and shut quietly, the soft padding footsteps of your roommate had been the only indicator that you were still conscious and not in a state between. You had tilted your head and followed her with your eyes as she had sat on the bed opposite yours and raised her hands to her face, fingers slowly massaging her temples. She, like you, looked as if she was completely stripped of energy although there was a lingering and detectable scent masking hers that alluded to her energy being pulled for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t want to bother you, but…” her voice was soft, her hands trembling while she set them in her lap and turned her head, exposing the brand-new mark ensconced on her neck.

“Johnny?” You spoke his name, unable to even raise your voice above a whisper.

“We were both…drunk and it just…” She sighed and shifted the placement of her hands, covering her face and muffling her weary sigh. “Johnny and I are going to talk after his next class. I just came to gather some clothes.”

“I’ll have a room to myself.” You surmised what she was trying to say without fully explaining herself, and the only response you’d gotten from her was a small nod. “It’s okay. I don’t know how long I’ll be here either.”

Silence had fallen for a moment between the two of you, not awkward in the slightest but there was a lot to be said that couldn’t have been aired. Your roommate was fooling around with Johnny, they had an innate and deep bond that alluded to them being a good and perfect match. Like Ari and yourself, the connection was impossible to skip over and you were happy for her. Even if they had marked each other while they were drinking, they had recognized each other as a good match otherwise the bond wouldn’t have taken.

“You don’t deserve that,” your roommate broke the silence as she stood, wrapping her arms around her middle, “from that asshole Tucker. You should make a complaint to the athletic department about him, there’s gotta be some misconduct or something.”

Your reply to her was just as soft-spoken as before, just as pliantly lifeless and effortless. It was a single word, a single syllable and she didn’t find much value in your plain answer although she didn’t question it. Instead, your roommate had walked toward her dresser, grabbing a pair of sweats and a hoodie, tucking both under her arm.

You followed her with your eyes, watching her as she moved back toward the door. You studied her as she hesitated to open the door, your eyes meeting when she looked over her shoulder and spoke again. “You shouldn’t let that fucker walk all over you, at the very least you should tell Ari. He’s your alpha and the hockey coach, he’s got pull. You should rely on him.”

She had left as quickly as she had come, the door closing again with a soft click.

Ari knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly what his rights and limitations were as an alpha, and even beyond that, as your alpha. There were safeguarding laws and regulations that were in place for situations just like this, in cases where omegas were being physically, mentally or emotionally attacked by an alpha.

While it could have been negated to some extent or made to be unfair by designation if some alphas took advantage of the safeguarding laws, Ari was going to use it to his and your benefit. But then, there were other omegas who were being put under the same rigorous scrutiny from an alpha who used his position to gain access to them in any way he wanted. By promising to make or break their potential career, Lance Tucker had taken full advantage of some omegas who were either too frightened or unwilling to come out and make complaints about him, or their complaints were swept under the rug to save face for the alpha.

It wasn’t just an attempt to save you that fuelled his motives to go after Lance Tucker in every possible way that he could. It was Ari being made aware of the treatment other girls had received from the alpha, and no punishment resulting from the accusations and the claims that had been acknowledged by the school. Whether the omegas had been paid off or they had gotten threatened with their scholarships or positions on teams, it hadn’t mattered or altered his decision. Ari was going to deal with it, and he had retained a lawyer to take on this matter for you, and for any other omegas who would want to press charges.

However before that had even taken place, Ari had to speak to the head of the athletics board and the association for the school. Ari would use his position as the hockey coach to try and handle this without physically threatening Lance Tucker under the protection of the safeguarding laws.

Ari couldn’t physically stomach the idea of being idle and not acting. He couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t take it. He had to do something, not just for you but for the other omegas who didn’t have someone willing to protect them.

There was no turning back, there was no other road he could have taken to avoid a confrontation like this. Since he was informed of the treatment you’d suffered through your coach in the name of succeeding at figure skating, it hadn’t taken Ari long to find other complaints.

Other skaters and dancers, gymnasts that Lance Tucker had targeted and screwed with. This had been unjustly swept under the rug to save face for Tucker, the accusations dropped in the name of keeping a successful but problematic coach.

Ari was beyond pissed. He was beyond pissed. Truly he was utterly enraged by the whole prospect of the university keeping everything hidden. Ari was formally recognized as your alpha through the university, and all the necessary paperwork had gone through and been processed. While had come certain rules about not being overly bold with your public displays of affection while on campus, there was nothing to bar the two of you as consenting and legal adults from pursuing a relationship.

Regardless of when the relationship was formally recognized in the school, or how much time had passed after it had been accepted, Ari was not going to back down from confronting parties responsible for putting you in danger.

He had documented the process with an email first sent to the head of the athletics association and the head of the board, as well as the dean. Ari had kept himself level-headed in the email, though he was not going to water down the accusations and the need to discuss how to deal with it. He had sent the email, he had started the process and then he went to talk face-to-face.

Though he was level-headed in the email, there was something about facing the man head-on that had negated his patience piece by little piece until he had been bordering on the edge of being completely in tune with his natural and predominantly primordial urge to protect you with everything he had.

It was a tactically sensitive conversation albeit one that would quickly become overshadowed by his anger and his disgust that this was going on, and for who knows how long, with nothing being done. Certainly, when Ari had first stepped into the office he had intended to try and maintain his composure despite how pissed off he was.

