#which is how figure skaters jump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hischierswhore · 2 months

Note

Can you write about Luke Hughes being in a long-time relationship with a girl who is a figure skater, she goes to a competition where she wins first place and he is there with his parents supporting her, so a couple of days later when he is doing press someone asks him about it and he is like a proud boyfriend speaking about how he feels and how his family supports her too. Please, I love your writing.💕

gold medalist

pairing: luke hughes x figure skater!reader

a/n: my first fic for an NHL player! i haven't written a fic in a WHILE so i hope this is decent. also thank u anon <3

You were currently competing in the 2024 World Figure Skating Championship in Montreal. Your parents sadly were unable to make the event, the biggest event you've even been part of. Luckily for you, your boyfriend Luke and his parents had come to support you.

They looked beyond excited to watch you perform, especially Luke, who had never seen you perform before due to his hectic schedule. They were extremely supportive and could barely contain their excitement during your performance. It was moving and you looked so elegant as you glided across the ice so effortlessly.

Finally, the competition had ended and the results were ready to be revealed. You listened and applauded as the other competitors' names were called for 2nd and 3rd place, which made the butterflies in your stomach even worse. You thought you did great, but you'd also seen your competitors perform, and you were taken aback by their beautiful performances, leaving you to think that you didn't place at all.

"And the winner of the 2024 World Figure Skating Championship is... Y/N L/N!" The announcer shouted as the entire arena jumped up with cheers.

You had not processed the words that just came out of the announcers mouth. You were frozen, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you stood in the middle of the ice. You snapped out of your daze, tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks as you took it all in. You did it. You did the damn thing.

"Thank you everyone! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am so happy! This is such a surreal moment. I can't believe any of this is happening" You exclaimed as the announcer handed you the microphone and the judges had given you flowers and your gold medal.

Moments later, you were free to meet up with Luke and his parents. The second they saw you, Luke ran to you and carried you into his arms. He held you tight and kissed your head repeatedly.

"Y/N, baby, I'm so proud of you. I love you so much, don't ever doubt yourself" He said to you, his eyes brimming with tears.

"I won't. I promise" You replied, kissing him gently on the lips.

His parents soon approached you and they were both cheering as loudly as possible for their daughter-in-law.

"Y/N we are so proud of you honey! You deserve this, you really do. Congratulations" Luke's mother said as she hugged you tightly. She pulled back and wiped away the tears from her face.

"Now go get changed! We're going to celebrate tonight!" Luke's father added as he walked off to tell everyone else about your win.

A few days later, you were back in New Jersey, seeing as Luke had a game and you had never failed to miss a single one since you started dating all those years ago.

Luke was currently doing press while you were at your shared apartment tidying up before you headed to the game. You turned on the tv to watch the press conference while you cleaned.

You were in the process of cleaning the counter when you looked at the tv to find your own image on the screen, along with Luke and his parents.

"Luke we have to ask. Your amazingly talented girlfriend Y/n recently competed in the World Figure Skating Championship and won the first place prize. What was going through your head in that moment when her name was called?" A reporter asked the 6'2 man, holding her mic towards him.

"Well, I just felt nothing short of complete pride. My beautiful girlfriend competed magnificently and did the most amazing job she possibly could. There was no question in my mind that she would take home first place, she deserved every bit of that trophy. I am so proud of her. Her dedication to the sport and hard work really paid off and it was very rewarding to witness. I'm so glad I got to be there with her to cheer her on. It's moments like these that remind me how lucky I am to have her" Luke responded confidently.

The reporters questions continued as he began asking more specific questions about your relationship and how things were between you two now.

You smiled when you heard him say 'my beautiful girlfriend', 'lucky I am' and 'her dedication'. You couldn't help but feel extremely loved when he spoke like that about you. He was so genuine, and it showed through everything he did and said.

"One final question Luke. We saw that your parents were there to help you cheer Y/n on from the stands. What did they think about Y/n's win?" The reporter then asked him.

"My parents were ecstatic. They had such an awesome time watching her compete. Mom couldn't stop telling me how incredibly happy she was, and dad said it was absolutely perfect. They know how much effort Y/n puts into skating, and they were able to experience that firsthand. That night was a special one, and they told me how lucky I am to have found someone like Y/n and be able to share moments like that with them. That will definitely be a night I'll never forget." Luke stated happily.

Once the interview concluded, you watched the footage with a huge smile on your face. You were feeling rather giddy inside as you remembered that evening, especially when Luke had placed his arm around your waist and pulled you close to him, whispering something in your ear.

Your heart skipped a beat when he mentioned how lucky he was to have found someone like you, and how special it was to share moments like that with you. You loved hearing how affectionate he was with you, knowing full well that not many men actually showed that kind of emotion towards their girlfriends or wives.

It made you fall deeper and deeper in love with him each day, despite the fact that you were already head over heels for him. It made your feelings grow stronger, making you want to spend every waking moment with him and wake up next to him each morning.

TAGLIST

@lovelynikol16

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, pls leave a comment <3

#✎ natalie writes #luke hughes #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fanfic

349 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

You and James have found more than friendship on the ice. When you’re afraid to flub a jump and take the leap with him into something more, he finds a way to convince you. [4k]

hockey player!james, figure skater!reader, shy!reader, fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining, confessions, first kiss, idiots in love, james is tall pretty and extremely in love, sometimes shy!james <3 requested here

･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ

You're used to the skin tight costumes of figure skating, and have accepted the fact that they show the entirety of your thighs— that's sort of the point. What you're not used to, however, is having the hockey team see you in said costumes.

James is thrilled. "Look at you, angel! You're in costume!"

He holds the sides of the rink in his hands, leaning his weight toward the ice. You wrap your arms around yourself self-consciously.

"I was hoping you wouldn't see me," you admit, though you can't help smiling at him anyhow.

You're usually very happy to bump into him, and your body reacts like it's been conditioned to. James leads to good feelings.

"I bet you were," he says.

James reaches out for you, and you skate to the end of the rink despite yourself. He doesn't touch you when you're close, you weren't really expecting him to, only inclines his head inward to tell you something quietly, all secretive like.

"Your skirt’s tucked in a little bit. On the left," he says.

"Oh, how," you grumble, twisting your torso to try and see what he means. A leaf of your skirt has managed to fold itself into the fabric that covers your butt. "That's so embarrassing."

You were likely trying to unstick a slight wedgie when it happened. It's mortifying, but James probably doesn't know how it happened… probably. You yank the skirt out and hope he can't read what you're thinking off of your face.

"Thanks, James," you say quietly.

You say his name with altogether too much affection, considering you're friends. Acquaintances, even. You know James within these walls and nowhere else, like work colleagues, and you'd die if he knew how close you felt to him. In fairness, you both spend the majority of your free time within these walls, but still.

He's probably the best friend that you have. Which is pathetic. But between skating and your nervous disposition, this is as good as it was ever going to get. And you don't mind.

All of the time.

"You're welcome. If I knew we were dressing up today, I would've worn something nice." He has his jogging bottoms on and not his big bulky kit. You try not to stare at the more tight-fitting form of his hoodie sleeves, but it's hard. His biceps are ridiculous. "Are you staying?"

Sometimes, if the boys are practising you'll stay. It's free entertainment — and it is incredibly entertaining to watch. James and his friends are a semi-professional team, which means they're a mixture of good and fun. They play because they love it, and they all have their night jobs to go back to after. It makes it easier for you and James to get along: you're semi-professional too. You're never going to the Olympics, you know that. You skate because you love it.

There's a clock steadily ticking down on your skills. Every year you get older, heavier, a little more inflexible. The more intense sportsmen and women fight this, revile this, but you've accepted it completely. Skating is for fun. The competitions are to see how far you can go, and it sucks to lose, but the chance that you might win means you keep trying.

If James and his friends are doing laps, it's a mock punishment from their coach. In half an hour they'll be playing a friendly match against one another like nothing happened.

"I have to go take this off but… yeah, I'll stay. Is Sirius here today?"

James leans back and you follow his turned gaze to a lean figure across the way. As soon as you spot him, your ears tune in to his raucous laughter.

"You won't let him see me, will you?" you ask gently. "He'll never let me hear the end of it."

James shakes his head. "Of course not. I'll go distract him, alright? You run away."

You give him a very grateful nod. James turns away. You almost miss it, the double take that he does, like he wants one last look.

You skate off to the other side of the ice where your skate guards, water bottle and hoodie sit waiting. The guards snap on easily. You throw your hoodie over your arm and make a break for the changing rooms, Sirius’ incredulous voice tailing your retreat at the last second.

Once you've changed out of your costume and packed it away neatly in your locker, you walk back to the main auditorium, freaking out as gently as you're able to. You keep having conniptions about James, because James keeps looking at you like he has something to say. You've never been the object of a pretty boy's affections. You're worried that it's all in your head, and that you'll make a fool of yourself if you try to flirt back, but his face when he'd seen you in your costume gives you a terrifying new confidence.

James had been ecstatic. His eyes had roved all over you and he hadn't tried to hide it. His smile was huge and one hundred percent genuine: appreciative. Like he couldn't be happier to see you.

Is it wrong, then, to assume he likes you? No. You’ve known for a while.

"Oof," you mutter to yourself, stepping back into the general chill of the rink and its surrounding stands.

As you predicted, laps are over and the boys are in the thick of it, protection on, sticks shivering across ice with a sound like sharp blades. You stand behind a plexiglass screen and follow James' darting figure from afar. He's recognisable to you from the way he pulls back his arms, and the slight lean of his torso when he's standing still. You've spent too much time watching him.

Too much time, and yet the rules are still complicated in your mind. James and Sirius are arguing with Frank on the opposite side about icing, passionate enough that James pulls his helmet off and begins throwing threats at his friends.

"Mate, I'm actually about to drown myself," he warns, laughing through each word. "Are you listening to me? Take the penalty before I scream. Good god, man."

You laugh. James' head almost snaps clean off his neck with the speed at which he turns to look at you.

Sirius' head follows.

"Hey!" Sirius calls immediately, abandoning his skirmish to skate towards you. "What the fuck! I wanted to see the dress, you let James see it! Go put it back on right now."

"How'd you even know I was in a dress?"

"How did I know? James lit up like a Christmas tree, that's how I know. He's disgusting all the time and it's your fault."

"It's not really a dress," you say. Sirius is as nice as James but he's intimidating where James isn't. He's less smiles, more barking laughter. Less compliments, more playful chastisement. It's not his fault in any shape or form that you find his personality hard to respond to, but you do. "It's a bodysuit with a skirt. But sometimes… sometimes the girls do wear dresses."

"Yeah? I think he might pass out," Sirius says. Then, with a neater smile. "He told me to be nicer, I didn't know I was being mean, sorry. I really do wanna see your 'bodysuit with a skirt'. A little to make fun, but I bet you look good."

James sweeps in and promptly knocks Sirius sliding sideways. "She looked amazing, now stop antagonising her."

"I wasn't flirting, Jamie, no need to worry–"

"Be gone, you beast." James' voice is tight with an emotion you can't name, lest you have another ruinous conniption for all to see. "Fuck off."

Sirius snorts. There's a commotion, their unprofessional coach shouting about idiocy, a lack of commitment, and more laps if there isn't an improvement in team cohesion. James rolls his eyes at you as the coach drones on. You feel guilty for giggling.

"Sorry for Sirius." James puts his hand on the top of his stick, bottom lip sticking out a touch as he grimaces. "Sorry for me, I'm sorry. I was hoping he'd use, like, a modicum of subtlety, but he's a dickhead and I know that. He's also a sweetheart. I should've guessed he'd rush to apologise."

"No, don't be. He doesn't need to be sorry for anything, and you don't have to be sorry for looking out for me."

"I'm not. Definitely not sorry for that."

James pushes a curl behind his ear. His hair is lusciously shiny under stadium lights, dark dark dark and curled, sweet and thick.

"You're in trouble."

James looks over his shoulder toward his coach's booming disbelief. "What, with him? We're in the off-season right now, he needs to relax… I'm sorry, I feel like I'm not talking like a real human being right now." He laughs, awkward and charming at once. "Do I sound weird to you? Don't answer, that'll make it worse," he adds, his voice dipping into a genuine sadness. "Awful. Well, I'm going back over there to finish. Can you stay?"

Not do you want to. Can you? It feels incredibly intimate, his easy assumption without a lick of expectancy. If you said no, he'd frown and throw his chest back, hand over his heart like he's been shot in one of his dramatics, but he’d understand.

"I'm staying," you say.

"Brilliant. Okay."

James Potter visibly flusters, tucking that same rogue curl behind his ear. You want to offer him something, a tight braid or one of your headbands from your bag. He skates off and you don't get the chance.

You're a vestibule of conflicted emotion. James has been acting so unlike himself lately. He's shy at odd moments and quick to fluster, scratching at his neck or his biceps or his nose in what you've identified as his nervous tic. And you might be shy yourself but you're not stupid, he's practically a mirror.

Knowing James has a crush on you and accepting it are wildly different tasks.

What if you date and he realises it's a mistake? You'll lose your only good friend. No more practices with James on the sidelines shouting stories across the rink for you to hear. No more pep-talks on hard days, a big hand on your shoulder and his lilting superlatives in your ear. You're going to smash it, shortcake. No more half sandwiches when he forgets his lunch. No more laughing until your stomach hurts. No more of his cologne lignering on your shirt from a quick hug, the smell indescribable even now. Sandalwood? Dewberry? Something sweeter, fuller, bourbon vanilla?

James clatter off of the ice after a tremendous loss with high spirits. His helmet under his arm, mouth guard in hand, he walks on his skates to your bench and sits down with a smile. “That sucked.”

"It was a good game," you say.

"Can't win them all. You going home now?"

"Work. Gotta work my arms out too," you joke weakly, curling your arm inward.

"Can I walk you? I can change quickly."

"You don't have to–"

"Please?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, feeling sick. "Yeah, okay."

James guards up and leaves for the changing room. You sit on the bench tapping your knees together, wondering why it feels so awful to like him so much. Sirius and some other friends pack up soon afterward, and a few of them are nice enough to say goodbye as they pass.

"See you tomorrow," Sirius says warmly.

You grimace at him. You'd been attempting a smile, but that hadn't really panned out, meekness and nerves combined pulling the corners of your lips down.

He wavers.

"You know," he says, paused half a foot from you, "James is a big boy, he can handle rejection. He wouldn't be cruel to you, if you weren't interested."

"That's not it."

