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lenacosse · 1 year ago

Note

Hockey player!Sirius x Ice skater!Reader that are rivals smut.

pairing: sirius black x fem reader

cw: strong language, smut, choking degradation

word count: 3,041

‘i could tell that you were bad news

but i kept messing with you, messing with you

and now you’re messing with me, messing with me’

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You step onto the ice, the cool air wrapping your body in a familiar hug. You were particularly excited today for practice because you were doing it alone, you loved your coach she was great but there was something so therapeutic about being the only one. You do your usual warm up, a few laps and simple tricks. At the minute you were training up for a major competition that would dictate your future in skating, however knowing this it didn’t make you worried because you knew how good you were. You’d been doing this your entire life which has maxed out your skills, anyone would be stupid to not acknowledge your talent.

After your fifth lap your body was heating up and your blood was pumping faster- desperate to get started. You skate over to the speakers and start your routine, this routine was the most intricate you had ever been set but you were destined to perfect it, and so far it was going good. As you were landing your butterfly spin the music cut off, you turned around to hear a wolf whistle. Your face dropped as you saw who it was.

“Black. What are you doing?! Turn the music back on I’m rehearsing.”

“We’ve came to practice. Get off the ice.”

You skate over to him, he’s standing there with a smug look on his face. He’s decked head to toe in is hockey gear and holding his sticks, beside him is his friend James. You weren’t sure which one of them you hated more.

“I don’t care.” You cross your arms, he rolls his eyes at you. “Your team has practice in an hour. The rink is reserved for figure skating.”

“What do you need the rink for? Dancing. You skaters are fucking ridiculous.” Sirius scoffs.

“Oh yeah you’re right! I’ve no reason to be here, you said it yourself, skating isn’t a sport.”

“It isn’t.” James adds, you feel the anger rising in you.

“Shut the fuck up Potter! I’m not leaving the rink. You both have scheduled practice in an hour, just fucking wait til then.”

You ignore the protest that Sirius is putting up and skate back to the speaker, resuming your rehearsal. You try to ignore the taunts the two boys are sending your way, they tormented you to move as they set up their nets, you pushed the net half way across the rink which pissed Sirius off.

“If you move that one more time I swear to god.” He fumed.

“I told you already Black I need the space! I have a competition in a month.”

“And I have matches. I don’t care about your stupid hobby.”

“Hobby?! Fuck you.” You exclaim and angrily make your way back to your side of the rink. You felt all eyes on you as you performed, you could feel Sirius judging you. You truly hated him beyond explanation, he was horrible to you ever since you met him four years ago.

He constantly denied your talents, sabotaged your space and made you feel inferior to him. Most ice hockey players done that to the figure skaters, they didn’t see the art in it. But you didn’t care, Black’s words bounced off you and you redirected them back at him. You knew he was a rough fuck boy who cared way too much about sport, ice skating was a creative outlet for you, a deep passion that let you express yourself, a talent that you could master. But for Sirius hockey was an anger outlet, he could be rough and mean on the rink. He also saw it as an excuse to disregard school and education, one injury and you knew him and his precious future was fucked. Of course he was in denial about this, like most men are. But anyways, his beautiful face and toned body didn’t distract you from his venomous personality and sleazy mouth.

You were practicing your axel, that is until a a hockey puck files right at you. Hitting you in the chest, the aggression of the blow sends you flying, you land awkwardly on your back with your ankle tucked under your leg. You cry out in pain, you look up to see James with a conflicted expression on his face and Sirius plastered with a smug grin.

“Knew you were a shit skater.” Sirius taunts. You get up in an instant, the anger you felt overpowering the pain of your ankle.

“You fucking bastard! That wasn’t funny Sirius I could have got seriously injured.”

“I didn’t think you would fall fucking hell give me a break.”

“Give you a break?! Fuck you are ridiculous! You can take this fucking puck and shove it up your arsehole you wanker!” You pick up the puck and throw it at him, it only enrages you more as he catches it. You could have quite literally strangled him.

As you storm off he shouts back at you, “guess we lost our ‘best skater’.”

“You know plain fucking right that I’m better than you! You’re a sad excuse for a player.” You yell as you take your skates off.

You walk around the corner out of sight to put your shoes on, you knew this was the final straw with him. You were debating reporting him, but you weren’t petty and you knew he was just childish, so for now you would leave it. You were about to walk away but stopped as you heard James speaking.

“Don’t you think that was too far?” He asks as him and Sirius resume with their practice.

“No? How is it too far?”

“…she could have gotten hurt” James responds.

“She didn’t.” Sirius sighs, “look I don’t know why you care, she’s a bitch who’s always had it out for me so I correspond with that attitude.”

“Still. You shouldn’t have fired that puck at her, if she tells the captain you’re off the team.”

“She won’t.”

You rolled your eyes as you heard that, of course he assumes you’ll be nice and pity him. But he’s right, you won’t because just like him the captain didn’t care for the opinions of the figure skaters. That to you was most likely the reason Sirius was such a dick, you walk away- not caring for the rest of their stupid conversation and get changed in the locker room. Your ankle was swollen but nothing serious happened, that you only could be thankful for. It would be an absolute disaster if your ankle broke before your competition.

════════════════

The next day you arrive again at practice, again alone. You had a later scheduled one on one with your coach but your entire day was free so you decided it was a good idea to get there early. So again, you go onto the ice and start your routine. Out of the corner of your eye you see Sirius putting in his skates, you audibly groan and watch as he skates onto the ice. However he barely acknowledges you. You thought he was going to leave you alone, until after you landed your spin he approaches you.

“Looking wobbly (Y/L/N).”

“Fuck off Black.” You snarl and send him a glare.

“You’re cute when mad.” He smirks.

Your face screws up in disgust as you scoff. “Leave me alone. Go annoy someone else.”

“Ah but no one reacts like you do, theres no fun it in.”

“Oh you get off on bullying? How charming.”

“You’re just as bad,” he winks. You gag at him and move across the rink in an attempt to get away from him.

Surprisingly he takes the hint and leaves you be for awhile, but you could see him staring at you. Watching your every movement, his eyes following you like a predatory animal about to pounce. You felt uneasy under his gaze, you hated to admit but he held power in his eyes. There was something about him underneath all the hatred that fascinated you, but that was only a minor thing. And of course once he started to piss you off again you were reminded of this hatred. This time he chose to mess with your music, he kept turning it off and changing it to another artist.

“Stop. Leave it be.”

“I’ve had enough of watching you gallop around the rink.”

“I’ve got a solution for you genius, leave. Go on, piss off I don’t want you here.” You spoke in a child like tone to mock him.

“You go. You come every day I can’t get a fucking minute alone in here.”

“I come here to rehearse. And too fucking bad, you don’t own the rink I have every right to be here. I pay to use this.”

“Rehearse? Fuck me you are delirious, figure skating is ridiculous.”

“No you know what, I think you’re jealous. You’re threatened because I’m the only one who meets your match. Right? You think undermining me and making fun of me will make me quit so then you’ll be the best.”

“What we do is completely different, so no. I’m not jealous.”

“I know what we do is different. But you’re so shallow that you’re threatened by everyone, you want to be the best contributor to this company but you can’t because you think I’ll beat you every time.” You move closer to him, you eyes locking in on his. He looked mad, you were getting under his skin.

“Im not threatened by anyone. To think that you’re even on the same playing field as me is crazy. You’ll never be as good as anyone that contributes to this company. You’re an awful skater.”

You just smirk, he was trying so hard to hurt you but it wasn’t working. You knew you were good, that you earned. “Nice attempt.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“The feelings mutual.”

You both share intense eye contact. You head was running wild trying to find something to say, but the way he was looking at you was making your brain fog. All you could think of was the way his jaw flexed when he smirked, how his veins became prominent as he balled his fists or how his eyes were laced with pure lust as he looked into you doe ones. You couldn’t believe standing in front of him you felt sexual tension between you both, you broke the eye contact and cleared your throat.

“Fine dickhead. Have the entire rink.” You sneer and walk off the rink. Removing your skates and walking back to the females changing rooms. Before you open the door you feel a hand grip your wrist and pull you back.

You’re met with Sirius’ face, he looked different than usual, his pupils were expanded and his jaw was tight. He pushed you up against the wall and whispered into your ear.

“I want to fuck you until you forget your name like the slut that you are, maybe then you’ll think twice before running your mouth.”

You squeeze your thighs together as he speaks, his voice was rough yet sultry at the same time. You didn’t know what to say, so you just flashed him an innocent expression which made him grunt. He leaned back down to whisper into your ear.

“Strip down and stand in the shower. I’ll be there in a minute.” With that he walked away, you stand there for a second baffled by that encounter, but without thinking you walk in the changing rooms.

First you take off your leg warms and leave them right at the door, then your tights, then your jacket, then your shirt, then your skirt, then your panties and finally your bra. You left him a trail to find you. You step into the shower and pull the curtain, you stand with your front to the wall, your back to the entrance. You turn the water on and step until, working your way through your hair as the water soaks it. You heard the curtain open and your stomach flipped. Before you knew it you were pressed against the wall and Sirius was behind you, his hard cock between your thighs.

He grabbed your hair, pulling your neck back so you were looking up at him. You bit your lip at the sight, his hair was now wet and droplets of water fell from his hair down onto his face. You hated how beautiful he looked. The sight before you was making you drip with arousal, you’d never felt this way before about anyone and the hatred between you both only made this feel even better.

“Look at you, waiting for me. Fuck you’re so pathetic.” He snarled. You just looked at him with you doe eyes, your lashes fluttering.

“I couldn’t help myself.” You smirked. A whimper escaped your lips as he tugged hard on your hair, he let go of your hair and instead wrapped his hand around your throat, applying a little bit of pressure. You couldn’t deny the fact that you liked it.

He ran his other hand down your back, sending deep shivers up your spin. His hand stopped at your ass. You cried out as he smacked it, you didn’t except it but surprisingly you liked it. He ran his finger over your slit, his eyes grew darker as he felt how wet and eager you were.

“Is this turning you on? Am I making you excited?” He whispered a low growl on the end of his words. You nodded in response, suddenly he shoved two fingers inside you, a gasp escaped your lips, he searched for that sweet spot and immediately found it. You eyes rolled back as he pumped his fingers onto it, you gripped the metal shelf as your legs lightly shook from under you. Sirius kept going, getting faster and more aggressive as you got closer to that release. Your muscles tightened around you and he immediately pulled his fingers back.

You whine in response opening your eyes again and looking up at him. “Why’d you stop.”

“Felt like it,” he shrugged. He let go of your throat and grabbed your hips. You felt him rub his tip at your entrance and you moved back further, showing him how much you wanted this. “You’re such a slut. But I love it.”

He thrusted into you, gentler than you had expect. However that didn’t last long, once you had settled he pushed you even further against the wall and pinned your hands together at your back, his other hand gripped the metal shelf. He pounded into you at an insane speed, his thick cock stretching you out in the most divine way. He hit your good spot perfectly which had you rolling your eyes and moaning continuously. Every noise you made and urged him to go faster and harder, you swore your pelvic would inevitably be bruised from this but frankly you didn’t care. It felt too good.

“I- fucking hate you.” You moaned, your words were sloppy and broken.

Sirius chuckled from behind you and leaned to your ears. “I hate you too. But I bet no one has had you moaning like this.” He kissed down your neck, you could swear at one point he bit your neck but everything blurred into one so you couldn’t be sure, but that didn’t matter because everything he was doing was beyond attractive.

You felt the coil in your stomach snap and you released around him, your legs shook as he kept going. You heard his low groans in your ear, it quite literally was the hottest sound you’d ever heard. He kept going until you came again, this time it was intense. You were overridden with euphoria as you saw white, your legs nearly gave way but Sirius put a steady hand under your to hold you in place. He slowly pulled out and let your arms go. You looked back at him.

“What about you?”

“You’re going to get on your knees and finish the job.” He said, he helped you down and you were now in level with his cock.

This had you biting your lip in anticipation. The way the water fell down on him could have turned you on all over again, he put his hands into your hair, guiding your mouth to his cock. He wasn’t small that was for sure, you licked a long slow strip from his base to tip, slowly you wrapped your lips around his tip and started to suck. You moved your head up and down him as you hollowed your cheeks, he tasted heavenly on your tongue. You were enjoying the noises coming out of his mouth. You slowly pulled your head back releasing his cock from your mouth, you wrapped your hand around the bottom and stroked him as your tongue ran over his slit, the practically whined as you done this, you looked up at him. His eyes were closeted and his face contoured with pleasure. You smirked and resumed, taking your time to draw out those beautiful sounds from his mouth. That was until he grew impatient. He grabbed your head and took back the dominance, he fucked your mouth hard. Your eyes were watering and tears were falling out, but you were loving every moment of it. You kept up with his thrusts, sucking him eagerly. You could tell he was close when his movements got sloppy. And as you expected he came in your mouth, hot white liquid shooting down your throat. Slowly you pulled your head back, swallowing his cum. He looked down at you with a satisfied smirk.

“We’re doing that again.”

You nodded in agreement and he helped you up, you made him pass you in your shower products in your bag. He got dressed and turned to leave.

“See you later (Y/L/N). Better not hog the rink tomorrow with your galloping.”

“Cant make any promises dickhead.” You roll your eyes. He just smirked at you and left. You showered and got ready for your next rehearsal, you still couldn’t believe what happened but it was the best sexual experience you’ve had which you would not say no to if he wanted to do it again.

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suiana · 4 months ago

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yandere! ice skater and first time skater reader. gang this is so gangsta!!! imagine going onto the skating rink for the first time and falling constantly like a little kid 😂😂😂 u even have a helmet and one of those seals 😂😂😂 meanwhile yandere! ice skater (who's also your longtime admirer) is literally an olympic skater that makes doing jumps and axels look easy.

"AURGH-"

"oh dear, shall i help you?"

the ice skater gracefully glides over to you as you fall onto your ass for the fifth time since you fell onto your ass. you came in ten minutes ago.

he meticulously adjusts your position, teaching you the basics while holding onto your hand as he encourages you.

"well done, you're doing great, sweetheart. yes, just like that..."

by the end of your little lesson with him, you could hold yourself up for at least ten minutes!!!! wowzers!!! you thank him gratefully before trying to skate off...

only to realize that he was still holding onto your hand.

"where do you think you're going? i never said our lesson was over, did i?"

?????

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #yandere ice skater #yandere ice skater x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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hoe4hotchner · 4 months ago

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Beneath the ice - Masterlist and introduction

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Figure Skater!Reader (fem)

Series word count: 98.6k

Summary: As you train for nationals, your life is turned upside down when several young athletes, including your friend Leah, suddenly go missing and end up dead. The BAU is brought in to investigate, led by unit chief Aaron Hotchner. You're drawn to Hotch as the case unfolds, but when Leah’s body is discovered on the very ice where you train, the danger hits a little too close to home. Now, with a killer on the loose, you're pulled deeper into the chaos, where fear, passion, and the investigation collide in unexpected ways.

Masterlist:

Chapter 1 - First impressions

Chapter 2 - Parallel paths

Chapter 3 - Unsteady footing

Chapter 4 - Echoes of fear

Chapter 5 - Cracks in the ice

Chapter 6 - Fractured trust

Chapter 7 - Breaking point

Chapter 8 - Under pressure

Chapter 9 - Sectionals

Chapter 10 - Cold pursuit

Chapter 11 - The unsub's next move

Chapter 12 - Regionals

Chapter 13 - Rebuilding

Chapter 14 - Time to rest

Epilogue

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mrsfancyferrari · 1 month ago

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Dancing on Ice

Summary: FC43 + “I can’t ice skate amor, I’ll break all my bones.”

Song: Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande

Taglist: @eapunetaestoestadificil

Author’s note: I've never written about ice skating before so bear in mind! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You step onto the glistening surface of the ice, feeling the cool air brush against your cheeks like a gentle whisper. The skating rink is vacant, save for the faint music echoing from the speakers overhead

This is your sanctuary, the place where you feel most alive, where your heart dances in tandem with your movements. You take a deep breath and inhale the smell of fresh ice, the scent of excitement and endless possibilities.

But today isn’t just about you. Today, you want Franco to experience this world—to share a piece of your heart tucked away in every swirl of your skates.

You glance toward the entrance, and there he is: Franco Colapinto, your boyfriend, standing at the threshold, his tall, athletic frame now almost comically awkward as he awkwardly adjusts the ice skates laced around his ankles.

“Why do I feel like a baby giraffe?” he calls out, chuckling nervously.

You can’t help but laugh too, your heart swelling with affection. “You’ll be fine, amor! Just take it one step at a time.”