However, with the door still open behind him, all it took was one clear look at his old friend sitting behind his desk sipping on scotch for Ari to lose his composure. It came with the minimal force of a weak twig being snapped, and the even clink of his friends glass back against the desk for Ari to make the first move.

“Ari please-” The door slammed shut, the aggressive atmosphere had come entirely from Ari and his urgency to protect you and those other omegas. The force behind the door slamming shut had rattled the glass, the subtle shake a mere iota compared to the tension and the debilitating conversation that was going to happen one way or another.

“Don’t fuck with me, Ethan. I am not someone you want to fuck with, I’m allowing you to deal with it before I do.” He stalked toward the desk, every step producing a pounding beat in his ears until he stopped at the edge and glowered down at his friend.

“Ari you can’t do anything-” His hand slammed against the desk, his palm pressed flat against the expensive finish of the hard wood. He was not going to back down from this. He was not going to leave until it was necessary. Ari’s eyes were darkened and his teeth had been grinding egregiously, his aggression aimed entirely at the head of the sport’s association for the university. Ari had considered him a friend. Even now he considered him a friend. However, Ari was not willing to overlook these transgressions nor was he willing to turn a blind eye to what had been happening to these girls.

“Dammit, Ethan! I can do whatever it takes to handle this, to protect them!”

“Ari this takes time-“

“Time? This takes time? The university doesn’t give a shit about these girls, no one is giving a shit about these omegas and for what? To appease some half-assed one-time champion who fucked his way to the top? Dammit, Ethan! These girls need someone to stand up for them!” Ari hissed and leaned forward as a vow, not a promise, fell from his lips. He was willing to become a nightmare that wouldn’t go away, he was willing to throw it all away, everything he had accomplished, in order to protect you all. “Are you going to handle this or am I?”

Silence was what fell between them, and Ari had responded to the deafening line drawn in the sand by rising to his full height. He slipped one hand into his pocket and reached for his lawyer’s business card, the raised lettering promising hope and some kind of resolution. With a clear statement made by Ethan, Ari had pulled the card from his pocket and set it down upon the wood before sliding it forward.

“My lawyer will be contacting you.”

“Ari, please-” While Ethan protested, Ari had turned away from him and left the office with as much anger as he had when he entered.

It was up to Ari.

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#alpha!Ari Levinson x omega!Reader #alpha!professor!ari levinson x reader #alpha!professor!Ari Levinson x omega!student!Reader #hockey coach!ari levinson x reader #figure skater!Reader #ari levinson x reader #ari Levinson x reader fluff #ari levinson x reader smut #alpha!Ari Levinson x reader fluff #teacher/student relationship #professor/student relationship #a/b/o #older/younger relationship #higher love series #higher love masterlist #higher love part 8 #higher love

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stllmnstr · 4 months

Text

every fragile thing

genre: figure skater au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

word count: 12.3k

soundtrack: jealousy, jealousy / brutal / the grudge / get him back! / good 4 u - olivia rodrigio

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After an ankle injury lands you in weekly physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for regionals, you’re certain you must be the most emotionally volatile figure skater within a hundred mile radius. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition.

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted beats, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill.

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best.

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath.

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come.

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin.

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you.

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track?

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals.

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this.

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly.

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question.

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.”

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace.

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully.

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing.

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue.

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space.

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left.

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision.

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door.

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though.

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next.

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows.

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.”

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you.

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new member.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes.

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes.

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs.

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice.

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it.

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up.

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either.

A beat passes.

Two.

Neither of you break eye contact.

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second.

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?”

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink.

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect.

Oh, you know him alright.

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well.

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough.

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess.

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again.

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions.

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane.

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started.

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours.

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule.

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes.

Including him.

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be.

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around.

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.”

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.”

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.”

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade.

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.”

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room.

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible.

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last.

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back.

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you.

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance.

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does.

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth.

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you.

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate.

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.”

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out.

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends.

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant.

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong.

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious.

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look.

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not.

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?”

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all.

“No way.” Jake says.

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission.

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap.

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them.

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces.

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees.

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at sixteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out Coach Kang's.

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice.

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time.

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater.

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip.

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once.

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks.

Not until it all shattered in a single moment.

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart.

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all.

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn.

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger.

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner.

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance.

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself.

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed.

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him.

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone.

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses.

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods.

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage.

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other.

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side.

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always.

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead.

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight.

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile.

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he.

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.” And because the last time we saw each other ended on such great terms.

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car.

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely.

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering.

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home.

And he never says your name once.

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness.

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again.

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays.

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that.

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first.

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze.

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat.

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head.

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests.

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day.

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern.

“Or something,” Jake agrees.

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program.

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts.

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice.

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake.

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question.

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off.

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor.

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again.

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a boy you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know.

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine.

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips.

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod.

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing.

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about me.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant.

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid.

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife.

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier.

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later.

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long.

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low.

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations.

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off.

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing.

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body.

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you.

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp.

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation.

Last time, he let you fall.

You have no idea what he’ll do now.

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target.

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin.

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.”

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon.

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room.

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought.

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt.

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting.

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier.

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer.

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers.

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation.

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception.

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape.

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have.

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe.

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you.

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie.

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread.

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd.

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction.

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared.

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink.

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible.

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice.

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year.

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes.

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit.

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief.

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past.

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “Speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.”

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?”

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to.

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes.

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him.

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear.