"No?" he asks, slim eyebrows raised.

"It's the opposite of that. He's my friend." You admit it to yourself as you admit it to him. James is not an acquaintance. "Do you know what I mean? I don't want…" to lose him.

Sirius nods. "You won't." His teeth flash as he smiles goodbye.

James looks gorgeous when he emerges, his brown face framed by thick, dark hair, the strands closest to his face damp from a quick face wash.

"You could put your hair up," you say, standing. "It's getting so long now."

"Is it awful?" he asks, hand moving to the longest pieces at his neck. It's above his shoulder, but only just.

"No… no, it's not awful."

You both start walking towards the exit without another word. You should've said how you really feel about his hair —how it's gorgeous, and you'd like to run your hands through it, feel the softness for yourself and see the look on his face as he's touched with care— but you're worried one thread of honestly will pull at the rest, unspooling your innermost thoughts for him to see. You aren't ready for that.

James puts a hand behind your shoulder as you pass out of the exterior glass doors and into the street. The rink isn't far from your work, only a ten minute walk, and the first two pass in silence.

"You really looked lovely, in your costume. When is that, the competition?"

"A week and two days."

"Are you travelling?"

You nod. "Not far, but." You wrap your arms around your front to stave off the cool chill of the whipping breeze. James' hair gets pushed into his eyes. "I have a bobble if you want it."

"I can't do anything with it. It's not long enough for a ponytail, and I can't plait to save my life. I wouldn't know where to start."

You're glad to be looking at the pavement in front of you rather than his face as you say, "I'd do it for you, but…"

James' shoe hits a pebble.

"I know," he says. "We're going down a one way street."

"Right." Your heart soars, your chest lightens, so glad he understands where you're coming from. "If we keep going on like this there isn't a way to move back if it doesn't work, and I just… don't want to lose you. I can't, James. You're my– you're my only real friend. I like you," you confess, heart pounding in your throat, under your tongue, all the worst places it could stand to be. "I do. And I know you'd still be nice to me if I didn't. Um…"

You flush with heat, realising what you've admitted, and what he hasn't.

Like he can read it on your face, James' walking slows, and he turns in to face you.

"I like you, too," he says. "I'm a bit mad for you, actually."

You'd known that. Hearing it is something else. You hadn't realised how strong the pull would feel after he said it aloud. You look up from his broad chest to meet his eyes, and see the magnetism you feel reflected in his gaze. His hand breeches the gap between your two bodies first, his fingertips and then the flat of his nails smooth as they slide across the top of your thigh. Careful, slow.

James puts his hand on your waist.

"You're worried we won't be friends, if we try to make whatever this is," —he smiles gently— "work, and we can't."

"Exactly. I… you're…"

James takes your upper arm into his free hand. "I promise it will work," he murmurs. He looks at you with a steadiness bordering on stern. "Why are you so sure it won't?"

"I'm worried," you say.

"You're always worrying. But…” His hand flexes around your bicep. “You told me before, the reason you keep skating in competitions even though you don't win many anymore, do you remember that? You said you keep trying because the thrill of almost winning is nearly as good as the real thing."

James' smile turns sheepish. "I'm supposed to say that I don't know if this will work. That the thrill of almost making it together will be worth it if we don't, but I already promised you we will." He leans in a little. You don't think he means to. "And won't that feel better than almost?"

You look up into his handsome face, feeling your heart reach flat out, might as well be running full tilt speeds of beating. Your breath catches.

"I don't want to end up alone," you confess on an exhale.

"You won't. I'll make sure you won't."

Wind curls his hair into his eyes.

You reach out, your shaking index finger skirting over his brow bone as you tuck the runaway strand behind his ear.

His grip grows tighter at your waist. Never cruel, but insistent, desperate almost, in the way that his thumb shudders across your hoodie. You can’t feel his skin over the thick layer of cotton and polyester but you can feel the heat, like a star blistered against your hip bone, like a begging wish. You want him to touch you more than you can stand — you’re pleading with him in your head to do what you can’t do.

It must show in your eyes, the pained pinch of your brow.

“We’ll take things slowly,” he says. “We won’t do anything we can’t undo. All you have to do is trust me. If… if you want to.”

You lick your lips. Taking things slowly. You can’t kiss him, can’t trick yourself into the gratification of having someone so darlingly gorgeous put his hands on you. If he kisses you now, you’ll forget all the reasons why this is a bad idea. You won’t be able to test the waters. If you kiss him, you can’t take it back. For either of you.

James’ hand smooths down the length of your hip as he pulls it back. The other falls toward your hand. Your mourn the loss of his touch, but he’s offering you his hand, his long fingers separated, gaps waiting to be filled.

“Slowly,” you say, putting your hand in his.

He gives your joined hands an experimental squeeze. “We’ve all the time in the world.”

James starts walking back the way you came, pulling you with him down the road.

“James, where are we?”

“I told you. We went down a one way street by accident. Or, I tried to tell you, but you started talking.” His smile says he knows exactly what’s happened, the nature of your misunderstanding. “You were distracted.”

You’ve confessed on the basis of a misunderstanding. “This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me,” you utter.

James swings your hand lightly.

“And the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says. “Since you’ll be late now anyhow, maybe we could go get a hot chocolate.”

You gawp at his pleased smile. What have I gotten myself into? you think. And then, louder, Wow, he looks so happy.

—

James strangles the neck of a bulging bouquet in his hands, green stems wrapped in cellophane choked between two stressed palms, ten rigid fingers. The smell of fresh pollen and something sweeter awakens at his abuse, but James can’t make himself put them down.

You may not care if you win or lose the competition today, but he does. He hasn’t actually ever been with you during one, and he wasn’t supposed to be here today — he had a game, and as soon as it was over he piled into Sirius’ car with his kit on and had his friend break a couple of road rules (read: not laws, but guidelines) involving trampling a garden and a precarious not u-turn. (Sirius may have broken a law or two, but they were daft laws, and James didn’t get anybody hurt.)

He knows it doesn’t matter. He said you’d take it slow, and you are. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he worried. It’s enough to know you’re his, exclusively if tenuously, that he can find you at the rink or walk you to work and not need a reason anymore, because he wants to see you, and that’s enough. He’d even taken you out on a date, a proper one after the hot chocolate, with nice clothes and wine and champagne at a weirdly intricate restaurant that served foie gras and played classical music in the background. It was cute, and James adored being able to pull out your seat, take your jacket off of your shoulders, kiss your cheek goodnight just a little further in than a friend might.

You’ve finished the jumps in your program now, and James is relieved and gutted at once. Relieved, because they hadn’t quite scared him so much on TV, and gutted, because you look beautiful every time. It’s insane to see your body twist and turn, land and leap with that level of precision. All that's left for you to do is dance. He likes the way it looks, eyes focused on the pull and fall of your arms, how you smile, and in that last moment, where you pull your body in as tight as you can and spin until James is sure he’d see stars.

You skate to the centre of the ice and bow to the judges, and you don’t notice James is standing there waiting for you until you’re off the ice completely.

“Oh,” he sees you say rather than hears. When you’re just close enough to hear, you say, “Jamie, hi. I thought you had your game,” and throw your arms around his shoulders. James is very tall and very wide, and there’s a bouquet of flowers between you, but it’s a great hug.

He hugs you so hard you start to bend backward under his weight, the soft material of your bodysuit so soft it feels wet under his hands. Your face is hot, and you're still trying to catch your breath after your program, quick breaths like small gusts of wind against his neck. He feels your arms tighten incrementally, impossibly, and he closes his eyes for a lavish second of burying his nose in your hair.

“I played, we lost, it was good fun. Now I’m here to watch my girl win big.”

You laugh and pull away, your eyes shimmering with joy, post-competition adrenaline. “I flubbed my first jump, did you see? I almost hit the ice.”

“You pulled up amazing,” he says.

He spies your coach (who isn’t so much your coach as a friend, Mel, from the rink who goes with anyone who can get far enough into competitions to need one) with your jacket standing a little ways away.

“Hey, Mel, could I have that?” James asks.

Mel gives him a knowing look. She hands it over and he shoves the flowers at you without waiting for a reaction, wanting to get you wrapped up warm again as fast as he can. You slide one arm at a time into the sleeves and don’t say a peep when he zips it closed.

“James,” you say. Your cheek dips a touch toward your shoulder. Fondness lined each seraphim feature. “Sirius is calling you.”

He frowns. He’s been hoping for a little thank you kiss (cheek or chin, whatever you could reach), and Sirius is neither. He turns to where you’re looking at Sirius standing a ways away with some other spectators.

“You have absolutely no game!” Sirius shouts. “None!”

“What’s your problem?” James shouts back.

“You’re supposed to kiss her now? You twit!” he shouts, vehement.

James turns away from him, “God, I’m sorry, he’s such a fucking idiot, he…”

You’re looking at him. Quiet, face turned up and eyes squinted, eyelashes kissing in the corners, your glossy lips turned up like you want to be kissed. He feels it like a cheesy movie and he doesn’t care, every moment spent with you condensed as his hands come alive and cradle your face of their own accord.

He isn’t expecting you to lift up on your skates and kiss him first.

He does get fireworks, thank you very much. James Potter has been waiting to kiss you since the very first time he saw you, on ice, curling out of a tight spin with a deliriously happy laugh. It feels like an explosion, and the crowd cheers behind you for a jump he can’t see and it doesn’t matter, it fits, it makes perfect sense that a whole room of people would be up on their feet as he presses his lips to yours.

“You looked so pretty,” he tells you, nose sliding against yours as he holds himself back.

You kiss his bottom lip, another burst of floral scents erupting between you as you try not to slip back on your skate blades. “Thanks, James.”

He smiles into your mouth, melts into your hold, and takes another heart-thrumming kiss.

You’re runner up in the competition. You’re the only girl who isn’t on the pedestal that gets a bouquet of flowers, and likely the only one who doesn’t care, not one bit. You smile at James like you’ve won the gold on the way out of the centre, your hand latched firmly around his.

“Sirius.” You stop in the car park, flowers pressed to your chest. James stops beside you with your skate bag swung over his shoulder. “What happened to your car?” you ask.

Sirius kicks a new dent. “Friendship,” he says grimly.

James leans toward you, his lips at your ear. “Bender. Best not to ask about it. He’s sensitive.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Okay.”

He kisses your temple. “Thanks, angel.”

･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ

thank you so much for reading! please reblog if you enjoyed, it makes such a difference for me <3<3<3<3<3

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

1K notes · View notes

baeshijima · 24 days

Text

as if i dont have enough wips to think abt, the thought of figure skater!blade is in my head....

like,,,, just imagine him in the figure skating attire, in a form-hugging black muscle tee which flatters his physique and grey sweats during practice, in a pretty black or navy body shirt with matching slim-fit trousers — should there be any accessories other than his signature mismatch pair of earrings, it would consist of gold trimmings and crimson accents for small, intricate detailings, sometimes a few sequins or crushed jewels would be added depending on the genre of performance.

(oftentimes he will silently revel in your awe at each of his new costumes, his confidence boosting at your approval. if you're there to watch his practice in the rink, he will go the extra mile to show off in hopes of impressing you. if no one else is occupying the rink, he will skate his way over to you before taking your hand, pulling you along with him after getting you into your own pair of skates, his hand entangled with yours as he gently spins you into his arms. he doesn't let go of you; if you fall and tumble onto the ice, then he will gladly go down with you if it means he can still hold you.)

imagine him with his hair in differing styles; sometimes he will leave it loose and flowy, other times he will have it styled in a half-bun or ponytail. during competitions he will have a hair ornament more often than not, one which compliments his chosen costume and genre, with fans wondering how secure it must be to not fall out with all the jumps and spins he does.

(if you ask, he will let you play and fiddle with his hair. he finds himself relaxing at your slightest of touch, the tenseness of his muscles melting away from your warmth, scent, and laughter. sometimes he will ask for you to be the one who styles his hair before a competition, proudly wearing the hair ornament and style you yourself chose for him. if anything, he finds himself performing better when there is a remnant of you with him out on the rink.)

imagine him in a big puffer jacket, his mask-covered face tucked behind the collar with his hands stuffed into the pockets as he makes his way to the venue. it is all-white with black trimmings and stops just below his knees. there's not a moment where he isn't seen without it — as he walks to the venue, as he waits for his turn to come up, as he goes about in public, as he sits in the 'kiss and cry' awaiting his score from the judges, as he slouches against his chair in the changing room before and after his performance; the only time he is seen without his signature puffer jacket is when he is on the rink.

(blade likes the sight of you in his clothes, his puffer jacket in particular. he likes the way it swallows you in your entirety, the way your eyes shine and laughter tinkles with delight makes his heart swell when showing him how far past your hands the sleeves go, and the way both your conjoined hands easily fit inside his pocket, to name a few. but most of all, blade likes the way your scent lingers on the fabric, eventually developing a habit of burying his nose along the inside collar to bask in what remains when you can't be with him pre-competition. in those moments, he makes a mental reminder to have you wear it again so that your lingering perfume can refresh.)

yeah... figure skater!blade.....

#blade in a muscle tee never fails to do smth to me like i need that image OUT of my head but it refuses to go #i want to write a full longfic of this au.... oh no.......#someone sedate me. pls. i cant handle this anymore.#sophie talks : concepts <3 #blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines

290 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months

Text

On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

This was requested by anon, but I'm not including the request because I'm going to write at least one more part and I don't want to spoil anything. But thanks so much for requesting, anon my love! I'm really having fun with it :) Also, just a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about figure skating, so while I tried to look most things up, there may be some inaccuracies

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

cw: mention of injury (no details), Sirius Black is a relentless flirt

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 3.3k words

You want to be kinder to your friend, but you’re a bit angry with him. You’re not great at hiding it, either.

“It’s not like I can fucking help it.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and you do your best to undo the petulant pout of your lips.

“I know,” you sigh. “I know that. I’m sorry, it’s just, seriously? Why can’t Coach give me someone else?”

“You know why.”

You blow out another huffy breath, because you do know, but that doesn’t make you like it any better. Sirius is our best bet, your coach had told you, firm and impassive to your protests. He’s great on the ice, he always scores well, and Reg can teach him the routine while they’re at home. If we used anyone else, we’d lose time while they learned it. You’d sulked, and he’d given you a stern look. So suck it up.