Franco rolls his eyes, but a smile plays on his lips. “One step at a time? It feels more like one slip at a time,” he says as he takes his first tentative steps onto the ice.

You can see the concentration etched on his face as he clutches at the air to find balance.

“I can’t do this amor, I’ll break all my bones.” he muttered, trying to balance on his wobbly feet.

“You won’t break all your bones, I promise,” you tease, gliding toward him effortlessly.

“Easy for you to say! You have a lifetime of practice,” he replies, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I can’t even stand up without feeling like I’m about to topple over!”

“C’mon, let’s do it together,” You extend your hand, willing him to take it. You know his tendency to overthink things, to become overly self-critical, and you want to ease that anxiety, even just a little.

Without a moment of hesitation, he takes your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with a grip that feels warm and reassuring.

The initial moments are filled with a few shaky steps and laughter. Every time Franco wobbles, you can’t help but giggle, your laughter ringing out across the rink.

“See cariño? It’s not so bad!” you say, your voice light with encouragement.

“I can’t tell if I’m moving forward or just inching toward certain doom,” he smiles, his eyes sparkling with a blend of fear and exhilaration.

“You’re doing great! Now, try to relax your knees. Bend them like this.” You demonstrate, your body gliding effortlessly across the ice as if it were your second skin.

He followed your movements with his gaze, a mix of admiration and disbelief etched on his face. You had seen that look before, knew how he loved watching you skate—how it made him forget the world for a moment.

“Are you going to try that jump again?” Franco called out, his voice carrying across the chilly afternoon air. You glanced back at him, a playful smile curling your lips.

“Maybe,” you replied, pushing off the ice, your blades cutting through with a crisp sound. “But only if you promise to catch me if I fall!”

He laughed, a rich sound that warmed the chill around you. “I’ll try to catch you.”

You concentrated, feeling the cool wind against your face as you executed the jump. Time seemed to freeze; with a perfect landing, your heart soared. Cheering, you glided back to him.

“How did I do?” you beamed.

“Like a swan, hermosa!” Franco exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, you get better every time.”

His praise made your cheeks flush, and you brushed your hair off your forehead, trying to play it cool. “It’s just practice. You should give it a go sometime.”

“Me? No way!” he chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I’d rather watch you shine.”

You stepped closer, feeling the warmth radiate from him. “You’re not scared, are you? C’mon, I could teach you.”

“Well, I’ll try to look as graceful as you,” he said, his voice light but filled with feigned optimism. “But I’ll probably just end up face-first on the rink.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be right here to catch you,” you reassured him, enthusiasm coursing through your veins as you took his gloved hand in yours.

You felt the warmth radiating from him, a welcome contrast to the cold around you. Slowly, you pulled him along, watching as he took shaky steps beneath the weight of his own apprehension.

With each stride, the sound of his skates zipping across the ice harmonized beautifully with the gentle melody that enveloped you.

Observing the flicker of determination ignite in his eyes was a joy unlike any other; for a fleeting moment, you could see him beginning to ease into the rhythm.

“You can do this, amor! Just trust yourself!” Your voice was filled with a bubbling laughter that echoed in the spaces between you.

As the fear melted away, joy illuminated his features, and what had once felt like an intimidating vastness transformed into your shared world of warmth.

“Okay, okay, I’m feeling a little bit better!” Franco exclaimed, his smile infectious, making his cheeks flush against the biting cold. “But I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Ice skating! Who even likes ice skating?”

“I do!” you replied, a laugh escaping as you effortlessly glided toward him again, your fingers intertwining with his. “Ice skating is like flying, Franco. It’s freedom. It’s beautiful!”

“Flying, you say?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “I’m more like a flying squirrel, but sure!”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection and amusement. “Alright, then let’s embrace your inner flying squirrel!”

You pulled him forward, teaching him to lean into the turns, guiding him cautiously along as he found his footing.

The ice was an echoing realm of freedom for you, but it was a whole new world for him. You could sense his insecurity, yet with every few strides, he grew bolder, the apprehension beginning to unfurl.

As you twirled in front of him, he laughed at your playful antics.

"Are you sure you didn’t slip anything into my coffee this morning?" he teased, finally smiling back at you.

“Only a healthy dose of confidence,” you responded mischievously, spinning in place again before extending your arms wide. “Now, try to match my flow.”

“Easier said than done!” he said as he mirrored your movements, wobbly yet resilient. You laughed, trying to pull him closer so he could feel your energy and steadiness.

With each revolution, something clicked within him. Franco’s eyes sparkled with determination now, even as his balance faltered once or twice, his body weaving like a willow in the wind.

You steadied him with a quick squeeze of his hands, never letting go entirely.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it!” he exclaimed, his excitement infectious. “Wait, I actually feel good! Like, really good!”

“See? You’re a natural.” You beamed proudly, your heart racing with joy for him. “Just imagine how smooth you’ll be on race day if you just keep trusting yourself.”

He shot you a playful glare. “Are you trying to turn me into an ice-skating prodigy? Because I’m more into racing, you know?”

“Well, you can be both! Just think about it—Franco, the world’s first professional ice skater and racer!” You had to stifle a laugh as he pretended to ponder that monumental decision.

“Sounds like a lot of work. How about I just stick with being your boyfriend?” he said, his hazel eyes flickering with mischief.

“You’re more than my boyfriend; you’re my partner on and off the ice,” you said genuinely, squeezing his hands tighter for emphasis. “And I’m not letting you go, so you better get used to it.”

As he looked at you, something shifted in the air—a moment suspended beyond ice and skates, creating its own magic. “Thank you,” he replied softly, sincerity shining through his tone. “For believing in me.”

The words settled warmly between you, and as your feet guided you across the surface, you felt connected not just by your hands but by the joy of shared experiences. Franco found his rhythm, those early fears evaporating with each graceful stride.

“Can you feel it?” you prompted as you began spinning, your feet gliding effortlessly. “Can you feel the freedom?”

He spun in place, attempting to emulate you, albeit with less grace. “I’m starting to! But I might need a little more practice!” He laughed, but this time, it was lighter, more joyous.

You couldn’t help your laughter, a melody shared between you. “More practice will come. And hey, if you fall, I promise to catch you,” you teased, your heart swelling with affection.

As you circled each other, the world outside the rink faded, and all that mattered was the two of you. Every worried thought he’d held on to was gently replaced with laughter, joy, and the bright glow of confidence.

Suddenly, Franco lost his balance, his swift attempt to spin faltering, and he stumbled towards you. Without a second thought, you instinctively pulled him close to prevent a fall.

As his weight leans into you, you manage to steady him, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cold chill around you. His hazel eyes staring at you, a small smile dancing on his lips. His brown curls flutter against your cheek, and for a moment, the cold world around you melts away.

“I told you,” you chuckled, your eyes meeting his with warmth, “I wouldn’t let you break anything before your race.”

He smiled, his expression now a mix of gratitude and admiration. “I think I can manage with a little help from my favorite professional.”

Your heart soared at the endearment. “Always,” you promised, your laughter echoing against the ice.

As time passed, he not only found his balance but began to experiment with spins. “Okay, check this out!” he called, determination written all over his face.

His movements were clumsy but earnest. You stood back, watching, heart swelling with pride. “I’m going to try a spin!”

“Just remember to keep your weight in the right place!” you shouted back, excitement bubbling in your chest. Franco seemed to heed your words; he steadied himself, drew a breath, and began to spin.

Your cheers filled the air as he completed the maneuver without stumbling—an almost miraculous feat for a beginner.

“Did you see that?” he exclaimed, eyes sparkling with life. He spun around once more, a little more confident each time.

Encouraged by your enthusiasm, he shouted, “I’m going to try something bigger! A flying spin!”

“Be careful!” you hollered as he gained speed, the adrenaline coursing through both of you. He took a deep breath, launched himself into the air, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed he would soar.

But reality proved unforgiving; Franco missed his landing. Time slowed as you watched, eyes widening in horror, and instinct kicked in. You dashed toward him, desperate to help him regain his balance.

But the moment you reached him, the inevitable happened—you both fell.

The world crashed to silence as you landed on the ice with a thud. The cold bit at your skin, and it took a moment to register what had transpired. You glanced over your shoulder, concern flooding your senses.

Franco had fallen on his back, making a pillow of his body, still clutching you tightly to protect you from the impact.

“Mi amor, are you alright?” he grunted, his face contorted with discomfort.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, but your concern snapped you awake. “I’m okay, I think…” You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you shifted your weight to examine him more closely.

“Are you alright?” Your hands cupped his cheeks, brushing away the ice shavings that clung to his skin.

“Yeah, amor, just a small fall,” he muttered, attempting to smile through the obvious pain, fingers squeezing your hips reassuringly. Even in a moment of chaos, he remained protective.

Your heart ached at the sight of him. “You scared me!” you said, a mixture of love and exasperation in your voice as you detected the underlying wince in his expression. “You should’ve just fallen on the ice instead of trying to catch me!”

“And let my girlfriend get hurt? Not a chance,” he responded, his eyes softening.

Shivers danced down your spine as you felt the warmth of his hands against you, a fleeting moment of tenderness amidst the chaos.

With a grunt, he shifted and sat up, still holding you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could nail it, just like you. You make this look so easy,” he replied, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“It’s okay, Franco. You did amazing for your first time! I promise, it takes practice,” you assured him, your heart swelling with affection and admiration. “The fact that you even tried a flying spin is impressive!”

“You really think so?” A hint of doubt lingered in his voice, and you could see the way his breath hitched in uncertainty.

“Absolutely! You were fearless,” you said, leaning closer for emphasis. “And I love that about you.”

His gaze fixed on yours, the warmth in his hazel eyes igniting a spark of connection between you. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, his tone sincere, laced with admiration. “I want to learn this just to impress you more.”

Your heart danced in rhythm with the flutter of his words.

“You are beyond ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head.

With a grunt, he shifted to sit up, still holding onto you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could nail it, just like you. You make this look so easy.” He brushed loose strands of hair behind your ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

You examined his face, searching for any sign of injuries. “You better not be injured,” you said, half-joking and half-serious, concern lacing your words.

“I would do the same again to protect you,” he replied, his voice firm yet soft, almost as if he was convinced of his own capabilities.

“Franco, you can’t,” you said, your hands on his shoulders grounding him. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

Your palms pressed into him, feeling the steady heat of his body beneath the chill in the air, while his hands rubbed slow circles on your waist and leg, an attempt to soothe both of your worries.

“Te amo más que a la vida en sí,” he muttered softly, his forehead resting against yours. I love you more than life itself.

The warmth of his words sent shivers racing down your spine. It was a phrase you adored, an affirmation that always made your heart flutter.

"Yo también te amo, mi amor," you replied, the familiarity of the words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket against the chill of the rink. I love you too, my love.

His eyes sparkled at your reply, and in that moment, you felt that intoxicating rush, like you did when you first started dating two years ago. Your heartbeats were erratic, fluttering like a trapped butterfly.

“Would it be inappropriate to kiss you here?” he asked, his voice teasing yet laced with sincerity as he leaned just a fraction closer, eyes darting between yours and your lips.

“It might raise a few eyebrows,” you replied, feigning seriousness, though your heart was racing in anticipation.

“Like who? Your manager?” he teased, referring to the figure of authority bundled in her coat, observing from the bleachers with a look of bemusement.

Behind her, a few paramedics stood chatty but alert, ready to intervene if needed.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, you’re not wrong about that. But we’ve got all this space and ice, and if we get caught… I’ll never hear the end of it. Not to mention, you’ll probably never want to skate again!”

“Exactly! So, we should make this moment count. The ice is ours!” He leaned in a little more, his intent oh-so-clear now.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, fighting the laughter and the nerves.

“Franco,” you began, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, but his gaze was unwavering, inviting, and mischievous.

“Okay, how about this,” he proposed with a cheeky grin. “One kiss, right here, right now. If we get caught, we’ll blame it on the ice, right?”

You chuckled, letting the moment bubble between you two. “You are incorrigible.”

“But you love it,” he beamed, his confidence unwavering.

Before you could answer, he closed the gap. Your lips met softly, and time seemed to stretch, the sound of the world around you fading into a blissful hush.

It was a simple yet electric exchange, and you could feel a thrill racing through you—not just from the kiss, but from the sweetness of the moment.

Just as you pulled away, your manager, Laura, called out, voice slightly panicked, “Is everything alright over there?”

“Perfectly fine!” Franco called back, his voice laced with laughter. The infectious nature of his grin transformed your previously solid focus into giggles as you beamed at each other, your hearts still racing.

You slowly got off Franco's lap, playfully nudging him. “Come on, we need to get back to practice before Laura comes over here.”

As you attempted to pull him up, he made a loud grunt in pain, his expression shifting instantly from playful to concerned. “Ow! Okay, maybe that was a bad idea.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, worry knitting your brows together as he rubbed his back where he'd fallen awkwardly.

He waved a hand dismissively, but you could see the wince in his eyes. “Just a little sore. You know how it is—ice can be a bit unforgiving.”

You knelt down beside him, your heart aching with concern. “Really, amor, that looked like a pretty nasty fall. You shouldn’t brush it off.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said, though the way he shifted his weight suggested it was bothering him more than he let on. “Besides, I’d take a hundred falls to save you.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not supposed to heroically throw yourself down for me.”

“Maybe I just wanted to showcase my dedication,” he replied with a teasing wink that was all Franco.

He had a tendency to turn serious moments into playful banter, and although part of you was grateful for the levity, another part found it hard to let go of the worry gnawing at you.

“Okay Mr. Dedicated, how about you let me help you up?” you offered with a hint of determination.

“Alright, but only if you promise to take me for hot chocolate afterward,” he retorted, his eyes sparkling with mischief once again.

“Deal!” You reached out your hands, and he grasped them, allowing you to pull him up. Yet, the moment he stood, he grimaced and swayed slightly, the bravado giving way to discomfort.

“Whoa! Steady there!” you laughed, though there was a hint of concern in your laughter.

“I’m good,” he insisted, his voice a mix of confidence and challenge, but you weren’t convinced.

“Franco, you—”

“Seriously, it’s just a bruise; I promise. Let’s keep skating!” He tried to brush off your apprehension, but you could see the effort was taking its toll.

The bright red of his cheeks was testament to both the cold and the strain, and his laughter felt a little too forced to be entirely genuine.

“Okay, but no stunts for a while, alright?” you retorted, crossing your arms playfully but firmly.

The worry you felt for him was overshadowed by your desire to keep the fun spirit alive.

“Only for you, amor,” he winked, and your heart fluttered.

It was moments like these that made you realise how much you adored him—the way he could light up a moment with a single glance, a cheeky joke, or unexpected charm.

Franco completed a few more cautious circles around the rink, but soon enough his bravado waned, and you noticed him retreating to the edge.

You didn’t let him out of your sight, instinctively knowing when he reached that tipping point.

“So how did it feel Franco?” your manager, Laura, asked as you two emerged from the rink shortly afterward, Franco’s eyes glazed with a mix of excitement and fatigue.

“It felt great other than falling,” he joked, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

You shot him a look, a careful mix of adoration and concern. “Can you check to see if he hurt his back?” you asked the paramedics who were on standby, a routine precaution for first-time skaters.

“Amor, I’m fine—” Franco started, but you interjected.

“I’ll know when you’re fine after you get checked,” you stated, lifting your chin defiantly. There was no arguing with you when you were in protective mode.

He sighed, clearly recognising that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Alright then,” he relented, following the paramedics to a quieter corner of the rink.

You hastily removed your skates, glancing back at him occasionally to ensure he was managing.

Inside, a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. Nothing mattered more than his wellbeing, but the thought of him being hurt, even just a little, made you feel restless as you trailed after him.

The paramedic studied his back and neck, then carefully lifted the fabric of his shirt to examine the bruising forming there. “You’ve got a herniated disc—it’s when a spinal disc bulges out of shape and irritates a nerve.”

The words landed heavily in the air between you.

For a moment, silence surrounded you as you tried to process the implications. Your heart squeezed in your chest, and you instinctively squeezed Franco’s hand, seeking comfort in the shared warmth.

“Will he recover before his race?” you asked the paramedic, your voice softer than you intended, each word wrapped in concern.

The medic looked up from his notes, his demeanor serious.

“It depends on the severity. Usually, with rest and physical therapy, he can manage a recovery in a few weeks, but we’ll need to monitor the healing closely.”

Franco smiled at you, trying to downplay your concern. “See? Just a couple of weeks, amor. I’ll bounce back!”

“You’d better,” you teased, though your heart wasn’t quite in it.

“Alright, I promise to be more careful,” he said, his sarcasm masking the determination in his voice.

As both of you left the rink together, a new resolve defined your relationship. It was about more than just skating; it was about navigating life’s challenges together.