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response.

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame.

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry.

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes.

And then another.

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to.

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you.

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right.

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same.

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning.

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace.

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon finally pulls you into his apartment using his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time.

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought.

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet.

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most.

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates.

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough?

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels.

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout.

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return.

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin.

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs.

…

outtake—five years ago.

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission.

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down.

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore.

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse.

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact.

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through.

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger.

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run. Every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck.

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him.

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either.

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors.

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own.

It seems so stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him.

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five long years later.

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you.

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts.

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

#enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #oh look! another sunghoon figure skater au how original #everyone point and laugh

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violet-butterflies · 9 months

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❥︎ yandere! Figure Skater headcanons

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ stalking, threats, possessiveness ( male yandere! oc x gn reader )

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who's now retired after breaking world records and winning prestigious competitions. Now a national treasure and regular visitor of his local skating rink. Our introverted athlete treasures his privacy so he comes in the early mornings where no other person would disturb his practice. why is it getting lonely though?

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who sees a random person flailing desperately on the ice in the early hours of the morning. Ouch looks like that fall would really, really hurt.

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who is surprised that you didn't give up and merely stood up just to fall again? How are you so resilient? The sight was so pathetic that he couldn't help but approach you to ask whether you needed any help.

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who finds out you simply wanted to accomplish some childhood dream of wanting to be a figure skater that never got realized until then. Well, you're in luck because this decorated figure skater is offering his help! totally not because he found you cute or whatever.

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who finds himself teaching you every morning before you go to work/classes. Hey, look! You can gracefully skate around the rink without holding his hand anymore! oh, how he regrets how fast you're improving.

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who falls in love with you but is too scared to ask how. He doesn't know a lot of things about you other than figure skating! He needs to know more! He'll simply gather more information about you on the Internet! Also, the gods must be on his side because he always seems to have the same destination as you when he's out on his daily errands! yes even when you went to your parent's house! He wasn't stalking you he just happens to be around that neighborhood!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who confesses to you after collecting sufficient information about you. Yes of course he wants to keep the fact that you two are dating now under wraps since he has so many rabid fangirls (and fanboys) who always want his hand in marriage! Who knows what would happen if word spread out about his first-ever relationship!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who hates the fact that you can't be in the rink all day with him. So many people get to hang out with you freely and he has to make sure that he stays hidden so his fangirls won't target you. He's all you need so why won't you spend every second of your free time with him?

☞︎︎︎ yandere! figure skater who is hugging your back after an uncontrollable wave of hate is sent your way. An employee of the skating rink must've leaked a picture of you two kissing on the ice last week! Don't worry, he will never ever leave you and he'll protect you from all the hate and doxxing. Just come live with him! no, he's not smiling as he's hugging you shush.

☞︎︎︎ "Don't be scared y/n... I'll find the person who leaked the picture and sue them! I'll always keep you safe but for now, why don't you stay with me?"

#yandere x y/n #yandere #tw: yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #male yandere x y/n #male yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #yandere figure skater #tw: stalking #yandere hcs

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suiana · 8 months

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This is probably weird as hell but what would you think about yandere figure skater😭 it reminds me of one of my old partners

(yandere! figure skater x ice hockey gn! reader)

he's been stalking you.

you know it. you see the way his eyes trail all over you, the way he drastically changed his route home to match yours... you bet he even licks your hockey stick whenever you leave it out in the open. he's a weird fucker after all. not to forget that he's literally fawning over you?!

whatever, if anything you felt flattered. the hottest figure skater being in love with you? while everyone else scrambles for even just a fraction of his attention? what an ego boost!

"can you piss off man? it's the hockey team's training session today. you know that."

"it's precisely because i know that~! that's why I'm here silly!'

the figure skater giggles, clinging to your arm before being rudely shrugged off by you. he pouts, rubbing his arms as he skates over by your side, pushing your teammates away to stand by you.

seriously, the nerve of this guy...

"can you shoo-?! seriously..."

"nuh uh~!"

you groan and roll your eyes, scooting away from the figure skater as he follows after you. this cycle continues on as your annoyance increases and his creepy smile only ever grows. and despite your calls for help to your teammates, they never helped. huh when did the figure skater's weird smile disappear-?

whatever, you don't care about anything he does anyways.

man, at this rate you won't be getting any training done :(

#suiana's sinners #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere figure skater #yandere figeure skater x reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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obsessive-valentine · 5 months

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Yandere!Hockey player x F!Figure skater

A Ice Hockey player takes a interest in the new girl, he’s determined to prove he’s not some lowlife-stereotypical popular kid but rather a man who can protect you and begins to set you up to be in a relationship with him. This ones a pretty subtle yandere.

You recently moved to a new town with your family and being a figure skater you had to not only find a new school but also a new ice rink to practice. Although your school seemed to have a pretty big hockey team that also used this rink so you had to work around them, this meant sometimes leaving school early for these lessons before the school team showed up or coming in late as they were leaving.

Today however you were particularly early leaving you to sit on the bench waiting for the hockey team to pack it in, you distracted yourself with with your phone or a book but you seemed to also be distracting one of the players in particular. He knew you from some of his classes but you never acknowledged each other, mostly because he was apart of the annoyingly loud and popular boys, and he along with his friends know for throwing parties and dating around- they didn’t even bother to pretend to take school seriously it was just a place to hang out and poke fun at people.