And you’re trying. Kind of. You wouldn’t ordinarily consider yourself an ill-tempered person, but Sirius Black brings out the worst in you. Always has. He’s Regulus’ irritating older brother, always around to pull your pigtails when you were little and make fun of everything you and Reg enjoyed as you got older. And in everything you love about your best friend, Sirius is the opposite. Where Regulus is restrained, Sirius is brash; where Regulus is content with a few close friends, Sirius needs an entire posse around him at all times; where Regulus has a quick, quiet wit, Sirius seems to feel a joke isn’t worth telling if everyone can’t hear it. He’s loud and facetious and insufferable, and now he’s your partner in the most intimate routine you’ve ever done.

“I know,” you groan again, falling back onto Regulus’ bed. “I just wish I could change it. Who do I have to bribe to get you a miracle recovery?”

Regulus scoffs, but he lies down beside you sympathetically. “The doctor said it should be better by next season, but a fractured ankle doesn’t fix itself in a couple weeks.” His voice turns bitter. “Trust me, I asked.”

You wince guiltily. You’re not the only one suffering from Regulus’ incapacity. You’d both been practicing this routine for weeks. It was one of the most challenging and showy either of you have ever done. You were both supposed to have the chance to really shine, showing off your skills with complicated jumps and throws, some of which you’d never attempted before. But now Reg wouldn’t get the change.

Ironically, it had been a fairly simple routine that had taken him down. One of your go-tos. You’d been performing it together for years, but maybe that sense of security was dangerous too. It’s too easy to land wrong, and one tiny slip had fractured Regulus’ ankle right in the middle of competition, forcing your coach to come help you get him off the ice.

You’d cried more than he had as the on-site medics had inspected it, completely unhelpful but unable to bear seeing your best friend’s features twisted in agony. It turned out that was nothing compared to the look on his face when they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to skate on it for months.

“How does it feel?” you ask, more gently now, and Regulus’ scowl softens in response. “Does it still hurt all of the time?”

“Not really, only when I walk on it. And they said I should be able to do that without much pain soon, just no jumping or anything.”

Your heart aches with sympathy, and you have to resist the urge to reach over and touch his hand, his hair. Regulus has never much liked being touched, which you understand, but it makes him a difficult person to comfort. You resort to your method with the highest success rate: distraction.

“Well, at least the cast is a fun accessory,” you say, forcing levity into your voice. “We could draw on it, it’ll be like having tattoos.”

“Pass,” Reg replies disinterestedly. “Tattoos are more my brother’s aesthetic than mine.”

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes, unable to stopper your irritation at the return of the conversation to Sirius. “Do you think Coach will let me have a new partner if I kneecap him?”

“If you’re going to kneecap someone,” comes a cool voice from the open doorway, “it’s probably best not to ponder your scheme so loudly in their house.”

You raise your head to find Sirius leaning against the door frame, arms crossed insouciantly in front of his chest. He looks at you with the eyes he shares with his brother, but where Regulus’ tend towards cool grayness, Sirius’ always seem to waver between gray and blue, like the sky during a storm. They’re flashing now, amusement mingled with cunning, as you meet them with a glare.

“Maybe I’m just giving you a red herring,” you say smoothly, “so you’ll never see my actual plan coming.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you, shortcake,” Sirius replies, grinning when your face goes hot at the nickname, “but I think I’ll start wearing protective gear just in case. Reg, think you could revoke this one’s key until after the competition?”

Regulus pretends to contemplate this, staring up at the ceiling. “No, she’ll only start coming in through my window again.” You grin at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in response, remembering all the cuts and bruises you used to have when you were younger from climbing the old tree outside his window, late at night when you were both supposed to be asleep. The first few times you’d tried, rotting branches had broken and fallen from beneath you, but you’d kept at it until you’d plotted a safe course. You’re sure Reg would have snuck downstairs to let you in the front door if you’d ask him, but better you get in trouble than him. “Anyway, it’ll be entertaining to watch.”

“Whatever happened to brotherly loyalty?” Sirius feigns hurt, but gets past it quickly. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep in mind that if I can’t perform, there won’t be a performance. I’ve already learnt half the routine, and I think you might struggle to find someone else skilled enough to catch up in time.” He winks at you, and you scoff, pointedly unaffected. “So I’ll see you at practice on Monday, sunshine,” he gloats, and disappears down the hallway.

You wait until you hear the click of his door to lay back down, passing a hand over your face exhaustedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with that all of the time,” you moan.

Regulus chuckles wryly. “Welcome to my world.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“Y/N,” Coach calls frustratedly. “You have to let him throw you, not jump.”

You’ve almost just followed in Regulus’ footsteps for the upteenth time today, which isn’t exactly in line with your plan of getting Sirius injured, but you figure will do in a pinch. The truth is, your focus has been off all day. Switching to a new partner is always hard; you’re used to Regulus, you’ve spent years learning how to skate together, to anticipate the other’s movements, and finding that rhythm with another person takes work. But learning how to skate with Sirius is more challenging than even you had expected. He’s distracting, for one thing. He keeps smiling at you, making faces when you mess up, and whispering obnoxious little pointers when you’re in the middle of a complicated move. And his own movements are bigger and more elaborate than you’re used to, lacking Regulus’ control. You can see, objectively, how it works for him. It gives his performance that extra bit of artistry that Regulus has often been accused of needing, but it makes him more difficult to anticipate. He’s stronger than Reg, too, so he throws you higher, flings you farther, grips you tighter. It’s a lot to learn, but your coach doesn’t seem very sympathetic to your plight. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve wasted almost an entire day of practice and are undoing weeks of hard work learning the choreography with your repeated mistakes.

You nod at him again, moving to reset, but Sirius slides in front of you.

“Hey,” he says, “I can feel you tensing when I go to throw you. Is something wrong?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, breath still puffing into the air between you from the exertion of your leap. “No,” you reply shortly. “I’ll fix it.”

And really, you should have been able to fix it a dozen tries ago. You’ve practiced throws with Regulus for years now. You’re supposed to push down on Sirius’ shoulders, use the momentum of your spin to give you a little boost, and let him do the rest. But you can’t seem to manage the last part. Sirius’ hands on your waist had discomposed you from the first try, and you keep finding yourself trying to jump off the ground before he has a chance to lift you. It doesn’t work, you know it’s never going to work, but it’s like some fight-or-flight instinct takes over every time Sirius’ hands get close to you. You suspect it’s because you’re so used to Regulus’ touch aversion; this routine is meant to seem romantic, but between the two of you, it had always felt chaste, more about the mechanics of the movements than the meanings behind them. Sirius loves to be touched, though, probably too much. He teases you about how cold your hand is in his, the tentative way you touch his shoulder when you’re supposed to grip it, how you jolt a little when he rests his hand on the small of your back. You’re on edge every second he’s around you, which by the very nature of the routine, is often.

And so you keep jumping, which causes Sirius’s throw to be stunted when he can’t get a good grip on you, which causes you to fumble your landing. Every. Time.

“You can trust me, you know,” Sirius persists, looking half earnest for once in his life. “I’m not going to launch you too high or anything. Just let me do the work.”

“I’ve got it,” you growl, and Sirius raises his hands in mocking surrender, moving out of your way. You glide back into position, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You don’t need his advice, you’ve been doing just fine without it for years. You’ll get it on your own.

☆ ☆ ☆

“Why is it,” Regulus drawls, coming into your room, “that when you mess up at practice, it’s still my problem to solve?” He sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb the open bottle of nail polish you’re using. “I’m not even your partner right now, but both Coach and Sirius are complaining to me that you can’t sync up with him.”

You keep your eyes on your fingertips, sweeping the brush across your nails in careful, measured strokes. “I’m working on it.”

“What’s the problem?” He sounds more puzzled than frustrated. “Sirius is annoying, but he’s not actually an asshole. He won’t sabotage you.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” you say. “I just…I can’t get it right. I don’t know. He’s so different to you, and I can’t figure out how to make it work.”

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon,” Regulus replies, not without sympathy. “There’s only a couple of weeks until comp, and it seems like the both of you will need all the practice you can get together.”

You know he’s right, and that’s exactly what you’re dreading.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next practice goes about the same, the only difference being your coach’s mounting exasperation. Actually, no, there is one other change: Sirius’ movements become smoother, more sure, as he grows increasingly familiar with the choreography.

So basically, he’s getting better while you’re getting worse.

Though you all know there’s no time to waste with the competition coming up, Coach ends practice early in his irritation, letting you go with strict instructions to get your shit together before you meet again tomorrow. You promise him you’ll try, though you’re both coming to know that won’t be enough.

You take your time unlacing your skates, shrugging on your jacket and stopping to buy a hot chocolate from the vendor up front before going out into the brisk autumn air. You’d started this new routine after your first practice with Sirius, stalling so that he’d have a head start and you wouldn’t have to walk home in the same direction, but you take two steps outside before you realize your plan has been foiled.

“Coach will kill you if he catches you with one of those,” you say, and the cherry of Sirius’ cigarette burns orange as he takes a drag, eyes lighting with playful defiance.

He blows the smoke away from you. “You won’t tattle on me though, will you, sunshine?”

“Reg won’t like it either.”

“He knows,” Sirius says, as though Regulus’ opinion is of little concern to him. “You took your time in there. Ready to go?”

You don’t try to keep the suspicion from your face. “You were waiting on me?”

“I figure we could use some extra practice.” He drops his cigarette, stamping it out half smoked. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.” You give him an indignant look, and Sirius grins. “C’mon, it’s too cold out here for those leggings.”

You follow him reluctantly, sipping at your hot chocolate because damn it, he’s right. The wind had been cool when you’d gone into practice, but nightfall has stolen the little bit of warmth the sun provided. You wouldn’t be surprised if you woke tomorrow to find the trees prematurely bare of their leaves.

The Blacks’ house isn’t far, and your eager pace gets you there in a hurry. You’re thinking you’ll go to Regulus’ room as soon as you get inside, ditching Sirius and whatever humiliation he has planned for you, but when you approach the house, every window is dark.

“They’re at my aunt’s for dinner,” Sirius answers your unasked question, unlocking the door. “I begged off because of practice.” He laughs as you follow him inside. “Try not to look so happy about it, shortcake.”

You roll your eyes, starting up the stairs that go to the bedrooms. “When will Reg be home?”

“Late.” Sirius’ voice is close behind you. “You’re welcome to wait for him, of course, but we may as well make use of the time.” On the top step, you whirl, relishing the opportunity to look down on him for once.

“Fine. What are we doing here?”

You don’t know if you’d hoped he’d be intimidated, but Sirius appears as unbothered as always. “Like I said. Practice.” He brushes past you, leading the way into his bedroom. After a moment, you follow grudgingly.

Like everything about Sirius, his room is loud. Almost every inch of wall space is covered in band posters, medals from competitions, pictures of his friends. There are clothes strewn across the bed and shoes scattered about the floor, but if Sirius is even conscious of the mess, he doesn’t mention it.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Sirius turns, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re surprisingly determined. “We need to figure out whatever it is that’s been holding you up,” he says. “We’ve gotta get past it.”

You feel like stomping your foot, but very maturely refrain. You’re about done with the subject of your failures for the day. “I don’t know what it is.”

“I think you do,” Sirius says cooly. “Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He grins. “Because you just admitted it.”

“You—I just asked how,” you splutter angrily.

Sirius gives you a knowing look. “Right, so it has nothing to do with you being afraid of me touching you?”

Your face heats. How could he know that? You look at him for a moment, and he looks back at you with that cool, even gaze, like he thinks he’s got you all figured out. As much as you resent him for it, he’s right. You’ve got no shot at a decent score in this competition if you can’t get past your mental block around Sirius. “I’m not afraid.” You roll your eyes, downplaying the admission. “I’m just not used to it, okay? I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but you’re not exactly a carbon copy of my usual partner.”

Sirius grins again, and for the first time you get the sense that he’s laughing with you instead of at you. “I have been made aware of that a few times over our lives, yes. But okay, you’re not used to it. Let’s get you used to it.”

You cross your arms over your chest, not sure where he’s going with this but fairly sure you won’t like it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to throw you until you can handle it without flinching. Sound good?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “The rink is closed, and there’s nowhere for me to land here.”

“Sure there is.” Sirius pats his bed cheerfully. You stay right where you are. Something changes in his expression, and you think you might detect a bit of kindness behind his teasing tone. “C’mon, sweetheart. I don’t know what Reggie’s told you, but I don’t actually bite.”

You huff, but go to stand in front of him. He’s shed his coat, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, and the sleeves grip his biceps. Even in the poor lamplight, you can see his eyes changing colors like schools of fish as they swim. Now blue, now gray.

“Alright.” Sirius sets his hands on your waist, and you tense automatically. “See, that’s the habit we have to break. Relax for me, shortcake.”

His words certainly don’t help, but you do your best, unclenching the muscles in your stomach and legs.

“Perfect,” he says, then launches you into the air. You barely have time to gasp before you’re landing on his bed, springs squealing in protest. “Okay, next time, try to spin or something.”

“I wasn’t ready,” you protest.

Sirius laughs. “I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Let’s try to do it like practice this time, yeah? So you go over there,” he motions to the door, “and run towards me. When I throw you, try to spin if you can, but don’t try to stick the landing or anything. Just land on your butt.”

You roll your eyes, moving to the door. “Yeah, I’m in no hurry to break my ankle like Reg, thanks.”

He winks. “Just making sure.” He spreads his feet a bit, bracing himself. “Alright, let’s give it a try.”

It’s easy to remember Sirius is an older brother when he gets all bossy like this, but you comply, gaining as much speed as you can on the way to him before he’s gripping you around the waist, tossing you into the air. You manage a half-turn before your back end hits the bed.

“Better!” Sirius exclaims, beaming at you. “You still seemed a bit tense, but at least you didn’t try to jump by yourself. Again?”

You can’t help a little smile of your own as you nod, pushing up off the bed and repositioning yourself at the door.

☆ ☆ ☆

When Regulus gets home, he finds you sprawled on Sirius’ bed with his brother sitting beside you, both thoroughly worn out.

“Did you fix it?” he asks.

You grin at the ceiling, wondering if it’s your pride or Sirius’ you’re feeling in the air, or both. “I think so.”

“Coach might get the chance to be mad at me instead, tomorrow,” Sirius laments. “My arms are fucking dead. Too many throws and I might drop you on the ice.”

“Don’t break my partner,” Regulus says warningly.

“Yeah,” you second, hauling yourself into a sitting position and going to meet Regulus at the door, “please don’t.”

You can hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he says, “I won’t. See you at practice tomorrow, shortcake?”

It’s harder than usual to muster up annoyance for the teasing nickname. “See you tomorrow.”