You wanted Franco to be bold and adventurous, but only within reason.

Days turned into weeks, and you watched as Franco adhered to the medic’s advice, resting as directed while attending physical therapy sessions.

You were by his side each step of the way, from his first hesitant visits to the therapist to his high-paced workouts designed to regain both strength and flexibility.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered one evening, as you braided his hair, the two of you sprawled out on the couch watching old films, a stark contrast to the usual frantic energy of your lives.

“Yeah, but I probably should've done just one lap instead of forcing my way into stunts,” he said, laughing lightly. “Now, I’m stuck watching romcoms when all I want to do is skate beside you.”

It warmed your heart to see him smile, even if it was partly strained. “True, but sometimes you need to listen, especially if it’s for your health.”

“Fair enough. And you’re going to be the best skating partner,” he said, leaning closer as his gaze softened. “When I’m back on the ice, I bet I’ll surprise you.”

“You better,” you responded, unable to hide your grin. “Just don’t try to do a backflip until you’ve fully healed. Save the stunts for when you’re ready.”

“Deal,” he chuckled, and the moment swelled with an intimacy that settled into both of you.

As you journeyed through this chapter of life together, the skating rink remained a cornerstone of your relationship.

Franco’s determination fueled your own desires to push limits and explore new heights as partners, both on and off the ice. . . .

Franco Colapinto had just secured a commendable fifth place in today’s race, a result that was met with cheers from his team and fans alike. As he walked towards the media tent, his sweat-soaked face beamed with the remnants of adrenaline.

The rhythm of the crowd faded into a blur as he approached the series of microphones lined up before him, the heavily decorated backdrop emblazoned with the race sponsor's logo looming behind.

"Franco Colapinto! Great race today, fifth place! How are you feeling?" an interviewer asked, holding a microphone towards him, eager for a juicy soundbite.

Franco wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, still catching his breath from the intense competition. “Oh yeah, the car’s pretty solid. Oh, and the halo too, it didn’t move luckily unlike last time,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

His last race had been rocky, with his car’s protective halo unexpectedly shifting during a maneuver and causing a momentary panic.

The interviewer, somewhat surprised by the casual mention of such a potentially dangerous situation, continued, “That’s reassuring to hear! You drove impressively today. But you look like you have somewhere else you want to be at.”

There was a note of curiosity in the interviewer’s voice, wading into the waters of personal matters.

Franco paused, the cacophony of reporters and cameras fading momentarily. The corners of his mouth curled up into a genuine smile for the first time since his race.

“Mi Amor is ice skating today, and I want to surprise her before her event ends, so can we be quick?” His voice was light and playful, revealing a side rarely seen behind the steely demeanor of a racer.

The interviewer blinked, momentarily taken aback by his honesty. “Umm, sure! That’s quite sweet of you. How long have you two been together?”

“Just 2 years,” Franco replied, his expression softening as he spoke about his girlfriend. “But it feels like forever. She pushes me to be better, both on and off the track. I never want to miss her performances.”

“Sounds like she’s your biggest supporter!” the interviewer remarked, correctly sensing the warmth in his eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Y/N,” he replied, a touch of pride in his voice. “She’s an amazing skater—blades of ice are her world. I’ve seen her practice, and honestly, it's another level of artistry.”

As he spoke, his excitement was palpable; racing was his profession, but you were his passion outside of those roaring engines.

The interviewer nodded thoughtfully, scribbling notes. “And I bet she’s just as thrilled that you’re here. How does she feel about your racing career?”

“She loves it. She's come to a few races already.” Franco chuckled. “Though sometimes I think she’s more excited about the cars than I am! But she gets nervous, too, which makes me feel protective. I always remind her—I'm not just racing for me, I’m racing for both of us. Every time I step on that grid, I’m thinking of her cheering in the stands.”

“That's really beautiful,” the interviewer commented, glancing at his notes. He could sense the depth of Franco's feelings. “So, what’s next for you after this race?”

“Next, I need to ask her what she thinks about my performance,” Franco said, grinning. “And if I can, I’ll take her out for something nice—dinner, maybe. I owe her that much after all the support she gives me. Winning is great, but knowing that she's proud means the world.”

Before the interviewer could ask his next question, Franco glanced at the clock on the wall of the media tent, concern flickering in his eyes. “You know what? I really need to go now. Thank you for understanding. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day.”

He quickly added, “And maybe next time I’ll bring her along. You can interview both of us!”

The interviewer couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the microphone aside. “Great idea! And best of luck to Y/N in her competition!”

With that, Franco waved as he dashed out of the tent, his mind already spinning with plans of getting to the rink before you finished.

Franco wandered through the bustling media tent, a vibrant bouquet of red and yellow flowers clutched tightly in his hand. The scent of fresh blooms mingled with the more sterile aroma of cameras and microphones, creating an unexpected comfort in the chaotic atmosphere.

His recent achievement—a remarkable fifth place in the race—had almost everyone buzzing, but it was the bright flowers that captured the curiosity of the media around him.

"Franco! Over here!" called a voice from the throng of reporters. A tall man with a press badge darted in front of him, preventing his escape. Franco smiled and adjusted his grip on the flowers, determined to enjoy the moment.

"How does it feel to finish fifth?" the reporter continued, his camera poised for the perfect shot.

Franco grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "It feels incredible! I worked so hard for this, and to see it all pay off is just amazing. I was a bit nervous coming into the race, but it turned out to be a day I’ll never forget."

Another reporter chimed in, "What’s the secret behind your performance today?"

Franco chuckled softly. "It’s all about the team. We train together every day, and their support keeps me motivated. We strategised a lot, and I owe it all to them and my race engineer."

As he continued to navigate through the questions—about strategy, training, and future goals—he noticed a hint of impatience creeping into the expressions of the press.

They were all eyeing the bouquet. Finally, one bold journalist broke through the chatter.

"What’s with the flowers, Franco? Are they a good luck charm, or do they signify something else?"

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden focus on the bouquet. “There’s a story behind these!” he said, his face lighting up. "They're for mi amor! I’m going to surprise her after her event today!"

A wave of collective 'aww' erupted from the reporters. He could almost hear the clattering of pens and the clicking of cameras as they captured the moment.

Franco straightened, proud to share a piece of his heart. . . .

The rink glimmered under the bright lights, the cool air buzzing with excitement and nerves as skaters and spectators alike took their places. Your heart raced in sync with the music hauntingly echoing through the arena.

You couldn’t believe you were standing here, only moments away from your final performance in the national skating competition. Just years ago, you had been a bundle of nerves—a small-town girl with a bigger dream—and now, somehow, you’d made it to this coveted spot, a finalist among the best.

“Okay, you’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself, lacing up your skates in front of the mirror.

You could barely focus on your reflection; all you could think about was Franco. You knew he was racing right now, but just before you left for the rink, he’d given you one of his heart-stirring pep talks.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he’d said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Just remember, it doesn’t matter what place you get. I’m proud of you, whether it’s first, second, or third. Just skate your heart out.”

“Yeah, but I really want to win,” you had replied, stuffing your nerves down.

“Then win for both of us,” he urged, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And no matter what happens in that rink, I’m going to be cheering for you. I promise to pull victory with me if I can!”

His laughter had grounded you, a buoyant wave as he left for his own race. You smiled at the memory, imagining his infectious grin that always made your heart flutter.

The announcer’s voice broke through your reverie. “Next up, we have Miss. Y/N L/N!”

A hush fell over the crowd as you stood up, your heart pounding in rhythm with the applause. You took a deep breath, your lungs filling with chilled air, and began your approach to the rink.

The adrenaline surged as you stepped onto the ice, the coolness beneath your skates sending a thrill coursing through you. You could hear the murmurs of anticipation from the audience, feel their eyes glued to you as you settled into position.

“Come on, Y/N! You can do this!” you mumbled quietly to yourself, your focus sharpening.

You saw Franco's face in your mind, his encouraging spirit radiating from across the space like a bright star in a dark sky.

The music started, enveloping you in its melody like a warm hug. You took your first glide across the ice, letting the rhythm pull you along. Each movement felt fluid, like an instinct you wasn’t fully conscious of.

You leaped and spun, the world swirling around you as you poured every ounce of passion into each motion.

You could almost sense the presence of Franco in the crowd, his unwavering support fueling your performance.

As you completed an intricate sequence of jumps, you caught a glimpse of the other skaters.

Jenna and Mia—both had been formidable competitors throughout the season, but you felt an unexpected surge of confidence.

Your training, your determination, and Franco’s belief in you surged to the forefront of your mind.

“Remember, don’t just skate; perform!” you thought, pulling energy from the atmosphere, feeling the strength in your legs as you executed a difficult spin transition.

The gasps from the audience fueled your resolve, spurring you on for the final jump—the one you had practiced countless times in the mirror and in front of Franco.

And then, you soared.

Time seemed to stretch, and for an instant, you felt weightless, like you could touch the stars themselves. You landed perfectly, a feeling of liberation sweeping through your body as the music reached its triumphant crescendo.

The auditorium erupted into cheers, the sound both deafening and euphoric. You took a final bow, your heart full. There you were, this girl from a small town who had dared to dream.

The chill of the ice rink clung to your skin, the sharp sound of your skates slicing through the frosty surface still ringing in your ears. As you glided off the ice, your heart swelled with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

The performance had felt electrifying, a mosaic of leaps and spins that you had spent countless hours perfecting.

“Y/N! That was incredible!” Lauren exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement as she rushed over to you.

“Thanks, Lauren! I just… I feel like I finally nailed the double axel!” you grinned, trying to suppress the bubbling thrill of the moment. “I thought my heart was going to stop when I was in the air!”

Zara, your team captain, approached you with a proud smile, her arms crossed in front of her. “You did it, Y/N. You’ve worked so hard for this, and it showed out there. Not to mention that spin at the end—absolutely flawless!”

The warmth of her praise enveloped you as the remaining members of the team joined in, all clapping and congratulating you.

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Zara said, looking at you with her serious yet caring eyes. “Let’s wait for the results before we throw a party, okay?”

“True, very true,” you laughed, trying to contain my nerves. “But I’m hopeful!”

You all settled onto the benches lining the rink to wait for the scores to be announced. You fiddled with the cuffs of your skating dress, glancing back at the empty rink where your performance had just taken place, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Minutes felt like hours as the announcer’s authoritative voice cut through the chatter. “And now, we have the first results for the Women’s Singles finals competition. Y/N L/N has been given her first score of 89.95!”

A loud cheer erupted from the audience, accompanied by the resounding applause of your team. You could hardly believe it; your dreams felt within reach, each note of admiration from the crowd pouring warmth into your heart.

“Oh my God, Y/N! That’s amazing!” Lauren jumped up, a look of pure joy on her face.

“Yes! You crushed it!” Zara added, hugging you tightly. “This is just the first result though!”

You felt slightly dazed. “I can’t believe it!” you managed to say, your voice trembling. “I did it! It’s all happening!”

It was like being on stage as the spotlight focused solely on you, and you felt every ounce of love emanating from your team, pushing you to embrace this moment.

This was the highest you've ever scored for one result and it was highly impossible for someone else to replicate the same as you.

The atmosphere in the arena was electric. Vibrant lights flickered above as Mia, your fiercest competitor, prepared to take the stage.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation after your impressive high score on the dance challenge. You watched from the sidelines, your heart racing, and a mix of pride and anxiety surged through you.

“You’ve got this, Mia!” someone shouted from the audience, her friends cheering her on.

You appreciated their encouragement, even though you desperately wanted to maintain your spot at the top of the leaderboard.

As she stepped onto the stage with her usual flair, you leaned back in your chair, waiting to witness what she had in store. The music pulsed through the arena, a heavy bass that resonated within you.

Mia’s dance style was captivating, fluid yet sharp, and she quickly drew everyone’s attention. You couldn’t help but admire her talent, even if it was your score she was trying to beat.

Just as you were lost in her movements, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by Lauren, your manager.

“Hey, awesome performance today!” she greeted you with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Thanks, Lauren! I just hope I can hold onto my score,” you replied, the concern evident in your voice.

Lauren’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “It looks like your boyfriend is also doing good too,” she said teasingly, holding up her tablet to show you the race currently unfolding on the screen.

Your heart fluttered. You took the tablet from her hands and focused on the live feed of Franco, your boyfriend, who was battling fiercely in a Formula 1 race.

You squinted at the screen, watching as he maneuvered through sharp turns, his car a blur in the midst of the chaos.

“No way!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over. “He’s in sixth! And look at him go against Lewis Hamilton!”

“Yeah, it’s insane! Look at how close they are!” Lauren pointed out, clearly as captivated by the race as you were. Franco’s car swerved to the right, narrowly missing a competitor as he attempted to overtake Hamilton.

You cheered, barely able to sit still. “Come on, Franco! You can do it,”

The crowd’s cheers for Mia faded into the background as your focus sharpened on the race. Each moment was an adrenaline rush as Franco pushed for fifth place, expertly navigating the track.

You glanced at Mia, who had just finished her performance, but you were hardly aware of whether she had topped your score. Your heart felt tethered to Franco's every move.

“I can’t believe how intense this is,” Lauren remarked, her eyes glued to the tablet. “He’s really giving Hamilton a run for his money,”

“He always does,” you grinned proudly, unable to hide the swell of admiration for Franco.

Memories of his early morning practices and late nights working on his skills flooded your mind. He lived for racing, and you knew he had the talent and determination to make it.

As you watched, Franco made a daring maneuver, slipping past another driver while inching dangerously close to Hamilton. “Come on, come on,” you whispered, practically bouncing in your seat.

“There he goes!” Lauren shouted, her excitement matching yours. Your heartbeat quickened as Franco, with a burst of speed, eased alongside Hamilton’s car.

In an instant, the traffic from the cars ahead created an opening, and Franco seized his opportunity. “Yes!”

“He did it!” you hollered, clenching your fist in victory.

Franco zoomed past Hamilton, securing the fifth position.

“That’s my boyfriend!” you exclaimed, your voice ringing with pride.

The crisp air inside the ice rink was filled with the sharp sound of skates slicing through the ice, intermingling with the echoes of the audience’s excitement.

You stood near the edge of the rink, your heart racing as you watched Mia walk off the ice. Her graceful movements and flawless execution had captivated everyone, but the scoreboard had revealed a different story.

Despite her efforts, she had fallen just short of your high score.

"Great job, Mia!" you called out, forcing a smile and clapping politely as she skated off, a mix of disappointment and pride etched on her face.

"Thanks!" she replied, breathless. "Just not good enough. But I’m proud of my performance."

You knew how hard she had worked. Hours spent practicing, each routine polished to perfection. But in this competition, there were no guarantees, especially with Jenna gearing up next.

Jenna had always been a formidable opponent, her talent almost inhumanly immense.

You turned your attention back to the rink as Jenna took her place. The crowd hushed, eyes fixated on her. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and trepidation.

As the music began, Jenna took off, her body flowing effortlessly to the melody. You watched in awe, marveling at her flexibility and rhythm. Each twirl, each leap took your breath away.

But then it happened. Jenna attempted a triple axel, the crowd holding its breath in anticipation. As she launched into the jump, time seemed to slow. You felt your heart in your throat. And just like that, she fell—hard.

Silence blanketed the rink, the world around you fading as you watched her scramble back to her feet, determination painted across her face.

She finished her routine, but everyone—judges and spectators alike—knew the score would suffer.

“Ugh, that’s going to hurt her,” Lauren muttered beside you, shaking her head sadly.

You nodded, feeling a pang of empathy for Jenna. It was a cruel twist of fate.

Moments later, the scores flashed on the screen, and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw your name at the top of the list. First place.

The cheers erupted around you, but your thoughts went to the second dance round, the deciding performance of the national competition.

“I’m so proud of you!” Lauren squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and you did it.”

“Thanks. But it’s not over yet,” you said, swallowing hard. “I still have the last dance, and I’m really nervous.”

“Just breathe. You’ve got this,” Zara encouraged, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, just be yourself out there.”

But how could you ignore the rising anxiety gnawing at your stomach? You watched the clock tick down as Jenna walked off, looking crushed.

The rink was alive with bright lights and the soft hum of anticipation, a magical venue for a competition you had worked tirelessly for. The cold air bit at your skin, but the chill did nothing to dampen the warmth flooding your heart.

Dressed in a shimmering costume that sparkled like the stars above, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself on the ice.

It was time for the final dance, the moment that could decide your fate in this championship.

As you glided towards center ice, your mind flickered away to Franco. You could almost hear the roar of the crowd at the Formula 1 Grand Prix track, the high-pitched whine of lionhearted machines, and the scent of burning rubber in your nostrils.