You however were comfortable with the small but friendly group you’d been accepted into when you joined the new school, you avoided drama and most parties -preferring to be ice skating or hanging out with your friends. So he was a bit confused why you seemed to be capturing his attention so much, you were quite the opposite of his ex-girlfriends. “What’s wrong with you!? Get your head in the game!” He was snapped back into reality by being told off by his coach, he huffed in response and his eyes darted back to you before joining the game again. You had glanced up to see the commotion and briefly locked eyes with him before going back to what you was doing.

“Someone’s in love” his friend teased coming up behind him only to be shoved back in response “piss off” he grumbled. He kept his eyes on the puck the whole game not trusting himself to look up again, and before he knew it his coach was calling it a day. “Come one let’s go can’t keep buddy’s girlfriend waiting can we now?” his friend once again picking the bear figuratively and literally, it took all his strength to not shove him once again, in fact he didn’t even respond just turned his back and made his way off the rink followed by the team.

He was disappointed in himself, letting a girl come between him and his team until he looked over at you once more as he left for the lockers, you were lacing your skates obviously a bit annoyed at the comments from the boys poking fun at you and him, but damn were you pretty even when you were angry.

You darted out on the ice once the team was gone and made a mental note to come way later so you don’t bump into them again, because god that was awkward. You had the ice to yourself as it was late and you only really trained with your coach on weekends unless you chose to compete, so you stuck your earphones in and went through routines and tricks you’d like to brush up on.

20 minutes had gone by and when you looked up you saw the hockey player standing sheepishly by the shirt wall dividing the rink from the bleachers, you took a earphone out to question him but between you catching your breath and taking it out he had already started to explain “I literally just came in here I swear I’m not a creep... I just wanted to say sorry” he started, you was about to tell him it’s okay so he’d leave but he cut you off again “you’re in my science class right?”

“Yeah and a few others” you sighed to yourself realising it won’t be so easy to get him to leave “oh sorry I don’t really pay attention to much it’s nothing personal. But really they can be asses but they don’t mean harm, maybe I can make it up to you though?” He had a certain charm for such a seemingly tough guy and admittedly very hot, but you didn’t know him aside from the loud jokes he made, him and his friends rough shoving each other into lockers in the hallways, or the rumours of what girl he was hooking up with during a party.

“I don’t know, it fine really we can just leave it at that” you wasn’t sure you wanted to hang around a guy like that, but then again you never saw him pick on people, or continue provoking after a teacher tells him off, he wasn’t as crude as other popular people you’ve come across. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. “Please just umm, do you walk back home? It’s getting dark and I can drive you” he seemed so desperate to make it right, it seemed so out of character especially over something so small.

“I’m gonna be here for another 20 minutes at least, and I’m not getting in your car, I don’t know what you’re like” you said bluntly making hhis eyes widen in realisation “oh right you no that makes sense, okay I get it I’ll get outta your hair but I promise I’ll make it up to you” god did he feel stupid, offering a girl, that he could very well overpower, to join him in his car. ‘Now she probably thinks I’m some lowlife like the rest of them’ he though to himself as he got into his car.

The whole way home he brainstormed some ways to get closer to you, he could pass up this opportunity.

...

“Hey there you are!” Like a relentless puppy he jogged to catch up to you in the hallway “Hi, you’re really hard to find, I mean there is a couple hundred people in this school” you stared at him confused “right um can we maybe hang out for a bit, maybe we can eat lunch together” he could see that you were going to try gently decline “-BECAUSE, I really need your help with” he took a deep breath trying to come up with something “History, yeah history, please it would be a great help”

“fine I guess” you suppose one hour with him can’t go to bad, just let him copy your notes and eat your lunch. However you both spent most of the hour talking, he showed you pictures of his dog thinking it would loosen you up and encouraged you to talk about yourself, eventually you stopped trying to shift the topic back to history and talked to him like he was a friend.

“I’ll see you at the rink?” He smiled back at you, hopefully, he was falling deeper and deeper for you “maybe I will” you blushed a bit packing your bag faster to make it to class. “Good” he said more to himself before leaving.

...

Every now and then he would check the bleachers, hoping to see you, until he did, you gave him a smile as you sat and he waved back, you couldn’t see it under the mask but his smile could very well have reached his ears. He hung back once again, once his team cleared out you joined him on the ice “nice of you to join me, starting to wonder if you would show up at all” he joked.

He spent this time trying to get closer to you once again, he begged you to show him tricks, some he attempted half-assed to get a laugh out of you, then you both raced from one end to the other after some provoking on his part, and after a long talk he asked once again “can I maybe drive you home today?” He hopefully looked to you, you gave it a long thought “I guess so, only if you don’t mind waiting around a while longer for me to actually get some practice in” you gave into him.

He grinned hard “that’s alright with me, I’ll be back in a bit take all the time you need” he took off to the changing room, you trust him more than you did just a few days ago, you talk to him and not so begrudgingly anymore, hell you even entertained him messing around with you for over half an hour. This was significant progress to him.

He rushed to sit back on the bleachers and watch you skate for a bit. He couldn’t stop thinking if this is what it’s like to be so truly in-love, is this what they mean by love at first sight. Every conversation with you made him more sure and sure you were so much more than any of the past girls he’s messed around with even the most serious of relationships would never come close to how he felt with you.

But he’s getting ahead of himself- ‘baby steps’ he had to remind himself, he’s not going to ruin this. He walked you to his car and opened the door for you, this was the start of something. He’s driving you to your house today but soon it will be his house to hang out then hangouts will become sleepovers and sleepovers will become... well he’ll pass that stage when he gets there. For now he’ll treasure the beginning of a long loving life together, he’s sure of it.