416 notes · View notes

vscabarca · 1 month

Note

Heyyy! Could you write an imagine with Gavi where Y/N is a professional ice skater? And she's like super competitive and when she makes all those tricks Gavi fears that she will fall but she doesn't. Something fluff idk 🥺😭<3

his figure skater - pablo gavi

summary: gavi loves the sport you do, but worries you‘ll hurt yourself

genre: fluff

a/n: what a cute request:3 i don‘t know much about figure skating, but tried my best:p

———

„You look like you’re about to freeze to death.“ You laughed when you saw Gavi sit there with his puffer jacket, the hood pulled up and the zipper up to his chin.

„Yeah that’s because I am soon. How are you not freezing?“ He grinned, placing his hands into the pockets, shifting around to keep himself warm.

„I‘m used to it, besides if I would just sit there like you do, I‘d be freezing too.“ You countered with a smirk and kissed his cheek before going back onto the ice rink.

„I would‘ve broken my leg the second I stepped a foot on the ice! Also, I‘m not allowed to do dangerous sports says my contract.“ He shouted after you, but you just waved him off with a grin, continuing with your practice.

An important competition was approaching and you did everything you could to be in top form and win.

You were on the ice training everyday, sometimes going to the gym afterwards, practicing you routine over and over again until you hit perfection. Gavi admired your determination, happy that his girlfriend is also a professional athlete.

Ever since you’ve met him, he was proud of how good you were but also just so worried. You worked hard to be a professional athlete in the competitive sport, but he was just so scared you would once fall and hurt yourself badly.

Like today, Gavi stopped by after his own practice, waiting for you to finish. He could barely watch. These flips and tricks made him feel dizzy only from looking. Seeing you fall from time to time bruising your knees made him wide his eyes in worry.

Still, he supported you and was coming to your competitions if he had the time.

———

„Gavi it’s just a bruise, it only hurts if you keep pressing your finger on it.“ You chuckled, slapping his hand away from the purple splotch.

Your boyfriend saw the rather large bruise on your hip after you emerged from a shower, immediately stumbling over to you, asking where it was from.

„I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself. I feel nauseous when I see you lay there on the ice after a fall.“ Gavi spoke, tracing your bruise with his fingers subconsciously. „Also, I‘ve heard if you get bruise after bruise on the same spot, it can lead to inflammations.” He lectured and pulled you closer.

„Baby this is my job. Falling is a part of the process, like fouling in football. And who told you about that bruise thing?” You asked with a chuckle, scooting closer to him in bed.

„I‘ve read it online…” Gavi mumbled, arranging the duvet for you two.

You‘ve told him countless times it didn’t hurt and that you were used to it, but he just wouldn’t listen.

„Imagine how I feel when you put your head where others put their feet.“ You continued, which got him thinking. Gavi understood what you were on about and acknowledged the fact that his sport could be dangerous too.

Since that night, Gavi didn’t express his worries vocally anymore, not wanting to stress you out too much. Still, he bit his nails while you were competing, just like you were doing during his games.

———

„Be careful ok?“ Gavi had asked you just before it was time for you to compete. You nodded and kissed him quickly. The music blasted through the speakers, making you fade out everything around you. Gavi bounced his leg nervously watching you twirl and jump around the ice rink. You executed your routine perfectly, not one ounce of nervousness showing.

Gavi was the first one who started cheering as the song was over, whistling while you smiled proudly towards the judges.

Your boyfriend was already waiting for you, embracing you in his arms. Your face was mushed against his chest, giggling at how Gavi swayed you from side to side.

„You were amazing.“ He spoke, finally letting go to place a sweet kiss on your lips.

„Thank you. You weren’t worried?“ You asked, already knowing his answer but asking anyway.

„Of course I was. I was shitting my pants the whole time.“

People turned their heads as you two erupted in laughter at Gavi‘s comment, but walked hand in hand outside, not feeling bothered by their looks.

#gavi x reader #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #gavi one shot #gavi #fc barcelona #barça #football one shot #football x reader #fcb #fermin lopez x reader #pedri x reader #pedri

187 notes · View notes

cieloclercs · 10 months

Note

Could you do a Oscar piastri fluff with his figure skating girlfriend

here it is! hope you enjoy it <3

warnings. flufff!! kissing, oscar is too cute word count. 1.4k

read below the cut

𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 | oscar piastri

You giggle softly as he eyes the ground mistrustfully. It's frozen over, slippery enough to potentially send him tumbling the moment he steps one foot onto it. He can sense exactly what will happen even if it hasn't yet, and he isn't about to take the chance, despite your reassurances that you won't let him fall.

“Babe, I'm right here." you tell him with a chuckle. Still, he glares at the ground, as if he thinks it's about to jump up and bite him. You fight the urge to tell him the ice isn't something to be afraid of, but when you see the little pout on his lips, it's overtaken by a giddy smile.

The last thing Oscar wants to do is face plant in front of his relatively new girlfriend of only a few months. That would be embarrassing enough besides, even if you weren't a professional figure skater with countless medals and accolades to your name. He can't think of anything more mortifying, so he stays glaring at the ice beneath your skates, gripping onto your outstretched hand. He should have known that this little outing to a frozen lake, which is often turned into a temporary public skating rink when the temperature in the area drops low enough, would have some ulterior motive behind it. You've been hinting at teaching him how to skate for weeks; but Oscar has two left feet, and, as he's already reiterated, he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of you.

You can't help it when your smile drops. Though you tell him it's ok, you'll just skate on your own for a bit, your disappointment is unmistakable. To Oscar, that's far worse than slipping on his ass and embarrassing himself. He wants to make you smile everyday, but clearly, this is doing the exact opposite.

"Alright, I'll do it." he says, sucking in a deep breath in preparation. Your grin is back the second the words leave his mouth. It seems to light up the whole world for a few seconds.

"I promise I'll be right here if you start to slip." you say to him as he takes a tentative step onto the ice, biting your lip to contain your excitement. Oscar raises an eyebrow.

"Just so you know —" he slides his second foot onto the ice, with a sharp intake of breath, "— If I do fall, I'm taking you down with me." he looks to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. It almost masks his fear. You can't help but rise to the challenge.

"You better not fall then." you shoot back. Oscar grimaces ever so slightly. He doesn't want to estimate what the odds of him slipping versus the odds of him not slipping are. They surely aren't in his favour.

He clings tightly onto your forearms as you skate them both towards the middle of the rink. Somehow, you're managing to do it backwards, as effortlessly as if you're taking a stroll down the street. Oscar is in awe of you; so much, you have to remind him to keep an eye on where he's putting his feet, or he really will end up falling over. He looks away sheepishly, the faintest of blushes appearing on his cheeks. You try to dismiss it as nothing but the cold. You're not fooling anybody.

"Oscar, honey, you're too tense." you laugh once you've made it to the middle of the rink, and move away from him slightly, "You need to relax."

Instead of heeding your words, he simply grips onto your hands tighter, pulling you closer towards him.

"If I relax I'm going to fall." he hisses, glancing down at his feet in a panic. You giggle, shaking your head at his dramatics.

"No, you're more likely to fall if you're tense." you assure him. He has no choice but to trust you — you are the professional, after all. Slowly, he lets his grip on your hands loosen, and his legs, which had been locked out stiffly, soften a little at the knees. Almost instantly, he feels less unsteady on the ice. His eyes search for yours, shining with triumph, and you grin back at him proudly.

You lead him in a few short laps, always holding onto his hand, but loosening your grip with each glide. Oscar grows more comfortable. He's still concentrating hard on where he puts his feet, but you manage to get him to talk at the same time, taking his mind off the potential fear of falling.

“Can I let go?” you ask him on about the fourth lap. He shoots you a startled look at first, but then he takes note of the way you’re barely doing anything to support him now, only your fingers linked. Hesitantly, he lets you loosen your grip, until he’s standing, completely unaided, on the ice. For a moment, he looks as though he doesn’t know what to do. Then you skate backwards slowly away from him. Of course his natural instinct is to follow.

“See! I told you you could do it!” you cheer. Oscar laughs at your excitement, but he’s grinning too, proud that he’s got you to smile like this, and also proud that he’s somewhat learned a new skill in the process, especially one which means so much to you. He’s confident enough on his skates to chase you when you turn tail and glide away from him, wobbling only slightly as he tries to catch up. Your giggles catch him first, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

You could skate rings around him if you really wanted to, but you let him catch up after only a few minutes. His arms wrap around you, and you spin across the ice together, laughing until you’re both out of breath.

“Not bad for a beginner.” you huff out as you both come to a stop. Oscar grins, shuffling round until you’re stood almost chest to chest, his hands gripping your hips only partially for support.

“I learnt from the best.” he retorts with a smirk. You blush and roll your eyes.

“Don’t flatter me.” you mutter.

“But it’s true.” he persists, “You are the best, miss World Champion.”

You groan, hitting him lightly in the chest in protest, which sends you sliding a little further away from him. But Oscar is quick on his feet, pulling you back in by your arm until you all but fall into him. His hands find the sides of your face, tilting it upwards until your gaze meets his, all flushed cheeks and dimples and uncontrollable smiles. He can’t resist the urge to kiss you, not when you’re gazing up at him with those big doe eyes he adores so much. You giggle into his mouth, letting him pull you in impossibly close. Oscar’s playing with fire when his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, before pushing into your mouth. The innocence of the kiss fades slightly. Your hand flies up to tug on his hair.

But when you’re this close to him, Oscar feels a little light headed; distracted by your warmth and the feeling of your body pressed into his. It’s when you pull his hair a little harder that he loses his balance. Everything is in slow motion for a moment, as his feet skitter uncontrollably across the ice, slipping out from underneath him before he has the chance to save himself. He breaks away from the kiss, eyes meeting your in a panic. You quickly realise what’s happening when he grasps hold of your arm in a desperate attempt to stay upright. But his efforts are to no avail. In the next moment, he’s toppling backwards onto the ice, dragging you down with him.

You land in a heap of tangled limbs and hissed curses. Poor Oscar has broken your fall, but made it worse for himself in the process. You’re on his chest, held there by his arm around your back. He groans.

“Are you ok?” you ask, biting your lip anxiously. Oscar looks up. You search his eyes for any sign of pain, yet you can find none. Suddenly, he breaks out into a grin, laughing softly. You’re not really sure what’s so funny, but just hearing his laughter has you giggling along with him.

Oscar kisses you again, the coldness of the ice seeping into his back as your warm lips move against his. He’d been so afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you before, but maybe, he thinks, falling on his face is the best thing he could have done today — especially if it means you kiss him like this afterwards.

liked by oscarpiastri and 23,537 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

y/n_y/l/n yes, he fell (four times)

view all comments…

oscarpiastri shh don’t expose me

y/n_y/l/n i’m only stating the facts 😔

oscarpiastri *three times

y/n_y/l/n no need to lie now is there

oscarpiastri don’t listen to her, she also fell!

y/n_y/l/n THAT DOESN’T COUNT YOU DRAGGED ME DOWN WITH YOU

landonorris this is disgusting (love you guys)

y/n_y/l/n thanks lan 🥰🥰

oscarpiastri love you too mate 😘

username oscar? 🤨

username they’re so adorable 🫠

username when is it my turn

username they make me feel so single

username what is with happy couples and rubbing their love in our faces 😞

logansargeant @/oscarpiastri your girlfriend’s a figure skater and you can’t even stay on your feet?

oscarpiastri shut up

y/n_y/l/n @/logansargeant maybe he needs more lessons?

oscarpiastri absolutely not!

requests are open! send something in if you’d like <3

676 notes · View notes

tkwrites · 6 months

Text

Worth the Wait - Quinn Hughes x ofc

photos from pinterest

Title: Worth the Wait

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: Swearing, grief, mentions of a dead mother. Mostly, it’s fluff.

Summary: It takes more than a week, but Quinn and Sarah finally go on their second date.

Word count: 5,500

Comments: This one is a little long, but I felt like all the parts were needed to flesh out the characters the way I wanted. I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 is being planned as we speak!

Worth the Wait

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Hey Sarah, I just wanted to let you know we’re headed out on the road, so I’ll be out of town for the next week.

Quinn sent this message before boarding the plane. He’d never done something like this before - tell someone he was interested in that he wouldn’t be home. He didn’t want Sarah to think he was ignoring her, or putting off their next date.

Can I see you when you get back?

Definitely, he sent, a giddy, effervescent feeling in his stomach.

The following evening, for the first time in her life, Sarah sat down to watch a hockey game.

Eunice was in their living room, anxiously awaiting the start of the game. Currently watching people talk about betting odds in her Canucks t-shirt, a stuffed orca on the cushion next to her.

Sarah had lived with Eunice for a little over a year. They were friends in the way two people coming together for convenience could be friends. She was nice and sweet, and made the best mac & cheese Sarah had ever eaten. She was also dramatic and had a borderline obsessive love for many things, including the Canucks. Sarah had never paid much attention to that particular obsession, as it didn’t cross over into her life, until now.

“You okay?” Eunice asked when Sarah sat down.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You never watch hockey with me, I thought maybe you were sad or something.”

“Oh, no, my project is done, so I’m free for the night and thought I’d join.”

Eunice squealed and threw her arms around Sarah, “I’m so excited to introduce you to the best sport in the world!”

Feeling instantly overwhelmed, Sarah put on a brave face, and watched as the national anthem began to play. The camera scanned over the players, 5 stood separate from the others in a line, and her heart jumped into her throat when Quinn’s face came across the screen. He looked impassively at the camera. He seemed so different than when they had met, determined and competitive, not so quiet and interested. It was strange to reconcile the two as the same person.

“What does the C mean?”

“It means he’s the captain. That’s Quinn Hughes. He’s like, the best defenseman in the league.”

"Isn't he a little small to play defense?" Sarah asked, surprised.

Eunice looked personally affronted. "Hughes is an amazing skater, which is the most important thing in being a good defenseman. Defense in Hockey is more tactical than super physical."

When the game finally began, Sarah was instantly overwhelmed. They moved so quickly, and it was damn near impossible for her to keep track of the puck. There were terms being thrown around by the commentators that were so niche, she didn’t even know where to begin figuring them out.

“What’s icing?” she asked when there was a commercial break.

“So, it’s when a team shoots the puck to the other end of the rink, but no one is there to receive it.”

She knew that wasn’t quite right. There were plenty of times before the break when that very thing happened, but no icing was called, and couldn’t the goalie receive it and negate that altogether?