He was out there right now, racing his hardest; you could imagine him, resolute behind the wheel of his sleek car, forcing every ounce of energy into each sharp turn.

He had always made it seem so effortless, the way he commanded the racetrack—and today, you wanted to emulate that fierce passion.

You took your position, heart racing in time with the beat of the music. The lights dimmed, and in that hushed moment, you could picture Franco's smile, the way it brightened his face when he spoke of racing.

“Do it for you,” he would say, his hands animated as he gestured roughly, “Every race is a part of you. Just feel it.”

As the music began to swell, cascading harmonies floating into the air, you closed your eyes briefly and thought of his encouraging words.

The melody wrapped around you like a gentle embrace, and when you opened your eyes, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just you and this ice rink, a blank canvas for your passion.

You eased into the first few movement sequences, every swish of your skates a declaration of your determination. The world fell away; there was only the pounding rhythm of the music, echoing in your chest, and the cold serenity of gliding on ice.

But then, as the choreography unfolded, you felt the raw energy of your emotions surging. It was intoxicating and terrifying, amplifying the rush.

Each leap and twirl brought back memories of Franco, seamlessly intertwining his influence into the elegance of your routine. As you spun, the echoes of his laughter and playful teasing reverberated through your mind.

You recalled the night he had surprised you after a practice, whisking you away to an alpine cabin just outside the bustling city.

“I know you’ll win,” he had said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as you stared out at the snow-covered trees. “Just remember—every time you dance on that ice, you’re racing against yourself.”

Those words spurred you forward now, transforming challenges into opportunities. With each line and curve of your performance, you felt your spirit soaring. You wanted to make Franco proud.

Then, as you reached a soaring climax in your routine, you stumbled—it was a slight miscalculation, an error that rippled through you like a thunderclap.

Panic gripped you for a moment, and for a second, you nearly let it consume you. But all you could think of was Franco, cheering for you from afar, just as he had when you practiced late into the night, insisting that you embrace the falls as much as the victories.

“Just keep pushing! It’s in you!” His voice echoed again in your mind, imbued with unwavering faith in your strength.

You kicked into a powerful leap, determined to regain momentum, and landed it smoothly. The final notes were washing over you like a warm wave, urging you onwards.

With renewed focus, you finished your piece with a burst of extravagance that set the audience on fire—an eruption of applause greeted you, and you greeted it with a radiant smile.

Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you skated to the edge of the rink, where you raised your hands in exhilaration. The joy surged through you like a whirlwind of color.

And as the crowd's cheers faded into a distant hum, the only sound you wanted to hear was the familiar timbre of Franco’s voice celebrating your talent and ferocity.

You stood at the edge of the rink, your skates still laced, your heart pounding in your chest. Just moments before, the announcement had been made.

“And now, we have the results for the Women’s Singles finals competition. Y/N L/N has been given her total score of 168.46!”

Your score hung in the air like a gossamer thread, oscillating between pride and anxiety.

Flashes of the routine you’d executed just minutes ago danced in your mind—perfect pirouettes, soaring jumps, and the way the music had whispered secrets to your soul.

But now, all of that felt like a distant memory as you focused on the rink and your competitor, Mia, gliding towards the center.

Mia had always been your fiercest rival, a skater gifted with an infectious smile that could charm anyone watching. Still, on the ice, she was a lioness—a woman who left nothing to chance.

You could see the determination etched on her face as she prepared for her final performance. With a powerful thrust, she began her routine, her arms slicing through the air like a dancer born for this moment.

You turned to Lauren, who was leaning against the railing, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “She’s going for the triple axel,” you muttered, anxiety lacing your voice.

“She has to,” Karen replied, her eyes never leaving the rink. “Your score is very high to beat.”

As Mia took her first leap, your heart skipped a beat. The smoothness and grace with which she spun in the air was nothing short of breathtaking—the crowd holding their collective breath.

Just below you, Jenna paced back and forth, her nerves palpable. She’d stumbled during her first attempt but was determined to reclaim her moment on the ice.

You turned your attention back to Mia, who was finishing her routine with a confident flourish. As she struck the final pose, the crowd erupted into applause.

You swallowed hard, the reality hitting you again. She was so close to your score—if she performed well, she could easily surpass it. All of a sudden, the pressure felt immense.

Your heart pounded, and you could feel sweat collecting under your collar. You had poured everything into that routine; now, it was out of your hands.

“Mia’s going to take it,” you said, nervously biting her lip. “I know it.”

“No,” Lauren said impulsively. “She’s good, but so are you. You’ve worked hard! You’ve got this.”

The announcer's voice cut through your thoughts. “Jenna Davis is next. Let’s see how she embraces the challenge.”

Jenna took a deep breath, centering herself as she stepped onto the rink. The atmosphere changed dramatically; the crowd's energy was palpable, buzzing with nervous optimism.

As Jenna began to skate, you could hear the soft notes of her music drifting through the air. She started strong, executing her initial moves with poise.

The chorus swelled, urging her on, and she embraced it. The crowd was on edge, and so were you.

Her eyes flickered toward you as she flowed through her routine, visibly gaining confidence with each passing turn. Then it happened. With a powerful jump, Jenna attempted to land her double axel.

Time seemed to slow. The moment she landed perfectly, the crowd erupted into cheers, and you felt the warmth of hope blossom in your chest.

Jenna finished with an elegant twirl and a final pose, tears glistening as she skated over to you, glowing with triumph.

The announcer’s voice echoed again, “And Jenna Davis has redeemed herself, scoring a fantastic 152.03!”

Mia was still there, poised and ready for her scores. The moment felt surreal as the lights dimmed slightly and the focus centered on her.

“Mia’s going to be tough to beat,” Lauren said, shaking her head a little, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “She always rises to the challenge.”

“Let’s just wait,” you said, trying to find that calm center again. But deep inside, you felt the tension thrum beneath your skin. It was a competition, and you wanted nothing more than to win.

You could already sense the warmth from the audience roll toward Mia as the announcer spoke her name.

As the results were announced, your heart raced. “Mia... 167.97! A solid score, but not enough to beat Y/N!”

You gasped, feeling a wildfire of disbelief. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The arena was suddenly a cacophony of cheers, and the warmth from the audience rolled toward you like an overwhelming tide.

A surge of adrenaline pumped through you. You jumped up and down, throwing your arms around Zara, who was nearly as ecstatic as you were.

“I can’t believe it! You did it! You really did it!” Zara laughed, her voice carrying over the noise, pure joy radiating off her. “You’re the national champion!”

You couldn’t even find the words to respond. Instead, you nodded vigorously, a bright smile stretching across your face as you felt the joy erupt within you.

You allowed the feeling to wash over you because this victory wasn’t just about the medal or the title; it was a culmination of everything you had worked for, every late-night practice, every injury you pushed through, all of it leading to this moment.

And then, the announcer’s voice broke the stillness in the air again. “Y/N... 168.46! A remarkable display of skill, and our 2025 National Champion!”

Joy explodes within you, bursting forth like a pent-up dam. You instinctively clutch your chest, feeling the tremor of disbelief mixed with elation.

Your eyes glaze over, and before you know it, tears begin to spill down your cheeks, tracing paths of exhilaration. You’ve made it.

All those years of grueling practice, early mornings, and late nights have culminated in this very moment.

“Y/N! Oh my gosh, you did it!” Lauren, your manager, bursts forth, her arms wide open.

You barely take a second to wipe the tears before she envelops you in a tight hug, her warmth a welcome anchor in the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling.

“Thank you, Lauren! I couldn’t have done it without you!” you manage to say, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Of course, but let’s be real, that was all you! You were phenomenal out there!” she exclaims, stepping back to look you in the eye. There’s a twinkle of pride in her gaze that makes your heart swell even more.

You take a deep breath, glancing around at your team, all gathered with wide smiles and glittering eyes. Their enthusiasm fuels your own, and you laugh, feeling the thrill of triumph wash over you like a warm wave.

“I couldn’t have done it without each of you. Every practice, every pep talk… it all counts,” you say, making eye contact with each team member.

With a grin, you turn your focus towards your competitors, Mia and Jenny, both of whom had pushed you to the limit this season. Their expressions are a mixture of admiration and disappointment, but you know all too well how they feel.

“Hey, great job out there,” you say, skating over to them, your skates gliding effortlessly on the ice. “You both made me really work for it.”

Mia smiles faintly, her confidence unbroken. “You were incredible. I can’t believe how close it was. Next time, I’ll bring my A-game for sure.”

“Definitely! We can’t let you have all the glory,” Jenny adds, her laughter brightening the tense atmosphere.

The three of you share a moment of camaraderie, which dissolves any lingering tension from the competition.

You breathe deeply, inhaling the fragrance of ice and adrenaline, your thoughts drifting to the next steps.

As you approached the podium, you caught sight of your family in the crowd, their faces beaming with pride. You waved at them, half-laughing and almost crying from the surge of emotions.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the rink, breaking your trance. “In second place, it is Mia Johnson!”

Mia jumped up onto the podium, her expression a mix of disbelief and joy. “At least I’m on the podium!” she called out, her laughter ringing in your ears.

“And in third place, we have Jenna Taylor!” The announcement sparked another round of applause, and as Jenna took her place, you readied yourself.

The excitement was palpable, but you felt a familiar flutter of nerves. You had to go up next, and this was the moment you’d been waiting for.

The host stepped forward, and all eyes shifted to you, a wave of silence falling over the crowd like snowflakes drifting to the ground.

“And in first place, it is Y/N L/N!”

You could hardly contain yourself as you leaped onto the podium, arms outstretched and a broad grin plastered on your face.

Cheers erupted like an explosion, and the applause felt like a physical blanket wrapped around you, warming your heart even amidst the chill of the rink.

As the medal was draped around your neck and the camera flashed, a sense of pride swelled within you. This wasn’t just an achievement; it was the culmination of years of hard work, determination, and a thousand early mornings driven by your passion for the ice.

After the ceremony concluded, you made your way outside of the rink—still buzzing from the final adrenaline of the performance, the applause ringing in your ears like a joyful chorus.

You needed to breathe, to process everything, but before you could step too far into your thoughts, a familiar voice called out to you.

You also needed to know how Franco finished in his race. It was a shame that he couldn't be here right now to celebrate but you know he was probably suffering in his media duties.

You had made it; your journey as a skater had culminated in this triumphant moment of glory.

You stood in the middle of your team, your heart swelling with pride. Cameras flashed as everyone posed with the medals, capturing the moment for posterity.

Each smile, each laugh, each joyful expression created a beautiful cacophony of success. It felt surreal, almost dreamlike.

Just as you were about to step away for a candid candid shot, Lauren, your manager, stepped into your line of sight, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“Hey, turn around for me!” she exclaimed, her voice cut through the celebratory noise with authority.

You narrowed your eyes, momentarily confused but eager to comply. “What for?” you asked, glancing back at her with a teasing pout, but her gaze was insistent, her gesture animated.

You turned, spinning on your skates, a smile still on your lips from the excitement.

And then, time felt like it froze. Standing there, just a few feet away, was Franco, your boyfriend. He was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers that dwarfed him, its vibrant hues almost electric against the acidic blue of the rink.

The bouquet was a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly filled with your favorites: soft lavender orchids, deep blue hydrangeas, and delicate red roses, the very ones you’d mentioned to him months ago as a blush crept into your cheeks.

“Congratulations, amor! I told you I would make it!” he exclaimed, his grin wider than the expanse of ice before you.

Franco stood out not only because of the grand bouquet he was wielding, but his passion seemed to ignite the air, drawing every eye towards him.

Your heart raced—a joyful shock and a wave of warmth coursed through you. “Franco!” You gasped, your hands instinctively running through your hair as you ran toward him, leaving behind the jubilant crowd.

You felt like a child on Christmas morning, caught off-guard by an unexpected gift.

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in the fragrant blooms, inhaling deeply as if the scent alone could capture this moment eternally.

Franco chuckled, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “You’re amazing! I knew you’d take home the gold!”

Pulling back to take him in, you brushed tiny remnants of ice from your hair and gazed deeply into his warm brown eyes. “I can’t believe you came. I thought you were going to be in media duties all day!”

He waved a dismissive hand, “I made them hurry up. I couldn't miss this. Not for anything,” he insisted, his gaze steady and earnest as he held the bouquet out to you.

“These are just a small token of my love. You deserve more than I can ever give you.”

“You're the best!” you breathed, still overwhelmed. As you took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushed against his, sending a ripple of electricity through your body.

You caught the attention of your teammates who were now grouped around, playful envy written across their faces.

“Can you even top that?” one of them teased, nudging your shoulder with an exaggerated wink.

Franco flashed an innocent grin, pulling you closer into his side, his warmth wrapping around you. “Oh, I can think of a few ways,” he fired back playfully, and laughter erupted around you.

“Once the cameras leave, I want a private celebration—just you and me,” you whispered, tilting your head up toward him, your playful tone hiding a genuine yearning.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “But first, I think you owe me a victory dance on the ice.”

You narrowed your eyes, feigning indignation. “A victory dance? What do you think this is, some cheesy movie?”

“Cheesy? Nah, it’s romantic!” he insisted, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

With a dramatic flair, Franco led you back toward the center of the rink, the bouquet clutched in your hand like a trophy of your own victory.

As the laughter of your teammates faded into the background, the two of you spun around, gliding across the ice, arms raised high for a moment of carefree abandonment.

“Okay, okay!” you shouted, breathless from the joy of it all. The icy ground beneath your skates felt less like a challenge and more like an expanse of possibility. “But first, you need to wow me with your skating skills!”

Franco narrowed his eyes dramatically, taking a moment before he pulled off a series of impressive spins and moves that left you clapping enthusiastically.

“Ta-da!” he announced with a flourish, bowing comically as he stumbled slightly on the last move.

“You’re unbelievable,” you chuckled, more enamored than ever. “Why did I ever doubt you?”

He skated over to you easily, the applause still ringing in his ears. The twinkle in his eyes spoke volumes, and the delight on his face made your heart swell.

“You wouldn't believe how many lessons I took to just do that, amor,” he said, his breath coming out in little puffs against the chilly air.

“You took lessons?” you whispered, placing a hand on his cheek, your thumb grazing the stubble there. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the icy surroundings, making you feel a spark inside.

“I knew you were going to win, so I had to learn for you,” Franco muttered, placing a hand on your waist and drawing you close.

Laughter filtered through the air again as you lightly patted his cheek. “Cut it out. You’re going to make me blush!”

“I can’t help it,” he grinned. “You’re radiant, especially in this moment. Just look at you, the National Champion. You deserve the world!”

You felt the heat in your cheeks intensify. “Okay, okay! But you helped me reach it!” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before continuing, “Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone else standing here with me.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered, stepping closer, his hand finding a home on the small of your back, drawing you into him.

You could feel the world fade away, the cheers and the noise rolling into the background. The ice felt solid beneath your feet, grounding you as you lost yourself in his gaze. “Franco, I—”

But before you could finish, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, a hesitant dance of two souls intertwining, before passion ignited it into something deeper, something that sent fireworks dancing in your chest.

When he pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confessed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “But I didn’t want to distract you before the competition.”

“Distract me? Not at all! I needed a distraction from all the pressure!” you teased lightly, still lost in the lingering warmth of his lips against yours.

Franco chuckled, drawing you closer still, your bodies almost fitting perfectly against one another. “Well, hopefully that distraction was a winning one,” he replied playfully.

“Definitely! Maybe I should have put it in my training! ‘Ice skating: 25% skill, 75% kissing my boyfriend.’”

He erupted into laughter, eyes twinkling with delight. “I’d be honored to provide the kisses,” he said, his voice a low rumble that enveloped you, making you feel warm in a way you had never quite experienced before. . . .

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miniaturesuitgladiator · 2 months ago

Text

I'm the real winner.

Notes: this is requested from here.

Warnings: None this is just pure fluff. Please do not judge I have no clue about anything ice-skating related.

_______________________

It's December the perfectly time for ice-skating. So it's no surprise that there's obviously more ice-skating competitions in December.

And since it was Cass's turn to pick a family bonding time activity. She chose to go watch a ice-skating competition.

And considering it was December there was so many to chose from. So she just chose one from a random paper. It was nothing big or fancy just kind of random.

But she liked the place. And it reminded her of ballet since both were quite beautiful and memorizing to watch.

Finally after patrol she decided to tell the family where she had chosen to go. Everyone eventually gave in other then jason complaining like usual.

Except for damian. Now damian hadn't told his family about you and him being together. And he especially hasn't told them. That he was going to go to your ice-skating competition.

So here he stands in tha batcave trying to explain why he can't go to the competition Cass wants to go to because he has plans with a 'friend'.