#x reader #yandere #yandere oc #ice hockey oc #figure skater reader

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avatar-anna · 5 months

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Hockey Player! Harry x Figure Skater! Y/n Masterlist

hockey harry and figure skater y/n made it to elite status and now have their own masterlist!

Part One

Part Two

Bonus - The first time things get serious in their relationship

Bonus - Harry being a dickhead on the ice

When You Fall In Love

Grumpy

Snooze

The one where Harry is sick

Whipped

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alwaysshallow · 6 months

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figure skater au with gaz? of fucking course. brainrot mostly because of talks with @bunnyreaper, but there's definitely MORE to show you there lmao

you had an injury; minor one, but it was a higher risk to go into singles again, than trying your chance in pairs skating. so, trying to be optimistic, you actually look for a partner.

and you have him. kyle garrick, who also has no interest with singles, but just because he can't really go back to them because of a fight he caused.

"i don't need a partner with a bad reputation" you whine to your manager, your head in hands, as you try to come up with someone else.

"but you need a partner that's better than those idiots out there. wouldn't you agree?"

it's aggravating to hear his voice in this moment, so smug and careless; just like his face, when you look up at him. he looks like he has his answer to anything.

you have no choice but train with him. he is good, but way too handsy for your liking, when you're skating together and his hand, from your waist, stops at your ass. what's more to it, he always seems to seek a physical contact with you, which irritates you to the core.

yet, you can't stop looking at his figure when he's deep into the choreography. when he's exercising without you, as he waits for you to be done with something. he has this passion that draws you to him.

#kyle garrick fanfic #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #call of duty x reader #figure skater au #kyle garrick x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #kyle garrick imagine #gaz imagine

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moonstruckme · 7 months

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On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

When your usual figure skating partner Regulus is injured, you're forced to prepare the most romantic routine you've ever done with Sirius Black. You've known Sirius since you were little and have always found him irritating, but as you spend more and more time together, your feelings towards him start to change

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 4.1k words

You breathe into the stretch, pushing past the resistance and trying to relax the muscles in your leg as you bend over it on the ballet bar. You hadn’t been entirely stringent in staying off it over the last few days (you needed to eat and get from room to room, were you supposed to crawl the entire time?) but your knee is feeling significantly better than it had when you’d first hurt it. You’d decided to keep the wrap on for today, your first practice after your couple of days off, but that’s more out of an overabundance of caution than anything. You feel good, the satisfying stretch of your muscles almost as nice as the light fizzing in your stomach as you anticipate Sirius’ arrival.

The door to the training room opens, and speak of the devil. “Funny seeing you here. Does it hurt or help to stretch it?” Sirius asks, sitting down at a mat beside you and beginning to rotate his ankles.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you say, though you’re not sure if the strain is necessarily good for your knee. Your plan is to make like the other day never happened, and hope you can catch up quickly enough to give a good show at competition. “It’s a little sore, but they said that’s normal. I can skate on it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Sirius’ grin has become like a call to yours, and you feel your mouth curving unbidden. You fall into an easy silence as you rotate your knee this way and that, testing how far you can go without pain before setting it down to stretch your other leg. Sirius stands with one foot held behind him, stretching his quads, and you try your best not to look at how the muscles in his thigh shift with the movement.

“Are you making eyes at me?” Apparently you didn’t try hard enough.

“No,” you scoff. “But it’s just like you to assume I was.”

“Awfully defensive,” Sirius taunts. “Looked like you were.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Mhm.”

“I wasn’t.”

“And I believe you.” Quick as lightning, he moves for you, taking your hand in his. You startle, but don’t pull away. Sirius hums, and there’s a look in his eyes like teeth in a wolf’s mouth. “Your heart’s beating awfully fast though, shortcake. Any reason for that?”

You snatch your hand away, nearly kicking him as you take your leg off the bar.

“Hey, wait,” he says, the amusement leaching from his voice as you grab your bag. “Are you actually pissed off? I was joking.”

“I know,” you reply, heading out the door. “I’m gonna get on the ice before it gets crowded.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Despite your recovery, practice doesn’t go well. It should; both you and Sirius have mastered the choreography, and Coach even has you skipping some of your jumps for the day, just to be sure your knee doesn’t flare up and take you out of the competition.

Once again, the problem is you.

“Y/N, where’s your head at?” Coach gestures helplessly. “You’re too stiff. Where’s that smoothness I was seeing the other day?”

You nod. It feels mechanical by now. “Sorry, I’ll try harder.”

“I’m not done,” he says, and looks almost apologetic. You’ve never had as many troubles with him as you have since Regulus got hurt. You always listened well, took to suggestions easily. He’d praised how quick you were to implement feedback, but lately he’s had to repeat himself over and over. You probably seem inflexible to him. “Your facials are all over the place,” he says. “You’re supposed to be looking at your partner, not at the audience. You can do this, I know you can. I’ve seen you.”

Yeah, you think, with Regulus.

You know what this routine is about. It’s about being in love, being absolutely enamored with your partner. You and Sirius flow around each other the entire time. Every time one of you casts the other off, you glide back almost immediately. With the exception of when you’re in the air, you’re supposed to be looking at Sirius the entire time. Suddenly, you find that’s become significantly more difficult.