“And there’s no out of bounds?”

“Nope. Just the rink. You can get penalized for shooting the puck over the glass though.”

The game continued, and after a scuffle, Quinn skated off to sit by himself.

“Why is he there?”

“He got a penalty. High sticking,” Eunice said without any additional explanation.

The announcers replayed the offense in slower motion, showing how in the midst of a play, Quinn had accidentally hit another player in the jaw with his stick.

“That doesn’t seem like it should be a penalty when it was an accident,” Sarah said. The other guy wasn’t even bleeding.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s part of the game. Keep control of your stick all the time.”

The camera moved back to Quinn in the little cell. He removed his helmet and rubbed a towel over his face and hair before replacing it.

Eunice sighed dramatically, “God, he’s so hot.”

Sarah had to agree. He did look hot - supremely so. Flushed and sweaty, it was difficult to keep her mind off imagining him in her bed like that.

“Wait, why is it 4 against 5?” Sarah asked as the game began again.

“Cause Hughes got a penalty,” Eunice said, as if this was all the explanation Sarah should need.

Sarah stopped asking questions. Every time Eunice had tried to explain something in the past, she would get so excited, she would leave out key points, or assume Sarah had background knowledge she didn’t, and Sarah would end up even more confused. She often had to look up whatever they were talking about after their conversation anyway.

The period ended, and Eunice left the living room.

Sarah continued reading the article about the basics of hockey she had pulled up on her phone at the last commercial break. She wished she could watch with someone who would patiently explain each rule as it passed in the game. She had learned Football from her dad that way. Maybe Quinn could explain it to her.

“Okay, so what’s really up?” Eunice asked when she returned, plopping back down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of caramels.

“What do you mean?”

Holding up one finger, she said, “you’re watching hockey with me,” she held up a second, “you’re trying to understand it,” a third finger went up, “and you’re, like, actually interested in sports?”

“I’m interested in sports,” Sarah defended. “We’re a football family. My uncle coached.”

“Whatever,” she waved her hand dismissively, “it’s a dumb American sport anyway.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, but didn’t take the bait.

“All I’m saying is that we’ve lived together for over a year, and you have never, not once, expressed any kind of interest in Hockey and I want to know what changed.”

The commercials ended and the camera cut to someone interviewing Quinn, who was in his full kit sans helmet. He answered questions in the same quiet, methodical way he had answered her on their date. Only this time, he said a lot of words without actually saying much of anything.

Sarah chewed on her lip.

“Did you finally discover how hot hockey players are?�� Eunice teased.

“I don’t -” Sarah cut off, pushing a breath out her nose in frustration.

She was about to tell Eunice that hot guys were not the only reason she watched sports, only to realize that that’s precisely what she was doing.

“I met him,” she finally admitted.

“You met who?”

“Quinn,” Sarah said, gesturing to the TV.

“Met? You MET Quinn Hughes?” Eunice asked, turning in slow motion to look at Sarah. “When?!”

Sarah started, “on Monday.”

“Where? What? How?” Eunice demanded, her voice getting progressively louder with each word.

“He came into the aquarium, asked some questions after one of my talks, and then asked if I wanted to get lunch.”

“He asked you to lunch?” Eunice repeated.

“Yeah, we went to get bao.”

“Like on a date?”

“I think so. I mean, he paid, and he got my phone number aft-”

“Quinn Hughes asked you for your phone number,” Eunice thundered, “and you didn’t think to tell me about it?”

It probably wasn’t the right time for Sarah to point out that she and Eunice really didn’t have that kind of a relationship. In fact, Sarah hadn’t told anyone but Beth, her best friend from back home, who had been thrilled Sarah had finally met a good guy.

“Sorry,” Eunice said, settling on the couch like a proper lady in a period drama, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flip out.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how she should react. She hadn’t intended on telling Eunice at all, worried - justly, it turned out - that she would freak.

“But oh my fucking God,” Eunice yelled, throwing her hands up and breaking her posture to flop dramatically into a slouch.

“What’s going on?” Jane asked, leaning in the door frame, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Quinn Hughes asked Sarah for her phone number,” Eunice declared, gesturing to Sarah as if she were the reason Jane was up early before her graveyard shift, not her own yelling.

Jane perked awake, “really?”

“Yeah,” Eunice said, sounding like a petulant teenager.

“Oh my God. I didn’t think this was a big deal,” Sarah said, putting her head in her hands.

“That the most eligible bachelor in the whole city of Vancouver asked you for your number? I’d say that’s a pretty big fuckin deal.”

“He’s just a guy, Eunice.”

“I’d beg to differ," Jane cut in. “It is a pretty big deal.”

“So he’s not a guy?”

Both women rolled their eyes at her.

“Of course he’s a guy,” Eunice said, exasperated.

“But he’s not ‘just’ a guy,” Jane said, air quotes and all. “He’s a little more than that, I think.”

“Why? Because he’s a professional athlete?”

“Yeah. And millions of women across the world want to marry him.”

“He’s handsome and all, but I can’t believe that’s true,” Sarah said. “Do millions of women even watch hockey?”

At the fierce glares she received from both of her Canadian roommates, Sarah held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. Maybe millions of women watch hockey, and some of them find him attractive. But for my purposes, he’s just a guy. He was just a guy on our date.”

“It's not about you,” Jane said.

Sarah raised her eyebrows in a challenge.

“What we mean is that it’s a big freaking deal that Quinn asked for your number.”

She reeled back, “Is it so hard to believe that he would be attracted to me?”

“No!” they both shouted, Eunice exasperated while Jane was horrified.

“Of course he’s attracted to you. Look at you.”

“I think what Eunice means is that Quinn Hughes has celebrity status in this city, and so him asking for your number means that he saw something really special in you. Women throw themselves at him every day.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“It’s like, a major, major compliment,” Eunice said.

Biting her tongue, Sarah resisted the urge to tell her that it was a major compliment if anyone asked for her number, celebrity status or not.

“So, are you going out again?” Eunice asked, sitting back down on the couch.

“I mean, we said we would, but he’s out of town until next week, so I guess we will when he gets back?”

“Oh man,” Eunice said, leaning back in her seat. “You are living such a fanfiction right now.”

Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes.

Jane yawned. “I’m going back to bed. I have to be at the hospital at 2 in the morning.”

“I’m sorry we woke you up,” Sarah said.

Shaking her head, Jane smiled. “I’m glad Quinn saw the same things the rest of us do. If anyone deserves a fanfiction love story, it’s you.”

Heat raced into her cheeks, and Sarah smiled, turning back to the TV as the game began again.

“I cannot believe this,” Eunice said, picking up the stuffed whale to clutch in her hands. “You’ve got to introduce me to Kuzmenko.”

“Who?”

A few nights later, Quinn was slipping into a dinner booth in St. Louis when his phone pinged with a message.

Hey, I don't know what your schedule is next week, but The Electric is showing the Star Wars movies starting Sunday if you want to catch one together?

His heart jumped into his throat so fast, he made a sort of gasping choking nose that had Elias clapping him on the back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, clearing his throat.

“Who is that from?” Petey asked quietly.

Quinn was suddenly overwhelmingly thankful that he wasn’t sitting next to anyone else, who surely would have made a big scene of announcing that he got a text about a date to everyone in the near vicinity. Petey knew he preferred his privacy, and always respected that.

“Remember that girl I was telling you about last week? The one from the aquarium?”

His eyebrows shot up, “that’s her?” he asked, nodding at the phone.

Quinn nodded.

As Elias watched, Quinn pulled up their practice and game schedules.

Sounds awesome. I’m back in town Wednesday and free on Thursday or Saturday nights.

Almost immediately, the icon of her typing appeared. His heart began to hammer a little harder, pulsing in his throat in that nervous, I-can’t-wait-to-talk-to-her way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Thursday is The Empire Strikes Back, so I’m guessing that’s our choice. Unless you’d rather see the Force Awakens on Saturday?

Thursday is great.

Cool. I’ll get us tickets. Showtime is at 7 and they have a special menu for dinner and drinks at 6.

Sounds great.

It was as simple as that. Quinn had never had a date planned so smoothly.

Her text bubble popped up again, before going away. He gulped some of his nervousness down.

When he clicked off the screen and looked at Elias, he found the other man smiling at him knowingly.

“What?”

“I didn’t think she existed.”

“Sarah? You thought I was making her up?”

Petey rolled his eyes, “No. I didn’t think the girl you always talk about wanting to date existed. But she’s right there,” he gestured to Quinn’s phone.

Feeling his cheeks flush, Quinn shrugged to deflect the wave of sincere agreement that washed over him by busing himself with the menu.

Leaving her last class, Sarah was beyond thankful to leave campus and go home. She was exhausted to the bone. It had been a hard week of studying and midterms. On top of that, nervous, excited energy was buzzing under her skin in anticipation of her date with Quinn that evening.

When she got home and finally pulled her phone from her bag, she found a missed call from him. Stomach dropping, worry billowed into her thoughts like smoke. He was probably calling to say he couldn’t come. Why else would he call when they’d only texted so far?

Rapid fire, her thoughts rifled through friends that might want to come to the movie before she snapped back to herself. This was her anxiety talking. It wasn’t the truth.

Taking the time to pull in a few deep breaths, she told herself he could be calling about something other than canceling. It took eight breaths before she felt calm enough to call him back.

The phone rang three times before he answered. “Hey.”

“Hi, sorry I missed you earlier, I was in my last midterm.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. That was one thing he didn’t miss about college. There wasn’t a lot, but the pressure of midterms and finals were something he was happy to live the rest of his life without.

“Well, it’s done now, so I’m just excited to take a nap.”

He laughed.

“So what’s up?” she asked, trying, and failing, to not sound nervous.

“I wondered where I should pick you up tonight,” he said.

Relief sighed through her legs and she sunk onto the bed. “I was planning to meet you there.”

“I can come pick you up,” he offered. There was no need for her to take the train when he could drive them.

This was always an awkward conversation, but one she’d constructed with her therapist to ease her anxiety. If someone didn’t respect this, it was a sure sign she didn’t want to date them. “Quinn, you seem like a great guy, but I don’t want you to pick me up. I don’t know you very well.”

A long pause passed over the phone. She wondered if she was going to have to explain this concept to him.

Honestly, Quinn hadn’t heard that line in a long time. He knew from friends that women often did this to protect themselves, but something about his presence in the media made women trust him implicitly. He hadn’t taken advantage of that - he would never - but it had infiltrated his thoughts before, how easy it would be.

She stood up for herself, and kept herself safe, and he respected her for that. “That makes sense,” he said.

It was so much easier than she’d been expecting, that Sarah had a hard time coming up with words.

“So I’ll meet you there?” he said when she didn’t say anything.

“Great.”

“What time?”

“Dinner starts at 6, so I figured like 6:15?”

“Great. I’ll meet you out front?”

“Sounds great.”

They said some pleasant goodbyes and she flopped back on the bed. Karma was really seeing this one though. Nice, interested, a bit nerdy, and respectful, not to mention handsome, Sarah had hardly allowed herself to dream up a guy like Quinn. And now, here he was, suddenly in her life. A feeling like she’d just drunk champagne began to fizz in her stomach. A smile spread over her face as she hugged her pillow and set an alarm.

Walking up to the theater, Quinn wiped his hands on his jeans, hoping he wasn’t about to revert back into a teenage boy with sweaty palms. He had to pee again. Nerves always shrunk his bladder. It hadn't happened in a game since he was ten, but other places - getting on a stage, press conferences, dates - always made him nervous.

The theater was an old fashioned, stand alone cement building. A ticket booth complete with marquee lights sat between two sets of French doors. Sarah was already there, leaning against the wall, looking up at the building across the street. It surprised him she wasn't on her phone.

“Hey,” he said as he got closer.

“Hi,” she said, meeting his eyes with a smile that made his stomach ache. Her lips were darker, making them stand out a little more. His eyes were drawn to them like a magnet.

She slipped her arms around his neck for a hug. It felt so natural this time as he pulled her into his chest.

As she broke away, she asked, “ready?”

He nodded, and she walked over to the ticket window, “I have a reservation for two under Roberts.”

The teenager working looked up from his phone. His gaze drifted past her. “You’re Quinn Hughes,” he said, mouth falling open.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up man?” Quinn said as if someone hadn’t just told him who he was.

The employee - who couldn’t have been more than sixteen - was still staring at Quinn, even when he didn’t say anything else.

“You’re coming to the show tonight?” he finally asked.

Sarah had never felt so looked over in her life. It wasn’t that she was jealous. She would never want that kind of attention, but there was common decency not being met here.

“We’re trying to,” she said, not unkindly, nudging him back to her reservation.

The boy started. He blinked a few times before he said, “sorry, what was the name?”

“Sarah Roberts.”

As they walked into the foyer. The ticket clerk slipped out of the booth, and came up to them, “hey man, I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I get an autograph? My girlfriend is a huge fan.”

Quinn nodded, and reached for the paper and pen he held out.

“Thanks so much, enjoy your show!”

As soon as they turned around, a harried looking woman with flyaway strawberry blonde hair came rushing up to them. “Mr. Hughes, we’re so glad you can be with us tonight.” Apparently, Mr. “you’re Quinn Hughes” had spread the news.

He gave her a polite smile.

“I just wanted to let you know, we upgraded your reservations to one of our more private love seats in the back.”

“That’s very nice, but it’s not necessary,” he said, feeling embarrassed. Sarah was never going to go out with him again if their first date was under this much of a microscope.

“Oh, no,” she said with a strained smile, “I insist.”

Sarah looked up at him, wondering what was going to happen here.

“Well, thank you,” he said, knowing that arguing would only draw more attention. So far, the other patrons were ignoring them, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Let me show you to your new seats.” She led them to a plush couch tucked into the back of the theater. No neighbors and a perfect view of the screen. No one would even need to walk in front of them to get to the bar or the bathroom.

“Thanks so much,” Sarah said.

The woman walked away, and she turned to Quinn with wide eyes, “that was wild.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, his hand going to the back of his neck.

“Does that happen a lot?”

He shrugged, “sometimes. Most people are pretty cool, though.”

“I actually thought about reserving this, but it was like triple the price, and I’m on a grad school budget, so…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she clasped her hands together.

“The seats we had before would have been great,” he said, “people make a fuss.” He knew this woman was probably hoping he would share the theater on his social media, but finding a place like this was hard enough. He didn’t want to ruin that by announcing it to the world.

Desperate to change the subject, he said, “Thanks for finding this. I didn’t know it was even here.”