"Don't be ridiculous demon spawn. You don't have friends." Jason responds rolling his eyes. And damian scoffs but jason is right he's never really had any friends other then you. And then you turned into his best friend and then into his girlfriend.

"I have friends todd." Is Damian's response. The tension in the room is are getting worse just like usual. Because jason and Damian can never have a normal conversation with fighting.

So Dick begins speaking. Trying to ease the tension. "Well damian I think you should put your plans on hold with your friend. It's Cass's day to pick." He says and that just seems to irritate damian more.

Damian not trying to show it but he knows that he really can't miss your competition. He's already canceled on you so many times because of patrol and his family.

He knows he's on thin ice and plus tonight's your big night. It's a hug competition one that you've worked so hard to get into. And you made him promise that he would be there nomatter what. And he can't let you down now.

So he says some he's been trying to avoid saying.

"Well I have a solution. My friend is going to compete in the December ice-skating competition. Why don't we just go there instead?" Damian says and he's trying not to show it but he really hopes they agree. Because he doesn't know what he'll do if they don't.

"Your friend is an ice skater?" Bruce questions as if he doesn't believe damian. "They are , father." Damian replies.

"Would that be okay with you cass?" Tim asks and damians silently awaits for her answer. And she nods.

"Then it's settled well go to the December ice-skating competition." Bruce says and damian finally feels like he can breathe agian.

The day finally comes and damian doesn't tell you that he's bringing his whole family because he knows that it'll only make you more nervous. And he doesn't want to ruin your big night.

As they arrive your already in your dressing room getting ready. And damian is trying to act nonchalant when in reality he's trying to think of how he's going to tell his family that he has a girlfriend.

Damian sends you a quick text to let you know that he's here as they sit in their front roll seats that bruce bought.

Everyone sits in excitement waiting for the ice skaters to start. When Tim notices something.

"Wait is this a all girls competition? "Tim asks. Seemingly hinting at something.

"Yeah why?" Dick responds having read the whole pamphlet.

"So your friend is a girl?" Tim asks damian with a huge smirk. And all eyes turn to damian waiting for his answer.

"Yes why?" Damian says knowing that his family is slowly already putting the pieces together.

"Just asking." Tim says grinning and dick and cass simply smile. While Bruce can't help but smirk himself. And of course jason can't help but speak up. "There's no way!" Jason says smiling.

"Shut it todd." Damian says rolling his eyes.

Everyone watches Intently as the ice skater begin performing. And as each skater starts their routine jason can't help to ask. "Is that your friend? "

"No." Damian says quickly.

"What about this one? " Jason asks as another one ice skater begins skating. And all the batfamily listens closely knowing that even they want to know who's damians 'friend'.

"No." Damian says a bit more irritated then before.

"How about this one?" Jason asks again when another ice skater begins performing.

"Todd if you do-" but Bruce's quick to stop the fight before it begins. "Damian just tell us when she comes on." And Damian just nods. Even though he really doesn't want to.

Eventually you do come on and damian doesn't say anything he's just so entranced on you skating. But he doesn't have to say anything for his family to know that it's you.

They can see it. They see how he looks at you. With such love even though it's quite hard to see.

And now everyone's eyes are really paying attention to you. There trying to figure out what's so special...

They completion comes to an end. And it's finally time to see who won.....

You got second place....it's not first but it's a start and you seem so happy. And Damian is not so lowkey pissed at the judges because he saw nothing wrong with your performance.

But still he claps for you with a smile. And his family looks at him like they've seen a ghost. Because they've never seen Damian look so...happy?

Yeah your definitely not just some 'friend'

The competitive comes to an end and everyone's already packing up and leaving. But damian waits for you giving his family an old excuse. "I just want to congratulate them." But damian has a bouquet of flower in his hands waiting for you. That no one even knows where he got them from.

"So do we!" Tim says with a devious smile as if he knows something. And Damian knows his and your secret it probably already well known. But still he keeps up his nonchalant facade as he and his family wait for you.

Finally seeing you walk out. With your bag slung over your shoulder and your skates in your hand. You smile as you spot him.

And Damian eyes soften as he sees your big smile as you walk towards him. And everyone eyes widen including Damian as kiss perhaps him on the lips. It's a sweet short kiss.

But its a kiss and right then Damian knew that he might as well drop his fake facade because now everyone knows...

"You did amazing beloved. You should've one first place. The judges were idiots." He says as his smile almost matches your.

"Well I'm happy I got silver! You mist be my good luck!" And his smile is definitely matching yours now.

And he's no longer the nonchalantly boy he was with his family moments ago. No, now he looks like a love sick fool as you proudly show him the sliver medal that hangs around your neck.

It's a sweet moment and you both forget that it isn't just you two together. But Tim's voice is quick to pull you out of your trance.

"Told ya!" Tim says with the biggest smirk as jason pulls out a ten dollar bill from his wallet.

"Did you guys really bet on them?!" Dick says as he gives them a disapproving look.

"Can ya blame me. I thought it was easy money... I mean how the hell did demon spawn get a girlfriend!"

"Todd I swear to-"

And even though the two brothers are in the middle of a fight bruce stands there with a proud dad look on his face.

And you? Your trying to hold back your now public boyfriend from fist fighting his brother in the middle of an ice rink..... and even though you didn't exactly win.

You wouldn't have chosen the night to go any differently.......

___________________________________________

@missyblackve I really hoped you liked it! And I'm sorry if I said something that relates nothing to ice-skating. I personally think figure skating is a beautiful sport but I know nothing about it... oh, and happy early birthday!

#damian wayne x fem reader #Damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul wayne x fem reader #fem reader #female reader #ice skater reader #platonic batfam x reader #batfam x reader #platonic batfamily

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valenrixo · 26 days ago

Text

Yandere ice skater

Yandere ice skater who met you when you were forced to come to a show with your friend. He saw you sitting in the crowd and he stumbled a bit, no one had ever made him nervous like that…he’s the king of skating, nothing makes him nervous but you did.

Yandere ice skater who after he wins he has a fan meetup which your friend brought you to as well, he ended up ignoring your friend and just talking to you the entire time, even offering to autograph your chest or something around the lines, he was so nervous he mumbled through his words.

Yandere ice skater who signs his name “Eliais.” Along with his phone number onto your arm. He scrambled to take a picture with you as well, acting like he was the fan smh

you are NOT putting his number in your phone

Eliais who soon finds your instagram and messages you on his private account, hoping you recognize him. He eagerly waits by his phone until you text him back. He spams you after that.

Eli.ais.. :

Us?

Your.user. :

What

Go touch grass

🙏

Eli.ais.. :

U me tomorrow night.

You left him on seen.

This was just a silly Drabble based off of these Pinterest images | request open anons open

#oc blog #oc fanfiction #sub yandere #yandere blog #yandere oc #dom reader #yandere #yandere boy #yandere boyfriend #yandere femboy #yandere oc art #oc fanfic #tw yandere #yandere intro #yandere bf #masochist yandere #yandere ice skater #oc yandere #reqs open

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avatar-anna · 1 year ago

Text

When You Fall In Love...

so i've been reading icebreaker and it's been putting me in the hockeyrry mood

part one, part two, bonus, bonus

Harry watched from the empty stands as Y/n ran through her routine for the fifth time. Her teammates had gone home, her coach asked Harry if he would lock up on the way out, and now it was just the two of them in the empty rink. There wasn't even any music playing anymore, Y/n was just skating and performing her tricks as if there was.

Every time she did it, it was flawless. Her routine was fast and intense and incredibly difficult, but Y/n performed with ease every time. She landed her tricks like they were nothing, tricks which Harry now knew the names of and could tell the difference between a lutz and an axel. She was incredible, and he was in awe of her every single time.

But even in her perfection, Y/n had yet to smile once.

Harry decided she'd had enough after she finished her fifth run-through, quickly jogging down to the edge of the rink before she could skate out to the middle again. He leaned over the barricade and kissed the top of her head. This close to her, he could see her rosy cheeks and heaving chest, a sign that her routine did wear her out, despite making it look so effortless.

"You were phenomenal as usual, baby," Harry said while he gathered her things.

"I bobbled a landing and my timing was off for a whole four counts," was her reply.

Harry frowned, not pleased by her recent negativity. Any athlete could be critical of their ability, but Y/n seemed uncharacteristically hard on herself lately, and he had no idea why. "Everything okay?" He asked, shouldering her duffle bag as they walked away from the rink.

"I'm fine."

She certainly didn't sound fine, but Harry decided not to push. Not now, anyway. Changing the subject, he said, "I got an email from the recruiter. I should be receiving my contract soon."

Excitement didn't even begin to cover how Harry had been feeling lately. Last week, he'd met with an agent of a minor league hockey team, one that was a feeder to an NHL team. He expressed their interest in Harry moving to the east coast after graduation and join them for spring training. And after giving it some thought, Harry accepted.

He was over the moon, thrilled that years of hard work was finally paying off. He'd made his passion into a career, and had the potential to really make a name for himself. Life couldn't have been better.

But where Harry seemed to be flying high, Y/n seemed stuck. She was happy for him when he told her the news, had gone out to celebrate with him that night. But something felt off between them. Harry couldn't put a name to it, but he just knew.

"That's great," Y/n said with no amount of enthusiasm in her voice. Harry tried not to take it to heart, she was clearly in a mood from her practice. She was under a lot of pressure too, he reminded himself, and sometimes had a knack for not knowing how to express herself with words.

"Is there something on your mind? You've been quiet recently," he said, hoping he wasn't overstepping her delicate boundary.

Y/n shook her head as she approached her car, sliding into the driver's seat without a word. Harry couldn't help but feel more and more like there was something on her mind, but he let it go again.

Before pulling the car out of the parking lot, Y/n rested her hand over his and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind."

"It's okay. As long as you know you can talk to me about it."

Her throat bobbed, but she nodded, then turned her focus toward the road. Harry filled the silence with rambling. He talked mostly about the NHL, about his contract and where he wanted to live and how everything was happening so fast.

So caught up in trying to break the tension, he didn't notice Y/n's white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

*.*

"Styles! What the hell are you doing? Focus up! Let's go!"

Harry rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily during the brief pause in the game. His eyes flicked up to the stands, searching the crowd for a familiar face, but he didn't see the one he needed the most.

Despite being recruited by a minor league hockey team, Harry was probably having the worst game of his life.

Not one pass connected, he was letting second-rate players get by him, and he'd spent more time in the penalty box than in the actual game. Nothing about this was right, and still all he could do was look for Y/n.

She wasn't there, and even though things had been weird between them recently, he was still surprised. When she wasn't at a competition of her own, Y/n came to every one of Harry's games. It had started out as Harry wanting to impress her, maybe show off a little, and then as time went on and they grew closer and their relationship became more than two people having sex in secret, he wanted her to be there just because it felt good knowing she was watching him play. All his nerves floated away when Y/n was sat in the stands, sometimes in his jersey, cheering him on.

And of course there were times when she couldn't come, but this wasn't one of those times. Y/n had purposely not shown up. He knew they'd fought before the game, but he didn't think she would abandon him just to be petty. They were past that now.

His sole focus should've been on the game he was playing, but instead his mind kept drifting to the fight.

Harry could feel Y/n pulling away from him. He finally felt like he was getting everything he wanted—a spot on a minor league hockey team on the east coast that would eventually lead him to the NHL, graduating with semi-decent grades thanks to Y/n, and of course being with his dream girl. At first, she'd seen him as some douchey athlete that was only good for one thing. He remembered seeing her for the first time their freshman year, performing tricks on the ice that he'd only ever seen on TV, and when he whistled and clapped loudly—perhaps a little obnoxiously—after she'd finished, she'd rolled her eyes at him and told him to fuck off.

It was love at first sight.

Harry had been so careful around Y/n. He played by her rules and followed her lead, trying not to let the comments about them not dating get to him too much. He liked their initial dynamic, finding it funny when he got under her skin because she made it so easy. It became a kind of game, this push and pull that was fun and exciting and eventually led to their arrangement.

He knew that she cared about him on some level, he just needed to bide his time and show her he wasn't who she thought he was. Not entirely, anyway. And when she finally did, and they became more than just people who screwed around, everything was perfect.

They'd been through so much together. Y/n pushed Harry to be better, and he worked with her to master new tricks and nail her routine. There wasn't anyone else who understood his level of commitment to hockey, but she did, and that just made him love her more.

So when he got the call offering him a spot on the minor league team, Y/n was the first person Harry told. She'd been happy for him, and he was over the moon, his mind already making a million plans—where they'd live, her coming to his games, him helping her find a new rink to train at. It felt like the doors to a new and exciting world had opened for them, but she then she started pulling back, and Harry practically watched as that door slammed shut.

Harry pushed himself to focus back on the game, on the hockey stick in his hand and the ice beneath his skates. He felt like it took more effort than it should've to get his head back in the game, but his team managed to pull out a win, and he managed not to get benched before it happened. That didn't stop his coach from ripping him a new one in the locker room, but Harry sat there and took it, shaking his head and promising his piss poor performance would never happen again.

Exhausted both physically and mentally, he trudged out of the locker room and toward the parking lot, debating whether to take the bus home or call an Uber. Even in his senior year, he still didn't have a car, but Y/n was usually there to give him a ride home. To their home. Moving in together for their last year of school seemed like a no-brainer, and it had been amazing so far, though the last week had been kind of a disaster. Harry could feel the tension between them growing, but every time he asked Y/n about it, she'd say she was fine even though they both knew everything was not fine, and the cycle continued. He wanted to be excited, he wanted to celebrate the success he'd managed to create for himself, but he felt rather deflated instead.

To Harry's surprise, Y/n was waiting for him in the parking lot. He didn't hesitate putting his gear in the trunk and coming around to sit in the passenger seat. Y/n leaned in to kiss him immediately holding onto the sides of his face fervently.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm sorry for not being here tonight and I'm sorry for acting strange, and I'm sorry for—"

"Y/n, what's going on with you?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Can we wait until we get home to talk?" She asked. I want to be able to talk to you properly, and I can't if I'm driving.

When Harry nodded, Y/n must've deemed it enough. She peeled away from the rink, silent tension filling the air between once again. It had been following them around all week.

That ended tonight, though. He didn't care how much Y/n hated confrontation or hard conversations. They couldn't move forward if they didn't move past this roadblock first. Harry loved Y/n more than he ever thought possible, and stubborn as she was, he knew she loved him just as much. He would get to the bottom of this, no matter how hard she tried to fight him on the way down.

*.*

"Y/n, you know I would be ecstatic if you'd told me you qualified for the Olympics. This is a huge step in my career! Why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am! God, Harry, I am."

"Then why are you pulling away from me? I feel like I can't be excited about this around you when you're the one person who should understand how this feels."

"I can't do this. I can't have this argument with you," you said, trying to step away from him.

Harry was quick to grab your hands in his, keeping you from walking away. "What aren't you telling me? Do you want to break up?"

"No!

"Do you not love me anymore? What? What is it, Y/n?"

"God, I didn't—I didn't ask for this," you cried, feeling like a damn had burst inside you. It was out now, and now you had to see it through to the end. "I didn't plan on falling in love with you. I wasn't prepared to love you this much. You're the one who wanted to take things further, and now you're—"

You're leaving me, you couldn't bring yourself to say. You really were happy for him. All of his dreams were coming true, and he had an ambition that matched yours, which made you love him more. And now that ambition was taking him far away from you, and you weren't handling it as well as you thought you would.

"Y/n—"

"I'm happy for you, H, I'm so happy for you that I could burst. And maybe even a little jealous," you joked, though there was some truth to what you said. "But I guess I just...I guess I didn't expect to love you this much. And I don't—I don't know what to do because you're going soon and I'm..."

You had no clue, and that alone was terrifying.

At the start of all this, you never imagined falling in love with Harry. He drove you absolutely insane, and despite your physical attraction to him, you kept your distance. But he kept doing these things that made you like him, and eventually care about him, and finally made you fall in love with him. It just wasn't something you saw coming. Love was definitely not on the brain when you met Harry.

Because you knew this moment was inevitable. The moment when one of you would be given an opportunity you couldn't refuse and would pull you away from each other. Once upon a time, you thought you would be given your dream job of a lifetime—competitive skating and hopefully the Olympics—but somewhere down the line, skating stopped bringing you joy, only pressure and anxiety. And now Harry had his dream job on the other side of the country, and you were left to flounder and wonder how you would survive waking up without him next to you.

"You're making it seem like it's a bad thing that you're in love with me," Harry said quietly, but the low tone of his voice didn't hide anything. You knew he was getting upset. After all the avoidance the last week—on your part—yours and his emotions were coming to a head.