Facials have never been an issue for you. You’re a decent actress, and up until today, you’d been able to make yourself appear as infatuated with Sirius as the routine demands. But after what happened in the training room this morning, you’re not sure how much of it would be acting. You’ve begun to enjoy being around him, too much. You’d missed him when you had to stay home from practice. You found yourself wanting to go to Regulus’ house just to see him, invent excuses to call him and ask him to come over, pretend you needed to sit in on his practice for some reason or another. You’re not sure how your annoyance with Sirius turned into this…warmth, but there’s no denying your physical reaction when he enters a room. As he’d so considerately pointed out this morning.

To look at Sirius the way you’re expected to for the routine, you feel like you’d be laying yourself bare, even if your expression appears the same as it did a few days ago. And worse, he might know. Even if he’d only been messing around earlier, your reaction had to have piqued his curiosity, and he might well have figured you out already. If you’d just been able to keep it together…

“Hey,” Coach says, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can do this. Got it?”

You nod, skating back to your starting position.

☆ ☆ ☆

You change as quickly as you can after practice, worried that Sirius will wait up for you and hoping to beat him outside, but when you come all but bursting out the doors, he’s already there.

“Wow.” He laughs, a puff of air in front of his face. “In a hurry?”

“How did you do that?” You throw up your hands, zipping your bag up the rest of the way. “I couldn’t have been in there more than five minutes.”

Sirius shrugs, grinning at you bemusedly. “Less clothes, I guess. Were you trying to run out on me?”

You purse your lips. It was probably obvious, but you’re about to deny it anyway when Sirius nods. He doesn’t look angry.

“Yeah, fair enough,” he says, and when he reaches up to take his hair out of its knot, the movement seems almost sheepish. “Listen, I’m really sorry about earlier. I know it’s been hard for you to get used to being touched, and I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

For a moment, you’re silent. Then it’s all you can do not to sigh, nearly dizzy with relief. “It’s okay,” you say, smiling at him a bit dazedly. “I’m sorry I stormed out like that. I just felt…awkward about it.” Not a lie, though of course not the whole truth.

Sirius returns your smile (his eyelashes pinch in the corners when he means it, you’ve realized, and they do so now), a tension you hadn’t noticed in his stance relaxing. “Well, I don’t want you to feel awkward around me. If I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me, you know? I promise I’ll stop.”

You feel your smile waver, doing your best to keep it in place. This is the problem. You wish, sometimes, that he’d just act like the rude, conceited boy you’d thought he was. The kindness he shows you so often now, even through jokes and teasing, is what’s making everything so difficult.

“Got it,” you reply. “Thanks.”

The eyelash pinch again. You’re growing unsettlingly fond of it. “Anytime, shortcake.”

You try to scoff, but it comes out as more of a laugh. “You’ve got to stop calling me that.”

“Alright,” he says, and you feel your eyebrows come together at his lack of resistance. No protests, not even a taunting remark? Sirius is fond of his pet names, you wouldn’t expect him to give them up so easily.

☆ ☆ ☆

As it turns out, he doesn’t. “Shortcake” drops out of his vocabulary, but it’s replaced by “angel,” “gorgeous,” “sweetheart,” “dollface,” “lovely,” and a slew of others that make your face go red and your knees go wobbly.

“Slower, dollface,” he murmurs as you skate alongside him, and it’s all you can do to keep your balance, slowing your pace just slightly before twirling in front of Sirius. His hands find their home around your waist, tossing you into the air, where you spin for a thrilling moment of dizzy weightlessness before your blades hit the ice and you pivot into arabesque.

“Yes!” Coach shouts, and you beam at Sirius as he picks up his pace, coming up alongside you and touching your fingertips to his. “Yes, that’s it! Facials, Y/N, facials!” You straighten your neck, widening your eyes and giving Sirius your most adoring look. His lips twitch rewardingly.

By the time you’ve finished, stopped hand-in-hand in the middle of the rink, your coach is all but bouncing on the edge of the ice. “That was great, you guys! Not to jinx anything, but—” his grin rivals both yours and Sirius’. “—I think you’ve got a pretty solid shot at medaling tomorrow if you can do that again.”

Sirius looks at you, the both of you breathing heavily, before setting a hand on your shoulder. He squeezes lightly. “I feel ready. You?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, giddy from both the praise and his touch. “Yeah, I think so.”

Coach must be feeling the same, because he doesn’t give you any notes before you go, only reminding you both to stretch and telling you to make sure to ice your leg tonight, just in case. There’ll be no mishaps or flare ups on the ice tomorrow if any of you can help it.

☆ ☆ ☆

You need to sleep, but you really, really can’t. The way your body is humming with adrenaline, you’d think you were competing in five minutes instead of twelve hours.

But twelve hours.

In twelve hours, you’re going to be performing the most objectively demanding and emotionally draining routine of your life so far. It’s no small thing. Almost unconsciously, your mind keeps running over the mechanics of your spins, the muscles that need to be activated when you jump, how you’re supposed to look straight ahead when Sirius lifts you. There’s so much that could go wrong. But if it goes right, it could be one of the biggest moments of your skating career.

Your phone rings, the noise jolting you out of your reverie. It’s Sirius, and your thoughts plummet to the worst possible conclusions. He’s sick, he’s hurt, he doesn’t want to do this anymore.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice is characteristically jovial, and you relax. “You sound freaked, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” you say, blowing out an anxious breath. “I’m just…on edge, I guess.”