“I didn’t either,” Sarah admitted, deciding they may as well enjoy the upgrade and sat down on the sofa. It was plush microfiber - incredibly soft to the touch - and very comfortable. It wasn’t like she was going to demand they go back to the standard seats she’d booked.

“How did you find it, then?” he asked, sitting next to her.

“I overheard someone talking about it on the train and looked it up. It looked cool, so here we are.”

He smiled at her, and her heart did a karate kick into her lungs. She sucked in a deep breath.

They made their way to the bar to order dinner and drinks. Everything was on theme, including Sarah’s cocktail that came out glowing bright blue with smoke billowing off the surface. She laughed, looking truly delighted with it. It made Quinn want to kiss her. Not that he hadn’t been thinking about that since they’d met, but something about the pure joy in her face when the bartender handed it over made the impulse even stronger.

The problem, she soon discovered, with the couch arrangement was the fact that their food and drinks ended up on the end tables - on opposite sides of the couch, making it nearly impossible to eat and have a conversation the way she wanted to.

After turning around for her drink for the third time, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Here, will you hold this?” she asked, handing him her glass.

Quinn accepted it and watched as she put her plate on the table, and moved it in front of the couch. She then tucked herself around it, and sat facing him, with one of her legs bent at the knee between them.

“At least for now,” she said, taking her drink back and setting it on the relocated table.

Quinn smiled. He never would have moved that table - too afraid to upset someone. He admired Sarah’s willingness to solve the issue at hand.

Her drink was still smoking when he set his beer bottle next to it. She'd let out the most adorable giggle with the first sip, scrunching her nose at the feel of the smoke.

“So, what made you choose Vancouver?” he asked, “I’m sure there are places in the States where you can study Marine Zoology.”

She was instantly impressed that he remembered her degree. Most people got the marine part right, but assumed she was a biologist.

“That’s kind of a long, complicated story, but basically, my mom died a year and a half years ago and -”

He cut in, “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a sad smile.

“Anyway, there’s a little more to it, but I ended up here because my uncle lives here. I wanted to study the ocean, but I had to be close to family, and the only family I had close to the ocean was here, so that kind of made my decision for me.”

Bracing herself for sympathy, she looked into his eyes, only to find a more open, understanding expression on his handsome face. “That sucks about your mom. My dad lost his mom when I was like two, and he still talks about how hard it was. I know it was really devastating for him. I can't imagine how it felt for you."

She was so young - too young. She’d been his age. Even considering how long he'd been living away from his parents, it would be awful to lose his mom. She was the person he called for almost everything.

Tears pricked at her lower lashes. She blinked them away, busying herself with her drink to shut down that topic of conversation.

He laughed when her nose scrunched up again.

“I promise it’s really good,” she said, giggling, “the smoke just tickles.”

“Sure,” he teased, then added, "it's actually really cute."

Her gaze caught on the amused set of his mouth, and lingered there for a beat too long. Tearing her eyes away, she asked, “what about you? Why Vancouver?”

“Well, I was drafted here,” he said after swallowing his bite of salad.

“So you didn’t have a choice?”

“Yes and no. I toured and interviewed with a lot of clubs, and I liked it here along with a few other places. They knew how I felt, so they knew it would probably be a good fit. But the draft is always kind of a gamble. My brothers both went to New Jersey, which is pretty unheard of.”

“Your brothers play hockey too?”

He nodded.

“How many of you are there?”

“Just the three of us,” he said, “and a whole mess of cousins. What about you?”

“I have an older sister and an older brother. They still live in Nevada, and they both have a bunch of kids. My brother married my sister's best friend, so they’re all really, really close.”

She said it with a kind of sadness that Quinn knew well: a specific feeling that stemmed from your siblings being together while you were apart. Even though everyone was doing good things, it was still lonely to be the odd man out.

“I get that,” he said. “My brothers live together in Jersey, and my grandad’s there too, so I feel pretty separate sometimes.”

It was strange to Sarah how much they had in common. Both from families of three siblings, both in Vancouver because of a mix of circumstance and choice, both understood familial loss to at least some extent. She had never met a man like him.

The bartender announced the movie would start in 5 minutes.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she said. “Do you need anything on my way back?”

He shook his head.

When she came back to their little corner of the theater, she found a refreshed drink on the end table.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course.”

The movie started and it was instantly calming to her. Being there with Quinn felt like a special treat, like something out of a daydream.

When she lay her hand, palm up, in the small bit of love seat between them, Quinn was quick to pick it up, entwining their fingers. It felt a bit like he was fourteen again, just excited to hold a girl’s hand. He wanted to touch her all the time, but knew they weren’t there yet. He couldn’t wait to get to the point in the relationship when he could rest his hand on her thigh, or put an arm around her shoulders without it being a big deal. It felt so close, he could almost taste it.

Leaning progressively closer throughout the movie, Quinn finally put his arm around her. He had to stop himself from celebrating when she rested her head on his shoulder.

When the movie started winding down, Quinn began to wonder how exactly the end of the night was going to go. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he didn’t want to do that in the theater or the foyer, where prying eyes and cell phone cameras were in abundance. Maybe he could ask her if they could walk to his car so he could kiss her there? Or maybe he could take her to her building's parking garage? Every way he thought about asking her sounded fucking creepy.

He was still caught in that internal debate when the movie ended and the house lights went up. How was he going to do this? He could just come out and tell her, but it made him sound paranoid and more than a little full of himself.

“Could you walk me to the train station?” she asked, effectively ending his internal argument.

He bit back the suggestion that he could just drive her home. “Yeah. Sure, of course,” he said. Maybe there would be a dim corner he could tuck them into and kiss her.

The night air was cool, and humid when they stepped outside. Heart pounding, Sarah hoped he couldn’t feel it through their clasped hands.

“You’ll have to lead the way,” he said. “I don’t really take the train.”

“No?”

“Too many people.”

While holding his hand was nice, Sarah’s mouth had felt empty with yearning all night. A deep longing to kiss him had been purring in her chest for over a week now, and seeing him made it rumble even louder. From the way she caught him glancing at her mouth throughout the night, it seemed like he felt the same way.

There was a small, clean alleyway she’d spotted on her walk to the theater. As they passed it, she tugged him off the sidewalk, turned around so she could slide one hand over the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Quinn sucked in a sort of shocked breath at her forwardness.

She pulled away just as he was registering what was happening and sinking into the kiss.

Taking her hands back, a blush searing her cheeks, she said, “I’m sorry, that was really presumptuous of me.” Hoping she hadn't just ruined everything, She tried to not feel rejected. Had she been reading the signs wrong?

“No,” Quinn said, his voice a little too loud.

It was so strange to him that their physical connection, which had always been the easiest part of his past relationships, seemed to be the only thing they fumbled over.

He cleared his throat, and slipped his hand up to cup her jaw, "no. I was just a little surprised.”

Seeing the longing in his face when she looked into his eyes kicked hers back into gear, ready to squeal off the pavement.

Leaning in closer, his breath caressed her lips as he whispered, “I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

A shiver raced down her spine at his confession. “Me too."

Pulling back just slightly, he looked into her face. It felt like he was standing at the edge of the most beautiful view he'd ever seen. He couldn't wait to jump over it.

She tipped up, and he leaned down, and when their lips met, a gentle sigh passed between them.

There was no awkwardness, no questioning of who would tip which way, or if it was too soon for tongue. No, Sarah just took advantage between kisses, and swept her tongue into his open mouth. He responded in kind, sliding his tongue along hers.

Her hands found their way into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer. The soft noise he gasped into her mouth made her fingertips tingle with a heady sense of satisfaction. Molten desire dripped into her veins.

Quinn let all his other thoughts fall away in favor of savoring this moment. He wanted to commit every second of it to memory. She tasted like the tart syrup used in her cocktail, and the smooth sweetness of the rum. Coupled with the vanilla, woodsy scent of her perfume, and her soft, skilled tongue, it was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever experienced. He never wanted to stop.

The world fell away.

Then, it came crashing back.

"Get a room!" someone yelled from the group of teenagers walking by.

He pulled away, just enough that he could feel her panting breaths rushing over his lips. He didn't want to let the moment slip away. Not when it had been so perfect.

"Can I make you dinner on Saturday?" he asked, still feeling a little breathless.

She paused, and he realized what he'd just implied. God, he wasn't thinking straight.

Pulling back, he rushed to explain, "I can bring it with me to a park or something. I just want to see you again."

A smile broke over her face, "I want to see you again, too."

Simple, straight to the point. Quinn felt some of his anxiety drop away.

"I'll think about where, but definitely yes to dinner."

He beamed.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#Quinn & Sarah Snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes fan fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey romance #quinn hughes fanfiction

121 notes · View notes

luxyue · 2 months

Text

knife boots — part ii.

xiao x reader, figure skating au

masterlist

➥ NEW VOCAB ❝ salchow ❞ one of the easiest jumps; taking off from a backwards outside edge it's generally the first jump you learn as you add more rotations !

ii. zhongli plays matchmaker

"fuck this shit. i give up."

"yeah, well, you've given up at least twenty times this session alone."

since meeting chongyun, he's introduced you to his friends, xingqiu and xiangling. xiangling often spends her time helping her dad in the kitchens when she isn't skating, but xingqiu has no problem sticking around the rink making fun of you all day, and he's only known you for what, a week?

you vaguely remember his older brother, a talented ice dancer whom you've also met at international competitions. xingqiu seems eager to follow in his footsteps, as a blossoming skater in his own right. although, you would like him better if he didn't choose to bicker with everyone around him.

"it's also the twentieth time i've fallen on a triple toe. leave me alone," you groan.

"fine, just because i feel bad. but hey, at least you've nailed triple sal!" he says, attempting to cheer you up.

you can't help but roll your eyes. "in case you forgot, a triple salchow is worth basically nothing in singles."

"okay, fine. then just do loops!" xingqiu says, forgetting you can't do triple loops yet either.

"i literally can't— okay you know what? fine."

...

xiao can't help but grimace on the inside every time he sees you land flat on your back. or your side. or your even your face. which is pretty often, considering you somehow keep choosing the same sessions to skate.

not that he cares that much, but he's fallen enough times to know how much it can hurt.

although he has to admit, your resolve is unwavering. he's not sure how you managed to fall on your 17th triple flip jump when you can't even land a triple toe. he's too caught up in watching you attempt your 18th when someone lightly taps his shoulder. he jumps.

"you know, it would not be above you to try and give her a hand," says zhongli.

"isn't that your job as a coach? besides, she seems more intent on trying every jump before she can actually land one."

"i've seen you standing here and watching more often than not. if you've noticed that, then why didn't you just tell her?" zhongli chides.

"i..." xiao doesn't have a good answer.

"i'll leave you to it then." zhongli leaves with a smile on his face.

...

xiao's last straw is when you fall attempting a triple lutz.

as you sit there with your butt on the cold ice, contemplating your life choices, he skids towards you.

he sighs. "how many times are you going to attempt things that you obviously can't do?"

you look at him wide-eyed, since, you haven't really spoken to each other after that fucked up first impression.

normally you would have something better to say, but your self esteem has been dwindling with each failed jump. each time you hit the ice feels as if you're proving him right.

"not everyone can do things as effortlessly as you," is all you can utter out.

xiao scoffs. "yeah, well it's not like i didn't work as hard as everyone else to be here."

"i didn't mean it like that. but...i gave this sport my everything. look where it got me," you sigh.

"you mean winning nationals, grand prix, four continents, and worlds?" he says.

now that was a surprise. of course, you were still upset with xiao after what he had said....but regardless, this was still xiao alatus. the best figure skater of all time—the skater you had looked up to during your entire career. your younger self would've beamed with pride from the realization that xiao had noticed you. "wow, i didn't know you were such a big fan of me," you can't help but tease, even if it was more like the other way around.

he gives you a glare, although the look in his eyes almost seemed....playful? perhaps your eyes were playing tricks on you. "yeah right. more like i was at most of those same competitions."

you nod, memories of being in the stands with your teammates washing over you. "i remember...and you won. all of them."

if only you knew that you had been cheering for him back then, too.

a sad smile takes over your face. "but the difference is that you kept winning. meanwhile, i, like you said, lasted for what? one season?" you say, quoting his harsh words.

he looks away briefly before shrugging. "i was under the impression that you would be competing this season," he replies.

what's with the sudden optimism? "i was under the impression that you thought i sucked," you reply back.

"you do suck."

pfft, that's more like him.

you laugh, clutching your heart and feigning agony. "you wound me."

xiao rolls his eyes once again, scoffing at you. "i meant right now. but...you seem to forget you were doing quads and triple axels not too long ago." he says the last part quietly, stringing the words together as if afraid to compliment you.

not sure what to say or think of it, you give him a look. "yeah, well i'm barely doing triples and double axels now. what's the use of competing like this?"

crossing his arms, he responds. "yeah, well, you have three months before the season starts. i'm sure the former world champion can recover at least a triple-triple combination before then."

you open your mouth to speak. then frown.

"what?" xiao questions.

"well...about that."

xiao is confused. "...yes?"

"snezhnaya."

"what about it?"

shoot. you've backed yourself into a corner. "i don't know if i should tell you. i'm not saying their methods were good in any way, but sometimes i wonder whether i can actually skate the way i used to without them," you admit hesitantly, hoping he doesn't push for more.

"methods?" xiao's expression becomes a stern one.

shit. "um, yeah. training methods," you say, hoping for the best.

now, xiao just looks insulted. "i hope you aren't insulting zhongli's methods." oh thank baal.

"of course not! he coached you after all. i wouldn't have come here otherwise. i just don't know if i have the...strength."

"if you can survive whatever shit show snezhnaya has going on, i'm sure you'll be fine," he reassures. you know instantly that he's talking about the long-standing rumors of the grueling training that the snezhnayan coaches put their students through.

.....they weren't all wrong, unfortunately.

"that's not—actually, well....nevermind. but that's not exactly my issue."

"then what is it?"

you sigh. "i just....in snezhnaya, everything is so structured. our entire days—no, lives, are practically laid out in front of us. without that sort of supervision, i feel like i don't know what to do on my own."

xiao offers you no pity. "so, you're lazy, basically."

talk about brutally honest.

you can't even reject his claims. "umm...yeah. essentially i just...don't know how to practice," you embarrassedly admit. what kind of world class figure skater can't practice on their own?

surprisingly, he nods in understanding. "i can tell. i was wondering why you would go from triple salchow to triple lutz," he says.