"It's not! It's just that you're leaving!" you said, resisting the urge to run a frustrated hand through your hair. "And all week you've talked about how excited to get out of here and leave this all behind and start a new chapter in your life. I mean, would it kill you to act like you're a little torn up about leaving?"

It was so selfish, and you knew it was. It was why you'd been avoiding Harry, this conversation. Harry had every right to be proud and ecstatic for leaving to play in the professional league. He worked so hard, pushed himself farther than anyone you'd ever met, except for maybe you. Your pain was clouding your good sense, and now you'd shown just how horrible you could really be.

You couldn't look him in the eye after saying what you did. Even if it was how you felt, you still felt ashamed for raining on Harry's parade. "Y/n—" he tried to say when you hastily wiped a tear from your eye.

"I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry," you said, getting up from the couch and scurrying off to your bedroom.

Flopping on the bed, you pulled the covers over you, trying to hide from everything happening around you. It was too much. Your senior year was supposed to be fun and full of unforgettable memories, not arguments and heartache.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before the door opened and Harry slipped inside. He slid into bed next to you, and you didn't fight it when he rested his face in the crook of your neck. Because despite everything you were feeling, this was all you really needed.

"I'm not leaving you behind," he murmured gently. "You mean too much to me."

You sniffled, and Harry pulled you closer to his chest. "You're going to be thousands of miles away."

"Says who?" he said, kissing your cheek. "Who says you aren't coming with me?"

"And do what?" you huffed, even though the thought slightly lifted your spirits. "Be one of your...puck whatevers and follow you around like a puppy? I need a life of my own too."

You were being stubborn and argumentative and you both knew it. There was some relief in knowing Harry wanted you with him, but you also didn't want to just move because Harry was. You needed purpose, you needed to feel like your life had some sort of direction in it. But it was unfair to put all of that on Harry, and you didn't know how to express how you felt without sounding insane, so instead you said nothing, and that obviously went over brilliantly.

Harry chuckled. "See, because you just said how in love you are with me, I can tell that you're frosty attitude is just an act. Now turn over and look at me."

You reluctantly turned over, brow furrowed exaggeratedly because you couldn't cross your arms over your chest. It used to infuriate you how easily Harry could get under your skin because he knew you so well, that he knew just what to do or say to pull you out of a bad mood. In this moment, you were thankful. He could see past all the harsh words and see to the root of the problem. You'd said some things that were perhaps out of order, but Harry understood. Despite everything, he understood.

"You've worked just as hard as me, Y/n. I want to be there for you the way you've been for me. You can achieve your goals too."

"I just...I don't know if I want to achieve them anymore," you said quietly.

It was the first time you'd said it out loud. Since you'd learned to skate, there had only been one goal: the Olympics. Getting there wasn't just a matter of training, it was about devoting your life to your craft, it was barely having a life outside of training and competitions and giving all your time to winning. And after spending nearly your entire life doing it, you felt yourself slowly burning out. You'd go through your routines flawlessly, but your heart wasn't in it. All you could think about was the future—the next competition, the next training session, the next qualifier. It took seeing Harry so happy about being drafted to the minor leagues to realize the fire had gone out in you. Thinking of Olympic qualifiers and training and affording coaches and costumes and picking the right music only filled you with dread when you should've felt joy.

"Oh."

"But I don't know who I am if I don't have skating."

"You don't have to compete to skate, you know," Harry said. He rested his hand against your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your temple lightly. "You can c—"

"Oh God, don't say coach," you groaned. "It's perfect. You'll be a hockey superstar and I'll be the washed-up figure skater who couldn't handle the pressure of being an athlete and wound up coaching instead."

"I know you're being like this because you're scared, and that's okay," he said. "But I'll help you find a new dream, Y/n. I promise."

You had to blink away tears because your heart couldn't take how much he cared about you. "Even when I've been a complete bitch?"

"You haven't been. I'm sorry if you felt like I was leaving you behind. I guess in my mind we would always be together, no matter where we ended up."

"God I hate how much I love you sometimes," you grumbled while flinging yourself on top of Harry and holding him tight. "It's too much, you're too much, and I can't stand it—"

"There's a compliment in there somewhere, right?" Harry asked, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Sitting up, you perched yourself on him, your legs straddling his waist. Dipping down, you made sure your noses were brushing, but you didn't close the distance. Not yet. Your heart was racing simply because Harry had been so kind to you, because he knew you so well and said exactly what you needed to hear. It felt ridiculous to know that there was a time when he pissed you off so much you saw red, that his teasing remarks and cocky grin grated on your nerves. Now you didn't want to imagine a life without him.

"I'm sorry for saying all of those things," you murmured. "I really am proud of you. No one deserves this more than you do."

Harry's hand reached up and threaded through your hair, his fingers gentle as they passed over your scalp. "I know you are. And I mean it, Y/n. I'll help you. I know you love to skate, we just have to find a way to channel that into something else. If not coaching, maybe performing?"

"What? Like Disney on Ice?" you asked skeptically, your nose wrinkling at the thought.

Harry shrugged as his hand dipped beneath your shirt to stroke your back. "You'd be a cute princess."

"With my luck, they'd make me a tree."

"Then you'd be the cutest tree there ever was."

Shaking your head, you nudged your nose against his again. "Can we hit pause on talking about the future? I just want to be with you here. Right now."

"Course," Harry said, one corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked grin. "And then maybe we can circle back to you being my puck whatever."

"Shut up."

"Make me!"

And that was something you knew how to do better than your skating routine.

#harry styles #hockey player!harry styles #ice skater!y/n #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 #hockeyrry

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scara-writes · 26 days ago

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100% perfect

GN!Esper!Reader x Y!Guide!Male OC

Note: hello im back. A lot happened, I had an anxiety attacks, my mind has been having a lot of bad thoughts, my dog passed away last year—three months ago... I didn't have a lot of time for me to write since I've been grieving for my dog's death up until now but I'm okay, I'm healing... Anyway, my writings is rusty and probably didn't improve. I know some of you guys really tried to reach out through ask and I'm kind of happy. Thanks. For now I'll give this to piece of one shot for a new year. This Esper x Guide thing I made might not be accurate. All i know is they are similar to Alpha x Omega shits except the curse thing on espers. This might be cringe. i will try to edit it. I will try to update the other oc's as well.

-also please do not do this, i do not condone anything in this story. This is purely fiction and be kept as a fiction.

CW: implied se(g)s, implied suicide(mention), yandere, drugging, manipulation, dynamic power, etc.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"(Y/n)!!" A ginger haired male rush up to you, hugging you by the time you step on the greenery field of the university. Pastel blue of sweater was the first thing you see before you were envelope by a hug. You tense when his arms coils around your waist, hearing him breathe out of relief as he buries his face on your left shoulder.

You don't know what to do everytime he does this. There were eyes everywhere and it doesn't seem like he is bothered by it.

Of course why would he?

Micah Clarke is not only popular and prettiest student in this campus. He is known for being famous as the youngest champion of ice skating 3 years ago, defending his title until now. His luscious natural lips, his hazel eyes that could make you halt on what you were doing, the type to make yourself give him a third glance because he is so pretty. So pretty that you sometimes envy his glassy skin, igniting a insecurities to yourself. His soft curly ginger hair and freckled face that matches his glossy alabaster complexion. The type of guy who prefers cute, pastel than those typical guys—omg so unique(lol)—that always choose to wear dark or dull colors. Everyone finds him attractive including yourself. Everything about him screams beauty and elegance. He can hook up with men and women if he wants to but he chose not to.

From what you heard, he is a rare S-rank Guide. Most espers would try hook up with him atleast make a contract with someone like him. He would rather spend his time painting his nails, crochetting, organising or planning his time, practicing his amazing skills on ice skating, or rather do hundred routine for his skincare than hook up with other people. Quirky, Alright. Still, this doesn't stop people from wanting to go between his pants and his fame.

To people he is a swan. He is epitome of perfection.

You always see him pass by to your department, always getting called by the principal,inviting him to do a photoshoot, using his face as an advertisment for upcoming enrollent or any event inside the university. You never dwell yourself to swoon on to him whenever he pass by. Fine, you do like him. But not the kind of like where you are romantically interest to him. You just admire his looks, his talents and that's about it. You just don't like he was too friendly, there's nothing wrong with that but invading someone else personal bubble space—and the feeling of shame on yourself for being near someone kind as him—as if you two are already close is not your thing to a person you rarely talk to. Unlike him, you are the quite the opposite when it comes to socialising,You like being alone, you aren't anti-social, atleast, that's what you think you are. You are confident by yourself. An Introvert.

You just like the silence. It eases your deteriorating mind—(stupid esper curse) Somewhere peace and quiet,reading books, listening to music—gosh laufey and wave to earth and even (favorite singer/composer) always sound so good, spending time with your pets, to drown out insanity voices piling up in your head. Although you just have a few friends, you love to be alone. You once dream about getting a job. To work hard and earn a good money, once you have enough money. You would spend it to buy a house and lot somewhere away from the city and nearby the countryside with a small farm. Letting your family and friends to visit you time to time in occassions. Where you can spend the rest of your life alone and happy. A dream that would be come true if only you didn't awakened as an esper after you reach 18.

As for the guy who has the entire school and other people folded for him. He is choosing you to lend his attention, to a person who doesn't like attention. So why was he talking to someone who is a nobody like a B-rank Esper like you? The only interaction you had with him before he let himself in your life was when you pull him away from the bridge—you didn't know him at that time—a few exchange greeting—which of course he would be the first one to initiate it—and.... The party....

"N-ngh!!!" A whiny moan escape his lips. Your lips were on his neck drinking each of his soft sound coming from his mouth. The blaring party background can be ignore in the background thanks to the closed lock door of this room the both of you are in.You bite and nip his skin as if animal marking its prey. You didn't care if you torn his shirt, you just needed his guide seep through more, letting your body gone addicted to him. "(Y-y/n)!" The whay he whimpered your name made you groaned. The way every pulse from his body sends his guiding through your body. You were delirious, you can't resist him—

"Missed you! Why aren't you checking my messages? You know I got worried when you didn't reply." He whined, his orbs shows concern and sadness. You look away.

"...hey." you greeted him with quieter tone. You pulled away from the hug not liking the way your body just relaxes everytime his guide powers automatically seeps through your body. You don't hate it but you don't like the way that your body depends on someone just for the sake of being sane and relax.

.... The shame you are feeling over the past few weeks.

You still feel guilty and ashamed about it everytime you remember those memory.

"I... I was busy. Had to do homework. I fell asleep and forgot to charge my phone." You told him. Another excuse. You just put your phone on do not disturb.

You don't have the guts to tell a sweet person like him to leave you alone. Well you did because you are ashamed to face him but he insisted it was never you fault. It always ended up him spending time with you. You can't—you owe him more than anything—Especially now that all people's oggling to you too now that you have the attention of the star. They would try to befriending you so that they could get closer to him.

Gosh, you are getting tired. Why can't people leave you alone?

You missed the old times where you can be at peace. No drama, nowhere near on people who wants attention.

"O-oh. Well that's alright."he chided before grabbing your hands with both of his. His smooth hands rubbing against your ragged callouses. He continued, "well actually I was wondering could you hangout out with me? This friday? I know you don't have schedule at that time since you showed me your schedule—And I want to spend more time with you!" He beamed. His smile was out of this world and it blinds you.

"I uhh .. have a plan on that time..." You words went silent as soon as your eyes sees the smile from his lips slowly fell down to his face."really?" The grip on your hands were getting uncomfortable.

"Umm.... I just wanna be on my home and well—"He gasped, his smile is coming back on his symmetrical face as he clung to your right arm."oh! Why didn't you say so? We can hangout together in your home!"

Giddy, he press his front closer to you which made you feel suffocating. His guide power automatically seeps through you again.

"N-no, Mikah... What I meant to say is I plan to rest, like spend alone on that day. A peace and quiet." You slowly pull away your hand gently from his clinging hands.

You didn't expect he would react like this. Tears are already in the corner of his eyes. His lips quivering. "W-what? Are you saying that I'm boring, I-I'm too loud? Did I do something wrong?"

The people who were eavesdropping at your conversation sent a glare and unwanted resentment towards you.

You quickly shook your head. Your free hand clasping against his clutching ones that is gripping your poor unavailable hand. "No... It's not like that. You didn't do anything wrong.. I just want a me time... You know when... Uhhh before you and I become friends.... I just want to relax by myself.... You're a good friend and a good company but... We've been hanging out for a while... Ummm w-what I'm trying to say is... I want some time to be alone. You... You know what I mean right?"

Micah gave you a blank stare. You were getting uneasy. You bite your inner cheek. Will he lash out? He never seem to be the person who never received a refusal on his entire life. As soon as 2 seconds has passed, you noticed his eyes were akin to sadness. You feel the guilt running up to your spine.

You tried to avoid his gaze looking straight his frowning lips before getting replace by a forced grin. "Oh! I get that! You wish a time for yourself! Self care stuff in all that!"

Your heart beats a little faster in excitement, is he finally leaving you for a bit? You were about to thank him for understanding. He does l—

"B-but!!" He grabbed your hands again.

You internally groan. Does he even know the word no? Of course he don't.

He never had someone says no to him. Everything he request would be at his feet. You can't yell or be rude. That's not in your nature and plus if you done it. His fans would kill you.

"I need to be with you o-on friday! You know... I wanna spend my birthday with you.. P-please? your presence alone is enough a gift for me." He stammers. You blink in surprise. "I-I promise I won't bother you the next day if you really wanna spend t-time for yourself..."

Birthday?

"T-to be honest.... I don't like parties uhmm..." He lick his lips as if the word 'party' is a taboo between the two of you." Especially my birthday parties because a-although people greet me a happy birthday or any party occasion and stuff they never really mean it. They... Always use that as an excuse to use me for my fame or my money that I earned so hard in those competitions... I.. I plan to not throw one b-because m-my family isn't forcing me anymore... I just want to spend my birthday w-with you. Y-you're the only d-decent person who treated me normally."he stammer. You feel a lump on your throat when he says you're a decent. "I... I know... Umm I'm asking to much f-from you and I know... you didn't mean to do that—" he continues to rambles that some of his words can't form a right sentence. You noticed his eyes were in the verge of tears, threatening to drop from his eyes.

"I'm.... Not a decent person." You told him looking away from him, ashamed and hurt were written in your face.Your voice grew quiet but the man Infront catch on what you said, already refering to the 'incident' between the two of you. He bit his lower lips and almost yelled. His face pull out a sad look. It made him look cute if it's from a tears of joy."Y-you are ! You are a decent person! You know it's not your f-fault! You were d-drugged a-and I... I was drunk! W-we both know we weren't in o-our right minds! You never hurted me—!" He starts hiccuping. "You're a-a good person! W-what happened between that night s-should b-be buried! Y-you're a good friend! It's not your fault! It's not your f-fault!" With that he burst into tears.

You didn't expect for him to cry. You panic mentally. What should you do on these type of situations? You pull him for a hug—albeit stiffeningly."Ok... Ok... Don't cry.... I don't like it... When you cry.. I'm sorry." You told him honestly, truthfully this is not the first time he argued about the incident with you.

You still feel ashamed of yourself. You really do.

The party. If only you didn't come to your friend's party. The guilt won't eat you. No matter how many times Micah convinced you that none of it was your fault. You feel like you can't face him. He did say he was also drunk at the time but still... You could have gotten home earlier and didn't force yourself on him.

You cried and apologised so many times from him at that time, swearing you will turn yourself over to the police and never let him see your face again. You saw how his whole body was full of marks, hickeys, and bruises. He look like he got ravage. His clothes were thorn and you wish the drug in your system that time killed you.

Micah's eyes light up and a smirk forming from his lips as he nuzzle his face on your neck, pretending to cry even more. Everything is planned, everything worked for him to get you under his palm. He can feel the guilt eating you.

"... it's okay... Hik... " He sob sneaking in to kiss your neck. You are to busy awkwardly and hesitantly patting his back and hugging him and the man love every second of it.

From the moment you save him from jumping off the bridge, he needed to make you his. Someone who genuinely cares for him from this greedy world is something he needed to treasure.

Oh how he had you wrap around his fingers the moment you accepted that drug-disguise juice from one of his friends offered by the man himself. It's your fault.

It doesn't matter. You're under his palm forever. Everything is 100% perfect.

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sequoiathinker · 2 months ago

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giggling thinking about the ice skater!au where reader was patrick's partner first but after a nasty fight or maybe bc the coach simply wanted to change things up, reader's new partner is switched art (inspired by this tiktok https://www.tiktok.com/@bella_and_the_beast_/video/7397300646376000799 )

Art steals you from Patrick

Pt.2

You don’t know how excited I am about this!!!! Even though my two ice skater au's take place in different universes l'm going to do this in its own a maybe even make it a thing.