“Me too,” he admits, and you raise your eyebrows teasingly as if he can see. Sirius Black, nervous? Someone should alert the press. “Actually, that’s why I called. I know we told Coach we’d turn in early and rest for tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep. I’m guessing you can’t either, since you picked up.” You’re silent, and when he continues you swear you can feel the knowing smile in his voice. “So if you want to join, I’m at the rink.”

You guffaw. “Wait, seriously? This late?”

“They don’t close for another hour,” he says. “I was gonna practice my jumps and stuff, but if you were here, we could run through the whole thing…”

You grin at your ceiling. “You are a terrible influence, you know that?”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replies, and you can picture him in the rink, a shit-eating grin paired with a shrug. “So how quickly can you get here?”

☆ ☆ ☆

You ditch your duffel bag on the bleachers by the door, skating out to meet Sirius. One good run, you tell yourself. One good run of the routine is all you need to reassure yourself tomorrow will go well, and then you’ll be able to relax until the competition.

“Hi there, sunshine,” Sirius greets you as you skid to a stop in front of him. “Don’t you look excited?”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, but you’re smiling. “I’m excited for anything that’ll help me get to sleep tonight.”

“Same page.” Sirius winks. “Wanna go through it from the top?”

You think you execute the routine nearly perfectly. You start to wobble during one of the lifts, but Sirius steadies you, and you’re not sure anything less than an expert judge would even have noticed. Other than that, it’s seamless. You land all of your jumps, you’re perfectly in sync, and by the time you finish, you’re feeling as sunny as Sirius had accused you of being.

“Yes!” you all but squeal, pivoting to slap Sirius’ palm in celebration. “That was great!” Sirius grins at you, but the corners of his eyelashes don’t pinch. “What?”

He blinks. “Nothing.”

“No, come on.” You look at him bemusedly. “What is it?”

Sirius shakes his head, surprise giving way to resignation. “I just, I know my turns aren’t as tight as yours. I don’t want to get us docked for not being synchronized enough.”

“I didn’t notice,” you say truthfully. “I mean, I feel like I would have, if it were that bad. And anyway, I’m twice as likely to get us docked as you are, so I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

He gives you a look of halfhearted remonstrance. “Come on, we both know you’ve got much better control than I do. I just…” he pauses, seeming to steady himself. “Look, I know there’s no changing partners before tomorrow, but I want you to know that I’m sorry you got stuck with me, especially if I mess this up for you.”

“Sirius.” It comes out more breath than word, a puff of freezing air in the space between you. “You’re a beautiful skater. I can’t believe…I’m so sorry I let you think that I got stuck with you.” Sirius looks like he wants to interrupt, but you push on before he gets the chance. “I know I was sad when I found out I couldn’t skate with Reg, and I still am, but only because we’re so used to each other. It’s easy, I don’t have to think about it. But I’ve loved skating with you. I don’t want Reg to be hurt, obviously, but I wouldn’t trade you out if I got the chance.”

Sirius shakes his head at you. “Dollface, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to say that.”

“But I mean it.” You take his hand, and you sound nearly angry now, but good, because it’s getting his attention. Sirius’ face looks wide open, his eyes bemused and lips just slightly parted in surprise. “Being your partner, it’s been amazing, really. You’re fantastic on the ice, and you’re great at giving me advice, and you’re nicer than I thought, and I just really like being around you.” You flush. You’ve gotten a bit carried away, and try to reel yourself back in. “I just don’t want you to think that you’re bringing me down, because you’ve made…this routine a lot better. You’re a great partner to have, Sirius.”

Sirius’ hand is warm in yours, and he doesn’t try to smile as he says, so softly you might not hear him if you weren’t standing this close, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Something feels abruptly different in the air between you, but you don’t shy away from it. “I mean it,” you say again, ardent.

“I don’t know if I’ve said it,” he says, all but whispering, “but I really like having you as a partner too.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, and you’re not sure who pulls the other first, but all it takes is one little tug for your skates to comply, and then his lips are on yours. Despite the shift you’ve witnessed tonight, his kiss is everything you know Sirius to be. Confident, unhurried, giving and taking in equal measure. Warmth seeps from your lips all the way to your fingers and toes, and it’s a good thing you’re so close to the wall, because the muscles in your legs feel suddenly useless. You bring a hand into his hair, and he takes it for the invitation it is, gripping your waist to pull you closer to him. You’re eager to let him. In fact, you wish you weren’t wearing these damn skates so you could climb him like you want to. You settle for placing both hands on the sides of his face, pulling him closer to you, and Sirius groans as you suck his lip into your mouth, grip tightening on you even as he pulls away.

“Fuck, you’re so…” he pants, a little chuckle escaping him. “Well, you’re a lot of things, gorgeous.”

You take his laughter as a good sign, but your voice is still tentative when you say, “I hope that’s a good thing.”

Sirius gives you a fond look, swooping in for a quick peck. “It’s a good thing.”

You flush, grinning at him. “This isn’t what I was expecting when I came here tonight.”

“Me neither.” He nods, blowing out a breath. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on it, but I’m not sorry. Are you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No. I just hope this doesn’t affect our performance.”

Sirius laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you off the ice. “Sweetheart, after your little speech, I don’t think anything could ruin us. We’re untouchable.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“Don’t think you’re untouchable,” Coach lectures in the bleachers the next day. “I know that face, Sirius. Stop it. Be…well, be more serious.”

You snort, and Coach fixes you with a look. “You too.”

You smother your grin, giving him your most solemn nod as Sirius’ eyes shine with laughter beside you.