"right. because we skate the same sessions..." an idea pops into your head. whether it's good or bad...well, you'll find out.

"you should help me practice." you blurt out.

"what?" okay, maybe not a good idea.

"you...should help me practice. since we skate the same sessions. and since you're very obviously much better than me." if he doesn't say yes—

"are you sure? i've been told that people think i'm an ass. not exactly a ball of sunshine..." he quotes your words.

you grimace, remembering what you said. "sorry, i might've gotten a little carried away there. but don't act as if you weren't the one being rude first."

"i suppose i was rather harsh too." his words shock you to the core. he almost looked sorry, too. how did he go from ignoring you all week to this?

"so....is that a yes?"

"i'll think about it."

careful to hide your excitement, you offer him a smile. "i guess that's better than a no."

on the inside, though, you're dying. xiao alatus might help train you.

...

zhongli smiles, watching you two from the security footage in his office.

...

#figure skating #figure skating au #genshin #genshin fanfic #xiao x reader #xiao #xiao genshin #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #xingqiu #zhongli #x reader

74 notes · View notes

formulakatya · 9 months

Text

ALWAYS AN ANGEL NEVER A GOD

“always an angel, never a god”

not my gif :)

summary: struggling as a figure skater, mick gives you a helping hand

pairing: mick schumacher x figure skater!reader

notes: sorry that this is unedited, i suddenly had an idea and sorry for being away for so long!

warnings: mentions of terrible coaching, slight mentions on self destructive behaviours, mentions of mental and physical health and injury, unedited work (let me know if i missed anything)

—

“(y/n)!” your coach shouted from across the rink. “what is wrong with you?!”

sighing as you brought yourself up from the ice, you let out a groan. “i’m sorry.” this would be the tenth time in a row which you’ve fallen on the triple axel; a jump which used to be your strongest. “ever since the fractures, i’m not sure what happened.”

“excuses!” she shook her head, “tell me, how badly do you want to win?”

“of course i want to win!” skating over to her, you couldn’t help but feel both exhausted and frustrated. you were already trying your hardest to get back your jumps to how they used to be after multiple injuries including a severe fracture of your wrist and ankle.

holding back tears as your coach berated you, all you could do was nod with shaky breath. “i’m trying my best.”

“well clearly it’s not good enough.”

her cold demeanour and harsh words were something you had not missed in the time that you had taken off from skating, and clearly nothing had changed. if not, she was even more harsh. but all you could do was accept it, that was her way of coaching ever since you asked for her guidance when you were young, like it or not.

going into backward crossovers as you set up for the jump, you quickly switched to your forward edge before launching yourself in the air only to be met with the cold hard ice.

“go home,” she snapped.

“what?”

“go home, i don’t need a skater that’s useless like you. besides, your time is running out.”

—

“you’re back! how was training?” mick smiled, welcoming back to your apartment warmly. “is something wrong?” he quickly asked, seeing your puffy eyes.

“i just-“

“come here,” he beckoned, looking at you with concern as you tried to stop a breakdown. “what’s wrong? tell me.”

“i just,” you tried your best to compose yourself, sinking into his embrace. “i just, i don’t know why i’m not performing like i used to. i just-“ choking on your tears, you sobbed in mick’s arms as he held you in his arms. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“you just came back from an injury, liebling,” he sighed. “you have to understand that you won’t be back a hundred percent.”

“but why?” you sighed, wiping your tears. “why can’t i skate through this injury when i could the others? what’s wrong with me?”

taking a deep breath in, mick paused, trying to find the right words to say as tears continued to flow down your cheeks. “have you…” he paused again. no, he couldn’t say that, figure skating was your whole life.

“have i what?”

“have you considered…y’know…retiring?”

“what?” your voice was as soft as a whisper.

it wasn’t the thought of retiring and the sadness it brought that caused the sudden change in emotion. it was the fact you had never thought of that as the best possible solution. but considering what had been done in your career, and now the repercussions you were facing because of everything you had given to the sport, it all of a sudden hit you.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to bring that up,” mick spoke, a sudden urgency in his voice.

“no, no, it’s okay,” you replied, taking a while to put your thoughts together. “maybe you’re right.”

—

looking up, cameras were pointed in your direction and journalists gathered in the room with their notebooks, you took a deep breath. “i’ve called this emergency press conference to give an important announcement.”

chatter dying down, the room had instantly gone quiet, leaving you at the center of attention. all eyes were on you and now there was really no turning back.

“throughout the years, i have managed to accomplish many things in figure skating; i have done jumps, spins and win competitions only my younger self could dream of. however, i have also put my body through many things— i have suffered from many injuries which i had chose to train and compete through…” you paused, taking a deep breath in as you felt tears well up in your eyes slowly.

cameras flashed as journalists scribbled furiously on their notepads. it was never your intention to make the announcement so soon, having the initial plan of pushing through another 2 seasons, but here you were in front of the very same crowd which you used to face after winning gold medals.

you had dedicated your whole life to figure skating, and now you had to retire from it. retirement was always something that was going to happen, and with figure skating being notorious for its early age of retirement, you were prepared to make the announcement.

but nothing could’ve gotten you ready to announce your retirement at 20– and extremely early age even for figure skating. of course, the original plan even after you started to become aware of the injury was to continue to push for another 2 seasons or so, but now that had been thrown out the window.

“…unfortunately, the consequences of it all has caught up to me. due to my health and injuries, i have lost almost all my ability to skate as i once did. i have caused both physical and mental damage to myself,” you took a deep sigh, reciting the script you had memorised at the top of your head after nights of crying over it. “it is against my wish to have to make this announcement so early but i have ultimately decided to retire from competitive figure skating.”

—

your voice was hoarse, tears flowing down your eyes uncontrollably as choked sobs filled the room.

retirement was the right decision, but still it had hurt.

after so many years of constantly showing up to the rink everyday, figure skating was almost apart of you. it was as if you had tied yourself to figure skating. of course, there was always life outside of the sport, and there was always a certainty that there would be life after skating. but you couldn’t have helped but feel like your whole world had simply collapsed.

mick looked down at you, his heart aching out of sympathy as all the emotions you had been holding back was let out upon the falling of your strong facade you had put up in front of everyone.

“i’m sorry,” mick spoke, finally finding the right words to say. “you shouldn’t have to retire so early on, you’re still so young…but i’m proud of you. i know it wasn’t easy but i’m glad you’re finally putting yourself first, you shouldn’t be sacrificing your health. sports isn’t everything.”

“i just…” a defeated sigh was let out, “why?”

you had done everything you were told to do; train hours each day, keep to the schedule, follow the diet…and yet, you would miss out on the long and successful career you had always dreamed off. heck, you’d now rather have a long career with barely any success than one that was short with an amazingly amount of success like the one you had just lived through.

“i did everything i was supposed to do and yet…and yet it ended like this.”

taking a deep breath in, mick couldn’t help but feel guilty considering he was the one that has given you the idea in the first place.

“but it’s for the better isn’t it?” you continued speaking, looking up at mick.

“it is,” he nodded, playing with your hair. “it really is.”

“at least i get to follow you to your races now,” you joked through your tears, wiping them away.

“you’ll always come first, okay?” mick smiled. “and so does your mental and physical health.”

395 notes · View notes

svltzmans · 8 months

Text

invisible string - c.h.

cassie howard x hockey player!fem!reader

a/n: i've been thinking about this figure skater cassie x hockey player reader au for so long and i finally am writing it!! i hope you all enjoy it <3

warnings: mutual pining, just super fluffy :)

y/n's skate blades dig into the ice beneath her with every stride, propelling her to the other side of the rink within seconds.

hockey had always been one of her passions from a young age. her father had originally taught her how to skate, hoping she would take up figure skating.

needless to say, she took a different path, but he was just as happy.

passing the puck to her teammate, y/n takes a quick glance at the clock. she sighs with relief when she sees practice is coming to an end.

she loves hockey and her team, undeniably so. but she's so exhausted that she might just love her bed a little bit more.

finally stepping off the ice, she hobbles to the locker room, quickly changing into her most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. she's practically yearning for her bed at this point, throwing her equipment and skates into her bag.

saying her goodbyes to her teammates, y/n starts the walk to her car. she notices a group of figure skaters walking through the front door, which she recognizes as the same skaters that practice in the rink opposite to her hockey team.

except among them is a girl she has never seen before, her thick blonde locks tightly pulled into a bun. her eyelids are perfectly painted a glittery blue that compliments the costume she and the rest of the group are wearing.

y/n is gawking over this girl, and she knows it. she's never seen anyone quite like her. she feels what can only be described as a driving force pulling her toward the mystery blonde.

reluctantly, y/n heads for the door and starts her drive home once the figure skaters make their way into the rink. her thoughts are entirely taken over by a girl she has never met, and she's not upset about it.

cassie's figure skating career started when she was young, and she feels like it hasn't slowed down since. tournaments, competitions, practices. her life revolved around skating, and she didn't mind. the ice was her safe place, where she could forget about everything that bothered her and just skate.

every day she would come to the rink to practice a new routine, whether she was with her group or not. she's always been entranced by the way she feels when she lands a jump; as well as the feeling of the speed she picks up that makes her feel like she can fly.

cassie celebrates to herself as she lands her hardest jump yet. she had been practicing it for weeks, with many hours of her day being spent at the rink. with the routine finally complete, she allows herself to go home and rest her aching body.

exchanging pleasantries with her fellow skaters, cassie excuses herself to the locker room to finally sit for a moment, putting on a pair of comfortable shoes. contemplating what to eat when she gets home, she makes her way out of the rink.

as she walks out, she makes eye contact with a few members of the hockey team that plays at her home rink. she had always imagined she'd fall in love with a hockey player - it only seemed right to her. the intimidating, muscular, athletic hockey player and the dainty, delicate, beautiful figure skater...

her eyes land on a member of the team she's never seen before, carrying her hockey bag to the exit. she's shocked, having never seen such a beautiful hockey player before. having never seen such a beautiful girl playing hockey.

cassie debates on saying hello to the girl, but eventually decides she's too nervous, and the girl she was staring at had already walked through the doors of the rink into the parking lot.

after a much needed night of rest, y/n wakes up to a text from her coach.

"Practice is canceled today. Rest up and I'll see you all on Monday."

y/n sighs with a mixture of disappointment and relief. she could definitely use the rest day, but she misses the rink each day she's not there.

her mind jumps to the figure skater she had seen the day before, and she can't help but smile. she'd never been drawn to someone this way before, and she almost wasn't sure what to do.

except, of course, go to the rink.

walking into the rink without her hockey bag feels weird for y/n. she almost feels naked, or like she's missing a piece of her.

nonetheless, she makes her way into the neighboring rink, taking in the new environment. she'd never skated on this one before, knowing that it's usually reserved for figure skating practices.

and that was exactly what was happening, and what y/n had come for. she settles into one of the freezing seats, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling the hood of her sweatshirt on.

she spots the blonde skater, flying across the ice in a way that looks completely effortless, even though y/n knows firsthand it's far from it.

y/n is floored by the talent the skater is showing, watching every move intently. she feels like she's in a trance, only able to focus on the skater and the sounds of her skates landing on the surface of the ice.

time flies by, quicker than y/n can keep up with, and she forces herself to leave the rink. she has no idea how long figure skating practices go, but she does know that she has to eat lunch.

she almost finds it hard to leave. she isn't sure why, but she feels the same force drawing her to the still unknown figure skater.

cassie is exhausted, and she knows she can't skate the second she wakes up. she had taken it just a tiny bit too far the day prior, and her body is sore enough to keep her in bed for the day.

reminiscing on her practice the day before, she remembers the hockey player who had her stunned. she imagines her on the ice, moving in tandem with her team.

before cassie knows it, she's en route to the rink, knowing the team is practicing based on her own schedule.

walking into the familiar building, she finds a seat close to the ice, waiting for the team to start their practice drills.

her eyes land on y/n immediately, "y/l/n" inscribed on the back of her jersey. she watches in awe as she somehow moves so graciously in such a non-gracious setting.

cassie has never learned more about the game of hockey in such a short period of time. she watched so intently that she's sure she has the whole rulebook of the sport memorized.

she decides to wait until the team comes out of the locker room, forcing herself to at least try to talk to who she thinks may be the girl of her dreams.

y/n walks out of the locker room, ready for the best nap of her life, when she sees her favorite figure skater walking up to her.

"you're a pretty good skater for a hockey player," she flirts, smiling in a way that has y/n's heart racing faster than ever.

"you're not so bad yourself. i watched your practice yesterday."

cassie feels herself blushing at the fact that her new crush had watched her skate.

"i'm cassie, by the way," she says simply, struggling to find any other words.

"y/n. you really are an incredible skater, by the way. figure skating is so beautiful, i could never do it though."

"i think you could, you looked pretty graceful out there given the circumstances."

cassie laughs, and y/n joins her. sparks fly between them that they both can feel, their conversation feeling like a scene from a movie.

"would you want to... hang out? maybe we can skate together?" y/n asks, struggling to not hold her breath as she awaits cassie's response.

"that would be really nice. maybe you can teach me how to score a goal?"

"only if you teach me how to land one of those jumps you do."

#cassie howard #cassie howard x reader #cassie howard x fem reader #euphoria #euphoria x reader #euphoria x fem reader #cassie howard imagine #euphoria imagine #wlw

191 notes · View notes

strxbrymochi · 19 days

Text

melting an ice heart | lmk

08. id card

masterlist • previous • next

pairing: lee mark (nct) x fem!reader

genre & tropes: smau, mostly enemies to lovers but a little bit of fluff too don’t worry, sports au (hockey player x figure skater), grumpy x sunshine energy, chaotic friend energy

chapter warnings: swearing, a lil glimpse into what she dealt with as a child, but i don't think it's too deep, just mentions of abuse but indirectly

synopsis: he’s the life of every party, the team heartthrob and mvp while she’s the stone cold ice-princess who will stop at nothing to get things her way. but when an accident intertwines the two more than they had hoped, will his fire be enough to melt the ice facade she’s built up or will they continue to clash and end up in ruins?

updates: mwf 8:00pm gmt+8 // 11:00pm gmt+11

taglist: open!

words: ~1.2k

"fuck." you curse out loud as you hit your fist on the ice. you've been here for around 2 hours now, your training ended at 9pm and here you are again, at 2am, skating, in a supposedly closed rink.

you've been coming in after hours for about a couple years now, well since you started at suwon at least. your parents had said they paid off time for you to skate anytime you wanted, and so you did. at first it seemed as though they never wanted you to rest-- not that you were complaining, but over time you saw of it as your safe space. the rink was more a home to you than your actual house. it was your solace everytime something went wrong. it was where all your pent up anger and stress was released on to. your emotions displayed through the way your skates glide smoothly, but aggressively, in the ice. as you stand back up and skate around to shake it off and try your routine again, memories of your childhood flood your brain.