Also, Bella and Ivan gave me the idea for the ice skater in the first place! Art au and I'm happy I'm not the only one who sees it.

Being on the ice used to be your favorite thing in the world, and it couldn't get any better because you were on the ice with your favorite person, but that's different now.

You started skating with a partner, Patrick, when you were a teenager. Patrick was the boy that every girl had a crush on, and for many of those girls, he made their dreams come true until he met you.

Patrick had a crush on you but would never tell anyone because skating was more important than risking his professional relationship with you. However, he would tell his best friend, Art. Art and Patrick have been competing against each other their whole skating careers but were as close as two friends could be. Unfortunately, Art could never beat Patrick no matter how hard he tried, so when Patrick started competing with a partner, it was a relief for him.

The two boys stopped spending as much time as they used to because Patrick was practicing with you at the same time as art, and they both noticed that. So sometimes, if one was free while the other was practicing, they would go and watch one another. But what Art didn't expect was Patrick's new skating partner to be the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

The first time Art met you, he was almost speechless, and when he could speak, he stumbled over his words. Eventually, he was able to introduce himself, but he looked like an idiot the whole time.

You couldn't lie—you thought Art was extremely cute, but you liked Patrick, so you would never go out with Art unless Patrick was out of the picture.

After you met Art, he started showing up to your and Patrick's practice more often, so he was there more often than not. You thought it was because he was Patrick's best friend and loved the sport, and yes, that was true, but there was also more than that.

Art lover watching you skate and how much you loved it.

One day, Patrick didn't show up to practice but didn't tell you or Art that he wasn't coming until you called him. He said he couldn't make it, so Art saw the opportunity and ran with it.

Art had watched you, and Patrick skate so much that he knew your routine by heart. So he offered to step in Patrick's place so you could at least get some practice time in, and because you saw no harm in it, you agreed.

Once you two got on the ice, it felt like you two should have been skating partners instead of Patrick and you. It just felt so right yet so wrong because Art wasn't Patrick. Art was the farthest thing from Patrick as you could get.

Art looked and touched you differently than Patrick did; it felt real. This feeling lasted till you two were done practicing. After packets was over all you could think about was the way after was the way Art looked at you and the way his hands felt on your body. You never felt these things before in your many years of having Patrick as your partner.

After getting off the ice, you started to feel awkward because you knew the grass was greener on the other side, but you didn't even want to truly admit it to yourself.

After that day, you didn't see art for a while because you were low-key hiding from you.

Eventually, you and Patrick got back on the ice together again, and it felt off as much as you tried to ignore it.

It was even to the point where Patrick felt something off as well. You would brush off every time he tried to dig deeper, but you were good at lying to him, so eventually, he stopped.

After you thought you were getting back into a groove with Patrick, Art showed up at one of your practices.

Usually, when Art comes and watches, you typically greet him with a big wave or even a hug, but this time, you stare like a deer in headlights.

You tried your hardest to act like art wasn't there, but it wasn't happening. You kept slipping and messing up and letting your nerves get to you.

You had no idea what you were going to do, but one thing you did know was that you were doomed.

I only have one more request the finish but I need to do some research so please send request my way

#my post #challengers #challengers imagine #art donaldson #challengers au #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x reader #ice skater au #art donaldson au #patrick zweig #patrick zweig au #patrick zweig blurb #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x reader #artrick headcannon #art donaldson headcanons #art donaldson blurb #artrick #artrick x reader

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doiliedaze · 1 month ago

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Thin Ice: part one

Hockey! Vi x reader

Warnings: none in this part

Genre: fluff, angst

A/N: okay!! so this is my attempt in starting a series about hockey Vi based on this dream I had months and the Sailor Song by Gigi Perez and Moments by MOIO okay so wish me luck!! also none of my fics are truly edited I just re-read them till I can’t and pray my grammar is good. Reader is kinda naive/one track minded and very insecure in this. I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HOCKEY SO BARE WITH ME!!

───────┈ · ·

I’ve been skating since I was a little girl. It was the only place I could call home. Skating was the only place I was finally the smartest and brightest in the room since I was perceived otherwise academically…and I do lack a bit in the common sense area.

They say there’s a zone we enter when we’re aligning our energy with the activity we love. My alignment is when I soar through the air, or just don’t fall flat on my ass. I was heading to the rink when I was stopped.

“What are you doing here cupcake?”

When my eyes focus on her I was taken aback as I try to quickly study her. Why was my roommate here? “You know I practice here.” I state as I lace up.

She chuckled as she looks me up in down. I’m in a black bodysuit covered by a pink skirt and leg warmers over my matching pink skates, my coily hair put into a bun by a bow. “The practice is reserved for the hockey team. Did you not see the schedule posted outside?” She says with a small smile, I tilt my head “they changed the schedule?” Her smile flatters a bit and twitches as she points to the wall. I make an “o” shape with my mouth putting the pieces together. She pats my shoulders and skates away. In reparations of me fucking up I stay and watch.

Our college; Piltover university offers an array of extracurricular activities and in my three years of being here I’ve never known of this damn schedule changing!

Number 6, is an interesting player and my roommate. She brings an obvious aggression that the sport needs but she’s so swift and fast. I don’t know much about hockey but I do know she just scored so I might as well cheer for her right? Wrong! Getting stared at with the small but big enough snickers for me was enough to make me wanna to shrink and crawl into a hole and dissolve into a sunflower seed and sprout- well you get the point. This pushes me to attempt a swift exit.

When making my hurried exit she skates to the edge and whistles at me to get my attention. “Don’t leave, I appreciate having a personal cheerleader.” Her plump lips growing into a wolf-ish grin as she stares me down, always wanting a reaction. “Well I’m not a cheerleader I’m an ice skater! No disrespect to cheerleaders though I mean that takes a lot of courage, I know I could never-”

“It wasn’t a diss cupcake.” She stated before winking and skating away.

My face has never felt this hot before! Today is the day of utter shame and cruel unusual punishment. Now I have to figure out a new place to skate because I refuse to make the same mistake again…or read the time sheet next time who knows!

I make a routine out of avoiding the rink around 5-8 so I go during the wee hours of the morning. Kinda killing my sleeping schedule but hey pride am I right?

I don’t skate to be on a team, I prefer to be by myself and skate for me. It gets lonely sure but no one has ever supported me in doing this. All the slick comments of “oh why not be a majorette? On a step team? Why’d you stop stepping? You wanna be any race but black! Blah blah blah!” Don’t get me wrong those are beautiful activities in my culture but black girls can be everything and more at once. When I stepped it was fun and I could feel the unity but the feeling skating gave me made me feel like the most beautiful and the closest to my blackness. So when it came down to picking what I really wanted I chose skating, and been on my own since, because girls like me don’t belong here. Proving people wrong has been my biggest motivation, maybe I’m being a hard-ass but I don’t care; it feels good when I do it in the end.

This routine I was practicing was more than difficult…axels hate me and I hate axels but I’m trying to land a quadruple axel.

My mind relaxes as my chest thumps, today feels like the day…something I tell myself a lot. My momentum pushed as “Pearls” by Sade plays. I push off my left leg to project myself into the air. One…two…three…four-ish? My spin wasn’t complete and my landing was shaky, but I can try again. So I tried again and again! Frustrated I push myself, my skates cutting deep as I try to gain speed. Leaping into the air I spin one…two…three…four times! However I land flat on my ass. “Fuck!” I yell and I cover my face and I can’t control the wobble in my lip when I hear claps.

“And here I thought you were sneaking out to do something cool.” Vi states as she carefully glides over.

“I don’t need that right now.” I mutter, “company?” She lays on the ice with me.

Vi and I’s relationship is complicated. When we met in freshman year we hooked up then we ghosted each other. Sophomore year we both joined the literature club and gained a true friendship with a side of fucking whenever we’re both single. Now junior year I just feel distant with her.

She rubbed my cheek, “you don’t talk to me anymore.” I move from her touch…wishing I didn’t, I know reaching out is hard for her. “I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry do better” she stood up shoving her hands in her pockets. “C’mon we’re going out.” I know not to argue so I oblige.

“The library?” I scoff in a whisper, “we are English majors.” She nudges me with her shoulder and I nudge her back.

We find a cozy nook and read our respective books. The two of us haven’t hung out in so long. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. I take her book. “Hey!” She reaches over me. Her pale blue eyes stare into my dark brown eyes. A soft blush spreads over her freckled cheeks and her eyebrows soften. “I miss you” we both whisper then laugh. Vi moves from me and takes my hand.

I’ve never been the type of person to be comfortable around others, wanting to be apart of a team but with Vi…I want to try everything.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: im so excited to start this series!! I wanted to challenge myself and I hope you guys enjoy <3

(Dividers by @dollywons)

#vi x reader #scared femme writes #dazeduties #vi x black reader #hockey!au #hockey! vi #ice skater! reader #black! reader #black femme #college! vi #yes vi would be an English or engineer major she’s smart #dividers by dollywons #visdoilie

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hyuneskkami · 7 months ago

Note

okay i raise you: HOCKEY player percy/jason and figure skater reader

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

JASON GRACE ⭑.ᐟ

⟢ “they took away the prophet’s dream; for a profit on the street!”

headcannons for: hockey player!jason x figure skater!reader

jason grace who always tucks away the bracelet you made him in the safety of his bag so it won’t break when he plays his games

jason grace who loves hearing your voice screaming out his name during his games

jason grace who says ‘this next one is for my baby’ to the camera, meaning it for you, before scoring a goal

jason grace who’s protective of you, and saunters in whenever he sees some guy trying to flirt with you

jason grace who always supports his girl during her competitions

jason grace who throws down her favourite plushies at the end of her performance

jason grace who cheers your name before and after your program

jason grace who is your very own personal hypeman

jason grace who has a game the same day as your competition; you had a hard time convincing him not to skip his game just to watch yours

jason grace who peppers you with kisses and whispers sweet nothings into your ear as you cuddle after a rough comp/game

jason grace who you go out to the library with, for study dates and just to browse

jason grace who reenacts book scenes with you to see you blush (he finds it so cute)

jason grace who is absolutely whipped for you <3

taglist for event — @serendipitous-girl @mqstermindswift @puffoz @skeelly @urmomabby

@sunnitheapollokid @jgracie @canonfeminine @cinemaconrad @mqshido

@flowers-for-em @aezuria @thetunnelunderoceanboulevard @cherigall @percabethluvr

@pjoverseluvr @maybxlle @sweetnnaivete @riordanness @starlitszn

@metyouattherighttime @a-beautiful-fool @sequinsnstars @ssparksflyy @fayvpor

@iheartgirlzn @nomournersnofunerals @over-the-ocean-call @seaglass-and-string @cer3lia

@lara20aral @bloophasarrived @xoxochb @auroraofthesun1 @sophiesonlinediary

@solangelotus @brodieland @s1utlvr @imasimpdealwithit @waitingonher

@nqds @skyrigel @daydream-of-a-wallflower @hermidastouch @catastrxblues

@moon-drop18 @d4rkdi0rrr @hopelesslyromantic-shark @saltwatergirl6 @hope92100

event masterlist

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

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ssparksflyy · 9 months ago

Text

HE WAS A SKATER BOY ౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚

skater!percy x ice skater!reader ☆

━ SHE SAID SEE YOU LATER, BOY

#no cause i was like mmm skater percy is so yummy but then i was like WAIT #WHAT IF HE HAD A SKATER GF #and then it was like WAIT #ICE SKATER GF #mastermind if you will (somebody has probably done this before)#percy jackson #percy jackson moodboard #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #seaweed brain ⋅˚₊‧𓇼 #bells' moodboards 𝜗𝜚 ꒱ ‧₊˚

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hoe4hotchner · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 - First impressions

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Case talk, mansplaining, mentions of murder, mentions of kidnapping.

A/N: Here ye here ye!! Chapter 1 is here for everyone to read. The amount of times I mention the word "discipline" and "weight" in this chapter is crazy.

Masterlist

The conference room at the BAU was buzzing with a quiet and anticipatory energy as the team filed in, each member cradling a cup of coffee and carrying their files. It was early - earlier than usual - but no one seemed surprised. It was not unusual for them to be called in early. This was routine. Yet, something felt different. They didn’t have all the details, but the call for a briefing sounded urgent and hinted at a case that would require every ounce of their focus.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, his expression unreadable as usual, but the slight tension in his posture was enough to make the others take notice. Morgan slid into his seat, casually glancing at the iPad in front of him while Reid shuffled through his usual pile of notes. Emily and JJ exchanged brief, curious looks shot towards Hotch, their voices hushed as they speculated about the case.

"Alright, listen up," Hotch said, his voice cutting through the hum of the room as he moved in front of the screen. The screen was still blank behind him, it stood like a canvas waiting to be filled with the details of their current nightmare. He clicked the remote in his hand, the screen flickering to life, displaying the images of young women. One by one, their smiling faces filled the frame - each picture a snapshot of life before it looked to have been ripped away.

"These women," Hotch continued, gesturing toward the images, "have all gone missing from the same local area over the past month." The room fell eerily silent, eyes fixed on the screen. The women were similar, maybe a little too similar - each in their 20's, all athletic, with the same builds. Their smiles, once vibrant and full of life, now seemed haunting as pictures of the first two victims' dead bodies flashed onto the screen and painted a grim picture.

The team’s focus sharpened, the weight of their faces settling in. Reid leaned in slightly, eyes darting over the patterns he could already see emerging. Each woman had lived a life filled with potential and discipline.

"Athletes," Hotch added, his voice quieter now but firm. "Every one of them. Fit, disciplined, and otherwise healthy." His words hung in the air as the team began to form their own theories. A disturbing pattern was taking shape, though none of them knew yet just how far the darkness stretched.

He clicked again, bringing up a detailed map on the screen. Red markers indicated the precise locations where the women were last seen and likely abducted. "As you can see," Hotch said, gesturing toward the first two marks, "the first two victims were last seen leaving local gyms in the early evening. Both were alone, security cameras showed them heading to their cars, and when their car leaves the frame that is the last image we have of each victim."

He paused, then pointed to the third marker. "Leah Connors, our most recent victim, was taken from this parking lot outside the Ice Pavilion, where she trained late at night, four days ago. She had just finished her skating practice when she was abducted. The security cameras in the lot were offline, and no one reported seeing anything suspicious in the neighborhood at the time."

Morgan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map intently. He traced the lines connecting the crime scenes with his finger, the pattern beginning to form in his mind. "So, what we're dealing with here," he said, voice low but firm, "is someone who's deliberately targeting a specific type of woman. These aren't random grabs Hotch; he’s choosing women who are strong and fit, and certainly doesn't lack discipline. They likely represent something to him, something personal."

Morgan’s eyes lingered on the photos of each victim, each woman’s face radiating vitality and ambition. His gaze hardened as he thought through the unsub’s motives. “These women... they could represent control, strength, maybe even perfection to him,” he said, his voice heavy with the thought of what they were about to unravel. "Whatever it is, he’s fixating on women who push their bodies to the limit - athletes who excel physically, women who embody discipline and hard work." His hand gestured toward the images.

He paused, searching for the right words to capture the darkness of the unsub’s obsession. "It’s like he’s trying to take something from them. Maybe it’s about proving something to himself - dominating women who represent everything he can’t be or control."

Hotch nodded, stepping forward to add to Morgan’s analysis, his expression grim as he clicked through more slides, each woman’s profile now paired with disturbing notes on their abductions. “According to the initial eval from the field office,” Hotch began, his voice steady but sharp “the unsub may otherwise also be fixated on women he perceives as physically perfect. This could be about asserting dominance over women he feels are unreachable - and as you said Morgan - out of his control.”

He pointed to the reports beneath each victim’s image. "His method of abduction supports that theory as well. There are no signs of a struggle, no chaos left behind. He’s quick and efficient, which suggests planning. He's organized and methodical." He looked at the team, the weight of his words settling in. “There’s no indication that these women had any chance to fight back. He took them swiftly, without warning - meaning he’s done this before, and he knows how to overpower them.”

The room was tense as they absorbed the initial profile, each member of the team seeing the chilling precision with which this unsub operated. The victims weren’t just targets - they were symbols, reflections of something he needed to control, no matter the cost.

“There’s another possibility we need to consider,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “The precision of these abductions suggests he might be more familiar with the victims than we might initially think. Since there’s no sign of a struggle, it’s possible these women knew the unsub, or at least didn’t perceive him as a threat when he approached them.”

Morgan nodded, leaning forward. “Maybe he’s someone from their world. A coach, trainer, someone who works behind the scenes - someone who blends in.”

“It would explain why there are no signs of force near the abduction sites. If they trusted him, or at the very least didn’t suspect him, they wouldn’t have their guard up.” Reid added quietly.