Despite your worries that you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all after what had happened with Sirius, you’d crashed as soon as you’d gotten home last night.

“Listen, you two did great yesterday,” Coach says. “I want to see that same energy on the ice today. If you don’t mess around, keep everything tight and do it just like we practiced, I could see you placing third or fourth.”

You beam. At a competition like this, getting on the podium would be an absolute dream. You’re doing your best not to let your hopes get too high, but Coach and Sirius are both radiating a confidence that makes that difficult.

“Alright.” He claps you both on the shoulder. “Go get changed.”

You’re barely starting to contemplate letting your fingers brush Sirius’ as you walk away, but as always, he’s bolder than you could ever hope to be, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling, sunshine?” he asks. “Good?”

“Great.” You mean it. “Ready, I think. You?”

“Ready, I know,” he counters, jostling you affectionately.

“I think we’re gonna do good,” you say, blowing out a breath. The adrenaline is starting already. You feel like you could run a lap around the building. “We had a great run last night.”

Sirius smirks at you. “I thought so.”

“In more than one way,” you allow, face warming slightly. “And it’s like Coach said. As long as we do it like that, we’ll be good.” You stop outside the women’s locker room, turning to him. “Just don’t drop me, okay?”

“I won’t drop you,” he repeats, mimicking your playful tone. He slides his arm from around your shoulders, leaning down to peck you on the lips. “Meet you by the entrance?”

Your entire face is buzzing from the brief contact. “Yeah,” you say, sounding somewhat dazed and probably looking it too. It’s unsettling how little it would take for Sirius to kiss you completely stupid. “See you there.”

You ignore the knowing quirk of his eyebrow, turning the corner into the locker room. You try to refocus on the competition, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the extra stuff. Spins, jumps, landings. That’s what needs to be going through your mind today. Any thoughts of Sirius’ touch, the warmth of being pressed up against him, how sturdy his shoulders feel under your hands…any thoughts of all that need to be strictly relevant to the routine.

You do wonder what he’ll think of your costume, though. That’s relevant to the routine, isn’t it? He’s never seen it, and you haven’t tried it on yourself since the fitting with Regulus months ago. It was clearly selected for a routine about passion, a sleek, black bodice that fades smoothly into a blood red skirt that flutters around your thighs. It’s simple, meant to accentuate the romance of the routine without distracting at all from the routine itself. Regulus’ outfit had been all black, equally simple, but you don’t know if they’ve had to change anything for Sirius. The brothers are hardly the same size, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gotten a different costume altogether.

You know that at least your makeup is the same, a simple slash of black eyeshadow across both eyes. He’d told you the other night that he’d practiced it to make sure it would look good. You’re positive it did. Knowing Sirius, his eye makeup will probably look better than yours.

You shake some of the nerves out of your limbs after lacing up your skates, and head for the rink.

☆ ☆ ☆

Everything before your slot is a buzz of adrenaline. Warming up in the training room, standing at the entrance, your coach gripping you and Sirius’ shoulders in one hand each. Knock 'em dead. The sound of your names over the loudspeaker, and Sirius’ hand warming yours as you skate out into the middle of the ice.

Sirius looks like he’s been drawn into the scene. He is indeed in the same costume Regulus had picked out, so he’s all inky black hair and eye makeup and clothes against the gleaming white of the ice. Even his gaze looks darker, the contours of his face more defined, and his poised expression is slightly unnerving, but then he drops a wink, lightning quick, and he’s just Sirius again. It takes all of your self-control not to smile, but you turn from him, easing into your starting pose.

It’s an endless wait for the music to start, but then it does, and you’re off. The movements flow easily from that repository of muscle memory where you keep them stored. You barely have to think, but you make yourself focus, conscious of each muscle as it’s activated, each signal Sirius sends through his touch, each change in the tempo of the music. You jump, and you land it, spinning right into Sirius’ hold. He throws you, and you land it again. And land it, and land it, and land it. Sirius is even better, the natural artistry of his movements melding with the results of tireless practice. He’s gliding seamlessly from one move to the next, making it look easy. Part of you wishes you could step back and watch him, but there’s nowhere you’d rather be but here, looking into his eyes like you’re supposed to as he takes your hand, pulling you closer to him before letting you spin away again.

Your chests are heaving when you finish, smiles far from performative and palms slippery with sweat where you’re pressing them together.

It’s hard to tell whether the applause that erupts from the audience is genuine or merely polite. The judges are impassive, but Regulus isn’t, a rare smile on his face as he claps. You blow him a kiss as you skate to the edge of the rink, knowing he’ll hate it but needing to express the sentiment anyway. You’re sorry he couldn’t perform today, you’re happy he’s here, you love him. He rolls his eyes, and you know he gets it.

As soon as Sirius steps off the ice, he grabs for you. You squeal as he spins you, pressing your face into his shoulder.

“We did it,” he says breathlessly into your hair. “You were amazing out there.”

“So were you,” you say, feeling it more sincerely than your voice can convey.

He sets you down as your coach comes over, telling you much the same thing. You listen to him, but you can’t stop looking at Sirius. You’re like a flower tilting towards the sun, pivoting towards him almost unconsciously as his face shines with unchecked joy, his smile huge and brilliant. Pinched eyelashes and all. You hardly care how you place; it’s inconceivable that you could get any happier than this.

He glances down at you with a knowing look, but you know him well enough by now to see the softness in it. As you walk towards the kiss and cry, Sirius takes your hand, or maybe you take his. It doesn’t matter which.

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