"again." your mother would shout at you from the bleachers.

back when you were younger and skated near home, your parents made it a point to watch you at every training. refusing to let you go home until they thought your run was spotless.

your mom is a skater too, so she understood what it was like. well, was a skater. she wouldn't really tell you the details other than the fact she says she pushes you to experience the things she never got to. as a good daughter, you followed through, no questions asked.

you stand up from the fall, and brush your hands off your leggings. it felt sticky, and something stung. you look down on your hands to see scratches and a bit of blood from your now 12th fall in the last hour and a half. you pull your jacket sleeve over to cover it up and silently wince in pain. you move back to position and make eye contact with your coach, standing next to your mom. she nods at you. "come on now, we haven't got all day have we?" your mom shouts, arms crossing.

you take a deep breath and try again, you gain speed and you leap. you spin once, twice, thrice, and extend your leg to land, and you do. only it was too late and you tip over to the edge and fall; hearing a small snap.

"for goodness sakes, i did not go through all that to raise a FAILURE." your mother shouts. "stop being dramatic and get up. again."

you look over to your knee which gave way in that landing. you stretch it to test how bad the pain was. wincing, you do your best to stand up.

"maybe we should stop for today..." your coach tells your mom cautiously.

"she'll stop when she gets it right." your mom snaps back. "do you hear me y/n? we aren't leaving here til you get that jump right."

and so with another deep breath, you try to forget the pain on your knee and try again. hoping, praying, that's the last time.

you get home after practice and your mother immediately sends you to your room with no dinner. your mom believes in meal times and anything after 9pm was a big no for the digestive system, makes you gain weight apparently. so here you are, sitting in your chair, trying to do your homework, on an empty stomach because you got home at 10:30pm. all because you couldn't get a jump right. you glance at your foot, red seeping through the bandages from the cuts from your skates. you sigh. this was going to be a long night.

the lights in the rink suddenly turn on. what the fuck? no one has ever come in the rink at this time of night except you. cleaners maybe? no, they would be asleep. no one knew of your parents arrangement and if anyone were to find out you'd be in serious trouble.

you hear footsteps. shit. you skate your way to the entrance and quickly put on your skate guards, grab your training bag and run out. you had no time to change your shoes. as you run out, you hide behind the building, breathing silently, making sure no one caught you. as you reach down your training bag you freeze. your id card. you close your eyes and curse silently. it must've fallen out as you were running. you couldn't go back in, not when you didn't know who was in there. you'd just have to hope they don't find it and you can get it tomorrow.

you quickly change your skates for shoes and run off into the night before anyone else catches you.

back in the rink, mark makes his way to the entrance. huh, why are there skate marks? he was certain they cleaned off the ice after the last practice. come to think about it, he did hear glides as he entered the rink. didn't sound like a hockey skate, maybe a figure skater? he'd probably ask his uncle tomorrow.

as mark laces up his boots and gets into the ice, he moves around. just in a circle, letting the wind hit his face and calm him down. he was on the ice for as long as he could remember. it was his mother who introduced it to him, and it was his distraction when she got sick. lucky for him his family owned a rink, so it seemed only right he'd pursue it. now that he moved to suwon, his uncle allowed him unlimited access, now he can skate whenever he needed to, if he wanted to clear his head or if he just needed a break. and that's what he was doing tonight. the move wasn't exactly easy, but he's been adjusting well. he has friends, he's well-liked, hockey's doing good, but it's different. well, maybe it's because his mom isn't here for any of it.

"mom? you there?" he calls out as he skates around. he probably sounds stupid but his mom always told him she would always be watching over him, every single time he touched the ice. "it's been a while, the move's been crazy, i haven't really been able to skate freely like this but thankfully samchun's been great about letting me do now, so hopefully i'll get to talk to you more. anyways, i had my first game the other day and we won." he says. "i got mvp, pretty neat. school's been good, classes aren't as hard and i have friends. i think you'd really like them." he continues to tell her how he's been going, letting the way the air hits him serve as a sign she's listening.

he finishes his run and skates over to the bleachers to change his shoes. as he walks to the exit he hears a crunch. looking down, he sees an id card. weird. he thinks, bending over to pick it up.

huh. he thinks, flipping it over. y/n l/n, he says to himself, the girl he bumped into at reverie. now he had some sort of leverage to find out more about her but wait, what was the ice princess doing in the rink this time of night? was it really you he almost caught? questions circled his mind. only one way to find out he thinks, holding your id card as he makes his way out.

💌; @leefullsun @defzcl @ncityzenz @keemburley @syzavxy @doejaejung @softieluvsyou @leep0ems @nae-vm @hizhu @haechanielove @chezziy @excalibur-gone-missing @bluedbliss @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @planetkiimchi @swimmingismywholelife @cloudmrk @clean-soap @prettyrenjunn @yyangj3lly @kittydollzz @seunghancore @aerivrs @thisisnotjacinta

#nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream social media au #nct dream fic #mark lee smau #mark lee enemies to lovers #melting an ice heart smau #stxbrymochi maih #nct fic #mark lee fic #mark lee hockey au #nct hockey au #nct sports au #mark x reader #mark lee x reader

43 notes · View notes

dnpg-hiatus-survivor · 6 days

Note

Between dnp who is the lazy gay and who is the activity gay?

oof loaded question! call me crazy 😜 but dan is the activity gay while phil is the lazy gay.

dan is such an inspired person. he has goals and will do anything to achieve them. i mean he is the one who wanted to move out because he was too comfortable with phil and therefore not “doing enough”. he adores touring because it gives him purpose. he gets so into his hobbies. when they watched yuri on ice (rip btw) he researched all the jumps until he was able to differentiate between them all (and as a figure skater that is NOT easy. they look very similar). and the fish tank! he made sure norman was DECKED out with the fanciest tank a betta could have. he loves to be busy. and he loves to create, even if it takes everything out of him.

phil is the lazy gay. and i am not calling him lazy. he is also very creative and inspired, just like dan. i mean his creativity is what drew dan to him in the first place. but unlike dan, he’s a lot more casual. which is actually a very good thing! he has balance. he will create when he feels inspired, but he doesn’t need to be busy in order to feel fulfilled. he will play fortnite all day and not feel bad about it because he’s just enjoying himself!

and of course the cherry on top of my argument is them trying to climb that mountain in japan. phil was ready to stop when it became too tiring but dan said uhm no bitch, we are GETTING to the top. lets finish what we started.

i mean i love everything about dan and phil but i especially adore how well they balance each other out. and this is no different! one can push and the other can calm. it’s not always black and white though! they definitely switch roles at times. (ahem, gaming channel comeback) but at the end of the day: dan is the active gay and phil is the lazy gay.

end of speech tysm.

#phan #dnp #dan and phil #answered #again im so sorry for answering so late #im sure many people have said this already but im just gonna add my thoughts cus why not!!

35 notes · View notes

amakumos · 1 year

Text

kiss and cry — yang jungwon. (teaser)

kiss and cry is out now! read here.

synopsis. At the age of 22, Yang Jungwon wants to retire. The ice, which was what he considered his second home, does not seem as welcoming as it used to be. Figure skating is no longer fun - the sport that he devoted his entire childhood to seems more of a chore, rather than a passion. He claims that this season will be his last as a competitive figure skater - that is, until he meets you, who somehow makes him fall in love with the ice (and you) again.

genre. fluff, angst, friends to lovers, figure skating au.

pairing. figure skater! jungwon x figure skater fem! reader

warnings. swearing, mentions of injury and unhealthy training habits, jungwon is 22, reader is 21. set during the 2025/2026 figure skating season. (please pretend a walk in the skies by joe hisaishi is long enough to fit the criteria of the length of a short program)

word count. est. 20k+ (teaser is 1.3k words)

author’s note. haven’t written in a while, so i guess here’s my comeback to blr ^_^ thought i’d release a winter / icy (?) themed fic for the season! this fic is scheduled to be released around 26th ~ 27th, so keep an eye peeled if u happen to be interested hehe

You feel nothing but excitement when you enter the Taereung International Skating Rink, and you hear the sound of blades across ice that brings a smile to your lips. You see Irene, standing rinkside with her arms crossed, and skating on the rink, is Yang Jungwon.

Yang Jungwon’s made quite a name for himself in the last few years. 6th at the 2022 Olympics, a great finish for someone who was only 18 at the time. He also just won Worlds, and was a five-time national champion.

Yang Jungwon is an incredible skater. His movements on the ice are as fluid and soft as water, but when he jumps, he’s incredibly powerful, like a rocket taking off. You’ve seen many people say that Jungwon’s one of the few ‘complete skaters’ — those who can combine artistry with jumping seem to be extremely rare nowadays.

He’s one of those skaters that can get you mesmerised the second he steps onto the ice, and when he finishes his program, loud applause resounds throughout the arena, with tons of people throwing cat plushies onto the ice.

Jungwon is incredibly talented. Thinking about the fact that you two are going to be training mates brings a smile to your face — all the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon went quite well. You remember his pleasant voice and his kind smile, the one where his eyes crinkle into crescents and could make anyone swoon.

You make your way over to Irene, who turns her head and greets you with a kind smile when she sees you. “(Name)!” she beams, wrapping you in a hug. “Nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Irene!” you say, and she smiles at you. “I’m excited to be working with you.” she tells you, and her words just fill you up with joy.

“Thank you so much,” you beam. “I’m excited to be coached by you.” A smile graces Irene’s lips at your words. “Jungwon’s on the ice right now, with Taemin. He’s just learning the last part of his choreography for his short program for next season.” she tells you, and you nod.

“Jiwon’s gone for lunch break, and Eunchae and Jongseob should be somewhere around here… you can go meet with them and say hi later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Irene!” Taemin, the choreographer, calls out to her. “Jungwon’s got this. He’ll absolutely kill it.”

You notice how Irene and Taemin’s smiles seem wider than Jungwon’s when Taemin says that. The smile plastered on Jungwon’s lips barely reaches his eyes.

“Why don’t you go lace up your skates? You and Jungwon can share the rink.” Irene suggests to you, and you nod. You find a seat, pulling out your skates from your skate bag as you take your regular sports shoes off, slipping into your skating boots. You tie the laces incredibly quickly — after all, you have been doing this for years.

You take off your skate guards, leaving them on the bench as you skate onto the rink, skating laps to warm yourself up as you put your gloves on.

Somewhere along the way, you find yourself accompanied by Jungwon, who catches up to you. “Hey,” he says. “Heard that Irene’s coaching you now.”

“Yeah,” you beam. “We’ll be training mates from now on, huh?” you say, and Jungwon nods. “Saw you practicing your short program for next season… you’ve started quite early. Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon says. “I like to get started earlier, so I’m more familiar with it when it’s time to compete. Do you have any ideas for the music you might skate to?”

“Oh, I’ve got no idea. My friend told me to skate to Bolero, though.” you say, and you see Jungwon grimace at your words. You let out a loud laugh that makes Jungwon chuckle. “Bolero? Really?” he asks.

“Riki knows nothing about figure skating, but I think he goes on Twitter to find what music people hate seeing skaters skate to the most… Bolero is definitely one of them, which is probably why he recommended it to me.” you laugh. “Once he even asked me if I could do a ‘triple double camel spin axel’. Like what in the world is that?”

Your words make Jungwon burst into laughter, and you think it’s one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

“A triple double camel spin axel? Your friend might just have invented a new jump.” he quips, and you nod. “You ready for the Olympics next year?” he asks you, and you shake your head.

“Who says I’ll make it?”

“Of course you’ll make it. Your skating’s great.” Jungwon says, and you thank him. “You’ll definitely make it. To next year and the one after. You’ll probably make it to the one in 2034 too.”

“Hah, that’s funny. But no, I won’t be making it to the 2030 or the 2034 one. It’s probably nice to think about, though.” Jungwon replies.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What? Why? I mean... maybe 2034 is a bit of a stretch, but surely the 2030 one.”

“I’m retiring after this season.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at his words. Yang Jungwon was going to retire? At the age of 22? Was he joking?

You almost can’t believe it.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like skating anymore.” he hums, and he says it so casually. “It’s more of a chore now, rather than something I love. I guess I fell out of love with the ice.”

You can somewhat understand how he feels. You had burnout too, but you never got to the point where you wanted to quit. You just wanted to take a break, to refresh your mind and to take care of your health and body.

But Jungwon sounds like he’s determined to quit. As if nothing will get him to change his mind.

“What would it take for you to fall back in love with it?” you ask.

Jungwon shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think anything would be able to change my mind at this point. Skating is just so incredibly… draining. I want to enjoy it as much as I used to, but I just don’t think I can continue competing.”

He sounds like he’s truly given up hope on finding love for the sport again, and it makes your heart ache. Yang Jungwon is undoubtedly one of the best figure skaters you’ve ever seen, and to see him possibly end his career because he just simply ran out of love for the sport saddens you.

And for some reason, you want to try and get him to fall back in love with the ice again.

So with a sudden burst of confidence and determination, you decide to ask him: “Are you free any time next week?”

Jungwon looks at you, puzzled. “Yes?”

“I’m going to try and get you to fall back in love with the ice.”

“(Name), I’ve made up my mind—”

“That’s fine. I just want you to enjoy skating again. No competition, just having fun. You know, I was in the audience the day you won the Grand Prix final two years ago. You looked so, so, incredibly happy — I want you to feel the same feeling you felt when you were skating on that ice.”

Jungwon looks at you hesitantly. “You’d do that for me?”

You nod. “We can get to know each other better too. What do you say?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment to think.

“Sure.”

You beam at him. “Cool. I’ll give you my number after practice and we can make arrangements.”

Jungwon nods, and you two end your conversation there, focusing on training instead.

As you land a clean triple salchow-triple toeloop on the ice, you add a new goal to your bucket list.

Get Yang Jungwon to fall in love with figure skating again.

#enhypenwriters #enhypennetwork #kflixnet #⛸️ kiss and cry!#enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen au #jungwon imagines #jungwon oneshots #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #jungwon scenarios #jungwon x reader #jungwon au

423 notes · View notes