Hotch glanced back at the board. “If that’s the case, the unsub may have been watching these women for a while - learning their routines, embedding himself in their lives just enough to get close without raising suspicion. We need to find out if any of them had contact with the same person before they disappeared.”

It was a chilling thought, and the room seemed to grow heavier as the possibility settled in. The unsub wasn’t just a predator lying in wait - he could be someone they knew, someone they had trusted.

Hotch clicked the remote again, and Leah’s photo appeared prominently next to those of the other victims once again, their smiling faces a stark contrast to the grim reality of the case. “Leah’s abduction is what ties us to a new lead. Her figure skating coach, Mark Branson, has a documented history of controlling behavior. Several athletes he’s worked with have come forward with complaints about his intense training regimens, which they described as bordering on abusive. He pushes them beyond their limits - physically and mentally - creating an environment that fosters both fear and dependency.”

�� He paused for emphasis, letting the significance of the information settle in the room. “Despite these allegations, he’s never faced charges, but his name came up during Garcia's background check, and we can’t afford to overlook him when time is running out. He’s a potential link to the victims that needs further investigation.”

“How do we know Branson's not just a demanding coach?” Prentiss interjected, tapping her pen thoughtfully against the table. “That’s pretty common in high-level sports. Coaches often push their athletes hard to achieve success. It could be a case of bad coaching practices rather than anything sinister.”

Morgan leaned forward. “That may be true, but in high-pressure environments, there’s a fine line between motivation and manipulation. If these athletes felt threatened or coerced, it could indicate a deeper issue. We need to dig into his past and see if there are patterns in his behavior beyond just coaching.”

“Exactly,” Hotch conceded, his tone measured as he acknowledged Morgan's point. “But we also have a witness who claims she saw someone matching Branson’s description near one of the gymnasiums where one of the other victims trained, just days before she was taken. This isn’t just speculation; it’s a significant lead that connects him to the timeline of these disappearances.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest. The creak of the chair echoed in the quiet room as he contemplated the implications. “Sounds like we need to dig into Branson’s background more thoroughly. We should look for any history of obsession or unusual behavior, particularly any connections to the victims that go beyond just being their coach. If other athletes trained under him, we might uncover more troubling patterns.”

Reid, flipping through the file in front of him with a sense of urgency, added his insights. “Branson’s control issues could align with the profile. He might see them as a challenge - individuals he needs to break down in order to feel powerful.”

Morgan nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “And if that’s the case, we need to act fast. He’s likely not going to stop with just these three victims. If we don’t catch him soon, another woman could easily go missing. We have to get ahead of him before he strikes again.” The urgency in his voice emphasized the gravity of the situation, rallying the team’s focus on the task ahead.

Hotch's expression darkened as the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders. “The field office has already questioned Branson, but we need to go in and talk to him ourselves. It’s crucial that we either rule him out as a suspect or dig deeper into his background. Morgan, Rossi and I will be heading to the rink as soon as possible to speak with him and gather more information.”

Reid, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned his notes, “Do we know if Leah’s body has been found yet?” The question hung in the air, filled with apprehension.

Hotch shook his head grimly. “No. Leah Connors has not been missing long enough according to the M.O. Every moment that passes decreases our chances of finding her alive. The longer she’s gone, the more likely it is that we won’t recover her.” His voice carried the weight of his experience and understanding of what this case demanded.

Prentiss glanced at the photos on the board, her expression tightening as the faces of the victims stared back at her. “If Branson’s involved, he might already be planning his next move,” she noted, her voice steady yet tinged with concern.

As the team began to gather their things, the air was thick with determination. Morgan turned to Hotch, a serious look in his eyes. “You think Branson’s our guy?”

Hotch paused, his expression contemplative as he narrowed his eyes slightly, weighing the implications. “I don’t know yet. But I want to be sure before we move on. We need every lead we can get. If he’s involved, we need to find out how deep it goes. If he’s innocent, we’ll need to look elsewhere, but either way, we can’t afford to waste time.”

Morgan nodded in agreement. “Then let’s go see what this guy’s all about.” His words carried a reminder of the stakes involved in their investigation.

The ice rink was surprisingly serene, a stark contrast to the storm brewing outside. The sound of blades gliding across the frozen surface echoed through the empty arena, creating a delicate rhythm that filled the vast, and chilly space. The agents stepped onto the concrete floor, their breath visible in the crisp air as they scanned their surroundings.

Hotch walked ahead, his expression unreadable, exuding an air of focus. "Morgan, with me," he said, his voice cutting through the faint melody playing over the rink’s speakers. The soft notes mingled with the sound of skates on ice, creating an almost haunting atmosphere. "Dave, see if you can find the rink manager. We need details on Branson’s schedule, especially who he coached the past couple of weeks and any unusual behavior." The agents dispersed.

As Hotch moved forward, his gaze lingered on the ice for a moment longer than necessary. There, moving with effortless grace, was a woman - you - performing a series of elegant spins and leaps, perfectly synchronized with the music that filled the space. Your concentration was palpable, every movement executed with the kind of precision that only years of practice could cultivate. You were completely immersed in your art, blissfully unaware of the agents and the investigation unfolding around you.

Hotch watched as you landed another jump, the smallest hint of admiration creeping into his thoughts. It wasn’t just your skill - it was the focus, the sheer dedication reflected in your every move. Something about your determination resonated with him, a reminder of the relentless pursuit of excellence he had valued in his own work throughout his career. Yet, he quickly pulled his attention back to the case, mentally chiding himself for allowing a moment of distraction.

"Agent Hotchner?" A voice broke through Hotch's concentration, pulling him back to the present. Branson had appeared at the rink’s edge, wiping his hands on a towel as he approached the team. He was older, in his mid-fifties, with a stocky build. His gruff demeanor was punctuated by a furrowed brow, a clear indication that he was not accustomed to or happy about being questioned.

"Mr. Branson," Hotch greeted, extending his hand firmly. "We need to ask you a few questions regarding our current investigation." His tone was professional but carried an undertone of authority that left no room for misunderstanding or protests.

The questioning commenced in typical BAU fashion - focused and direct. Hotch and Morgan exchanged glances, silently communicating their strategy as they probed Branson about his whereabouts during the timeline of the abductions. They inquired about his relationships with his skaters and whether he had any connections to the victims. Branson’s posture stiffened slightly at the mention of the girls, but he maintained eye contact, giving his responses with a defensive steadiness. "I don’t know anything about these girls," he insisted, his voice edged with frustration. "My only concern is my athletes and getting them ready for competitions. I have no interest in anything else. Leah's disappearance doesn't bother me as long as I have her" Branson nodded toward you on the ice.

Hotch studied him closely, noting the slight tremor in Branson's hands as he spoke and the way his gaze flickered when he mentioned the victims. While his answers didn’t raise immediate red flags, there was still an unsettling quality about his proximity to the victims that couldn’t be ignored. Throughout the years the team had learned that the most dangerous unsubs often blended seamlessly into the backgrounds of their targets, and Branson's defensive stance only heightened Hotch's suspicions. As the conversation progressed, Hotch sensed that there was more to Branson's story, a deeper layer lurking beneath the surface that demanded further investigation when time allowed it.

"He's clean," Rossi murmured, pulling Hotch aside as he returned from questioning the rink manager. "Alibis line up. I don’t think he’s our unsub."

Hotch gave a brief nod, though his gaze remained locked on Branson, who was still speaking with Morgan near the rink’s edge. There was no immediate threat, no telltale sign of guilt, but something about the coach kept Hotch’s instincts on alert. "Still," he replied, voice low, "we’ll keep him on the list until we can be sure."

Branson had the right alibis and nothing overtly suspicious in his behavior, yet Hotch knew better than to dismiss him entirely. People like Branson, who operated in tight-knit athletic communities, often hid things beneath the surface - control issues, power dynamics, unresolved anger. There was always the possibility that something darker lurked just out of sight.

As the conversation wrapped up and the team prepared to leave, you finally noticed the group of agents lingering near the rink’s entrance as the last notes of your setlist faded. You had been completely absorbed in your routine, unaware of their watchful eyes until now. Slowing your pace, you glided to a stop, chest heaving with exertion but keeping your expression calm and composed. It wasn’t every day a team of federal agents appeared at one of your training sessions.

"Is everything alright?" you asked cautiously, stepping off the ice and reaching for your jacket draped over the railing. Your eyes flickered briefly to Hotch, catching his gaze just long enough to feel the intensity behind it.

"We’re investigating a case that might be connected to someone at this facility," Hotch replied in his usual clipped tone, offering no more information than necessary.

You nodded slowly, glancing toward your coach, who was still speaking with Morgan. Branson’s stern face gave nothing away, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. And something about Hotch’s posture - the way he stood with such composed authority, never fully relaxed - made you uneasy. It was clear that, even though your coach had been cleared, the FBI’s interest in this place wasn’t over yet.

"Should I be worried?" you asked, trying to keep your tone light, but the tension in your voice betrayed your real concern. There was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel that this investigation, whatever it was, might touch your life more directly than you’d like.

Hotch's gaze softened just enough to feel reassuring. "We don’t believe you’re in any immediate danger miss," he said, his eyes meeting yours with a steady intensity. "But it’s best to stay cautious. If you notice anything unusual - anything at all - don’t hesitate to contact us." Hotch handed you his business card, something so natural to him, but reassuring to you.

As you pulled on your jacket and gathered your things, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see Agent Hotchner.

The BAU's visit to the rink had been brief, but the weight of it hung heavy over the team as they regrouped in the conference room. The table was littered with new notes, files, and evidence photos, each one a potential piece to the puzzle that still remained frustratingly incomplete. As the team settled in, their usual energy subdued, Hotch found his thoughts drifting, his focus momentarily splintered in a way that felt unfamiliar.

It wasn’t like him to let his mind wander. Normally, he was able to compartmentalize everything - his thoughts, his emotions - keeping them all in neat, orderly boxes. Yet today, something lingered in the back of his mind, something that pulled him away from the stacks of files and images before him. It wasn’t just the case that weighed on him; it was you - the way you moved with an intensity and purpose, the way you'd looked so innocent, so angelic while practicing your routine on the ice.

It wasn’t just your grace on the ice, though that was undeniably striking. It was something more intrinsic, something about the way you carried yourself as if you had spent your entire life fighting through obstacles - physical, mental, emotional even. He saw it in your posture, the way you pushed yourself through the routine despite exhaustion, your expression tight with focus and determination. It reminded him of the same relentless drive that kept him going on the job, the way he forced himself to be stronger, to endure, no matter the pain and personal cost.

As he sat at the head of the table, files splayed open in front of him, Hotch couldn’t shake the image of you mid-leap, suspended in the air for what felt like a heartbeat. He could still recall the sound of the blades of your skates hitting the ice as you landed. Your face had been a mask of concentration, and in that brief moment, he recognized something deeply familiar. The discipline, the perseverance, the quiet strength - it was as if he had seen a reflection of himself. And though he couldn’t quite place why, an odd sense of admiration crept into his thoughts, catching him off guard.

“Hotch?” Morgan's voice cut through his trance, pulling him sharply back to the room.

Hotch blinked, momentarily disoriented, before clearing his throat and sitting up straighter in his chair. "Yeah," he said, his voice firm, though there was a slight edge to it, betraying the brief lapse in his usual composure. "What’s our next step?"

Morgan didn’t press Hotch further. "Garcia’s doing a deep dive into Branson’s finances and personal life," Morgan explained. "So far, nothing out of the ordinary, but we’re still waiting on some records. She’s combing through everything - credit reports, phone records, anything that could give us a lead."

Hotch nodded, but even as he listened to Morgan’s update, part of his mind still lingered at that rink. There was something about this investigation that felt different. Something that, for better or worse, had struck a chord in him.

“What about his connections?" Prentiss asked, her voice laced with curiosity. "Any personal relationships with the victims beyond coaching?”

“None that we’ve uncovered so far," Rossi replied, "but there’s definitely a pattern forming. Even if Branson doesn’t have direct ties to these women, all of them were deeply involved in their athletic circles right before they vanished. It’s possible the unsub may be targeting these communities, using them as a hunting ground.”

Hotch nodded in agreement as he sifted through the case files in front of him, his eyes scanning each piece of information carefully, dotting down a few scribbled notes along the way. “We need to broaden our investigation,” he said, flipping another page. "If Branson isn’t directly involved, then we could be looking at someone who’s still connected to these places. Maybe a spectator, a sponsor - someone who blends in at these events but stays under the radar.”

The conversation moved forward, focusing on logistics and the next steps, but Hotch’s mind wandered back to the rink, back to you.

But he couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

Back at the rink, the air felt sharper than usual as you replayed the events of the day in your mind. The presence of the FBI had been jarring, a reminder that the world beyond the rink was far from safe. Your coach had barely contained his frustration during the questioning, his agitation palpable even after the agents left. It wasn’t every day that a federal investigation collided with your life so directly, and it certainly wasn’t every day that you crossed paths with someone like Aaron Hotchner.

His presence had been impossible to ignore, though it wasn’t in the way most people might expect. Hotch’s quiet intensity was unsettling, but not in a bad way - it was just that he carried himself with such calm authority, that it demanded attention. You couldn’t shake the feeling that his gaze had lingered on you during practice, though it never felt intrusive. If anything, it felt like he was studying you, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable.

As you completed another lap around the rink after your break, the sound of your blades slicing through the ice should have calmed you. Usually, the rhythm of skating helped clear your mind, the repetitive movements allowing you to focus. But today was different. The weight of the investigation, the fact that Leah seemed to have disappeared completely from the roster, and the FBI’s looming presence throughout the rink made it hard to concentrate. You couldn’t help but wonder if the investigation would interfere with your training in any way - if the agents would come back and disrupt your routine again.

Leah’s absence weighed heavily on your heart. She wasn’t just a fellow skater; she’d been your friend. You usually spoke at least once a day, but her sudden disappearance from your life had left a deep void, not only in your small circle but in the rink itself. Everyone was on edge, whispering about what had happened, if it had anything to do with the other athletes having gone missing, who would be next - as if skating wasn’t dangerous enough already. You shivered at the thought.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Branson’s gruff voice calling out to you from the edge of the rink. “Hey," he said, breaking through the fog in your mind as you slowed to a stop near the boards. "You alright?"

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure if that was the truth. "Just thinking about Leah," you replied, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as you caught your breath. "Do you think... someone took her?"

Branson’s usual stern expression softened, but there was still tension in his posture as if the whole ordeal had him on edge too. He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face before replying, “I don’t know, kid. But the FBI’s involved now. They don’t mess around. If anyone’s going to find her, it’ll be them. You just focus on your routine. Nationals are in a few weeks, and we need you at your best.”

You nodded, though the reassurance did little to ease the gnawing unease in your chest. Leah’s fate hung in the air like a storm cloud, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on skating, the uncertainty remained, creeping into your thoughts with every glide. As you turned to skate away, you couldn’t help but glance at the spot where Agent Hotchner had stood earlier, wondering if you’d see him again - and if this nightmare would be over soon.

Later that evening, Hotch sat in his dimly lit office, the soft amber glow of his desk lamp casting shadows across the stack of files and reports spread before him. The weight of the case pressed heavily on his shoulders, but his focus kept slipping, drawn back to the rink. To the investigation. And, much to his frustration, to you.

He stared blankly at the notes scattered in front of him, but the words blurred together, failing to hold his attention. It wasn’t typical for him - he was known for his ability to set aside distractions and zero in on the task at hand. But something about today was different. He couldn’t shake the memory of watching you on the ice, the effortless way you moved. There had been such precision in your performance, every movement executed with an intensity and control that mirrored the way he approached his work. It stirred something in him, a recognition of sorts.

It wasn’t attraction - not in the usual sense, anyway. It was more of an understanding.

But this wasn’t about him, and it certainly wasn’t about you. Hotch closed his eyes briefly, exhaling deeply as he tried to push the distractions aside. Leah Connors was still missing, and every minute that passed made it less likely she'd be alive when they found her. This case was about her, about finding the truth before it was too late. Not you.

With a tired sigh, Hotch closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under the shift in weight. Tomorrow, they’d return to the rink. Tomorrow, they’d dig deeper, unraveling the web that surrounded Leah and perhaps Mark Branson. They were running out of time, but Hotch was determined to get closer to the truth.

Still, as he sat there in the quiet solitude of his office, he couldn’t help but wonder why you kept lingering in his thoughts. What was it about you that had struck such a chord? Was it the way you reminded him of the person he used to be before the job consumed him? Or was it something else entirely? He shook his head, trying to push the thought away. Tomorrow, he told himself.

Tomorrow, he’d figure it out.

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